#coffee grounds and fish bitch frowns

[rinwellisathing]

It's A Thankless Job: Part 13

Wyll turned the key in the lock to his apartment door and walked in whistling happily. A good work out and a hot latte made most mornings just a touch better. In one hand, he balanced a coffee holder, in one space his usual caramel latte, in another was a chai latte for Jaina, and finally a chilled, blended, beautiful abomination of red, yellow, and orange topped with whipped cream and sugar for Karlach. “Oh, looks like you forgot to bring one for me. So rude, Wyll.” An unpleasant voice chastised from the living room. Fuck. Wyll raised his eyes to see Scratch and Nibbles on one side of the room, far from the couch, both with their ears flattened and fur raised, on high alert. Jaina sat in the battered old blue recliner her father had given the family, arms folded across her chest and glaring daggers towards the couch. Karlach stood behind Jaina, looking ready to stop her if she made a move, but glaring in the same direction as her. There on the couch was a haughty looking woman in a fine dark blue suit with a black jacket draped over her shoulders. Four long horns jutted from her head between strands of smooth red hair. Her lips curled into a nasty smirk. “Wyll, you little stinker. Forget to tell me you were trying your hand at politics, did you?” She taunted. “Gods dammit, Mizora. What are you doing in my apartment?” Wyll groaned, a look of abject disgust crossing his face. “Hmph! Your whole little family was just as unwelcoming. You know, your little fish wife there tried to hit me. Naughty naughty, you know what happens when we don't listen...” Mizora grinned, eyes focused on Wyll's horns and then his tail. “Well, he's here now so you can stop fucking with us and let us in on why you're our uninvited guest today.” Karlach spat. “Gods, only you could ruin a perfectly good frozen blend.” She grimmaced, but still gave Wyll a nod of thanks as he crossed the room to hand her her drink.

Mizora cleared her throat and shook out her shoulders. “Right! So, according to our contract, Clause D. Paragraph 5: Should the undersigned acquire political office, they must use their newly obtained power to undertake the appropriate level of tasks for their patron....You see what I'm getting at...”

Wyll grimaced, looking away. He felt his fists clench and unclench at his sides as he considered. He didn't think of this possibility when he'd agreed to run for mayor, he hadn't imagined Mizora might find a way to insert herself into this. And of course, he knew, he really should have. Why wouldn't she, the way she insisted on ruining every aspect of his life she possibly could. He was vaguely aware of Karlach gently pressing Jaina back down into the chair as the smaller tiefling tried to make a move towards the Cambion. Everything around him seemed to fade into the background, though, as the gravity of his situation hit him. For all the lives he'd saved, Mizora could force him to ruin or take even more. There had to be a way out. Mizora sighed and rolled her eyes at Wyll's lack of response. “Well, I can see you're very busy...I'll be on my way...Just remember this discussion, hmm?” She got to her feet and made her way slowly towards the door. “Oh, and Wyll? Next time I come, you may want to lock up your pets so they don't cause trouble.” Her eyes shifted to Jaina and Karlach with a sneer as she walked out the door, shutting it loudly behind her. “You should've let me case that bitch in a nice big ice cube.” Jaina frowned. “Oh believe me, I'd have enjoyed that.” Karlach sighed. “But if we hurt her, she hurts Wyll. You know that as well as I do...” She eyed the horns atop Wyll's head. “WE didn't hurt Mizora. Wyll refused to do her dirty work, that's how that happened. She's a vindictive, self-important load of garbage. None of us did anything wrong.” Jaina shot back, looking at the ground. “I know, but there's the implication.” Karlach's face twisted with a look of guilt. “I don't wanna be responsible for anything else happening to him...” “You're not responsible to begin with, I made the choice I knew was the right one.” Wyll interjected. “Both of you, please trust me to continue to do that....I really do appreciate the desire to stand up for me, but we need to be clever about this..” He crossed to the couch and sat down. “Well...I guess with any contract, a legal professional is a good place to start...I think last time I took Scratch for his shots, Dr. Silverbough mentioned in passing that one of his partners studied law....” Jaina tilted her head in consideration. “We could start there.”

“Alright. Nibbles has a checkup over the weekend, I'll talk to him about it then.” Wyll agreed. “There's also that guy with the ads around town, those 1-800-HOPE ads, you know?” Karlach offered. “I mean, odds are he's an ambulance chaser with basically zero credentials, but you never know. He certainly LOOKS shady enough to be the platonic ideal of a lawyer.”

“We can't rule anything out.” Jaina agreed.

“Let's start with Dr. Silverbough's friend, though, if it's all the same to you two.” Wyll decided.

----- “I haven't practiced law in years, how exactly am I supposed to help your friends with a contract, no, more than that, a contract they can't even show me?” Astarion scoffed incredulously as he sat across from Halsin at the small table in the upstairs dwelling's kitchen, looking over the message on Halsin's phone. “I think at this point they're just looking for advice, my heart.” Halsin replied, shaking his head. “It's a sad situation, indeed.” He had heard the story of Wyll's pact before. The young man was fairly open about it and during some of their longer visits (Owlbear cubs ate so many things they shouldn't, after all), Wyll had gotten to talking about the day he decided to become a fire fighter. “Yes, well, sob stories aside, what exactly do they expect me to do about it? Seduce this woman into releasing him from the contract? Because that's about it at this point.” The vampire rolled his eyes in exasperation, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It stung a little, being approached for a skill he'd worked so hard for but could no longer use. Halsin lowered his head, guilt in his eyes. He hated seeing his lover like this. He wondered if he shouldn't have asked to begin with at this point. He gently reached out and placed his hand over Astarion's. “I'm sorry I put this on you. Truly, I thought it might help to be able to use that knowledge again...”

Astarion looked away, eyes cast downward, ears slightly lowered. “No, it's my fault...I know what I'm good for and it was foolish to ever pretend there was something else.”

Halsin approached him slowly, gently cupping his chin in his hands and tilting his head up before leaning down to press a kiss onto the vampire's lips, tender and gentle. He realized his error quickly, however, when those red eyes widened and Astarion shoved him back quickly, scrambling to his feet. “Don't. Touch me.” He snapped. “Not when I'm like this. I've told you before...” He was shaking a little. “I...I'm sorry.” Halsin stepped back, hands up apologetically. “I should go....I'm sorry I couldn't be more help.” Astarion refused to meet his gaze, voice cold and bitter as he grabbed his jacket from the chair and made his way out the door before Halsin could protest, leaving the druid alone. Halsin looked at the ground, shoulders heaving with a sigh. He knew he shouldn't have done it. Astarion had told him before. He chastised himself mentally for failing to resist that impulse.

---- “Oh shit, guys! This is that lame commercial I was talking about! Come here!” Nocturne shouted through a mouthful of chips. She was laying across Shadowheart's lap on their couch. Rolan was frantically re-organizing their absolutely chaotic bookshelf, Sentry was off in a fairly uncluttered corner with a visor around his head playing some VR dance game Shadowheart liked. Sentry removed the visor and walked over, flinging himself onto a beat up second hand chaise lounger and looking at the TV, Rolan deigned to briefly turn his head from his self-imposed task, as the TV showed an elegant man in an overpriced blue suit sitting at a piano. “Hell, Hell, Hell knows the laws

Hell, Hell, refer to the clause, Marriage flawed? Prepare to be awed. Pick up your phone, for now we're taking your calls” Shadowheart and Nocturne burst out laughing. Rolan visibly cringed, rolling his eyes and returning to his sorting. Sentry chuckled at first, until he got a better look at the guy at the piano. His heart rate quickened, breathing becoming heavy. He felt his head spinning again and his mind was back there, swirling with alcohol and whatever else had been in his drink, his body aching and bleeding. 'Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck' Was all that was going through his mind as he tried to center himself, to catch his breath before his friends noticed. “Hey, you okay man? I mean, the jingle was bad, but I didn't think it would literally kill anyone.” Nocturne asked, sitting up and looking over to Sentry, her expression becoming one of concern.

Sentry stared blankly for a moment and then shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Oh, yeah, no, it was ghastly. Straight up made me feel like I was gonna puke, that's all.” He grinned. “Well try not to do it on the floor, gods know this place needs enough attention without a literal puddle of vomit.” Rolan snorted from the book shelf, but as he looked briefly to Sentry, concern crossed his face, recognition. Nocturne nuzzled into Shadowheart's lap as the elf kissed her between the horns and picked up the remote, beginning to flip through the various lackluster streaming services for a good horror movie, leaning back on the couch. Rolan furrowed his brow as he slid another book into its correct spot and then walked slowly over to where Sentry stood, sort of just turning the headset over in his hands absently.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyebrow raised as he looked Sentry over. “Uh...yeah, just didn't really 100% that last song before Nocturne wanted to show us that stupid commercial. Y'know, can't be slipping like that. Next thing you know, my kid sister will be passing me by.” Sentry grinned, rolling his shoulders. “Gods, when I was her age, Gary smoked me at DDR pretty regularly, I'll never live it down if I'm worse at games than my big brother AND my little sister.” “You've got a thousand yard stare over missing a beat in a dance game?” Rolan confirmed, folding his arms across his chest. “In the same way I used to 'fall down' on the way here after work?” Sentry winced. “Oh...oof...Fair...very fair.” He folded his arms across his chest and lowered his head. “Um...let's give them some privacy and get some air?” “Alright, I should probably get back to the shop anyway...Cal never was particularly careful about organization, so I shudder to think how stock duty is going.” Rolan nodded in agreement. The two men grabbed their coats and said their goodbyes to the girls, who barely looked up from their horror movie, only really managing a quick 'bye guys' and a wave. The city was a bit chilly tonight, but no less crowded and bustling than it ever was. “So remember I went to that fancy fundraising gala with my new boyfriend a while back?” Sentry began with an awkward sigh, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head lowered.

“How could I forget? I think you wore the suit he sent you all day and you kept telling us how expensive it was....which is weird for you, in all honesty.” Rolan replied, taking out a cigarette and snapping his fingers, a little flame spouting from the tip of his index finger, which he raised to the cigarette to light it. “Anyway, continue.”

“That guy in that commercial was there. One minute I was talking to him, major prick by the way, very creepy vibes,” Sentry stopped walking, gripping his own upper arms and squeezing tight. “and the next I was starting to feel dizzy and I was in a completely different place...” He inhaled sharply, eyes widening and then closing tightly as he forced himself to control his breathing, fingers tapping nervously. “Then, the creepiest, trippiest thing...he was standing there watching himself fuck me...” Rolan winced and shook his head. “I'm....I'm sorry, Sentry.” He looked his friend over, considering putting a hand on his shoulder, but thinking better of it, he knew he didn't want to be touched when he thought of what he went through, so it made sense the same could be true for Sentry. He took another drag from his cigarette and then tossed it down, stomping it out. “Look, you helped me when I needed it, so if there's anything I can do...” Sentry thought a moment. “Got anything about dealing with Cambions in that book collection you've got?” Rolan paused a moment and considered, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah I think I do...Come by any time, I'll pull some things and we can look through them together.”

After he parted ways with Rolan, Sentry made his way to the park. This late at night, most of the animals were either winding down to go to sleep or out hunting for dinner, the sounds of the animals who made it their home by day giving way to the evening crowd. Sentry debated going straight to Halsin's home to take him up on their conversation from the previous day, but after being so vulnerable, he felt off, wrong. He needed to feel powerful again and the familiar pulse of his urge in his veins was pounding within him. He slipped off into the trees to begin a hunt of his own. A young tiefling woman was jogging on the trail, headphones in, dark hair pulled back out of her face. He felt a sensation like nails on a chalkboard or an abrupt record scratch, the urge screaming in his head to take the easy target, but he pushed it down, digging his nails into his skin. Easy prey wasn't satisfying. He knew there was a bigger prize lurking somewhere, there always was. Slipping into the shadows, Sentry stalked the tree line and behind the bushes. He had the intense feeling someone else was watching the jogger, someone who would be so much more satisfying to kill. His senses were heightened in this state, like stalking cat. His bright eyes saw almost clearly even in the dark of the woods at night. His nose picked up a scent on the wind and he followed it. There, behind the bushes just a few feet away, a figure dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants, an average looking human man. Sentry crouched not far from him, still unseen, ready to pounce. As the jogger passed, singing softly to herself, ('She has such a nice voice...' Sentry thought briefly) the human stepped out of the bushes, knife drawn, the girl turned and cried out, eyes widening. Sentry was quicker, though, his fingers wrapped around the human's neck, sharp black nails digging in and carving a messy chunk as he yanked him back. The woman staggered back in terror as Sentry pulled the man to the ground, his throat to ruined to even scream. The knife and the soaked rag that had been in his hand fell to the dusty trail and the woman's eyes fell to them and then looked to Sentry, his own hood pulled low over his face. “You should be running.” Sentry growled as he pinned the squirming human beneath him and sank his teeth into his spurting neck.

The young woman didn't need to be told twice and she darted away down the path. Sentry distracted the bloodlust that told him to go after her by tearing out a portion of the human's throat with his teeth and beginning to claw his chest, tearing his hoodie to ribbons and leaving long gouges in the skin beneath. “My, aren't we having a good time, my putrid princeling.” Fel's voice cooed from behind Sentry. “I couldn't help but notice, however, that tonight's kill lacked your usual creativity. I do caution you about letting the urge go for too long. It's been two days since you saw a client! My poor old heart would weep if you stopped creating, dear boy, so please, do try to keep your kills prolific and plentiful!” The imp began to fuss over Sentry, toweling off his hands and face before helping him to his feet and producing a plastic bag with a fresh set of clothes, handing them to the young man. “You know, I worry spending time with that druid you were going to see is...perhaps contributing to your lowered kill count lately...If he continues to be a problem, perhaps you could see your way to making him a solution instead?”

[buckybarnesdiaries]

a place called home

© credits to the author, i found it on google. if you own it, send me a message to add your @.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Request by @dora-wolfram-blog: Hi <3 so happy to see your requests are open! How about ex Avenger reader who can manipulate the forces of nature and she comes to help Sam? (Idk maybe calling fish from the sea so his family can sell and earn enough money for the boat?) There she meets Bucky who she briefly met after endgame and they get to know each other? Domestic stuff is my weak spot so thank you so much luv u <3

word count: 1.206 words.

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a gentleman and sam a pain in the ass as always.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Saying that Bucky and you were friends wasn’t something exactly. You fought together a couple of times before you retired from superhero life. Like many of them, the war had finished and you chose calm over being a private agent. More or less like the ex-soldier, with the difference that he went to New York and you didn’t be able to find a home until Sam made you a call. He was quite the opposite of Bucky for you, connecting since the very first second you met. After he told you about his sister’s financial trouble, he offered you a roof to sleep under in exchange for your powers to control the tide and promote the movement of fish stocks. Of course, it was a hit, and you finally found peace in Delacroix. A celebration was inevitable, it was part of Wilsons’ DNA, but you weren’t expecting Bucky to show up with Sam; although he told you in your last call that they were working together. Or something like that.

As soon as your eyes laid on him among the crowd, you knew he had changed after more than six months without seeing each other. You couldn't help but feel happy for Bucky when you saw him smiling for the first time. He had a beautiful and innocent smile, seeming like a new man. Renovated, with want to live, enjoying playing with kids and talking to old men about war stories.

You had placed your back against an oak column, away from the crowd but close enough to check on everyone, in case they need help with anything. A beer was resting against your lips, doubting on continuing drinking, lost in your thoughts. There was something about Bucky going from one side to another, laughing unworried, that had fully captivated your attention. You weren't able to stop looking at him, chuckling when you saw one of Sam's nieces putting a magnet with the form of a crab on his left arm.

“I have that teen-in-love's face on camera”.

You frowned at Redwing some inches away from your face. As a response, you tried to slap it down. But your friend was faster than you controlling that thing.

“He looks good, uh?”

“Oh, shut up…” You replied by clicking your tongue and rolling your eyes, having a sip from your drink to put your eyes away to the sea.

“He asked if you'd be here… Just saying”.

“Shut up, Samuel!” You implored, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

As the night went on and the guests started to leave, Sarah asked you to take Jim and Jody home while she stayed there cleaning with his brother about the business. You were exhausted too, and she noticed it. And after saying your goodbyes, you headed to the parking where your car was stationed, carrying the younger Wilson onto your arms —peacefully sleeping— as his big brother was yawning loudly. At that point, you realized that it was going to be a tough mission to put them in the car.

“Wait! Lemme help”.

The male voice coming from behind you made you turn around and before you could react, Bucky was taking Jody from your arms to his. You smirked softly in response, looking for the key in the right pocket of your jacket to unlock the car. The soldier tucked the younger in the back seat, placing the belt around him as Jim occupied the other side of the SUV.

“It's been good to see you”. You said after closing the door, staying outside in front of him.

“Same”. He replied, not knowing what else to say.

Puckering your lips and clapping the key on your palm, you nodded with your chin, feeling the nerves running through your veins. “Good night, Bucky”.

“Good night, (Y/N)”.

You gave him your back, sighing inappreciably, to open the pilot's place and came in.

“He— Hey, wait”.

“Uh?”

“Sam told me… you were tired. I might give you a ride back home. I can wait for him there”. The offering made you glance towards him, already sitting in your car but with a leg rest on the ground. “If you want, I mean…”

Of course he did (...). That son of a bitch had the audacity to push you onto the other. You bit your inner cheek, landing your eyes on the wheel. Yes, you were tired. You woke up at five to sail with Sarah, then you organized the party and cooked for it. You hadn't had a single second of rest during the whole day. And Sam took advantage of it, feeling like he was some kind of Cupido. And you had to recognize that it was also very considerate coming from Bucky.

“I'd appreciate it… actually”. You ended up agreeing, stepping out to give him the keys and ceding your seat.

The ride was silent between the two of you, hearing some quiet indie music playing on the radio while you fought against your brain to stay awake. Luckily, it didn't take him too long to reach Sarah's house —although you were barely keeping your eyes open at this point. Again, he helped you with the kids, walking indoors and following you to their respective rooms. You tucked Jim and Jody on their beds, making sure they were comfy before placing a kiss on their foreheads and wishing them a good night. Bucky had rested his back against the wall, in front of the elder’s room, just waiting for you. And you could swear that you saw him briefly smirking because of the tenderness in your actions.

After closing the last door, you waved your head to urge him to follow you downstairs to the living room. With an exhausted sigh escaping your lips, you let your body fall on the sofa, curling on a side of it to give Bucky some space. You couldn’t help but yawn, turning on the TV by using the control remote.

“It’s good to have a home to come back”.

“Yeah… After all the shitty situations we’ve been through… We deserved a rest, don’t you think?” You replied grabbing a cushion from the floor, using it as a pillow over the armrest. “Sorry, I… I’m deadly tired…”

“Come here, that will hurt when you wake up”.

Bucky didn’t hesitate on beckoning to his arms, taking off his boots heel against heel to place both legs over the coffee table. You didn’t resist, knowing it would be comfier by his way. Sitting up, you lied to the opposite side, being wrapped instantly and snuggled against his warm body. Shameless, you rest your head on his right forearm, practically laying over his lap. But you felt good. You felt like it was a good reward after a long day, rolling down your eyelids and focusing on the caresses in your hair you didn’t know you needed.

For a moment, your mind wandered and fantasized about this last hour being part of your real life. Putting your kids to sleep and then cuddle with your husband till falling asleep. Smell Bucky’s strong and edgy scent. Your hands scratching his back. His fingertips stroking your scalp. Your legs laced (...)

Oh, God, Sam. What did you do?

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[anyoneseenadam]

omg can u do smth about the inner circle finding out about reader and azriel’s relationship? maybe they’ve been like secretly dating for a while! ily <3

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: butt ton of fluff

a/n: i made this a part two to this fic! but it can be read separately, i love az sm so i hope you enjoy!! (this has not been proofread sorry lol)

------------------------------------——————————

A week later you were invited up to the house of wind. Azriel was swamped with work and missed you, and since he stayed there most the time he had dragged you in with him.

Currently you were lying in his bed, curled around a long pillow, and sleeping, wearing one of his shirts and your panties while he trained. He had promised you he would introduce you all soon but so far you had been sneaking about the house. A task that was easy for the spymaster, but less so for you.

He had tried to treat it like a holiday. Sneaking you down to the kitchen to bake cookies at midnight and spending nights on the roof, pointing out constellations.

When you had first arrived Azriel had explained what was going on with Nesta and Cassian as he snuck you in. While you were walking up, giggling behind one hand, the other tightly clasped in Azriel’s warm calloused hand, you had run into Nesta. Your eyes had widened meeting her, stomach dropping as she sized you up and down.

“Nesta,” Azriel’s voice calmed you slightly as you wrapped both hands around one of his, moving behind him ever so slightly. “This is my girlfriend; we’ve been dating for about six months and you cannot tell Cassian.”

She had smiled then and reached a hand out to shake yours, “am I the first to find out then?” she asked and you nodded.

“I’m (y/n).” You muttered, some confidence coming back.

“Pleasure to meet you, if you ever need someone to bitch too about him come to my room,” she left with a warm smile and you laughed, turning to Azriel.

“I like her,” you said, and he looked down at you frowning.

“Why would you need to bitch about me?” he asked, and you kissed his pout away, pulling his hand to continue onwards.

“Probably cause you smell.” He jabbed your side before picking you up and carrying you over his shoulder into his room, dumping you on the bed and crawling over you.

“Horrible girl,” he muttered, pressing kisses into your neck as he ground his hips down into yours. You giggled into his mouth; the rest of the day spent tangled up in him.

The next few days after that were relaxing. He was always away first thing to train, but you weren’t going to complain when he came back stripping of his clothes, sweaty and flushed but always holding a coffee for you.

The rest of the day would be spent either flying out to walk around shops and see markets in other courts, or sometimes flying over mountains, safe and secure in Azriel’s arms. The day before he had prepared a picnic and taken you to a beautiful field, smiling as you pointed out different kinds of flowers, before he picked a gerbera daisy and pushing it behind your ear, then kissing you so hard you almost fell over.

You woke slightly when Azriel returned, his heart warming when he saw you dozing, engulfed in his scent. He put your coffee next to you and you muttered something inaudible to him, snuggling further into his pillow and smiling sleepily when he pressed a kiss to your head, eyes never opening. He sat by you for a minute and pushed the hair away from your face before deciding he was going to bring you breakfast.

He pressed another kiss to your head before standing, quickly replacing his sweaty clothes, and leaving the room, letting you sleep in. His mind so filled with thoughts of his pretty girl and the smile she would give him when she woke up that he didn’t notice that Cassian wasn’t in the kitchen at his usual time.

You on the other hand noticed it pretty quickly, waking suddenly when the door slammed open, a man’s voice that you didn’t recognise asking your absent lover a question.

The well-built man stopped suddenly when you sat up in bed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to work out what to say.

“You’re not Azriel.” He stated, realising that the strange girl he saw was covered in his brothers’ scent. And was wearing his brothers’ clothes. And drinking coffee from his brothers’ mug.

“Yes I am.” You said on impulse, shaking your head at your own stupidity but relaxing when the man you presumed was Cassian relaxed.

“Who are you?” he asked, a smile breaking out on his face when he realised who you were.

“Umm I’m (y/n), Azriel’s girlfriend.” You sat up straighter, pulling the covers tighter over you as you realised you were half dressed.

Cassian’s eyes lit up and he ran to your side, sitting in front of you and cheering. “Tell me everything! How did you guys meet? What do you do? How long have you been together?” he bombarded you with questions and you laughed nervously, silently preying that Azriel would return soon.

“Uhh we’ve been together for about six months and I own a flower shop, that’s where we met,” you explained to him when the door flew open again, another tall, dark haired man running in with three women. You recognised your high lord and lady and blushed bright red as they stared at you, smiling so widely.

“We came as fast as we could.” Rhys explained, introducing himself, his wife and Amren and Morrigan. They all crowded you and you moved back slightly, feeling the panic rise in you as they all asked you a million questions.

They were all kind, but so excited that their friend had gotten a girlfriend they were acting slightly insane. You tried to answer their questions, but they were coming so fast that your breathing began to pick up slightly, insecurities rising as you realised that you had just woken up. Your hair was probably a mess, and you hadn’t even washed your face, and you were in an old t-shirt and probably smelt bad.

You looked up when Azriel walked in, his eyes widening at the sight of his entire family in your room.

“What are you guys doing?” he asked as his family turned to him instead, asking him a million questions, Cassian practically in tears that he hadn’t been told.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your arm, turning to see Feyre smiling at you, “I’m sorry if we freaked you out a bit,” she said and you went to deny but she continued, “it can be a but much I know I went through similar, except for me it wasn’t eight in the morning!” her voice raised at the end and Rhysand turned around sheepishly.

“You’re right, my deepest apologies,” he said, still unable to keep the smile off his face, “Come to ours for dinner this evening.”

You smiled at him, nodding as your knee bounced to get rid of the anxious energy, muttering goodbye as Feyre and Rhys dragged their family out the room.

“I love you!” Cassian called over his shoulder and you laughed, eyes filling with tears you were trying to hold back.

“Cauldron baby I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Azriel asked and you nodded at him laughing at yourself as you cried.

“I’m okay, really. They were all so nice.” You assured him as he put down the tray he was holding and wrapping his arms around you.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked, his hands gentle as they wiped the stray tears.

“I cry at everything, the other day I cried because someone said they liked my dress,” you laughed and he shook his head, laughing with you.

“You’re in touch with your emotions,” he reasoned,

“I’m a baby. A baby with no social skills that gets overwhelmed very easily,” His shoulders shook with laughter as he lay the two of you down, “I haven’t even had my coffee yet and that was so much social interaction.” You complained, wiping your eyes as you calmed down.

He smiled down at you, kissing your forehead gently, “Are you up for seeing them properly tonight?” he asked, holding you so gently.

“Yeah it’ll be nice,” you assured him, “plus I do think me, and Cassian have to discuss our shared love for you. I think we might start a fan club.”

Azriel laughed, “If you say so.”

“I really do by the way. Love you I mean. Like I love you so much it makes me stupid, when I’m bored I just think about you and things we could do, and it makes me so happy.” You raised yourself up to look down at him as you spoke, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as he smiled dopily up at you.

“I love you so ridiculously much too.” You sat up together, your back pressed against his chest as he passed you your coffee and the breakfast he had prepared the two of you.

The stress of tonight could come later, you were just content to spend the rest of your morning in his arms.

[ladyanaconda]

Helluva Dad Vol. 4: Spring Broken

Bombproof just had to get a cold; it was nothing serious, but he'd need to rest for a few days, meaning that Striker and Jake would have to ride the I.M.P. van to get to work. It might have been a more-or-less intriguing experience if not for the radio music playing at full volume and Blitzo's careless driving. Striker spent most of the ride covering his ears while Jake was peering through the window alongside Millie.

This is why he'd rather ride Bombproof to work.

"Daaad! Can we ride the van with uncle Blitzo more often?!"

"Over my corpse!" Striker shouted over the noise. "Get away from the window, boy! The last thing I want is you losing your head!"

"But it's so fresh out here, dad!"

"Now!"

Jake groaned and went to sit next to his father with an unhappy scowl on his face. "Killjoy."

"Is this your first time riding a van?" Millie asked curiously.

"No, it's my first time riding a van with a crazy driver!" Striker banged on the wall separating the back with the driver's seat. "Hey, Blitz, can't you go any faster?!" he snapped sarcastically.

Jake's face had gained a somewhat greenish hue and his arms were clutching his stomach. "Dad, I think I'm gonna hurl!" he groaned.

"Kiddo, whatever you do, don't hurl on the carpet or Blitzo will deduct it from this month's paycheck! If anything, hurl on Moxxie's fanny pouch!"

"Hey!"

The van making an abrupt turn to get into the parking lot was the last straw for Jake. As he rushed towards the window, the vehicle came to a sudden stop and skidded. Jake would have flown out of the window if Striker hadn't grabbed him by the tail, but the vomit went up to Jake's stomach, all the way to his throat, and flew out of his mouth.

"Are you okay, my boy?" Striker asked, concerned, as he cradled the impling in his arms.

"I hate vans," Jake grumbled, earning a hair ruffling from his father.

"Listen up, you unoriginal pink cum dump! You have three goddamn seconds to get your tampon race car out of my parking spot…!"

Blitzo's voice brought the stunned group out of their daze. Striker stomped out of the van, intending to pummel Blitzo for the awful experience, but stopped in his tracks as he saw the cause of the problem. A pink car had parked on I.M.P.'s only parking spot. And the owner of the car was none other than…

"Oh shit! Verosika!"

The succubus didn't seem to hear him or didn't care. She was seething with rage, her face dripping with vomit. Jake flinched when her eyes fixed on him.

"I should have known you'd be here. I could smell fish for miles, which is odd because I believe the nearest ocean is…" Blitzo fell off the van's cabin, faceplanting on the ground. "Three rings down!"

Verosika outright ignored Blitzo this time and stomped her way towards the van. Jake hid behind his father.

"You little brat-!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, miss!" Striker stood to his full height. The succubus was taller than him, but he never faltered. "My boy didn't to… Well, throw up in your face."

"You should be grateful! You got a facial treatment for free!" Blitzo sneered. Verosika looked like she'd snap at any moment, but she merely huffed and wiped the vomit from her face with a napkin, which she then threw at Blitzo's face.

"I suppose you're the fella who spawned that brat, am I right?" She asked, uninterested.

"I'm the boy's father, that's right." Striker nodded. Is it just him or is the succubus eyeing him eye to toe behind her sunglasses?

"You ought to teach that little spawn of yours some manners, cowboy." Verosika purred the last word in a seductive manner, running her hand down Striker's chest, leaning a bit too close for his liking.

Thankfully, Blitzo got in between them. "I'm surprised they let your fat ass out of rehab," he growled. "I can see you're still a drunken whore, clutching unto that beelze juice bottle like it's the last cock in Hell!"

"They let me out because I'm still famous, and rehab is for sad, loser wash-ups." Verosika took a sip from her flash, sneering as she wiped some drops left on her lips. "So, your sister says hi." Jake made a 'burned' hiss. Striker gave him a stern frown.

"Why are you parking here?! This is the only parking spot my company has, so take your tampon race car somewhere else!"

"Um, Blitz…" Jake pointed at the ground. I.M.P.'s name was crossed out in purple spray paint while Verosika's was written in cursive letters.

The succubus smirked. "I'm doing a bit of freelance for one of the infinitely more successful companies in the building…"

"Dad, who's that nasty woman?" Jake asked.

Loona gasped as if the impling has just spoken blasphemy. "Wait, you don't know about Verosika Mayday?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I've seen her in dad's porno magazines, but-" Jake quickly covered his mouth, but it was too late. He laughed nervously when his father stared at him in shock. "Just to clarify, dad, I didn't read. I skipped!"

"I'll talk with you about this later." Striker hissed.

Thankfully, an angry yell from Blitzo distracted them from the argument. "I wasted so much time with a bag of holes like that."

"You know Verosika Mayday?!" Loona asked, incredulously.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, her. Yeah, we dated."

"That explains a lot of things." Striker murmured as Millie and Moxxie stepped out of the van.

"Was it before or after she became a pop star?"

"You dated a pop star?!"

Blitzo frowned. "Okay, why are you all acting like that's such a shock?"

"Hello, it's Verosika Mayday?" Loona pointed out.

"It's you?" Jake added dryly.

"I just… Is she blind? Suffering some form of brain damage? I mean, it'd make sense if she had dated Striker."

The cowboy rolled his eyes. "Gee, thank you, Moxxie, but she's not my type."

"Okay, look, you are all making this into a way bigger deal than it needs to be." Blitzo crossed his arms. "I don't pry into your stupid personal lives."

"You do that all the time, sir!"

"Come on, you kinda do that."

"You totally do that."

"Do I have to remind you all the times I've nearly shot you for sneaking into my house at two in the morning?!" Striker snapped.

"So…" Jake grinned mischievously. "What was sex with her like?" He yelped in pain when his father gave him a smack in the back of the head.

*HB*

Jake didn't quite understand what the fuss was about. From what Millie and Loona said, Verosika Mayday was a musical pop star, but dad wouldn't let him listen to her music; when questioned as to why he couldn't, all dad said was that it was for 'adults'.

In the end, Striker managed to distract his son via target practice. Millie would place an apple on her head so Jake could shoot it with the crossbow; Striker was quite surprised that she wasn't frightened in the least.

"Hey, Blitz, what did you do to Verosika Mayday for her to hate your guts like that?" Striker questioned casually.

"It was nothing, really! I merely borrowed her credit card when she was still sleeping and went to Wrath to take horse riding lessons!"

"Well, no wonder she's so mad."

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side."

Striker shrugged. "Sorry, but you're on your own when it comes to relationships."

The door slammed open, startling Jake into shooting the arrow a few inches down, but Millie caught it with a hand. Moxxie looked disheveled, and his face was covered in lipstick marks. All he said was that he needed to lay down as he dropped to the floor. Millie went to check on him.

"What happened to Moxxie?" Jake asked. Striker shifted uncomfortably.

"Let's say that he received too much love," he murmured.

"But it wasn't from Millie, she's right here."

"Oh, Strikeeer!" Blitzo sang as he leaned in closer to the cowboy with a wide, exaggerated smile. "Do you know what's the best part of being the employee of the month?"

"Let me guess: to do you personal favors so you won't have to face your shitty issues yourself?"

"Bingo! I was wondering if you could use your… natural charm," Blitzo quirked his eyebrows coyly. "To have that bitch give back our parking spot."

Striker dropped Moxxie's cup of coffee. "What?"

"You know, a little bit of sweet-talking, flirting. Maybe some oral sex-"

"I know what you mean, Blitz! What I mean is why me."

"Well, you're a ladies' magnet. I don't think you'd have trouble convincing a drunken slut to give you all of her assets."

Striker wasn't sure of how Blitzo always, always, manages to convince him to do that kind of stuff, but in the end, he agreed to try 'without' having to recur to sex. He didn't need to go far, as the band of succubus had taken the vacant offices right in front of I.M.P. Well, no wonder Blitzo was so mad! Meeting up with your ex and finding out you'd have to be in the same building for a bloody week wasn't pleasant.

Striker took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Apparently, the succubus band was still making fun of Moxxie's probably tiny dick. They went silent as soon as he came in.

"Well, look who it is."

"Greetings, miss Mayday." Striker tipped his hat for the sake of courtesy. "I suppose I don't need to explain why I'm here."

"Want a kiss, cowboy?" one of the incubi got a little too close to his liking, prompting Striker to point the barrel of his pistol right at the demon's face.

"Put a hand on me and I'll put a bullet in-between your eyes." the imp hissed, tail rattling.

"Oh, look! His tail is like a baby rattle!"

"Hey, did that cute little impling come with you? I want to eat him with kisses!"

This time, Striker pulled out his angelic pistol. "Leave the boy out of this," he growled, expression dark. The sight of the weapon scared the succubi into silence, all but one.

"Well, well, you certainly have more balls than the little guy with the bowtie." Verosika purred, hips swaying as she approached him. "Too bad I already got a bodyguard, 'cause you look like you'd be good at that." she gently pushed the barrel of the pistol aside with a finger, leaning dangerously close to Striker's face. "I suppose Blitzo is still throwing a tantrum over the parking spot, right?"

"That's right, ma'am." Striker stepped back warily, putting his pistol away. "Perhaps we could reach an agreement, considering that…"

He's dealt with succubi before, but never in such a personal manner. Not ever since… Striker knew what was happening when he realized he had been cornered against the wall. Verosika's hands lay on his chest as she leaned in close to his face. His tail rattled uncontrollably. His bottom tightened at the she-devil's enticing aura.

"An agreement, you say?"

"Y-Yes…" Striker cursed himself for stuttering.

Verosika pulled him closer by the waist, licking her lips. "You have such alluring eyes, cowboy. Reminds me of an anaconda hypnotizing her prey…" Striker grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the zipper of his pants. Verosika laughed, running her other hand down the line of his neck. "Let me kiss you…"

Her lips were inches away from Striker's when she heard a click and something pressing against her stomach: the blessed pistol, firmly held in the imp's hand.

"Nice try, sugar, but my heart already belongs to someone else." Striker sneered. Impressed, Verosika stepped back, smirking.

"Not bad, cowboy. Not everyone can resist my charms. Just for that, I'm offering you a deal."

"A deal?"

"A demon duel. I bet you and Vlitzo's sorry company can't off as many people as we can fuck by the end of the day. If you win, I'll return your parking spot. If I win," Verosika whispered into Striker's ear. Whatever she told him sent shivers down his spine.

Reluctantly, Striker looked up at the succubus, fists clenched. "Game on, bitch."

*HB*

"Alright, shut your assholes, here's how we're going to do this shit. First, we find a fuck ton of clients, we portal up, we have our fun murder time as per usual, we pill all the bodies into a big fucking canoe…" Striker didn't pay attention to the rest of Blitzo's ranting, instead distracting himself by polishing his angelic rifle. "Do you have any questions?"

Jake raised a hand. "What does orgy mean?"

Striker spat his mouthful of coffee right into Moxxie's face while the others exchanged nervous glances. Blitzo cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Let's say it's something you aren't supposed to know about for at least ten years. Now-"

"Where did you learn that word?!" Striker all but yelled, grabbing the impling by the shoulders.

"One of Verosika Mayday's songs is called 'Orgy' and I got curious."

"And where did you hear the song?"

"Loona was listening to it." Striker glared at the hellhound, but she merely shrugged.

"What? It's just a song. By the way, think I can come with you guys this time?"

"Absolutely not," Blitzo said, crossing his arms disapprovingly. "I forbid it. Not gonna happen. Sorry, sweetie. Spring break is no place for vulnerable goth girls. You know the kind of freaks yup there who'd drool all over you!"

"Well, I can blend in with humans easily enough. Just let me tag along."

Blitzo blinked. "Wait, say that again?"

"I can blend in…?"

"Do you have a human disguise?" Millie inquired.

"Yeah. Don't you?" Loona widened her eyes in realization. "Wait, you five have been screwing around on Earth this whole fucking time without human disguises?!"

"What if we did?" Jake asked.

"Let's say it's against the rules to be seen by humans in our real forms."

"Okay, new plan!" Blitzo made a new, crudely-made scribble. "Loonie can help lure the humans to us and we'll take care of the rest. Okay, how about that?"

"Flawless logic."

"There's one little detail. We need enough client killing demands to win this bet so I won't have to-" Striker trailed off as he recalled that Jake was listening. He cleared his throat. "How will we get so many clients in such little time?"

Blitzo grinned. "I got that covered, Strike."

*HB*

Basically, Loona just lured the people on the list to a secluded spot so they could kill them without anyone noticing. Jake still couldn't believe how hot Loona looked in human form.

Jake was sure that something was bothering his father. Ever since he returned from talking with Miss Mayday, Dad acted a bit… edgier than usual. He didn't tease Moxxie as often and focused more on killing the targets. But what gave him away was the fact that he was using the blessing-tipped rifle rather than the regular one. He only uses it when there's something on his mind.

By evening, they had killed twelve people, two offed by Jake with a broken bottle.

"That's twelve kills in the back!" Blitzo laughed as they continued to put the bodies into bags. "I'd like to see that waily snatch orgasm that many…"

"All right, spring breakers! Ya'll ready to get fucked up and make some bitchin' bad choices?!"

The group glanced in the direction of the nearby stage adorned in black and pink just as Verosika stepped out of the smoke in her own human disguise. All the humans on the beach roared in excitement as the concert began. Jake noticed something odd in their behavior. Once Verosika started to sing, they-

Something covered his eyes. "Hey!"

"You're not supposed to watch this, Jakey!" Millie cried out hurriedly. Striker gave her a thankful look.

"Goddammit! That bitch started her goadish mating call! Now she's gonna win all those sex maniacs! We gotta pick things up, guys! He's on the list, Loonie?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah… I-I think so." Striker realized that Loona hadn't even looked at the supposed target. Her attention was focused on Verosika's own hellhound.

"Blitz, I don't think-" Too late. Blitzo had already sliced through the human's skull.

"All right, next one, Loonie, come on." No reply. "Loonie? Wait, where-" Blitzo panicked once he realized Loona was nowhere to be seen. "Where's my baby?!" Striker merely pointed towards Verosika's hellhound. There she was.

"And… We've lost him." Moxxie sighed as Blitzo stomped his way towards the hellhounds.

"Can't blame him. I wouldn't like any guys sniffing 'round my daughter either." Striker murmured. "Anyhow, looks like we'll have to handle the rest of the list."

Millie laughed in excitement. "Hell yeah! Team MMSJ getting shit down!"

Jake wanted to help with the killing spree, but his father put him on a table behind some beer barrels, blindfolded him with his red scarf, and firmly told him to wait for him there. So the impling sat there with a big pout on his face, arms crossed. What's up with dad today?!

"Yeah, party!"

The table was knocked over without warning. Jake fell face flat onto the ground. "Ow! What the…?!"

"Eeww! Oh my god! Fucking possums!"

"Wait, what?" Jake lifted the blindfold and realized the humans had seen him. Before he could try to escape, he was grabbed by the tail and shoved into a barrel of beer.

"Ow! Jake?!"

"Moxxie?! What's going on?!"

"I don't know, I think the humans mistook us for opossums!"

The two imps were thrown about within that confined space, sometimes getting submerged under the beer. They accidentally ended up taking big gulps of the alcoholic beverage.

*HB*

"That boy is in so much trouble!"

He gives him one simple instruction: wait at the table. Then he returns ten minutes later to find Jake and the table gone.

"Hey, Mildred! Have you seen Jake 'round here?" Striker asked Millie as soon as he saw per peering into a barrel.

"He and Moxxie are inside one of these barrels!"

"What? What the fuck are they doing in there?!"

One of the nearby barrels wobbled. Striker tipped it over with a kick, spilling out the remaining beer as well as two familiar imps.

"Moxxie!"

"Jake!"

"Millieee!" Moxxie blurted out in a drunken state. "Hey, when did you get four heads? I wanna kiss 'em!"

"Jake? Are you okay, kiddo? Striker grabbed his son by the shoulders. "Answer me, boy!"

"Hey, daddy! The impling said in-between hiccups." "This water's soo tasty! Can I have more?"

Striker rubbed his temple. "Wonderful. My kiddo's drunk and he's only nine."

"Chill out, cowboy! Just don't tell Striker 'cause he'll make a fuss!" Moxxie giggled.

Striker would have made a fuss if not for the massive sea monster that emerged from the ocean. A loud roar sent most of the humans running away from the beach, but Moxie and Jake were completely unfazed.

"Oooh, fishy! Can I keep it, daddy?"

A long, slippery tongue wrapped around Moxxie and Jake as they were pulled into the monster's mouth.

Striker and Milli exchanged determined nods. The former shot a nearby human to take his bottle and make a molotov cocktail, which he threw at the monster. The explosion was enough to make the creature fall. The imps swam towards the mutant fish, digging their respective knives into its hide just as it got back on its feet. They managed to climb towards the mouth and pry the jaws open; Moxxie and Jake, still in the tongue's grasp, were clumsily punching the monster's uvula. Millie reached out for their hands, but instead of clasping it, the drunken imps merely gave her a high-five.

"Oh, for the love of…!" Losing his patience, Striker went into the mouth and sliced the tongue off. The fish shrieked in pain and spat out the severed organ, and its two captives, with it.

However, the abrupt movement slipped the angelic rifle off Striker's shoulder and sent it down the beast's throat. "Oh, no, you don't! Mildred, think you could keep this thing busy?!"

"Striker, what are you doing?!"

The cowboy took out his knife. "I'm gonna retrieve my weapon."

*HB*

Millie and Striker swam back to the beach, both panting heavily. The latter was covered in the creature's blood after slicing open its entrails, his rifle held tightly in one hand and the bloodied knife in the other. They reunited with Blitzo, Moxxie, and Jake on the shore.

"Oh, yeah, way to show off, guys!· Blitzo cheered.

"Are Mox and Jakey okay?" Millie asked.

"Oh, yeah. They're fine." Blitzo looked down at the still-drunken imps in his arms and dropped only Moxxie to the ground.

Thankfully, Jake had fallen asleep; his young age made him less tolerant of the heavy alcoholized state. Striker carefully took the boy in his arms.

"Aww, they grow up so fast!" Blitzo chirped, teary-eyed, as he watched Jake snuggle in his father's embrace.

Sadly, the relief didn't last long as Verosika and her crew approached.

"That was handled rather… Obvious, don't you think?" Verosika sneered.

"You know, I found this," Striker held up a black and silver flask decorated with hearts. "While slicing through that creature's entrails," he smirked. "And I know for certain that it doesn't belong to any of us." That said, he tossed the flask back to its owner.

"Would be a shame if anyone found out you guys were behind a giant monster fish in the human world." Millie sneered.

"Oh satan! You all be so… fucked! Haha…!" Moxxie laughed in his drunken stupor.

Verosika was taken aback by the realization that they were right. "Yeah, well, you five nasty ass gremlins will be in shit for not being in disguises." she countered.

"A human called me a possum. I'm not a possum!" Moxxie collapsed face-first into the ground.

"And given that the humans who saw us were in a deep alcoholic intoxication state, they'll probably think it was a product of their imagination." Striker added with a sneer of his own.

Blitzo chuckled. "You know, we could keep this little Bee movie scene on the down-low if you agree to let us use that parking space." Striker nearly laughed at the sour, almost childish scowl on the succubus's face. She was against the ropes and she knew it.

·...Fine."

While the others cheered at their victory, Striker merely sighed in deep relief.

"Hey, Strike, now that we're on it, what did that bitch say you'd have to do if we lost?" Blitzo asked later that day.

Striker's only response was a loud slurping sound with a straw as he enjoyed a well-deserved meatshake.

[ooo-babyboi]

Tsukkiyama x M!Reader One-shot: Ginger Snap

FIC ENTAILS: making gingerbread houses :>, cursing, reader bit of a crackhead, yams cursing at his gingerbread house, VERY brief mention of periods (idk it was like once during a joke), brief mentions of sex

~~~

“-so i told her, get off my dick, i’m obviously gay.”

“pfft-” tadashi laughed, making kei smile.

although, he quickly straightened his face after hearing you enter, saying something about ‘being back from hell’. kei watched as you replaced your sneakers (idk why but i feel old saying that) with slippers, as well as holding several bags in your hands.

“welcome back, dork.”

you frowned, “um -heart been broke so many times- anyways, it’s that time of the month, bitches.”

tossing your bags onto the coffee table, you smiled down to them.

“what, your period?” tadashi questioned, sitting up so he could fish through your bags.

“i- no? It’s christmas time, so guess what we’re doing!” 

“breaking into people’s houses, and proceeding to steal all their presents,” kei suggested.

“what even- no, you fucking grinch, we’re building gingerbread houses. i got each of us one, so i thought we could make it a contest. we’ll send pics to the group chat to see who has the best one.”

“does the winner get something?” tadashi gazed up to the two of you.

“uhh, i guess the winner can get head from the lose-”

“i’m in, let's do it,” kei picked up the bags and walked to the kitchen.

“eye-”

. . .

“so, what are you doing right now, kei?” you question, filling the silence.

kei side-eyed your house, then glanced back to his, “fuck, i was icing my gumdrop bushes in, but your piece of crap is so distracting, it messed me up.”

“‘piece of crap’ -sir- do you even love me?” you asked, halting your icing to look over at the blonde.

“unfortunately.”

“uh -not gonna cry- n e gays, how are you doing, ‘dashi?

tadashi crouched awkwardly on the ground, trying to get a specific angle, “fuck, bitch, you better stay. oh my goooddd, shit!”

“ermm- very nice.”

“huh? oh, these fucking icicles aren’t staying on the roof.”

both you and kei whipped your heads over to the freckled boy, “your icicles?!”

. . .

“well, yams won. him and his fucking icicles,” tsukki grumbled.

“really! does that mean-”

“no, tsukki’s horny ass didn’t let me finish. i was gonna say i was kidding and the winner could have the chocolate i bought, but i ate it.”

“you’re evil.”

“you’re one to talk, blond bitch.”

[jarvisisbetterthansiri]

Only Human (sex pollen)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Word count: 2143 Description: Despite being with Pepper, Tony is only human, and when you are both hit with sex pollen, he can’t control himself Warnings: *NSFW* Dub-con (due to sex pollen), smut, infidelity, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected sex ~ soft!reader + dom!Tony

A/N: Yes, this has been posted before, it’s still me, I accidentally deleted my account, so I’m just moving to here, and re-uploading my fics I had saved on Google Docs so they haven’t gone to waste. Hope this isn’t too confusing.

---

---

“Y/N, sweetie, can I borrow your hands for a few minutes?”

A slight blush makes its way onto your cheeks at the pet name, and you nod up at Tony Stark - your boss. Your very hot but sadly, engaged, boss.

Your job at Stark Tower consisted of bouncing between offices, making coffee, and helping with the filing. Not that you would complain, it was secure as you could ask for, and the pay was good. Also, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy spending time in the presence of Mr Stark, even if it was from a distance.

He moves towards a glass door, scanning his print for access, and you scurry behind before the door can shut on you.

“Just need you to help carry,” he squints at the cabinet, pulling out a key, “a few things. Careful. Don’t touch anything.”

You cringe at this, eyes widening at the objects locked in the shelves, bright warnings plastered on them: explosive, toxic, bio hazard, corrosive, radiation. Fuck.

Tony holds out a hand, passing you a small flask of dangerously pink liquid. And then the unthinkable happens - your hands shake with nerves, glass slipping through your clammy fingers, and smash.

“Shit!” you gasp, eyes wide as Tony mimics your expression. “I’m so sorry Mr Stark, I-”

“Goddammit!” his voice is raised, almost a growl, “F.R.I.D.A.Y, restrict access to this floor and evacuate the offices.”

He crouches to the floor, reading the label, and curses again, “Increase ventilation and purify the air in this room.”

“I’m so sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to,” you apologise, chest tightening, tears pricking your eyes. 

Tony replies instantly, accusatory, “I told you not to touch anything.” Then he fishes in his pockets for a phone.

“I - it was an accident - I,” you stammer, stopping when he raises a hand, pressing the cell to his ear.

You step back, eyeing the spilled liquid. It was locked away. You’d had it in your hand. And you...dropped it. It was locked away. With the rest of the dangerous items. You really fucked up this time. 

“Banner,” Tony speaks, clearing his throat, “yeah, I know. We had an incident.” Brown eyes glance over to you, sighing, “I didn’t - I don’t have time to argue right now. How long until the effects set in? Son of a bitch.”

He slams the phone on the table, fists clenching.

“What...what is it? Are we gonna die?” you manage to get the words out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. 

You were so stupid.

Tony freezes, frowning, “You’re not gonna die. Look at me, we’re fine.”

“I’m so sorry Mr Stark,” you say again, and it’s true. More than anything, you can’t stand the thought of disappointing him. 

He offers a smile, kind eyes now like you were used to, “I know you are sweetie, it’s fine. You’re not gonna get in trouble. We’re good.” 

Is it getting hotter, or is it just your imagination? You tug at your shirt uncomfortably, “So what...what is it?”

Now Tony is the one who looks uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact, “It...it’s something we found on an alien ship - a kind of aphrodisiac.”

“Aphrodisiac?” You repeat, hoping you heard wrongly.

He swallows, leaning against the table for support, “We know the species was...well, a lot larger than we are. So, we don’t know exactly the effects but it releases hormones, so extreme arousal.”

There’s a moment of silence, and a wave of dizziness swims over you. Something hangs in the air, a spicy and heavy scent, and suddenly there's a prickling heat clawing its way through your body. 

Your breathing gets harsher, “Why is it so hot, Mr Stark?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, the temperature?”

“Seventy six degrees Fahrenheit,” the automated voice rings out through the speakers. But no, that can’t be right.

Tony groans, and your thighs clench at the sound, “Fuck.”

His eyes find you, and he drops his head, moving back, “Probably gonna want to stay over there, sweetie.”

The nickname has you gasping for breath, and a high pitched whine makes its way out of your throat. A dull ache spreads through your core as you watch Tony across the room; cheeks flushing at the way his pants strain against his bulge. 

“How long?” 

“Huh?”

You moan, shifting to the floor, fingers fiddling with the bottom of your shirt, “How long will it...will it feel like this?”

Tony pants, eyes fixed on your thighs, which he noted were rubbing together incessantly now, “All estimates...theory is to work it out.”

“Work it….oh,” a sense of dread settles in your stomach, “You mean…”

He nods, gesturing to the table, “Just, I’m gonna be,” turning his back to you, “so you can...however you need to.”

You stare at his back for a second, making out the movement of his arm moving up and down, then feel a pang of guilt at your actions and turn away. Tony was engaged, you shouldn’t be looking.

At this point, your clothing sticks to you oppressively, and you hastily unfasten the buttons of your blouse, shrugging out of it. Another wave of arousal hits and you inhale sharply, unable to even breathe when every movement has your nipples brushing against your bra, and your pussy throbbing with want.

Shakily, you press a finger to your bud, circling it roughly, moaning in a voice that hardly sounds like your own. With every rub you feel yourself becoming more overstimulated, thighs sticky with arousal but it isn’t enough. Fingers slip easily into your core, thrusting against the right spot but it isn’t working. And everything is too hot, too clammy, too much.

Tony groans, fisting his cock furiously. This was not how he’d planned to spend his evening. He was supposed to have a dinner reservation with Pep - he closes his eyes at the thought of her. 

It wasn’t right to be doing this; jacking off just meters away from his sweet young secretary. His thumb drags along his length and he shudders when he hears those desperate little sounds coming from your direction. It definitely wasn’t right to be picturing what you were doing to make those sounds, either. He should be thinking about his fiance, he tells himself, willing to recall how Pepper blowed him just last night.

But then he’s thinking of your lips, and how pretty they’d look sucking on his thumb while he fucked into you. Was it the aphrodisiac? 

“Mr Stark, this isn’t working. I can’t,” he could hear you sobbing now, and turns.

Tony’s breath catches. You’re laying back, skirt hitched up your slick legs, shirt unbuttoned, if you had been wearing a bra, it was gone now too. He’s startled by how scared you look, and just as frustrated at the fact he could do nothing to help either of you.

“I don’t...I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Y/N,” he clears his throat, tearing his eyes from your form, trying not to focus on how wet your fingers are.

You let out a cry of frustration, fists hitting off your thighs, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t...it’s my fault.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tony starts, ignoring the throbbing of his cock. “We’ve got this.”

“No, I can’t, my fingers aren’t working,” you whimper, “I need…”

Tony glances at his ring finger, swallowing any second thoughts, and lets himself look at you. It isn’t cheating, he tells himself. You’re in pain, he’s in pain, what else could he do? 

“Tell me what you need,” his words are syrup, thick with desire as he wraps his rough fingers around your wrist, the smallest contact sparking you to moan again.If you’d been dizzy before, you were sure you’d pass out now. 

God, you want to die. You can’t imagine a worse situation than the one you’re in now - what are you supposed to say? That you need him to fuck you? You couldn’t.

He moves closer though, finger pressing into your chin, forcing you to look into those honey eyes and see the lust in them, “Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I can’t,” you protest weakly, shame eating away at your burning cheeks, “What about-”

“Don’t,” Tony cuts you off, not wanting to think about her right now. Not when you were looking up at him with those doe eyes, exposed all pretty for him. He lets his hand run down your side and squeezes at the curve of your exposed thigh, then adds firmly, “You can. Right now, tell me what you need.”

The words almost wont leave your lips, and you swallow thickly, “I need it. I need you.”

There’s a hint of amusement in his face behind the desperation you’re both feeling, “I gotta hear you say it, Princess.”

“Please Mr Stark,” you cry, fists clenching as the ache between your legs becomes so intense you think you might die.

Tony groans at your neediness and sits on the floor, pulling his cock from the painful confines of his pants. You feel all of the moisture leave your mouth at the sight - larger than your ex’s, swollen head glistening.

The amount of nights you’d pictured this exact scene while you touched yourself, and now it was real. Fuck.He motions for you to straddle him and you obey, crying out when his length grazes your clit. Tony’s breath is quick and shallow, nails digging into your thighs as he struggles to ground himself. 

Then, as much as he would love to pull you onto his cock right now, he restrains, “Do you need my fingers first?”

You shake your head, “No, just need you. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs, and in an instant he’s pushing into you, “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

Another thrust, and you’re a mess, scrambling to hold onto his shoulders. If it wasn’t for his grip on you, you’re pretty sure you’d have collapsed already. Despite not being completely innocent, the sensation of being speared by his cock, of being stretched and filled, has you struggling for air.

Tony almost uses your body, forcing you up and down, watching your tits bounce and the look of bliss on your face. God, he couldn’t get enough of that look. Every thrust is harder to get more of that face and your needy little gasps.

“Feels so good, Mr Stark,” you babble, stars in your vision, and this seems to do it for him, judging by the way he pumps into you faster than you even thought possible.

Before you can even speak, you feel his fingers make their way to your nub, rubbing circles. And oh god, it feels so good, but it’s so much. You spasm, clamping down on his cock, crying in ecstasy.

Then, the throbbing in your core is subsiding, and you suppose the effects of the plant are wearing off. But Tony isn’t stopping, his cock pounding into you with a force that makes you choke, hands trying to push off of him. You’re too raw, too sensitive, and the pleasure is so good it hurts.

He notices and stutters his movements for a second, hand moving from your clit and finding its way to your shoulder, keeping you in place, “I just need a little longer, can you do that for me sweets?”

“Yes,” you sob, letting him slam into you again.

Tony pushes your hair out of your face, chasing his own release, “Fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You nod, using your hips to match his movements weakly, and he sits up to place a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“Fuck,” he groans into your ear - what has to be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life, “you take cock like it’s your day job, babe. Think you might be in the wrong career.”

The familiar knot is building in your core again, and you let your hand guide his back to your clit, wanting more. He curses at the action, and starts palming you desperately, feeling himself getting closer.

“Oh god,” the words fall from your lips in a voice that is as wrecked as you feel. 

The next moments are fuzzy, and you clench down, back arching as you feel Tony spend himself in you. It’s a sort of warm feeling, and you fall onto his sweaty chest when he releases his grip on you. 

The room is silent apart from the sounds of heavy breathing slowing to normal. Tony lets an arm drape over your body, an action that should be comforting, but then you feel it.

Warm metal on your skin. A ring, his ring, his engagement ring. The guilt comes then, and he feels you freeze, tears falling onto his chest.

What have you done?

[whump-town]

Ok hi idk if you’re taking request or just want to talk about ideas. BUT I thought of like reader getting injured and then being with Garcia when bau are on a case and like hotch calls to check up on her continuously and Penelope is just 🥺🥺🥺🥺

I have no clue how this work but I did my best so have a little mercy because I am very new to this:

Garcia hates it when her little babies get themselves into trouble and this time is no different. Mercifully, she does range from smothering to angered but right now, she’s out getting food for you both. Which, of course, couldn’t come easily. You had to have a very in-depth conversation about your schedule for painkillers and what food you have or haven’t eaten. Which is zero because it’s twelve at night and you’ve both just come from a round a table meeting.

And Hotch fucking grounded you. 

Asshole. 

A few busted-up ribs haven’t stopped anyone else! Why should you have to stay?

“--and I’ll get right back with you, suga’.” Garcia comes back into the room with a bag of bagels. She comes to a stuttering halt, frowning and glances at you out of the corner of her eye. “Well, sir,” she toys with her lips with her teeth, grimacing at whatever Hotch is saying. “I would, sir. I really would but-- yes, sir-- I would say very mad.”

That makes your cheeks hot, uncomfortably so, because you know they’re talking about you. Pushing your hair back out of your face, you end up lowering your head as you play with a stray strand of hair. It’s starting to get a little too long for your taste. Maybe you’ll get it cut.

“Sir, I can’t--” Garcia sighs and you know Hotch has won whatever little pouting contest he’s put on. “Fine,” Garcia caves. “Yeah, yeah--” you smile as Garcia rolls her eyes at Hotch’s sweet-talking. “You owe me,” she tells him but smiles and shakes her head again. “I will give it my best shot, sir.” She raises her hand and nods her head as he keeps talking. “Okay. Be safe. I love you, sir.”

Garcia shakes her head and tosses her earpiece onto the keyboard. 

“What did he say?” the worst part is that you can still feel how hot your cheeks are and it only gets worse as the question leaves your mouth. Stupid Aaron Hotchner and his stupid charming ways. Why does your boss have to be so damn hot? It’s… it’s pretty much a fantasy but also your worst nightmare.

Garcia ignores the question and sets out on her mission of making you eat. She wins brownie points for the black tea that she replaces your normal coffee with (it should be Hotch points considering he was the one that told her about your love for black tea). “One blueberry bagel with strawberry icing,” she says placing it in your lap. 

You start to remove the paper but there’s no way you’re going to be able to eat knowing that she’s talked to Hotch about you. “What did he say, Garcia?” The eye contact you make is just to break her and she doesn’t stand a chance against your commitment to finding out what was said. 

With a sigh that deflects her entire body she caves. Of course, she does, she loves you. 

“Fine,” she grumbles half-heartedly. She puts her bagel on her desk and stares at the ground for a moment, deciding exactly how she’s going to tell you what they talked about. It’s unnerving. “He was just…” she frowns. “He worries,” she says. “He worries way too much but he blames himself for what happened--”

What happened? It’s far from his fault that you couldn’t handle a simple undercover mission. Emily wouldn’t have blinked an eye. She wouldn’t have gotten beaten up, either. Even Reid does better undercover and he hates it. 

“He blames himself and he knew you were mad at him for making you stay home--”

“I didn’t need to!” you justify yourself hotly. Okay, a little over the top but still. He wouldn’t have made anyone else stay home.

Garcia raises a hand, stopping you from going any farther. Right, you breathe, you’ve already ranted to her about this. But he does always treat you differently. He didn’t even want to send in undercover but Emily had advocated for you and you couldn’t even do that right… so maybe he is right.

Maybe you’re not meant for this job.

“Woah,” Garcia waves a hand in front of your face and you have to swallow around the thick emotions swelling there. You open your mouth to divert her attention back to the subject at hand but she’s not having it. “What in the wanky world was that sweet cheeks?”

You shake your head… “Uhm--” no. That’s not what Hotch thinks. You know that. He thinks you’re capable. He thinks you’re smart. He thinks-- You’re phones ringing.

Fishing it out of your pocket, grimacing at the pull on your sore ribs. “Son of a bitch,” you mumble, flashing her the screen. It does seem pretty silly to be mad at him when his contact photo is that goofy picture on his I.D. badge. That thing hasn’t changed in years-- not that it should. 

You roll your eyes and accept the call. Of course, you don’t bring the level of sass you’re feeling into your answer, “sir.”

It’s hard to tell what’s going on but you can hear the low murmuring of the others in the background. It takes a moment but the noises die down and Hotch has managed to find somewhere quieter on the jet. The way he says your name is a simple, soft sigh. Relieved. “I hope you’re not too terribly mad with me.”

The worst part is that you aren’t. 

“It was unfair of me to ask you to stay back,” he whispers. “I apologize.”

You glance at Garcia-- she’s leaning back in her chair and watching the exchange out of the corner out of her ye. Giving you privacy without actually leaving or even pretending not to be eavesdropping.

“I was being a pain in the ass,” you reply. “Neither of us was being very helpful.”

He grunts and you know you’ve managed to pull a corner of his mouth into a smile.

“Besides, I can use all the reprieve I can get from Derek’s ugly mug.” Where Garcia makes a horrifying little noise, Hotch stifles a chuckle, and now you can’t help your own grin. 

It’s enough to make him keep calling. It feels like every freaking ten minutes but Garcia figures out the schedule pretty simply: each time he sends the others out to check a scene or visit the morgue. Each time he as a second for free time. 

“What can I do you for,” you grumble as you pinch the phone between your shoulder and chin.

His reply comes deadpanned, “I’m sorry? Are you busy?” 

Dumb question but you don’t point that out verbally. You roll your eyes and pull your attention from your laptop. You’d been sending Emily text updates about what you were finding out about the women. Garci’a system is complicated but with the teacher there to help, you found you’re actually pretty good at this deep web stuff. 

“No,” you push yourself back from the desk and wave to Garcia as she comes in.

Her jaw opens and she raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Again,” she mouths.

You nod. “You don’t have to keep calling,” you tell him, accepting the tea that Garcia hands you. “I am fine. Everything’s fine here.” 

He makes a sound and you realize that it’s two in the morning in Utah-- that’s still about four in the morning here in Virginia but you’d snagged a nap.

“I-uh,” his voice is rough. “I just…” a nightmare, you deduce. Why else would he be calling at two in the morning? The others are in bed, Morgan had sent you and Garcia to bed a few hours earlier. She’d taken the couch in her own office and you’d taken the one in Hotch’s office. Not that he needed to know that.

But this knowledge makes your throat tight. “Are you okay,” you ask.

He shakes his head but manages a rasped yes. 

“I bet you wish you’d let me come along now, huh?”

He does because if you’d come he could just knock on your hotel door and see you. “You’re safe in Virginia,” he says, starting to sound a bit more like himself. True but still. “I, uhm,” he clears his throat and you can hear how uncomfortable he suddenly is with his vulnerability. 

“Go get some sleep,” you interrupt.

He nods, “okay.”

You smile at your phone, at him. “And Hotch?”

“Hm?”

“When you get home I’m going to give you a hug, okay?”

He smiles, “okay.”

[shreddedparchment]

Absence Makes the Heart

04/17/2020

Pairing: Superman x Reader          Word Count: 5,431

Warnings: language, lots of language, violence, blood, wounds, injuries, plenty of angst

DCEU Canon

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this one down for a while. It’s based on a dream I had but I just went and added details and a little bit of backstory. Nothing too crazy. This will probably just be a one shot. The top half is heavily edited while the second half I just spat out because I was inspired and I went with it. Hopefully it’s good. This is my first foray into something other than Marvel, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Edit: I forgot to thank @babiiface95​ @evansweaters​ and @sherrybaby14​ for giving me some feedback on this! It helped tons!! xoxo

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

In this moment, all you can feel is the pain in your side.

You stumble forward, hitting the chestnut wood of your door hard. With nothing to brace yourself on, you slide along the length of it until you’re sitting, shoulder pressed against it.

“Ugh…” You groan, letting your hand trace the smooth grain until it can latch onto the handle. “Fuck this shit. I quit.”

You tell no one.

There hasn’t been anyone for months.

The door gives as you twist the knob sending you falling onto the small foyer of your apartment. You’re on the top floor, beside the penthouse. Your own place is small. Compact. Just three rooms, four if you count your bathroom.

You pull yourself along the dated ceramic tile and watch as you leave a smear of red behind you.

“Honey…” You begin, kicking the door shut while you stay flattered against the floor. “…I’m home.”

No one responds.

You exhale through your nose as annoyance rips through your chest.

“Fucker.” You say at no one, but obviously someone.

It takes every ounce of strength you have left to haul yourself into your bathroom. You peel off your suit, letting it drop to the floor in a whip of heavy fabric, space quality tech that was not fashioned on Earth but created for you.

To protect you.

Because he said he cared.

“Fucking…fucker.” You huff, yanking the first aid kit from the open shelf beneath your sink.

Your sports bra is drenched in sweat and blood, sticky against your skin as you plop yourself at the small kitchen table. You pull open the kit and reach for needle and thread.

It’s a messy stitch, clumsy and crooked from the angle you’re forced to work in. However sloppy, you do seal the wound to your ribs and the bleeding finally stops.

In your blood-soaked underwear, you make yourself a sandwich and stand at your counter, staring at the primary blue coffee cup sitting beside your own in teal.

You chew loudly, smacking your mouth as the bread sticks to the roof of your mouth. Eyes glaring at the cup, you bite down more fiercely. Tearing the food apart angrily.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Y/N. Get over it.” You sigh, then retreat to your bathroom to tidy up.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exhaustion is not your friend. It makes you cranky and irritable and sad because you can’t stand the silence in your home.

You groan, pressing your hand against your side gently, then reach for the remote and turn on the TV to war the silence.

It’s a cacophony of sound and for a moment, it grates your nerves. Some cartoon, loud and full of slapstick.

Next channel has people screaming at each other from opposite sides of a stage. Chairs begin to get thrown. A guy with a mullet takes off his shoe and chucks it at a man with one ear.

Next channel has an old black and white movie. The pretty woman with dark curls and a heart shaped face leans across a table, chin in her hand as she moons over the composed man who is smirking at her casually.

Nope. You think. No romance.

Next channel is the news.

“-sure what to make of what we’re seeing. It’s like nothing we have witnessed before. Veronica, can you tell us what’s happening?” The news anchor presses his hand to his ear, eyes squinted as he stares ahead.

The screen shifts and Veronica—a pretty woman with flowing red hair and deep blue eyes fills your screen.

“Miguel, it looks as if all of the ocean’s water is being pulled away from our coastline and out towards the ocean. Where the water is going, we aren’t sure. There is no way to know what this means or what can be causing it. And although we’ve seen this phenomenon happen in films, doomsday blockbusters where a tidal wave the height of a skyscraper builds up before the subsequent flood, experts are sure this is not at all what’s going on.

There are dozens of meteorologists, marine biologists, oceanographers, and astronomers still searching for the cause. The only thing that they all can agree on for certain is that the oceans are not withdrawing, but rather, they are draining, leaving sea life, coral reefs, and the ocean floor exposed.

“Something is pulling this water away. Whatever is causing this, is not natural.”

Sitting up, you place your elbows on your knees as the video changes to that of a helicopter shot as it circles the ever-decreasing ocean line. A humpback whale and her calf attempt to outswim the retreat, but they fail and as the water falls away, the creatures are beached between two sheer ocean cliffs.

“What the hell…” Reaching up, you cover your mouth, watching as the video moves back to Veronica.

“If we can’t figure out why the ocean is draining, we will have hundreds if not thousands of species left without chance of survival. This is not only a loss of a life for many endangered species, but also leaves us to face the consequences within our fishing industries and the millions of people it not only feeds but employs as well. If we cannot stop-”

Veronica suddenly stops speaking, holding her hand to her ear as she listens for a moment.

“Sorry, Miguel, it looks as if Doctor Rashda has found a source point for the draining. Doctor Rashda can you hear me?” Veronica asks, waiting for a moment before the video splits vertically.

The second frame of video sits empty, a sloping sandbank visible in the distance. It curves around in a semi-circle at the center of which is a growing swirl of dark blue water.

“Doctor Rashda?” Veronica asks again, her eyes frantic as they search a monitor out of view.

“Surrender.” A voice says, high pitched. Female. “Surrender and you will not suffer. Surrender your planet, and I shall make your end quick.”

Veronica is silent as the column of swirling water parts a little, just enough so that a pale face is visible.

“Surrender.” The voice says again, the pale face’s lips moving as it speaks. “And you will die quickly.”

Frowning, you move to the edge of your seat, your anger doubling.

“M-Miguel are you seeing this?” Veronica asks, voice small with fear.

Miguel doesn’t answer.

The figure in the water holds out its hand and from the swirl comes a smaller sphere. In this sphere something moves. As the camera zooms in, you can make out the distinct shape of a body, thrashing within its bubble.

Veronica screams just as you and everyone else that must be watching realizes that within the bubble is Doctor Rashda, struggling and gasping for breath.

You’re up on your feet, racing to pull your suit back on when a commotion pulls your eyes back to the TV, legs already in but with one shoulder exposed as you freeze mid-dress.

“He’s back!” Veronica is shouting gleefully. Relief and reverence painting her voice. “Superman is back!”

You move two steps closer to the TV, not intending to take the word of a panicked reporter. Until you can lay your own eyes on him then it isn’t real.

A few seconds pass. Then, a blur of blue and red streaks through the center of the bubble and when the water stops rippling, Doctor Rashda isn’t there.

“Motherfucker.”

You pull your suit on roughly, ignoring the way the movement tugs at your side as you zip up and launch out your open window.

You fall fast, plummeting towards the ground in a streak of teal and gray. When you’re only three feet away, you feel a surge of power as your arms, and legs burn with white hot energy.

It pushes you upwards and propels you higher and higher until you’re soaring across the sky at incredible speeds, leaving a silver trail of light behind you.

It only takes you minutes to reach the coast but sometime between you jumping out of your living room window and arriving here by the Golden Gate, the fight has moved cityside.

You hear a deafening crunch as blue and red goes slamming into black, gray, and brown ocean floor, disappearing into the subsequent rubble.

Heart pounding, you propel yourself towards a thin figure, long stringy black hair, sallow skin, arm still stretched out from her hit. She turns to look at you just as you reach her, but you throw your own fist out in a powerful uppercut. It throws the strange woman high into the air.

You follow for a few feet, hovering in there as you watch her skyrocket out of sight into dark clouds overhead.

Behind you the heap of ocean floor rubble begins to shift.

Coming to rest on the cliffside above, six feet below he breaks through the rock and it falls around him, a flurry of fine sediment saturating the air.

Chest heaving, side burning, heart clenched so tight you think it might truly be shredding, you watch as the fucker stands up and does a quick scan of the area looking just as perfect as he did when he left.

His eyes are focused, searching the sky for sight of his attacker but instead he finds you.

His eyes soften and you’re still so angry you glare. You turn on your heel and walk away, staring up at the sky as you wait for the woman to fall.

“Y/N…” You hear him say, but you don’t turn to look at him.

You can feel the swirling of wind as he flies up to you, the soft pats as his feet hit the ground. He circles around your right, leaning forward to get a better look at your face.

In your peripherals you can see the gentle curl of his dark hair, falling along his forehead and a hundred memories of your hand gently sweeping it aside make your body tremble.

The pleasure that the memory brings makes your blood boil and you roll your eyes, ignoring the puppy eyes he gives you.

“Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.” You assert and watch as the strange woman careens towards the two of you, an inhuman screech growing louder as she falls.

Moving forward a few steps you aim yourself, bend your knees and launch yourself up towards her. As you collide, she grabs hold of your shoulders, and the two of you twist and spin in the air, struggling to get the upper hand.

Shifting quickly, you pull her over you, grab hold of her shirt front and with all the force in your body, you spin and chuck her down as Clark flies towards you to finish the job.

~~~~~~~~~~

A tattered white dress is all that remains of the ocean thief.

“Who was she?” Clark wonders, moving to stand beside you as you watch the stain of saltwater grow as her body dissolves to nothing.

“You don’t know?” You ask him, turning to look at him and hating how much it pleases you to finally see him again.

His broad body, thick with muscle and stupidly accentuated by his damn blue skintight suit, feels larger than before he left though you know that’s silly. He’s as God like as ever, though he’s only an alien. To the world, he’s a savior. Invincible.

Superman.

What really hurts to look at are his eyes.

It chokes you, those baby blues, full of unspoken questions and expectation. For you. For the future. For the present. He wants to know you again.

You tear your gaze back down to the woman as Clark shakes his head.

“No. I was flying home when I saw the ocean empty and followed the trail to the spout she was in.” Clark explains.

“Well, it’s too late to find out now.” You point out. “The water will come back soon. You’ll need to make sure people stay away from the coastline.”

Turning towards him, you wait, your rage evened out and layered with betrayal.

That painful gaze of his so piercing it nearly steals your breath away.

“Where were you, Clark?” You ask quietly, your anger outweighing the hurt.

The apologetic look he gives you, the tilt of his head, the step he takes towards you grates your nerves.

“Y/N-”

“It’s been months. Almost a year.” You sigh, unwilling to give in.

He takes your hand and the impulse to pull away nearly overwhelms you.

His hands are rough, only in that masculine way. His skin is unblemished. Perfect.

The strength of his movements are carefully calculated. A natural habit he’s developed after a lifetime of having to be gentle to keep from breaking those he touches. The heat from his hands is familiar and it envelops yours easily.

“I was coming home.” He tells you.

“Home? How do you know that it’s still your home? Maybe someone else has moved in.” You threaten and there’s a visible fall in his eyes.

It nearly breaks your icy exterior. But you have every right to be angry and hurt that he left you. Out of the blue, no word as to where he was going or when he’d come back.

“I have to go.” He’d said, and left you sitting on the couch, wondering when he’d come home.

He looks down at your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

“You went to see her first, didn’t you?” You accuse and he quickly meets your gaze.

“No.” He assures you passionately, moving a little closer. “No, I was going straight home.”

“She’s been looking for you.” You tell him, tempted to confess how useless you’d been in those first few weeks he was gone. “All of them have been. Where is Superman? Is the million-dollar question. And now here you are.”

He’s back just as randomly as he’d left. Just as sudden. Just as quiet.

“There he is!” A familiar voice shouts. On the bank across the large ravine you both stand in Veronica appears looking dazzled and excited, her camera man hoisting up his camera to begin what will be the first clear footage of Superman finally back. Earth’s hero returned.

Quickly you pull your hand from his and turn to walk away.

“Where are you going?” He asks, following for a few steps.

“Home. I’ve been in Australia for the last month dismantling a new crime syndicate with Bruce. He and I are both very tired. He stayed behind.”

“Oh.” Clark says.

“Superman!” Someone calls. “Superman is back!”

Civilians have begun to gather along the empty waterway, all of them eager for a glance at the Man of Steel.

You know how you made it sound and maybe it’s your annoyance making you push him away now that he’s home, but all you can think about is getting back home and being alone.

“The water will be back, Kal.” You shift to his birthname with so many ears nearby. “Get these people away.”

You leave him standing there, watching you fly away, with those baby blues full of quiet yearning.

~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment…your home…it’s a void.

You sit on the arm of your sofa still in full uniform, hand gently resting on your thigh—palm up. You’re a mess again. Dirty with blood and dirt and sweat.

Needing a shower doesn’t do much to deter your silly brooding. Silly because you did this to yourself. You made it seem like you had someone new waiting for you here when really the bleak emptiness is in need of a six-foot, three-inch tall Kryptonian.

His presence is here. Loud and white hot. His coffee cup burns you from across the kitchen—asking where its owner is. His drawer still full of clothes. Comfy sweatshirts and crisp white t-shirts. Blues and grays and reds too.

There’s one you’d set aside. The last he’d worn. Only once. It had sat on the end of your bed night after night until you’d caved and pulled it on. Now it probably smells more like you than him.

The place is silent. Only the drip, drip, drip of the bathroom sink breaks the quiet.

Your gaze wanders to his shoes by the door, shoelaces left undone, a small speck of mud on the side of the left heel.

Shutting them, your eyes water.

No. You shake your head. I won’t cry.

You take a shaky breath and release it slowly, sighing as your body slumps forward.

The movement reminds you of your earlier wound and you gasp in pain as you sit up straight again, leaning to the side to look at the spot growing increasingly wet on your side.

“Shit.” Stitches are probably torn open. “Fuck.”

Maybe it’s your frustration with this whole situation or maybe your wound really just hurts a lot, but as you reach over to feel the bloody spot, your voice finally breaks. Though there are no tears, they really want to fall.

“Fucking, stupid, fucking…” You sigh again, this time faster, angry.

“That’s a lot of French.” Clark says, his voice smooth and even and excruciatingly beautiful to your ears.

You stand up, startled, and spin to watch him pull his left leg in through your open window, following his torso.

He’s still in his suit, cape and all. Once again, the sight of him reminds you of his Godlike status. His perfection unreachable and yet, here he is. In your home. Where he’d given himself to you openly and without reservation.

He stands there, his hands clenched into nervous fists. Skin just as dirty as yours but not sweaty. Not bloody. His hair is a little disheveled. The tresses normally so carefully tempered are free to curl and wave.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice still weak from your raw emotional outburst.

“I went to see Bruce.” He explains, and you might just kick yourself for implying Bruce would be waiting for you. “Why-?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you.” You admit, cutting him off before he can word the question. “Because I wanted you to regret leaving me the way you did.”

“I do regret it.” He sighs. “I-I only left because I thought I heard…”

He hesitates and you’re tempted to kick him out. You turn away from him and move into the kitchen, trying to ignore the wound that needs tending.

With your own coffee cup in hand, you pop a k-cup in your Keurig and punch the power button, waiting for it to power on before you select the largest cup option and listen to the whirr of the motors instead of Clark’s silence.

“I went to Krypton, or what’s left of it.” Clark finally says, this time from the mouth of your kitchen archway, hands still clamped tight.

You shut your eyes tight, hands clinging to the edge of your counter. Squeezing ever tighter until they begin to ache, and you still only keep squeezing.

“I wish I could be as impressed by that answer as I was the first time you told me that.” You shake your head.

“It was different this time, Y/N.” He shakes his head, then takes a step closer.

The movement draws your eyes and you watch the intense focus on his face, the uncertainty to speak.

“What is it?” You ask, still a little bitter.

Even though he looks as if he means it and this trip to Krypton is more serious, he’s not speaking. He’s keeping this from you. Holding it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ Clark, I guess you don’t trust me.”

“No.” He insists, moving another step closer which still leaves him a ways away from you in the kitchen. “It’s not that. I do trust you. More than anyone. But…”

You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to go to hell and to stay away from you and to shove his excuses up his ass, but your curiosity is growing.

There’s a small panic in his baby blue eyes. A fear.

So, you wait. You hold your tongue. You’re patient for now. You give him a familiar silence that tells him you will wait until he’s ready.

He recognizes it and meets your quizzical gaze as your coffee finishes brewing.

You don’t even realize it’s done as you stare into Clark’s eyes and he stares into yours.

The moment he decides, his shoulders relax. His jaw drops a fraction of an inch as he stops clenching his teeth.

As the weight on his shoulders is visibly lifted, you feel yourself relax too. Nearly a year of being without him and you’re still so attuned to his moods.

“I found someone.” He tells you. “On another planet, in a Kryptonian ship that had been sent only days after my own.”

“Another Kryptonian?” You ask, curious but also fearful.

You remember very clearly the last Kyrptonian that had come to Earth. Zod and his minions had torn Metropolis to shreds. They’d killed so many people and Clark had made the hardest decision in his life.

Not that you’d been there. She’d been there. But Clark had let you in on the weight of that moment. The choice that he hated to make but would gladly do so again.

He must see the fear in your eyes because he shakes his head and takes yet another step towards you.

“No. Don’t be scared. Really. She’s-”

She?!

“-she’s harmless.” You frown at him because that’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s said since getting back. Maybe the stupidest thing ever.

“Okay,” He amends. “Maybe not harmless, exactly. She’s my cousin, Y/N. And she needed help.”

“Your cousin?” You ask, voice low and full of questions.

“From what I can tell, she was sent here after me, but when her ship was knocked off course, she was trapped in form of hypersleep for a long time. She was older than me, but now she’s a lot younger.” Clark continues to explain, speaking with some gusto now that you’ve allowed him to pick up some momentum.

“Where is she?” You wonder.

“I left her with a family that can take care of her. Someone that I trust. Far away from me. She’s still very young and I think it would be best if she remained hidden for a while. Just until she learns how to control her abilities here on Earth and to give the world time to get used to the idea of another Kryptonian.” He takes one more step.

“After Zod, I don’t know that there is any amount of time that would prepare the world for a Supergirl.” You frown.

With your defenses lowered, Clark takes the opportunity to step even closer, finally stopping beside you.

He hesitates again, this time as he reaches to take hold of your elbow. His fingers press against your arm gently like he’s stroking piano keys. Testing to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

He lifts your arm a little and doesn’t break eye contact with you until your arm is lifted enough that he can get a clear look at the red on your side. Head tilted to the right as he assess the injury.

Straightening his head, he slides his hand down to your hand, taking it before gently pulling you away from the kitchen, through your bedroom, and into your bathroom, switching on lights as he goes.

Watching him be like this has always been your favorite. He moves with a purpose, eyes trained on what he’s looking for without a glance spared your way.

You stand beside him as he holds your hand, hunched over to look under the sink for your first aid kit.

After he retrieves it, he pulls you back out into the kitchen. There’s more room there for both your bodies, especially with his taking up so much space.

He places the kit on the floor before he pulls you in front of him. Both of his hands find your waist and he lifts you up onto the edge of the counter to sit.

Slightly surprised, you gasp and place your hands on his shoulders, tracing the muscle while you can do so discreetly until you must remove them and place them at your sides.

Clark steps towards you, his hard abdomen pressed up against your legs as he wraps both arms around you, hands searching for the zipper on your back. Leaning over your shoulder to get a look at it, he’s almost hugging you.

And you can’t stand the tease of it.

The movement is quick, and he leans back again once he’s got the suit undone.

“What happened?” He asks as he hooks his thumbs into the top of your suit and pulls it down over your shoulders, your biceps—then holds the arms still as he waits for you to pull them out—then bunches it down along your waist to expose your injured side. “Lift your arm.”

You do as he ass, wincing as it tugs on the reopened cut.

“This is deep.” He disapproves.

“Bruce and I really were in Australia. One of the guys caught me with a knife just as we were getting them rounded up.” You explain.

“This is gonna hurt.” He tells you as he pulls the kit onto the counter beside you and pulls out a pair of small scissors and tweezers.

It takes him almost no time at all to snip away the broken threads and clean the wound again.

He waits, thinking for a moment, then meeting your gaze.

“Do you want something for the pain?” He checks, eyebrows raised in worry.

“Just do it, Clark.” You sigh, frustrated because this is all too familiar. This proximity, the smells, the heat, the way his hands poke and prod at the edges of your cut.

His eyebrows gather together as his jaw flexes with a frown, staring at the cut as he threads the needle quickly.

A proper needle this time, sanitized and threaded properly.

Taking your lifted arm, he pulls it over his head onto the opposite shoulder and places your hand there where his cape meets his suit.

“It’s gonna hurt.” He says again, and you realize he’s giving you something to squeeze.

And he’s right. Without the adrenaline from before, you feel every stitch and you’d thin you would get used to this sensation. But it hurts like fuck all and you squeeze his cape tight until you can’t help but give a small yell in annoyance.

“Why is it always the little wounds that hurt the most?” You sigh as he sips the thread and moves to clean his work area.

“You should go shower.” Clark says as he sanitizes the counter. “Be careful with your stitches.”

You don’t fight him on this because you desperately need another shower. Maybe if you’d been fine, you would have argued, but you’re dirty and aching.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you find that the sky outside has darkened. You dress quickly, just a pair of black old cutoff sweats and one of Clark’s gray hoodies.

You’re absolutely swimming in it, but it’s so soft and comfortable. Loose so that it doesn’t add any pressure to your stitches.

The apartment is so quiet you stand there, pulling the sweatshirt down as you listen intently for any kind of movement.

“Clark?” You call, just a little insecure after months of his absence.

You move out into the living room. The floorboards creak and moan as they settle beneath your feet. The large carpet in your living room silences your steps but you also stop walking, staring at the empty kitchen, then the empty living room.

Had you dreamt him?

Maybe he really isn’t back?

What if you’ve finally gone crazy?

What if he’s never coming back and you’d passed out after you got back from Australia and everything with the ocean had been a dream?

Are you really going nuts?

There’s a soft thud from your bedroom and with eager footsteps you rush back in.

Sitting on his side of the bed with his bare feet planted on the ground, Clark is hunched over. Elbows on his knees. Hands resting relaxed at the wrist while he stares at the floorboard underneath your bedroom window.

“Clark…” You sigh, not realizing how relieved you sound.

He’s changed, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.

He looks good. Showered. His curls just barely damp.

“Am I welcome here?” He asks, staring ahead.

You move to the bed and climb on, walking on your knees towards him until you stop just a foot away and sit back on your legs.

It’s a good question. One you think on for a moment.

“You didn’t come back for ten months, Clark.” You sigh, hating that fact. “I didn’t know if something had happened to you or maybe you’d decided to leave me and Earth behind altogether? Mostly I just thought you were dead. I spent most of my time convincing myself that you’re so close to invincible that killing you might be impossible but-”

“I’ve died before.” Clark says, hating the idea that people think him a God. He turns towards you and frowns.

His words, however true they may be, send painful clenches into your chest.

Your face does something that makes his demeanor shift. Suddenly he’s sitting beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches up to push your hair back and away from your face.

His fingers graze the skin of your neck and he hooks it there, squeezing gently.

“I’m not dead.” He says, maybe guessing your thoughts of madness? “I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t.” You shake your head. “And I was so angry at you. I hated you. I cursed your name. Fuck that guy. Stupid fucker. I hate him.”

Clark simply watches you, his eyes moving side to side as he looks at your face and every expression that crosses your features.

The one thing that you’ve always loved about Clark, is the way that you can tell he’s really listening. Not once have you felt as if you weren’t being heard. Even if he doesn’t agree with whatever you’re saying, he listens so intently, trying to understand your point of view before he poses his own.

And you love him for it.

Shit. You still love him. Of course, you do. Of course, he’s always been yours.

Even in his absence, you were his and he was yours.

“I said that almost every night, hoping that you would hear me and come back. But you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Clark says. “I’m here. And I’m sorry I left without explanation. I’m sorry that I put you through that. And I know that you can’t forgive me for it. That I’ll be trying to earn your trust again every day that we’re together. But, please can I stay?”

He rubs your lower back, his large hand sending heat into every inch of your heart. Restarting it after he killed it ten months ago.

“Please?” He begs. “All I’ve thought about is getting back here. To you. To our home and our life together.”

You shut your eyes, relishing in the way his arms feel around you, his hands large and hot. His breath is sweet and warm. His scent is clean and so him that it makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t need that shirt of his anymore. Now you have him back, here with you. Where you can touch and feel and love and laugh and just be with him.

“Or should I leave?” He asks.

Your eyes pop open, red fury raging through them. “You do and I’ll hunt you down, Kent.”

He smiles, softly at first. But when your hand begins to trace the taut sinew of his muscly forearm, his smile grows wider. It grows and grows until it’s blinding and beautiful.

You trace the curve of his shoulder, tickle his neck before reaching up to smooth the curls that fall against his forehead gently.

He shuts his eyes, enjoying the affection before you push yourself forward between his legs and settle on your side.

You cuddle into the center of his chest, tucking yourself between his arms, head on his chest, under his chin, arms grabbing tight to the soft cotton of his shirt.

“I missed you.” He whispers against your hair.

You smile, shutting your eyes as you let yourself finally be at ease. Clark is home.

[writesowhatnext]

you have to give a dog a name // frank castle

Summary: Frank takes a liking to a waitress at a diner – in Hell’s Kitchen it would never be long before the same waitress gets introduced to the Punisher

Request: just something i’d been thinking of for a while tbh

A/N: love Frankie 

Reader: female

Warnings: age difference, violence, assault, swearing, dogs, injuries, guns

part 1 // part 2

Working the night shift at the diner down the street just to earn enough money to survive whilst also trying to get through school was not easy nor ideal. But it wasn’t the worst option. Not by a long shot. Especially not in Hell’s Kitchen, where vigilantes and evil villains ran around like they owned the place. Although, that’s exactly what they did.

You didn’t get what was considered enough sleep; what with half your time spent on night shifts and the other half working hard enough to escape them. So, whilst you stood there, behind the counter, at 4am, you barely noticed the guy in the baseball cap sitting in the booth across the diner. When you did, you fumbled for the coffee jug, dragging it across the counter towards him. He’d been in the diner almost religiously for the last two months – only ever in the night shift between the hours of 2 and 5am. You didn’t know his name and given the city you lived in, chose to ignore how bruised his face always seemed to be.

“Just coffee today?” You asked, pouring him a cup. He lifted his head slightly, only grumbling in response. On the other side of the restaurant, there was a clicking sound from a businessman with a grey suit and an uglier briefcase. He looked at you expectantly, clearly irritated. You bit your lip. Asshole.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in some breakfast? I make some mean eggs.” He smiled slightly as you sighed. The clicking noise from the man’s fingers just got louder and more impatient.

“No thanks, Doll, just coffee.”

You nodded, offering him your own smile before your face dropped and you were forced across the room to an impatient middle-aged man’s beck and call. You fetched him the cheque, chancing a glance at the clock on the wall. 6am couldn’t arrive fast enough.

To say you were surprised to see no tip when you picked up the cheque from the businessman’s now empty table would be an overstatement of great proportions. You cleared his table, noticing that the man in the baseball cap had also left. However, when you went to retrieve the empty coffee cup from his table, you were surprised to see the face of Andrew Jackson. You frowned, smiling slightly before seeing to the other few-and-far-between customers in the diner at this time.

For the next few nights, you didn’t see the mysterious tipper in the diner. You didn’t think much of it, though. And at 5.30am, you weren’t going to lose the very little sleep you had thinking of it any more. Only thirty more minutes and you could escape and get some rest; well-deserved, you thought. The diner was actually completely empty, surprising for this time. The last customer you’d had (a lady, typing away into a computer for about three hours, that went through around seventeen cups of coffee) had just left. She’d paid in coins, and given a generous tip, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you placed each individual coin into cash register unbearably slowly. You muttered under your breath as you dropped a couple onto the floor.

As you bent down to pick them up, the bell at the door rang. Heavy, dragged footsteps made you frown but as you stood back, you were pleasantly surprised to see a familiar baseball cap, less so to see fresh bruises and- was that blood?

“Are you okay?” you asked, throwing the rest of the coins into the register and slamming it shut, leaning over the counter. The corner of his lips drew upwards as he sat at the counter, folding his arms in front of him.

“Fine, Doll.”

You frowned and grabbed the coffee jug from the machine, pouring him a cup and sliding it over.

“My name is Y/N.”

“Okay.” He smiled again and you couldn’t help but frown at the purplish hues of his face, the blood peeking out from under his hat. “Are eggs still on the menu?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his request but before long, a smile grew.

“Of course.”

He watched you mill around behind the counter, from the fridge to the pans to the shelves underneath the surface.

“Can I get you anything with that? Bacon? Hash browns? Mushrooms? Toast?”

“You’re okay, Doll. Eggs are fine.”

You nodded.

“How do you want them?”

“Surprise me.”

The silence was comfortable and nobody else decided they wanted diner food before six in the morning, fortunately. You were so involved in cooking that you completely forgot about counting down the minutes until your shift was over.

“Voila,” you placed down a place in front of him, not unaware of the way his eyes never strayed from your face. “Two eggs, over-easy. Because it’s my favourite.”

You grabbed some cutlery and a little sauce and seasoning rack and placed it in front of him.

“Thanks.”

You leant on your elbows, trying not to watch him eat but finding nothing better to do. He ate quietly and quickly, not bothering to add any extras. Just eggs and black coffee.

“What’s your name?” you asked. The way he paused didn’t escape you.

“Frank.”

Frank, you thought, definitely suited him.

The phone in the back rang; knowing it would be your boss, you offered Frank a smile and disappeared into the back. After a conversation that was not only unnecessary but about quite literally nothing, you returned to the front. Frank wasn’t there, he’d been replaced by Ulysses S. Grant. The bell above the door rang again as the girl on the day shift arrived. She shot you a sympathetically annoyed glance. You gave her a smile, thankful to be able to finally remove your apron and go sleep.

It wasn’t until thanksgiving that you saw Frank again. It was the night before and ever the gracious leader, your boss had let you leave early. Midnight. Lovely. So, you walked through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen warily, with your key shoved between your knuckles. You were about half a block from your house when you felt eyes on you. Your skin crawled. Walking down the alley, you heard footsteps behind you and the bleakest part of your mind hoped that you were only going to get mugged.

“Where you going, sweetheart?” a voice called out from in front of you. You swerved to the left, quickening your pace. Fuck fuck fuck.

“No need to run. We just wanna say hello.”

You stopped suddenly as a short white guy cut you off. He was smiling. You heard the footsteps behind you get louder.

“I don’t want any trouble-“

“Neither do we, Darling.” The man behind you was closer than you thought.

“Please-“

The man behind you grabbed your upper arm. Your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear, your ears throbbing.

With a strange jolt of adrenaline, you clenched your hand around the keys, jamming them into the man in front’s shoulder. He shouted as you pulled them out, reaching for you. Before he could reach you, the other man twisted you round to face him and he’s toothy smile. Mindlessly, you punched your hand into his face, feeling the keys sink into his cheek. He groaned and pushed you back. The keys dropped from your hand into a puddle on the ground. Fuck. You fell into the other man, hating the way his fingernails dug into your arm.

“You’re a bitch.” The one you had punched in the face spat, his cheek bleeding. The one behind you held you still – not from your lack of struggling – as the other approached. Your bag slid down your arm as you tried to rip your arms away; feeling his harsh grip eat into your arms.

A fist collided with your face and suddenly you were on the floor. A bottle smashed underneath you and you cried out, feeling the glass settle into the skin on your arm. You turned over, tasting blood in your mouth as your head swam. You could hear them talking behind you, chuckling to each other. You pushed yourself onto your hands and knees, your whole chest heaving. You reached for the rest of the half-shattered bottle, fingers skimming the glass surface. Before you could catch your breath, a hand gripped your hair roughly, pulling you to your feet as a cry left your lips. You’d managed to grasp the bottle and as your eyes watered from the pain in your head, you twisted round and thrust your hand into the figure holding you. He fell to the floor and you felt sick at the sight of the green glass buried in his shoulder, blood leaking around it and his eyes bulging.

“What the fuck?” the other man said, looking between you and his friend with angry eyes. You panicked, reaching to the ground to fish your keys from the puddle, hoping to get away. You didn’t get far before a hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back. He twisted your arm until you dropped your keys again. Your cry was cut short when his thick fingers wrapped around your throat and shoved you into the wall. Your free hand reached up to your neck, desperately trying to peel his fingers away.

“You fucking slut.” You moved your hand from your neck to his face, pulled and pushing to try and get him to let go. You clawed at his skin before shoving your fingers into his eyes, pushing until he let go and you dropped to the floor. You couldn’t breathe. Your heart was hammering.

You started to crawl away; your knees were sore against the concrete. Again, you didn’t get far. The same horrible hand caged your ankle and suddenly you were pulled towards him. Your knees sang in pain as you collided with the ground again. You would no doubt have rashes when you got out of this. If you got out of this. He stood between your legs and a different kind of fear overtook you. With nothing keeping you there, you backed away, elbows wet from puddles on the ground. The other guy still hadn’t got up, hand at his shoulder. He was breathing though, which you supposed was good for you.

You saw out of the corner of your eye, behind you, a piece of piping. As he got closer, his eyes predatory and angry, you quickened your pace, trying to ignore the pain you felt in your face, your knees and your neck. You grabbed at the piping as best you could, it spinning away from you as you panicked, still facing him. He bent down again to grip your ankle, dragging you once again, making you wince. He settled on his knees, hands groping up your leg. Your stomach dropped even further. You tried to back away but his fingers dug into your hips. You could feel his breath on your face and you tried to push him away but he shoved your wrist into the dirt behind you. You tried to kick but he knelt on your shins, pinning them down.

With your free hand, you pawed at the pipe, praying you could reach it as his hands strayed to your waist. With renewed panic, your hand finally found the pipe and before you knew it, you were swinging. It struck him in the side of the head; he jolted to the left. He was angry. So, you hit him again, burying into his skull. He sagged on top of you and all you could feel was your breath unable to escape your chest, his heavy body touching your skin. You rolled over. His hand twitched towards you. So, you hit him again. And again. And again. You were crying and sweating and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t stop either. Not when his blood hit your face, not even when you were sure he was dead. You only stopped when you heard your name behind you.

You spun around, wielding the pipe roughly, pointing it towards whoever was there. Your heart stopped a little when you saw Frank. His eyes softened at the feral panic in your own eyes. His hands were raised in surrender, showing he meant you no harm. You wanted to believe him but in his right hand was a gun.

“Who the hell-“ the man with the glass in his shoulder began before a shot rang out. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he pointed his gun. You looked down at the man, briefly noting the way he dropped to the ground. Frank’s hand disappeared behind his back. You watched him tuck his gun into his waistband, approaching you slowly. He noticed your bag on the floor, fishing it out of a puddle, and the streetlight glint off of your keys a good few feet away. He picked them up too.

“You’re okay, Y/N.” he said softly. You dropped the pipe, barely hearing the clang as it hit the floor. You could feel yourself shaking as he got closer but you didn’t move. You didn’t want to see the man behind you. The man you were sure you’d killed. Frank knelt down in front of you, his hands still raised. You absent-mindedly wondered why he didn’t care about his jeans getting wet. You were sure they’d seen worse stains.

“Can you stand?” he asked softly. Looking at him, into his dark eyes, you couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t going to hurt you. So, you nodded. But then you tried. You felt like Bambi as you tried to make it onto two feet. You scrunched your eyes shut as you stood, wobbling.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

You nodded again but still winced as his hand rested on your arm gently. His tough, calloused palms were soft above your bruised skin.

“I killed him.” You muttered, over and over again as Frank pulled you slowly and gently into his chest. His arms surrounding you stilled your shaking slightly; you were grateful. You were confused when his right arm disappeared and his other hand pushed the side of your head further into his chest. It hurt briefly but when his hand covered your ear and another gunshot broke the silence, you silently thanked him.

“I killed him.” Frank said softly, his right arm returning to pull you into him. His logic was shaky but you appreciated the sentiment. “Where do you live, Doll?”

You couldn’t reply.

He stopped trying.

Without jostling you too much, he bent down and lifted your legs off of the floor. You were in a trance as he walked down the city streets, away from those men. You only sort of registered being inside, only taking notice when he lowered you to the ground. Still shaking, he didn’t dare move his hand away from your back. A jingling sound rang from another room, getting louder. You flinched. Then a dog appeared. It was a pit-bull with a too-large collar and a wiggle when it walked. A small smile lifted your cheek.

“Go away.” Frank said to the dog. The dog only barked back, coming closer to you with its wagging tail. Frank was about to shoo him out the room when you bent down, patting its head gently. Once again, Frank’s expression softened.

“What’s its name?”

Your voice was hoarse and broken and Frank barely recognised it.

“He doesn’t have one.”

You looked up at Frank then, with an almost teasing smile. You didn’t say anything though; just turned your attention back to the very grateful dog in front of you.

“Come on,” Frank said, lightly touching your arm, unable to tear his eyes away from the already forming bruises. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You left the dog rather reluctantly, following Frank into a cramped bathroom. He coughed slightly. “If you take your clothes off and sit on the tub, I’ll get some first aid shit.”

You were slow to take your clothes off – a mix of embarrassment, pain and unsureness marked every movement. Frank knocked before he returned.

“Come in.”

You were sat on the side of his bathtub only in your underwear. You’d avoided the mirror, already horrified at your injuries you could see. Frank examined you from the doorway. You couldn’t help but feel conscious of his stare.

“I’ll clean up the worst ones.” He said, sitting on the toilet lid so he was level with your shoulders. “I brought you some clothes.”

You looked at the pile of large clothes on the floor and nodded. Silence fell again as he started with your legs, using a wet cloth to wipe away the dirt from the scrapes and rashes on your skin. You just watched his face, too sick to watch him work. Every time he moved to a different injury, he looked at you, his eyes soft, checking if you were okay. You appreciated how such a tough guy could be so gentle. You flinched when he moved your hair to look at the bruises on your neck, more than you had done when he’d painstakingly picked glass from your arm. That was the only time you looked away from him.

Then his hand rested on your chin, holding it in place as he brushed your skin with a wet cloth. You couldn’t tell what you looked like but from the way the cloth became more and more soaked with blood each time he pulled away; you didn’t want to know. When he was finished, he held your face for a moment longer, tucking your hair behind your ear and offering you a smile.

“Clothes are there. I’ll be outside.”

And with that, he left. You could hear the jingling of the dog’s collar again through the door and you imagined Frank bent down, petting him whilst he waited. Frank’s clothes were too big for you but you appreciated how soft they were. Before you could open the door, you caught your reflection in the mirror above the sink and winced.

You were bruised all over and your nose was still raw despite Frank’s attempts to get rid of the blood. You could also see the welt forming on your neck. You could’ve stood there for hours; thankfully, Frank’s gentle knocking pulled you from your reverie and you opened the door to see him leaning against the wall opposite, pit-bull sitting happily at his feet.

“You should stay here tonight.”

You only nodded again before he led you into the lounge. It wasn’t much, with only a TV and a sofa linked to a tiny looking kitchen. You sat down, smiling slightly when the dog sat next to you, eager for more attention.

“Do you want some food?” Frank didn’t strike you as a man with a stocked kitchen. “Coffee? Water?”

“Water, please.”

Frank searched a good five minutes for a clean glass before he decided you’d have to cope with a coffee-stained mug. When he got back to the couch, he found you asleep, his dog sitting on your lap. He smiled. When the dog noticed him, he wagged his tail ferociously but, you didn’t wake up. So, he decided you probably wouldn’t wake up if he moved you. The dog was hot on his heels as he carried you to his bed, placing you under the covers and sending his dog a dry look when he joined you.

“You’re lucky she likes you.” He said to the dog, casting one last look at your face before closing the door and disappearing to spend the night on the couch.

[kozumebunny]

Unconventional (Atsumu-centric)

synopsis: It’s hard to love someone for his faults when his faults are the form of his boyfriend and his adultery. 

note: this is out of order. this is the middle of the story. I haven’t written the first part or the end but I have them fairly mapped out. This is poly atsuhina but this is atsumu centric. keep an eye out for part one and part three which I will probably post at the same time. also, some of these scenes are so so pretty to me so watch out because I’m going to draw and post some of these scenes.

containing: 2.2k, she her pronouns for reader, implied smut

ACT 2

Scene 1 - INT. THERAPIST OFFICE

Basic therapist office. Two couches across from each other. A coffee table sits in between them. There is only one cup of coffee on the table. We see the backs of three people on one couch: one woman sits to the far left. Two men sit to the far right. One is looking at her. In the space between them, we can see the couch across from them with a therapist, clipboard in her lap.

THERAPIST: These sessions are meant to help you, (y/n).  They want to work things out with you, why don’t you want to?

We see the woman. She is ISOLATED from everyone else. She is curled up on the couch, shoes off, picking at her toenails. She gives a half assed shrug.

(Y/N): I just can’t find it in me to care anymore.

SHOYO sits on the same couch as her but at the opposite end. He is WORRIED. ATSUMU sits next to him, hands intertwined, and he WATCHES her. Her face is looking at the ground, hair covering her face. She seems borderline CATATONIC.

SHOYO: (quietly) You said you still loved me.

(Y/N): (still not looking up) And I do. But it just hurts and I’m tired of stressing and caring.

ATSUMU: (He is starting to get annoyed) So, what? Yer fucking solution is to just shut down? Cry?

(Y/N): (She looks up and she is angry.) Fuck you Miya! You think I don’t know you’ve been laughing at me this whole goddamn time-

ATSUMU: (He angles his whole body to face her.) When have I fucking laughed? Sho and I have been nothing but patient this past year and you’ve been nothing but a fucking bitch-

THERAPIST: Atsumu, (y/n), please don’t yell in my office-

SHOYO: Atsumu, please she just needs time she’s hurt-

(Y/N): Fuck you Atsumu and fuck this. I’m tired of you acting like I’m at fault when you’re the one who Hinata-

(SHOYO: (offscreen) Shoyo, (y/n) please call me Sho-)

(Y/N): Just shut up Shoyo haven’t you done enough-

ATSUMU: oh fuck off, so what he cheated? He’s here trying to make things right and you’re just-

(Y/N) stands up. She’s putting her shoes on. She ignores ATSUMU staring at her. She ignores SHOYO’s pleas for her to stay and talk it out. The camera follows as she leaves the room, we watch SHOYO chase after her, desperately grabbing onto her sweater. He is CRYING. She stops, turns, and puts a hand on his face. Her mouth moves but we cannot hear her and we

CUT TO

Scene 2 - EXT: CHERRY BLOSSOM STREET

It is a street, cobblestones, lined with cherry blossoms. There is no music. It is raw and romantic and heartbreaking. She sits in the middle of the empty street. Her back is to the camera. The cherry blossoms silently fall. A man with blonde hair and an undercut join her. He crouches. He has on a hat and sunglasses. And we CUT CLOSER, still facing their backs.

ATSUMU: I got you coffee.

He holds it out to her. She does not turn to acknowledge him or accept it.

ATSUMU: C’mon doll. Take the coffee.

She silently holds out her hand and he puts the cup of coffee in it.

ATSUMU: Remember when I first found you here? Shoyo was scared shitless that day. He came home, found the Dear John letter to me instead of him, a duffel, and a buncha yer clothes gone. He was terrified (Y/n). He loves you, you know that right?

(Y/N): (quietly) I don’t think I can really love him again Miya. It hurts so much.

ATSUMU: This is about him cheating, huh doll?

(Y/N): Yes and no.

ATSUMU: Oh? Don’t worry. You weren’t the side piece. I was. And truthfully, I was jealous of ya. Wanted to be the one kissin’ him and holdin’ his hand in public so bad.

(Y/N): It wasn’t teasing when you were talking about Hinata, was it?

ATSUMU: What’re ya talkin’ about?

(Y/N): A year and a half ago. Whenever you ran into me you’d have this smug look on your face when you’d help Hinata stretch. When you’d tell me whatever you and Hinata were supposedly up to during practice.

ATSUMU: (Y/N) we never fucked durin’ practice. Honest.

He brushes some hair behind her ear. She looks at him.

(Y/N): I’ve waited six years for Shoyo to take me on a date here. He promised me back in high school.

ATSUMU: (frowning) What’re you sayin’?

(Y/N): Remember when we first started working this out? And he’d just bail on every date for me for you?

ATSUMU: (Y/n) he didn’t-

(Y/N): He will always choose you Atsumu. Don’t ever doubt that.

She starts to look away. Her hair falls in her face again. ATSUMU cups her face and turns it to him. He puts his forehead against hers. It is intimate and raw.

ATSUMU: Then let’s call this a date. Screw Sho’s promise, I’ll make ya a promise.

His eyes flick to her lips. She is still staring at him.

ATSUMU: If Sho ever starts slippin’ showin ya love-

He angles her head to kiss her forehead, trailing his nose down her face back to her lips as he speaks--

ATSUMU: Count on me to pick up the slack. Yer important to Sho and he loves ya, so I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you around, yeah?

He kisses her once. Then again. And again. He starts peppering her face with kisses before his hands go to her neck, when she starts laughing.

ATSUMU: Oh? Yer ticklish? Why’d ya never tell me, huh?

(Y/N): (in between laughs) Stop that Atsumu!

ATSUMU stops. He stands up and pulls her with him, leading her back toward the city.

ATSUMU: Every date Sho’s missed, let me pick up the slack there too, yeah?

CUT TO

Scene 3--Night Food Stall Market

I’ve been to a place like this once in Taiwan. It’s held in the middle of outdoor shopping centers that should be malls. The buildings are huge, you can mistake them for corporate office buildings, high rise hotels even, but on closer inspection you see clothes and mannequins in the windows. Nike. Reebok. Forever 21. Apple. They’re all there. It is busy. The spacious walkways between these buildings are crammed with lines of food stalls. There’s steam, food, and many people shouting out their foods. Some even have fish tanks to advertise how fresh their food is. Vendors wear anything from yukatas, uniforms, and street clothes. There are hardly any spaces to sit. It is bright colored and friendly. It makes you feel like a teenager, watching it all happen.

ATSUMU has his arm around (Y/N). He is guiding her through the night market. ATSUMU still wears a hat, no sunglasses.

ATSUMU: This beats moping all afternoon in the cherry blossom grove, huh doll?

(Y/N): (looking around, interested) It’s… interesting.

ATSUMU: (whining) Come oooooon doll! Just say good ol’ Tsumu picked out the best spot for a date!

(Y/N): (teasing) How many other girls have you been here with Miya?

ATSUMU: (horrified) Doll, I swear yer the only one-

(Y/N): (small smile) I’m teasing Miya.

ATSUMU: (surprised) Oh yeah? (teasing her back) Why don't you tease me with a little lap dance little one?

(Y/N): (blushing) We are in public Atsumu! (a swat to his chest)

ATSUMU looks up and starts sniffing the air. He is looking around, spots a vendor and walks over. It is a stall serving onigiri, we see OSAMU MIYA serving people onigiri in rapid succession.

ATSUMU: (yelling) ‘Samu! Cash me in some free onigiri!

OSAMU: (looking over) Price is doubled for family.

ATSUMU makes his way over dragging (Y/N) with him.

ATSUMU: (pleading) Come ooooon ‘Samu! For (y/n)? I’m taking her on a date ‘Samu.

ATSUMU looks at OSAMU with puppy dog eyes. OSAMU sighs and gives two rice balls on a tray to ATSUMU.

OSAMU: (irritated) Now will both of ya bug off?

ATSUMU: (eating, and handing one to (y/n)) ‘Anks ‘Amu!

ATSUMU leads her to a bench, still by the crowd, as she finishes eating her rice ball. They are people watching. ATSUMU is stealing glances at her.

ATSUMU: (staring at the crowd) Ya didn’t have a bag with ya this time. Why?

(Y/N): (quietly) I don’t know.

ATSUMU: Are ya gonna leave us doll?

(Y/N): (exhaling) it’s not even really you anymore, ‘Tsumu. It’s Hinata. It’s just hard. It hurts.

ATSUMU: Why don’t ya wanna talk to him?

(Y/N): It just hurts ‘Tsumu.

They sit in silence for a bit before ATSUMU pulls her up and walks around with her, leading through alleys, dancing with her to music drifting out from bars and shops. She is laughing and happy. They are relaxed, taking their time as ATSUMU leads them somewhere. He knows where he is going.

Eventually they come to a building, an apartment complex. ATSUMU has her face in his hands, nose to nose, he looks at her with quiet longing. 

ATSUMU: (whispering) I’ve had you for myself all day princess. Can I have ya for the night too?

(Y/N): Miya-

ATSUMU: Do you want this?

(Y/N): (hesitating) Yes, I do.

ATSUMU starts kissing her. We watch him push his back against the door, holding it open for the both of them before he goes into the elevator, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist.

CUT TO

Scene 4--Atsumu’s Apartment

(Y/N) is laying on top of ATSUMU’s chest. The lights are off and the tv is the only thing giving light. ATSUMU is idly tracing shapes down her back. He turns his head to talk to her.

ATSUMU: (quietly) You’ll go to therapy and talk to Sho tomorrow right?

(Y/N): Promise you’ll be there?

ATSUMU: Swear on it doll.

ATSUMU kisses her forehead.

ATSUMU: Good night princess.

CUT TO

Scene 1--INT THERAPIST OFFICE

It’s the same set up. Two couches and a coffee table in between. Still one cup of coffee on the table. It’s different this time. (Y/N) sits at one side of the couch, ATSUMU sits in the middle, SHOYO on the other side of ATSUMU.

THERAPIST: And what made you decide to take a chance on Atsumu?

(Y/N): He’s never hurt me and I don’t think he ever would.

THERAPIST: And Shoyo?

(Y/N) lets out an exhale. She curls her hands in her lap inwards. ATSUMU rubs his thumb over one of the hands.

(Y/N): Yeah. I’ll talk to Shoyo.

[artistic-writer]

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 10 :: Rated E

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal.  Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

AO3 - Ko-Fi (100% of coffee’s bought go towards buying @adognamedkillian toys and treats!)

A/N: A full ch of smut.  Emma is in full heat and Killian will be in full rut in the next chapter (i know you’ve been waiting for that @courtorderedcake​ ).  I know you guys are probably getting sick of all the smut by now, but in case you are NOT, the end of this chapter should be enough of something else to think about until ch 11 is done.

Artwork by me, @artistic-writer 

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics.  Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg.  Just so you know.  There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O.  If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :) 

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist:  I’ll be honest, i have lost my taglist for this fic, so if you want a tag, please message me here on on discord (Salem #5158/ itwontalwaysbelikethis@gmail.com) and I’ll add you!  I’ve tagged the following people i KNOW want to read this, but i don’t want to accidentally tag you if you do not like ABO.

@hollyethecurious​ @shardminds​​ @kmomof4​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​ @thisonesatellite​​ @xemmaloveskillianx​​ @hookedonapirate​​ @teamhook​​ @winterbaby89​​ @carpedzem​​ @courtorderedcake​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​ @donteattheappleshook​​ @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615​​ @melly326​​ @klynn-stormz @stahlop​​ @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling​​ @djlbg​​ 

——————————————————————————————

She loved him. Emma really loved him.

The comfortable silence that fell between them was like being put in a bubble, the safe place only they had access to, and the outside world banned from ever entering. Killian hadn’t been able to stop himself smiling at Emma’s revelation, one that had taken him pleasantly by surprise. He knew how he felt, and he had already told her as much, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy for Emma to admit how she felt, and he was okay with that. Her circumstances were a lot more complicated. At the very least, she was married.

Maybe telling her was too bold and had put her in a difficult position, but Killian had known deep down in his heart that his feelings for her, however frightening, were mutual. He could tell by the way she laughed, by the way she had a glow about her that had steadily grown brighter as they had spent more time together, and by the way that when he was due to leave her, she had become increasingly despondent. It broke his heart to leave her each time, and he was sure that now he knew she was Omega, his soul wouldn’t handle it if he had to leave her forever.

Graham Humbert was vile and Killian hated the man even more now than when he had first met him. A lot had changed since then, of course, but the one thing he still had in his favour was that he was legally Emma’s husband. Killian couldn’t deny how much that filled him with fury, knowing that Graham, the most ungrateful swine to ever walk the Earth, had a piece of paper that said, for all intents and purposes, he owned Emma. Emma wasn’t owned, she wasn’t property, and Killian knew just how to prove it.

Once his knot had receded enough, and Killian was content with the amount of time he had kissed Emma as she lay underneath him, he had gathered her up in his arms and taken her back to the shower. This time he had made sure she was looked after, steady hands and nimble fingers rubbing and massaging every inch of her skin and hair, washing away dried on slick and totally refreshing her. He had worn her out and it showed. Every one of her arm and leg muscles was tight, contracted to within an inch of its life, but as he kneaded the knots out of her, the permanent smile on her face told him she didn’t mind one bit.

At some point, Killian knew they would have to have a conversation addressing all of her earlier questions. The biggest worry on his mind was how he explained marking. For him it was easy. An Alpha could mark an Omega with her permission, and until one did, her body would beg for it, her subconscious making her say and do all sorts of things to entice the Alpha in. Killian wanted nothing more than to mark her and show the world that she was his, but there was still the rather gargantuan issue of Graham Humbert.

Her husband didn’t care for her; he couldn’t. What kind of man left his wife so unsatisfied that she yearned for the touch of another? What kind of man dared to lay hands on the woman he had sworn to love until death do they part? Killian hated thinking about the Humbert’s, and he wished he had never set eyes on the man Emma had married, but if Graham had never been such a bastard, Killian would have never met Emma. In a twisted conclusion, if Humbert had accepted his fate as a Beta and embraced it, Emma would have never needed Killian. Or maybe she would have. Killian didn’t know, but what he did know was that fate had brought them together when they both needed it to, and for that, he was forever grateful.

He’d carried her out of the shower bridal style and set her down on a fluffy, white towel he had stretched out across the black marble countertop beside the sink. Another appeared in his hand and he wrapped it around her, draping the soft cotton over her shoulders and rubbing down the length of her arms to dry her and chase away the shiver that had crept under her skin. He loved it, the little intimacy he was sure, judging by her reaction and the ever present smile plastered on her face, Emma hadn’t really experienced. Being Alpha was more than rutting and fucking and he for one loved the closeness that caring for Emma the way she deserved offered him.

“Thank you,” Emma said softly after a hum of appreciation. She could dry herself but it was nice to be doted on so fondly.

“You’re most welcome, love,” Killian smiled back, tightening the towel around her. He loved to watch her like this, loved to see her so unworried, but his eyes drifted to the cut under her right eye that had never really stopped bleeding since their first shower. He had tried to avoid it as much as possible as he had washed her, but now the heat of the spray had opened it back up and pink, watery trickle was running down her cheek. He frowned, his jaw muscles tightening under his stubble.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, concerned by the way his smile had suddenly faded.

“This,” Killian ground out. He lifted his hand and cupped her face, taking the weight of her head in his hands as he gingerly ran his thumb under the angry red swell that surrounded the split under her eye. “This needs a stitch.”

Emma pouted a little but she knew he was right. She nodded in agreement and pulled the towel around herself as Killian dropped into a crouch and pulled open a small cupboard underneath the sink. He fished around inside for a few seconds before reappearing again with a small plastic box in his hands, the lid popping open as he placed it on the countertop next to her.

“I’ll do my best not to hurt you,” Killian told her softly, using a finger to part the fabric band aids and medical tape as he tried to find the small self-adhesive strips that he would use to close the split.

“I know,” Emma said and to emphasize her words, she poked her hand out of her towel shawl and took his in hers, lifting it to her mouth and pressing a kiss to his palm.

Killian watched her and a loving smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Her lips were so soft and yet electrified his skin, causing all of his forearm hair to stand to attention. Emma’s hands snaked around his limb, holding onto it with a firm but gentle hold as Killian plucked one of the little white strips out of their packet and peeled off the backing strip. Emma gulped and he nodded at her reassuringly before moving the strip towards her cut, one arm free and the other guided by her. The first strip went on somewhat awkwardly and Killian laughed.

“Love, I think I need my hand back for this one.” He held up his hand, the back of another stitch already peeled off and the sterile stripe stuck to the tip of his finger. Emma knew this one would hurt because of the apology in Killian’s eyes, but nevertheless, she let go of his arm and sucked in a long, deep breath. “Breathe, alright?” Killian encouraged with a nod.

“Okay,” Emma agreed, nodding back. When Killian stuck one end of the strip to one side of her cut she winced and grabbed his arm to halt any more pulling of her skin. Killian stopped his movements instantly when he noticed her hesitation and met her worried gaze. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she whimpered in anticipation of his question, her fingernails digging into his forearm.

“I need to pull the edges together and it might hurt for a second,” he told her honestly. He could tell by the way her expression changed that she knew he was right, and when she let go of his arm, Killian took a few long, deep breaths in an attempt to coax her into copying him. “On three,” he said firmly. “One, two…”

There was no three. Killian simultaneously pulled the strip and pushed up her cheek until the sides of her wound met, securing the strip in place as quickly as he could. Emma’s entire body jumped on the spot and her leg shot out and kicked his knee in response, pain throbbing through her cheek and her watery eyes wide with disbelief.

“Son of a bitch!” Emma cried, one hand covering her now stitched cut and the other shooting out in a mirrored action of her leg and slapping Killian across the face. The smack echoed in the tiled room and his head turned with the force of it. Emma immediately drew her hand back to cover her mouth with a gasp, her cheeks flushing red. “Oh my god, Killian, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, her heart hammering in her chest at the sight of him gritting his teeth.

“It’s quite alright,” he ground out, giving his head a shake and rubbing his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emma fussed, reaching out for him in more of an apology.

“I know,” he assured her, forcing a smile even though he had struggled to hear her over the ringing in his ears. He plucked her hand out of the air and dragged his lips across her palm, soothing the sting that had edged its way to her fingertips. “It’s just your body reacting to pain, your fight or flight response.”

“Wouldn’t I have had that before?” Emma frowned, cupping his jaw.

“Yes, but you wouldn’t have listened to it. Now you’re more in tune with who you really are, everything is more acute.” After a few seconds of her hand on his face the buzz in his ears faded out and it just left the throbbing in his neck from how hard Emma had slapped him. She was strong, he’d give her that, mentally and, as he had just learned, physically too.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma repeated, her cheeks turning pink.

“It’s alright, love, really,” Killian assured her again with a nod, his voice softer now the shock had left him. He pulled her into his arms and tightened his hold around her smaller frame in a crushing hug. Her drying hair stuck to the hook-like hairs on his chin when he turned his head to kiss her crown, but he quickly righted it by smoothing the hair back over the shape of her skull. “You’ve quite the right hook.” He smiled, impressed.

That made her laugh and Killian could see her relax, her shoulders slumping and the corners of her perfect lips ticking up into a smirk of agreement. She was still as fierce as she was a few days ago and he could see her sass brimming just under the surface, still ever ready and still very Emma. He got lost in her eyes when she looked up at him with nothing but love shining behind the green hues, real love that he wasn’t sure he had ever seen before, or would ever see again. And it was the best kind of pure love that was only for him. Emma might have been smiling in the photos he saw in the house she shared with Graham, but she wasn’t smiling until she was with him.

A shiver shook her entire body, her teeth chattering where she sat on the countertop to the side of the sink. Killian noticed immediately, rubbing the sides of her arms and then the tops of her legs, but underneath the towel, she was bone dry. Her hair, still wet and keeping her cold, needed to be dried. Killian grabbed another towel, a dark navy blue one, and laid it over the top of her head before gently massaging his fingers against the luxurious fibres in an attempt to soak up the excess water keeping the chill in her bones.

“Don’t you have a hairdryer?” Emma laughed, her head flopping from side to side with his rubbing.

“Whatever for?” Killian teased, one eyebrow jumping up on his brow.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him and simultaneously raked them over his features, trying to assess his mockery with a scoff. “Please! Like you don’t have a hairdryer.” She cast one more glance up at his own still wet but perfectly styled hair with curious fancy. “No, you definitely have a hairdryer,” she said confidently but Killian’s boyish smirk made her second guess herself.

“Do I?” He asked her playfully.

“Yes?” Emma said but the tone of her voice, jumping at the end, betrayed her reservation. “Do you?” She squeaked with laughter.

“I do,” Killian conceded, joining her in laughter. “But you must never tell my brother.”

“Well, I’ve only just learned you have a brother, so…” Emma’s words trailed off and for a second she simply took him in, wondering if his brother was just as handsome. “Is he an Alpha?” Emma asked inquisitively, pure wonder in her voice.

“Aye,” Killian said playfully, drawing out the word with a sideways glare. “He is.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Emma added quickly, noticing the flare of his nostrils and the way his hand on her thigh gripped a little tighter. She spread her legs, inviting him into the space by lightly tugging at the curve of his hips and he followed obediently. “I only have eyes for one Alpha.”

Killian’s hands skimmed up and over the curve of her knees, under the towel and along the length of her outer thigh, enjoying the way goosebumps rose under the pads of his fingers at his touch. She practically purred through her smile, her hands meeting behind his head and her fingers interlocking, forming a cradle for his skull. She pulled his face towards hers, his lips curving into a knowing smirk, his tongue darting out to taste her bottom lip just before she surged forward and inhaled him in her kiss. It wasn’t just her eyes that only had one Alpha in mind. Emma’s body was singing for him too already.

Killian kissed her back, aggressive and commanding, greedy hands tearing off her towel and grabbing at her flesh where he was assuredly leaving the indents of his fingernails as crescent-shaped blemishes against her skin that would be the closest thing to marking her he could get right now. Her tongue invited his inside her mouth and they danced around each other as her fingers grabbed at his hair, guiding the angle of his lips against hers. Her scent gland spiked, a new wave of her arousal mixing with her Omega scent, calling to the beast inside of him, and before Killian had time to react logically, his fingers were brushing over the gland in her neck to coax out more of the delicate aroma.

She put his head in a spin and the soft, breathy moans tumbling from Emma’s mouth as he skirted his kisses to the corner of her lips and along her cheek made his cock swell underneath the towel slung low on his hips. Her hands flattened out over the ridges of his shoulder blades, her head falling back into his awaiting hand, and his lips changed direction, peppering more kisses over her chin and along the side of her jaw.

“Only I can make you feel this way, Omega,” he growled against the underside of her jaw. One of his hands nudged between her thighs where he found her already sodden, and he grinned wickedly when her legs fell open and she whimpered his name. “Make you so, so, wet for me,” he cooed, his breath ghosting over her scent gland when he had reached the juncture of her neck.

Emma whined, quaking in his hold. Her body cried out for his bite, the only way she knew to quell the ache in her bones and the twist in her gut, even if she didn’t know how she knew it. Every second spent with Killian made something else in her body wake up and she was learning to listen to each whisper with vigour rather than fear. What was once the most terror-inducing thing to happen in her life had blossomed into such an insatiable need, one that had become like a drug, rendering her helpless and in need of Killian more than she ever thought possible. His kisses peppered her scent gland and she arched into him, the throbbing in her neck almost as painful as the ache between her thighs.

“Such a good girl,” Killian praised, grazing his teeth over her gland. “My good girl,” he growled.

“Yes,” Emma hissed. Her fingernails clawed into the back of his head and she felt the rumble of his groan down deep in her soul.

Killian’s hand between her thighs, coaxing the slick from her body, was like fire in her veins. The more he stroked, the hotter she became, a yearning for his knot burning her up from the inside. Emma had once thought she needed Killian because she needed an escape from the way she was a prisoner in her own life, but in reality, she had needed him like the oxygen she breathed. They had a connection that transcended time and space and without him, Emma felt like she would suffocate and die.

“You found me,” she whispered in a breathy pant, her voice almost inaudible. His lips on her skin made it almost impossible to comprehend what she was feeling, or how to properly convey what she needed him to know, but with a few targeted tugs against the edge of his towel, it was soon slipping off Killian’s hips and leaving him naked before her, letting him know exactly what she wanted from him.

“I’ll always find you,” Killian vowed and with his words, Emma was hoisted up into his arms, the towel she had been wrapped in also sliding to the floor. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, settling into his arms, clutching his face in her hands and making sure not an inch of his skin was spared from her feverish kisses. He spun them around to leave the bathroom, the motion making him dizzy, and he had to stop himself from falling forward with a powerful grip. “You’re my Omega now,” Killian promised protectively. “No harm will ever come to you as long as there is breath in my lungs and my heart beats strong in my chest.”

In the time it took Killian to declare his undying devotion, he had reached the bed once more and was settling Emma down in the most comfortable position he could find. Emma lay back without prompting, her knees falling open to create the inviting space between them that swirled with the scent of her arousal and made Killian giddy. His hands roamed her body, paying special attention to the tenderness of her breasts, warm, roughened palms cradling each before his tongue went to work tasting the skin of each nipple, peaked hard and more sensitive with every suck. A new contraction plagued Emma’s insides, seemingly pulling in both directions at once and the tearing sensation made her cry out in agony at the same time her back arched off the bed and into Killian’s touch.

“It hurts,” Emma whined, somewhat distracted by how intense her latest muscle spasm was. “Please, Alpha, make me better.”

There was no waiting around this time or wondering if or how he might hurt her. Killian surged up her body, pinning her to the bed with a firm hand on her hip and slipped his cock through her folds and into the cavernous warmth of her with a shudder. He would never get tired of the way Emma’s body reacted to his, the slight hesitation of her muscles at his girth less now that she knew what she was. Alphas and Omegas were made for each other, literally two bodies that fit together so perfectly there would be no other, Killian like the key that had unlocked an entirely new, and now free, Emma.

The second he was inside of her, Emma’s body began to quiver, her muscles shuddering along his length and pulling some of his seed out prematurely. Killian didn’t fight it, pushing harder into her until he felt the heat from her opening burning the base of his cock, the blood pulsing around his knot like a massage. Emma hardly noticed he had grunted in release, probably because he was still rock solid inside of her, her hips attempting the cant against him for more. Killian paused, stopping to regain his composure and to take in the sight of her, glorious and precious underneath him, his knot poking out of its sheath at the blissful smile across her lips.

“Your knot,” Emma begged and she reached down as far as she could to clutch at the fuzzy globes of his behind, her legs spreading impossibly wider in an attempt to fit more of him in.

“I know, Omega,” Killian soothed. He reached for the sheet, cast down the bed somewhere from his movements, and wiped it across Emma’s brow to mop up her heat-induced sweating, her serene smile gracing her face once more. “I just need a moment,” Killian ground out, his body betraying his words as his hips pulled back as far as her grip would allow and some of the mixture of her slick and his come dribbled out of her.

“Am I too much?” she teased, her nose brushing over the tip of his and a coy smirk playing across her lips now that her womb no longer felt the need to evacuate her body.

Killian chuckled and buried his face into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her scent gland so it released a little more of its intoxicating aroma. Emma’s arms were around him and she craned her neck towards him, enticing him, teasing him so much that Killian couldn’t help but run his tongue over the gland with a feral growl. His grip on her hip tightened and his fingernails broke the skin there as his resolution was tested, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled her scent and felt the effects instantly. He pulled back with the last thread of resolve he had left, sitting back on his knees between her spread legs and busying himself with tracing the faint, silvery stretch marks on her inner thighs to ground the inner beast.

“Am I?” Emma asked again, the tone of her voice betraying her anxiety. She tore her eyes from his, turning her head away with a blush as she attempted to hide.

“No, no, no, Omega,” Killian whispered with a patient shake of his head.

He knew her emotions were still wildly erratic, and one minute she would be up and the next down and the last thing he would ever want was for her to question how much she meant to him. Or how much he needed her just as much as she needed him. Killian’s hands skimmed up her torso, the fine sheen of heat-induced sweat covering her body clinging to his fingertips until he was able to hook a crooked finger under her jaw and coax her head back to his. Emma moved her head with very little resistance and looked up at him through her lashes.

“No,” Killian repeated firmly, cradling her chin in his hand so she couldn’t look away. “Never. You hear me. Never.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered in a hushed voice. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Killian cocked his head sideways. “Hey, why are you sorry?” Emma shrugged and Killian could see the water pooling in her eyes. “You’ve no need to apologize, love. Never apologize for who you are, not now you know,” he said a little louder, partly making sure she was hearing his words, and partly because of the rage he held for her so-called husband who he was sure was responsible for her apology in the first instance. “You’re the most delicate treasure any man would be lucky to find, and I for one am thanking the gods for every second I get to spend with you to show you just that.”

“You are?” The damn broke and a single tear rolled down Emma’s cheek when she blinked and it was pushed from her eyelids.

“Aye, you daft thing!” Killian quickly cupped her face in his hand, brushing away the wet streak marring her skin with the pad of his thumb before pressing his lips to hers. Emma’s lip quivered against his and Killian pushed harder, giving everything he had in a silent declaration of his love, his mouth sealing his promise where words might have fallen short. Emma kissed him back after a few seconds, whimpering, her hormones turning her body blazing hot beneath him.

Killian listened to her body as it sang its sweet song to him, his cock began to harden again, the strain of his knot starting to become painful. There would be no telling Emma, not in the state she was in, so he would have to show her. He sat back up, careful not to hurt her as he shimmied himself down off her body and pushed her legs together. Emma gave him a slightly confused stare before Killian bit his bottom lip and waggled his eyebrows playfully, encouraging her to roll over.

“Let me show you, darling,” Killian growled, feeling the shape of Emma’s calves under his hands as they floated up towards the globes of her behind, fingertips dancing over her skin and causing goosebumps in their wake.

If there was one thing Killian knew about Emma it was what made her feel good. During their many encounters, he had experimented, using her flexibility to his advantage to find the most intimate areas within her that would have Emma screaming his name. Of course, that was until he found out who Emma really was, what she was, and the anticipation of feeling her around him as he took her from behind now had him almost salivating with need.

His actions became a little rougher, his fingers slipping between the crease of her arse and pushing down to her centre, the greed for what lay there ingrained in his very soul. Hot, slippery slick mixed with his premature release coated his fingers and Killian could barely wait the second it took to lift his hand to his lips, tongue darting out to meet it halfway and lapping their essences up in an instant. He groaned out loud, the deep rumble of content accompanied by a grab of Emma’s behind to try and ground himself from the heaven he was busy enjoying so engagingly.

Without prompting, Emma lifted her hips higher, mewling, begging for more of him, any part of him, to quell the fire currently raging inside of her. Killian took his opportunity, surging forward and burying his face between her thighs, pushing them apart with the width of his face so he could lick her from clit to pulsating centre and savour the bounty her body had offered him so readily. She tasted exactly how she smelled, like the finest wine only he could taste, her heat causing every little touch, nibble and lick he was giving her to be amplified tenfold.

“So sweet,” he uttered, smacking his lips together. “You’re so fucking delicious, Omega.”

“Alpha,” Emma breathed, unable to focus on anything except his fingers prepping her for the girth of him. She wanted him - no, needed him - inside her now. “Please let me have it.”

Killian pulled back, quickly wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, biting his bottom lip as, with a firm slap, he sent Emma’s body crashing down on the bed once more. She let out a shriek of excitement, burying her face into the pillows, tossed askew by their activities, her whole body trembling and her heart pounding in her chest. Killian got her blood racing and since finding out she was Omega it had been like a light had been turned on, the way to her pleasure lit for him by the bloodborne torchbearers on every thump of her heart. She knew he could smell her blood, could smell her scent as it tore through her veins, luring him in and making him lose what little control he had left.

And she loved every second of it.

Killian climbed up over her, pinning her legs together with his own, his knees resting on either side of her thighs. He was panting, sweat dripping from the hair flopping over his brow onto Emma’s back where it practically sizzled away on the heat of her skin. Emma wiggled, enticing the beast inside of him with the promise of a chase she knew he would never have to carry out, but still loved the way it thrilled him into a frenzy. When Emma felt the tip of his length, hot and hard as it poked between her cheeks and nudged into her entrance, she felt a sudden relief, and when he was fully sheathed inside of her, she felt like she was floating.

“Alpha,” she whispered breathlessly, her world spinning. “Take me,” Emma begged, clenching her muscles in an attempt to get him moving. “Please make me come.”

The ferocious growl that Killian let out made her flush hot beneath him in anticipation of what he would do next. His hands on the small of her back braced his weight as he slipped out of her and then slipped back into her torturously slow with shaking hips. He was trying to keep his composure, caught between leaving her satisfied and easing her pain, but Emma’s body was crying out for quick and hard. Every Alpha had stamina, but the mark of a true Alpha was keeping cool under the thrall of an Omega in peak heat, enough to keep her sated as often as she needed him.

But by the Gods if Emma wasn’t making it the most difficult thing he had ever faced.

“Omega,” Killian warned gruffly, his voice deepened with desire. “You’re really hell-bent on ending me, aren’t you?”

Emma shot him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Only until I get what I want,” Emma smirked playfully.

Killian canted his hips harder, finding the deepest spot within her with a little more force than needed, making her gasp with exhilaration. “You are such a bad girl,” Killian purred darkly, the feel of her around him pulling him into oblivion. Emma whined at his words and Killian cloaked her in his weight, tucking one arm around and under her throat and holding her body still with the other. “And you like it a little rough, don’t you, sweet thing?”

His lips pressed to the side of her face felt like a brand on her skin, searing the shape of his smirk into the side of her face. His breath was hot, damp residue from his pants coating her already clammy skin, his cock rock hard inside her only just soothing the ache that threatened to burn her up from the inside. He pushed himself inside of her again and all of the air left her, the white behind her eyelids flashing brighter with every thrust, her body pressed harder into the bed as Killian doubled his efforts and she felt the pressure of his knot against her opening.

“Oh!” she breathed at the sudden sensation and her hand found the headboard, her nails clawing into the fabric.

“Oh, aye, love,” Killian growled darkly. He rearranged himself, broad hands holding her down, the thrill of doing so making his knot pop out of its sheath and his hips to stutter with his pace. “Here it comes, Omega,” he ground out. “Take my knot.”

With one last thrust, Emma was calling out his name and his title, fingers bunching the sheet in her hand as her body simultaneously stiffened and began to violently quake against Killian’s weight. He pressed inside harder as he came, loving the way Emma cried out in pleasurable pain as he made sure his knot was fully seated inside of her, blood engorging the bulb and making sure he wasn’t leaving the spot he loved the most any time soon. Killian tried to ignore the spike of scent from Emma’s gland, a task made easier by their position, but his hazy vision remained from the force of their union.

“Fuck, Emma,” Killian sighed breathlessly, his legs shaking.

“Oh my God,” Emma whimpered, the full force of her orgasm washing through her and leaving her a quivering mess.

Killian grinned boyishly, his forehead pressed to the uppermost ridge of her spine. With a chuckle he ground himself into her harder, snaking a hand between them and pulling her cheek aside so that he could make sure he was fully enveloped in her warmth, her muscles twitching and massaging the curvature of his knot bulb. He hissed when she tried to shift, pulling at his knot as she slid one leg across the sheets and grabbed his hand, pushing it down between her legs and using his fingers to prolong her pleasure.

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed with a note of serenity in her voice.

“You like that, love?” Killian purred. Her clit was slippery with slick and his digit glided over the hardened bundle of nerves effortlessly when he followed her prompt. “You want a little more from your Alpha?”

“I just want to feel like this a little longer,” Emma pouted.

“Like what?” Killian asked softly, slowing his stroking to a steady rhythm that had Emma’s heart picking up in her chest. “Like this?”

Emma sighed, her head spinning as her already spent body became more and more primed under his assault. Killian rolled them over, careful not to hurt her as he settled them on their sides and his hand continued the friction between her legs that threatened to set her on fire. Emma bit down on her bottom lip so hard her skin turned white, her eyes fluttering closed as she nodded. It was all she could do, her muscles already twitching around his knot as another orgasm crept up on her and her body began the now familiar dance of yearning for the pleasure she had only ever felt since meeting Killian.

Killian tucked his chin into the juncture of her neck, letting the scent of her invade his senses as he inhaled her. His teeth grazed over the gland there, sending his head into a spin and causing him to quicken the pace he had set with his fingers when he realised she was close. He alternated between pushing on her clit and rubbing it from side to side, the filthy sounds Emma was making as she begged for more sending his stomach dropping away from him, and the beast inside to come back out to play.

“I want more,” Emma whined. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, guiding him harder and faster on the slippery nub.

“There is no more,” Killian growled into her hair. “You already have my knot, Omega.”

Emma let out a whimper, almost a sob at the fact she couldn’t have his knot again so quickly, but she should have known that Killian wouldn’t leave her disappointed. He lifted her leg over his hip, opening the apex of her thighs for him and exposing her red hot clit to the cooler air of the room, something that made Emma gasp. He canted his hips, forcing his knot bulb harder into her until he felt the spongy front walls of her cavern twitch from the contact, and resumed the torture on the bundle of nerves between her legs, pushing himself impossibly deeper each time he heard Emma cry out his name until she had no words and was shaking in his arms from another climax.

He relaxed a little, easing his hold on her as much as he could without pulling against his knot, his hands skimming over her hips lovingly and his kisses following suit, quick pecks to her skin to soothe the adrenaline of extra stimulation.

“Emma, love,” he panted but he had no other words, despite needing to say and promise so much to the Omega beside him, but he hoped, as he pressed his lips to the sweaty ridge of each bump of her spine in a soothing kiss, she understood exactly what he intended to say.

“I know, Alpha,” Emma muttered, emotion clogging up her throat. She reached an arm behind her head and threaded her fingers through the length of his messy hair, soaked with sweat and jet black, gently guiding his lips back to her skin, craning her neck with a smirk when he peppered kisses over the skin behind her ear. “I love you too, Killian Jones.”

--

Graham Humbert did not need to be interrupted. He had been hounded all day at work with frivolous tasks he most definitely was sure he paid other people a lot of money to make sure never crossed his desk, and then he had had to listen to his father reprimand him about how he had let his wife, a ‘prized omega’, go. Like Graham had tried to explain to his hot-headed Alpha father, no one let Emma do anything; she was, and always would be, her own person, regardless of if the Humbert Alphas thought they owned her.

God, he hated family sometimes, but not as much as the incessant chime of the doorbell and the fact he had sent all the help home earlier than planned and had to interrupt his brooding to answer the door himself. The tips of his ears burned with rage, but as soon as he pulled open the door a little harder than necessary, they cooled instantly and a new ire overwhelmed him.

“Mother?” Graham said, his voice full of annoyed surprise that he couldn’t hide.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” the older woman scoffed, breezing right through the doorway and passed a dumbstruck Graham. "Invite your mother in."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Graham enquired, closing the door behind his mother and following her into the lobby. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor made his ears hurt and he pinched his brow in frustration. "And so late in the day too," he uttered under his breath.

"Can't a mother visit her son without all the suspicion?" Diana Humbert smiled the same sickly sweet, fake smile she had always done when he was growing up and Graham thought he might throw up. "You're right," she conceded, fixing the strap of her purse that had flipped itself over and began creasing the sleeve of her very expensive jacket. "I’m not here to see you. I've come to see Emma."

Graham clenched his jaw at his wife's name, the bruises on his knuckles beginning to itch at the mere thought of her. "Can I ask why?" Graham wasn’t sure if his father had made time to tell his wife what had happened and his mother was being intentionally deceptive, or she really had no idea. Considering his father’s rarity for spending any sort of casual time with his wife, Graham figured the latter was probably the case.

"Never you mind that!" Diana laughed, her perfectly quaffed hairstyle not moving a single iota when she tossed her head back and the sound tumbled from her highly glossed pink lipstick covered lips. "Just ladies things." Her laughter died off and she cast a quick glance around the deserted lobby of the Humbert mansion but found no sign of Emma anywhere. "Now, be a dear and fetch that pretty young thing of a daughter in law for me, would you?"

[post-itpenny]

“ Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes? “

Ok, tagging @grodygabe because Bastian is here for a moment as well. Some slight angst for you.

Primadonna 

The lobby of the theater looked as vibrant and new as the day it’s doors first opened. A polished wood floor with rich red carpets draped over it. Velvet curtains covering windows and the bottles that lined the bar sparkling with whatever substances they held from their corner of the lounge. Plush chairs and couches touched with the slightest scent of smoke. Around the walls was cream colored wallpaper with gold filigree as a border.

It looked lovely and new, which meant it was a collection challenge.

Perhaps that was one nice thing about this map. They could tell what they were in for based on its mood, it’s state of grandeur or decay.

Granted, several killers had collection-type challenges. Collect the thing- bring the thing to a designated spot- win an escape for your efforts.

But Thomas was with the group this time and he shivered the moment he walked in. So… they knew.

“So you just know?” Their newest one-a girl named Chloe asked. “Just get a vibe?”

“Only if it’s the killer you came with.”

She nodded, seeming to relax a little now that she knew how to spot her’s. Thomas almost felt bad for her, should he tell her what was coming?

Mary beat him to it.

“The old hag is a handful and she can get you at a distance. But you just keep running and it’ll be just fine.”

“She’s a hag?”

Mary laughed. From where he stood, Bastian gave a small snicker as well. “You can call her that if you want, just be ready to dodge.”

“Does she throw things?”

Thomas frowned, “no.”

Before he could elaborate the doors to the theater opened with the slighted squeak, the Edison bulbs above flickering out.

Show time.

…………………

“What the hell is she wearing today?”

“I have no idea, but that’s a lot of pink.”

Mary and Chloe hissed to each other as they snuck around the diva. Climbing through a tunnel formed by stacks of clostume trunks and crates.

They froze as The Muse turned in their direction, head tilted to the side as she floated just slightly off the ground. Chloe holding tight to the photograph in her hand. In an instant, she was gone, chasing after someone else.

………………….

One thing Thomas could never figure out was just how lucid Irene was in a match. Between trials she was clearly with it, at least enough to be an absolute bitch to anyone within 20 yards. But it was here that he honestly had no clue. Sometimes she was, yelling at Mary or taunting him, but other times she seemed so focused… but also not. Looking at them like she didn’t know who they were (which couldn’t be true by this point) but so intent on killing them. And then there was moments like right now-

From his hiding spot, Thomas watched as Irene chased Bastian as if she was moving through a dream. Perhaps it was because of the photograph held tight in his hands. Her movements slow but fluid. Her body flickering in and out of existence. She caught him in her strings, only for the new girl to purposefully crash into her.

Irene felt herself slamming back into her own skin at the sudden impact, reeling at the sound of fabric tearing.

“You stepped on my dress why?!” She screeched before turning the swipe at the intrusive nat with her weapon. The girl yelped in pain as the blade nicked her shoulder. The boy- Bastian. His name was Bastian, she knew this by now- grabbing her arm and pulling her to safety. Irene felt a tug at the back of her brain, screaming in frustration before the overwhelming feeling of being yanked back out and to wherever she had come from consumed her.

………………………..

You could hear her yelling in nearly every corner of the theater. The diva’s presence was constant, regardless of whether she was in the room with you or not.

They were rehearsing for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the very unfortunate girl playing Peasblosom having stood too close to Irene and stepped on the hem of her skirts.

“You stepped on my dress!” Irene screamed down at her. “Idiot girl, do you not have any sense of space! Do you know where your feet go?! Or are they with wherever your brain left?!”

The younger actress was crying by this point, looking wildly around for someone to do something. But even their so-called “director” was suddenly very preoccupied with his notes.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Irene snapped. “I swear I-“

“And I swear I can hear you all the way from the street my dear.” A gentleman said as he hooked his arm with Irene’s and pulled her away from her victim. “My dear there’s no need to ruin your voice with so few days before the opening night.”

Irene snatched her arm back, “you! You don’t get a say in this! You’re late!”

“Only 15 minutes.”

“Where were you?!”

“Forgive me Renie sweetheart, but why fret over such trivial things?”

Irene sneered, “I’ll give you trivial you-“

“Irene.”

“Charlie.”

Charlie sighed with a smirk as he fished a box from his pocket. “I need a smoke, come join me dearest.”

He liked arms with her again and pulled a still bickering Irene backstage. Looking over his shoulder with a wink towards the relieved younger actress.

…………………..

Charlie casually blew a cloud of smoke into the air as he skimmed back over the script. looking up occasionally at his friend as she carefully stitched the torn hem of her dress. Whispering the opening verses of The Habanera from Carmen. When and why she took the time to learn it Charlie had no idea, but he wasn’t surprised.

They lazed on a set of plush chairs, leftover props from some long forgotten production. The crew left them out knowing they were the preferred seats of the primadonna and her co-lead..

“You know, if you went to one of the seamstresses in the costume department, they could fix that for you.”

Irene hummed in response but did not otherwise comment.

He watched as she sewed, noting just a few wisps of gray hairs on his friend’s head. Musing that she shouldn’t frown so much less she gain wrinkles from it.

“You know I do wish we could adjust the lines.”

“It’s Shakespeare Charlie, the lines stay the same.”

“But the part between Oberon and Titania-“

“The lines. Stay. The. Same.”

“The mention of India seems so out of place though.”

“Did you read the books I lent you?”

“Books?”

Irene arched an eyebrow. “Yes, the ones on Celtic and Geek cultures? The ones I asked you to return to the library when you finished?”

“Ah.”

“Ah. So you’re paying my late fees.”

“I bet you were once quite the precocious child.” Charlie teased.

Irene smirked, “I used to lay on my bed and wonder am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or shoes?”

“And what were you the fondest of Renie?”

She looked up at him with a smile. “Silence, in a small house with so many people, I was fondest of silence.”

……………………….

The sound of heels clicking broke the early morning. Even before sunrise, stagehands milled about and janitors polished and dusted fixtures. But this woman moved with purpose. Cradling several items in her arms, any of which threatened to spill should she make the wrong move.

She made her way backstage, finding a particular pair passed out on a set of plush armchairs.

Irene and Charlie were deep asleep, legs tangled together as they shared the same automan. Charlie with his hat covering his eyes and Irene using Charlie’s coat as a blanket.

The woman sighed in annoyance, kicking Charlie’s foot. “Charlie Devough how dare you sleep at work again.”

Charlie sat up with a shout, Irene grumbling as she crawled out from under Charlie’s coat and snatched one of the coffees the woman carried. Making a face at the first sip. “So bitter.”

“Because that one wasn’t meant for you,” the woman chastised as she traded coffees with Irene and passed it over to Charlie. “Only this oaf here is foolish enough to not appreciate cream or sugar.”

“Why add sugar when I know you bought danishes? I can smell them love.”

The woman sighed again and handed over a paper bag she had also been carrying. Taking over the automan as she sipped on a coffee of her own. “Did rehearsals run that late?”

“We were running lines and lost track,” Irene murmured as she rubbed at the ruined mascara on her face.

Charlie leaned over to kiss the woman, “thank you for the breakfast Evelyn dear. I’m sorry to worry you.”

“You should have let me know.”

“It’s my fault, Eve.” Irene yawned.

“No it’s not you liar, how dare you cover for him.” Evelyn teased. “Irene, you look like you’ve been crying with your makeup like that.”

“Irene?”

……………………………

Irene looked up.

She hated collecting trials. She never knew what memories it would send her mind tumbling through.

She sat now in her dressing room, roses in various states of decay filling every free space.

The trial was a disaster, her new dress torn thanks to a new brat. She still remembered that young actress. Three productions later and she seems to think she could replace Irene since she was casted as lead once.

Irene also remembered the feeling of shoving the point of her stiletto through the girl’s throat.

Irene sat in her dressing room and tried to wipe her makeup off. For a moment she looked normal, even despite her bluish skin. But then she felt a stinging sensation in her eyes as black tears fell and stained her face again.

She growled in frustration and stormed out of the room, making her way backstage till she found her destination- a set of worn, plush armchairs. Sitting on the floor next to what would have been Charlie’s.

[the--sad--hatter]

Mischief & Madness - Chapter 12 (Loki x Reader)

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki/Reader (No physical description of reader other than female presenting)

Warnings: LOKI, Angst, lots of violence, graphic gore, extreme cursing, anxiety attacks.

Summary:

Living in New York has its ups and its downs. Upside - You have a cushy job at Stark Industries. Downside - You wind up getting yourself kidnapped by The God Of Mischief.

All you wanted was a decent cup of coffee, now you’re stuck on the otherside of the universe with a sociopath who has only begrudgingly not murdered you.

To get back home you’ll have to work with Loki, and probably stop trying to stab him.

To regain his power, he’ll have to work with you, and probably stop trying to slaughter you.

When Mischief and Madness collide, chaos ensues. Even if you survive this, the universe probably won’t…

Masterlist     Spotify Playlist Link

Chapter Twelve 

Loki was staring at you like you’d grown a second head. You waited patiently for him to process it, occupying yourself by kicking rocks and watching them explode into dust.

 “You want to what?” He eventually demanded, his eyebrows raised so high that they practically merged with his hairline.

 You shrugged at him, your smirk growing exponentially. Flummoxing the actual God of Chaos was satisfying as hell.

 “The Infinity Stones! We just go back to before Taa was destroyed and remove the Deathwaves.” You grinned.

“We can not just go back. Even if we could, we wouldn’t be changing anything. We would just create an alternate timeline with no Deathwaves, this universe would still die out.” He argued.

 “Fine, ok… Let’s not go back in time. Let’s reboot the universe. Look we can try and determine who or what is causing these Deathwaves and we can try and stop them, or we can just delete the program and rewrite it without the bug in the coding.” You tried to explain giddily.

 “How?” He asked.

 “We use the Infinity Stones to destroy the universe, just wipe it all out, clean slate. Then we rebuild it exactly the same way, minus Deathwaves. Nobody will even know what happened, they won’t feel a thing.” You told him.

 “Are you quite mad?” He questioned, a little fearfully.

 “Quite.” You agreed.

 He gaped at you but you could see the spark in his eyes, he could see the (psychotic) genius in your proposed plan.

 “Look, I’m not a hero. Hunting down the bad guys and kicking ass isn’t my thing. I create things, and when they don’t work I burn it all down and start again. That’s the only thing I have to offer this partnership. The universe, it’s just a really elaborate computer program. So we save all the coding, the people and the plants, download the files into the infinity stones and then we upload them to version 2.0. No time travel, no hunting down baddies, just straight up ‘saving’ the universe.” You coaxed.

 “And what do I bring to this madness?” He asked, mirroring your slightly maniacal grin.

 “You’re the god here, you’re not only strong enough to use the Stones, you’re the only person I can think of who’s smart and cunning enough to pull this off. This is going to take more than brawn and power. Besides, come on Loki… Don’t you want to destroy the universe?”

 “This is quite literally the most insane, chaotic plan I have ever heard.” He sighed.

 “Yeahhh, and you’re totally on board aren’t ya?” You needled.

 He started impassively at you while he weighed it all up in his head and when the corners of his lips started to gradually curl upwards; you knew you had him.

 “Very well. Say I am willing to go along with this plan of yours. How do you propose we obtain The Infinity Stones?” He challenged.

 “We…” You faltered as soon as the first word was out of your mouth. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” You admitted.

 “This entire mad scheme of yours hinges on us having The Infinity Stones, how have you not thought that far ahead?” He grouched.

 “How am I the one doing all the work? You could do something more useful than standing around bitching and being pretty.” You shot back, crossing your arms in a sulk.

 “Am I infringing on your territory? I do apologise.” He scoffed.

 “How many are there again? Five?” You asked, ignoring his snide compliments.

 “Six. The Space Stone, The Reality Stone, The Time Stone, The Soul Stone, The Power Stone and The Mind Stone.” He corrected, rolling his eyes at for not even knowing how many of the darned things there were.

 “Well, we know where three are. The Time Stone and Mind Stone are back on Earth so that’s easy.” You shrugged. “Tessie the Space Stone is…”

 And right on cue, as if summoned by your voice, The Tesseract materialised right in front of you. It spun in the air, glowing before it dimmed and dropped towards the ground. You instinctively reached out and caught it, flinching when you realised what you’d just done.

 But nothing happened. You remained on Taa and The Tesseract remained in your hand.

 “Found one?” You breathed out in awe, holding it up to an equally awestruck Loki.

 “Vænn, how are you doing that?” He asked fearfully.

 “Doing what? It just popped up, I didn’t do anything.” You said.

 You tilted your head at it curiously before you realised exactly what it was you were doing. You were holding The Tesseract. You. A mortal.

 “Ahh!” You yelped, dropping it.

 You admittedly didn’t know that much about The Tesseract, just what you’d read from the files you hacked one afternoon and skimmed through in boredom. What you did know was that it was too powerful to be held directly by anyone human.

 Loki’s eyes were burning into you suspiciously as he slowly approached and knelt down to pick it up.

 “You’re human.” It wasn’t a statement, but it wasn’t a question either.

 “100%. I don’t even have any Kree DNA, I got tested after those fish oil pills started turning people into husks.” You confirmed.

 “What?”

“Oh, Inhumans. They gots little bits of alien DNA and can get superpowers. I was curious, I got my DNA tested. I am utterly, unquestionably human.”

 He looked down at The Tesseract, turning it over in his hand before he looked back up at you.

 “Curious.” He said softly, holding it back out to you.

 “Nah. You keep it.” You grimaced, backing away fearfully.

 “Just take it.” He demanded.

 “No.”

 “Vænn.”

 “Nope, not on your fucking life - LOKI YOU BITCH!” He tossed The Tesseract at you in the middle of your sentence and you had a split second to decide whether to catch it or let it smack you in the face.

 You clutched it in both hands, inches from your nose. Looking up at Loki you found him smirking at you.

 “What the fuck Loki? I could have been vaporised!” You screeched.

 “You weren’t.” He replied calmly.

 “You didn’t know I wouldn’t be!” You protested.

 “You were holding a moment ago, so I did know. I’m not sure how you’re managing it but you are. For all your arguments about how you are nothing special, you appear to attract powerful entities Vænn.” He pointed out smugly.

 “You think The Tesseract has a crush on me?” You frowned.

 “Not that kind of attract. You are like a magnet, pulling power into your orbit.” He said, almost… proudly?

 You scoffed and opened your mouth to rebut his claim but paused and actually thought about it. Of all the places in the city, it was your window that Iron Man flew past on his way to The Tower. The intern you’d taken under your metaphorical wing turned out to be Spiderman. Vision inexplicably turned up in your lab on an almost daily basis. Earths Mightiest Heroes had taken to you without any hesitating. And then of course there was Loki.

 “Huh. Guess I do attract trouble.” You snorted, regarding The Tesseract in a new light.

 You knew without a doubt that you were human, nothing special about you. But apparently fate disagreed, because here you were.

 “So now we have The Tesseract under our control, as it should be. There are still five more stones to obtain, and we will need The Gauntlet. Do you have a plan for talking your friends into handing the Time Stone and The Mind Stone over to us?” He prodded.

 “Well, The Mind Stone is literally in Visions head so… no. And it’s not like we can just waltz up to Earth and ask them to hand the Stones over to us. It would take us months to convince them to trust you and we just don’t have that kind of time. Maybe we should leave those two till last. At least we know they’re safe. You don’t happen to have any idea where the other three are, do you?” You shrugged.

 He held his hand for The Tesseract with a smirk. You happily handed it over, grateful not to be touching it anymore.

 “I know exactly where The Aether is but obtaining it will not be easy. We will need to be careful, we will need a plan. I suggest we take refuge somewhere safer while we decide how to get it away from The Collector.” He told you, holding out his hand to you.

 “Wait.” You said softly.

 He didn’t have to ask what he was waiting for, he knew what you were planning and only rolled his eyes ever so slightly as you backed away.

 “Hey, um… We’re leaving now. Would you, would you like to come with us?” You asked gently as you approached The Stranger.

 They hadn’t moved since you’d wandered after Loki and they didn’t move when you spoke. Shining blue eyes gazed into the distance, bearing witness to the lingering death of their home world.

 “We can take you anywhere. You don’t have to stay here.” You whispered.

 “You are standing in the remains of the temple I have spent my life worshipping in. The Temple may be gone but I am not, so I remain. My world will not die unwitnessed.” They finally answered.

 “Your world isn’t going to die at all. We’re going to fix this.” You promised.

 Because if you could reboot the Universe, you could reboot it to the point before anything went wrong and no worlds would fall to the terrible destruction you had witnessed. You weren’t going to bring those worlds back, you were going to ensure they never fell in the first place.

 If fate kept putting you in the path of powerful people, if fate had led you to Avengers tower then this was the reason. The Tesseract chose you to help Loki, and this was the only way you could think that you would be of any use.

 So you didn’t feel bad as you walked away from the lonely Stranger. As you placed your hand in Loki’s, you let go of all the pain of not being able to save the fuzzy Druffs. It didn’t matter anymore, none of it mattered. You might not be a hero, but Loki could be. And you, you would be the Tech Support.

 He gently scooped your slumbering Winnie from his pocket and gave him back to you, watching as you secured the little dreaming Grofflink in your own pocket before he laced his fingers with yours, and then in a blinding flash of blue you left Taa and the Stranger behind.

A/N - What's this? A second chapter in one day? :OBeen a while since I pulled one of these!Honestly, I just got kinda giddy reading all the comments and needed to give you (and myself) more! You guys deserve all the chapters I can give for being so supportive and lovely 💖💖💖

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[ladybugsfanfics]

(red flags look like normal flags when you’re wearing) rose-tinted glasses

pairing: Tom Hiddleston x platonic!reader

style: one shot

WC: 2.7k

summary: requested by anonymous on tumblr: “Reader is small and have an Danish Dog, thats actually an giant drool dog. While she's taking the dog to the park he start running with Bob while on the tab and he keeps pulling her until Tom saves her. Then Bobby start growling at her, and they think that is bcs he's jealous...”

warnings: angst, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, ABUSE, PHYSICAL ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, ANIMAL ABUSE, please note the abuse, this fic contains it

A/N: this was really hard to write and i want it to be clear that ive never been in an abusive relationship so ive done my best to portray it and how hard it is to break out of it, but i dont have firsthand information. please let me know if something seems unrealistic or weird. i want you all to know that there are explicit abuse, but that it's not very violent but it still has an emotional impact. please don't read if you know it won't be good for you, and there is a happy ending even tho ive made the relationship between reader and tom platonic (that's more for realistic purposes).

The tall man startles as the bark sounds through the park. You widen your eyes at the sight of the little brown the male walks with. 

No, no, no , you think. 

Your dog, or actually your boyfriend’s dog, is rather big. The giant of a dog also barks whenever he sees brown dogs (as if the dog can be racist, honestly you have no idea how it works, but there are many things that can be the reason), and the dog that man walks with―  

You don’t want to think about it. 

Nor do you get the chance as your tight grip on the leash seems to be your downfall. The dog has almost leapt into the air as the barks rip through the quiet silence of the park. 

“Yoshi! Stop!” you yell, but to no avail. He keeps running, stronger than you even as you put your heels down on the ground and try to brake. 

The tall male has turned around. You send him a pleading look as your dog, almost literally, attacks his little one. In the sudden change of speed, where Yoshi goes from running and barking to hopping around and barking, you trip over your own feet and find yourself on your way to face planting with the ground below. 

A pair of strong arms around your hips keep you from falling and you’re put back up on your feet with your back pressed to a muscular chest. As you regain your balance, the arms fall away. They don’t go far, only to grip the leash of your dog in an attempt to help your arm not dislocate. 

“Thank you,” you say as you crouch down to keep Yoshi under control. He’s stopped barking, and with your soft strokes along his neck, he stops hopping, too. 

“You’re welcome,” replies your saviour. 

Standing up, you find a handsome male looking at you. Curly ginger hair, the most reassuring smile you have ever seen, and gentle blue-green eyes that makes you feel at ease. The way his eyes trace over you make you drag down the sleeve of your jacket slightly, and then you return his smile to the best of your abilities. 

“He can be a little unruly at times, I’m so sorry.” You press your lips together in a tight lipped smile, shaking your head to let your hair come back to the front and cover your neck where your scarf fails. “I think something might’ve happened when he was a puppy because he only reacts to brown dogs.”

The stranger’s smile crinkles his eyes and he lets out a slight chuckle. Your heart beats faster at the sound. You will it to shut up. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’m Tom, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.” You swallow the lump in your throat. Throat dry and heart steadily beating faster, the pounding like a drum inside your head. “I’m sorry, again. For the whole… thing. But I should get going now.” 

With a little tug of Yoshi’s leash you turn to continue down the path you were headed. A wait from Tom has you turn back around. He steps closer to you, tugging with him his own dog that so far seems rather docile and that you find super cute. 

“Could I possibly get your number?” he asks. 

If your heart hadn’t already lodged itself in your throat from talking to him, it definitely shot there now. With a steady breath (as steady as you can) you nod. “Yeah, sure.” And you take the phone Tom hands you. 

It takes no time typing in your number, but you nearly drop the phone when Tom’s dog starts barking at you. Big dog eyes that look at you, nose high in the air and the barking growing steadily louder as he continues.

Tom frowns at his dog as he accepts his phone. He shakes his head and tugs at the leash, telling ‘Bobby’ to quiet and that there’s nothing to bark about. “I’m sorry,” he says. “He’s probably a little jealous.”

You try for a smile and a soft laugh but it comes out more strained. “Yes, jealous. Makes sense, I guess.” With a deep sigh, you turn to look at Tom again. “Again, so sorry. I guess I’ll hear from you. Bye.”

And now you leave with Yoshi in tow before Tom can stop you. 

You wonder what he’ll do if he finds out you won’t answer his messages. Wonder if he’ll do the same as your boyfriend does whenever you forget to answer or don’t do something as he wants. 

After all, fear was the only reason you did give Tom your phone number. That reassuring smile fools no one, and those gentle eyes are the same gentle ones he uses in front of others. 

Sorry, Tom, but I won’t exchange him for someone worse . Even if I might deserve it . 

 ---

The door is unlocked when you get home. The shoe rack kicked over and the few sets of jackets that hung in the closet have found their way to the floor. Your heart stops beating as fear settles in your gut. 

This is never good, but neither is cleaning it up before he allows you to, so you kick off your own shoes and let your jacket fall to the floor instead of hanging it up. You unclasp Yoshi’s leash and let him pad into the living room and greet his owner. 

Clenching your eyes shut, you regret letting the dog go in before you. The whimper has tears forming in your eyes. You will them back. You can’t cry. Crying just leads to a worse… you don’t know exactly what to call it. 

“Babe?” you call as you take the steps in after the dog. 

Your boyfriend’s rage filled face meets you. He’s locked the dog in its too small cage, and he hits Yoshi on the snout rather hard as the dog lets out another whimper. 

“Babe, huh?” The retort has your gut churn, nervousness courses through your veins. “What the fuck took you so long?!”

There goes the level voice. You keep from closing your eyes, embracing for impact. He likes it more when you face him head on, as if it’s some kind of challenge. Pressing your lips closed, you let your eyes wander over his face. 

You note the down-tug of his lips, the anger boiling like a hot fire in his eyes, and the flare of his nose as his form towers over you. “Bitch, I asked you a fucking question! What the fuck took you so long?!”

“Yo-Yoshi saw a… a dog. I-I couldn’t hold him back and we-we went on a detour.” God, you sound weak. I am weak , you think, too weak . 

“Couldn’t hold him back, my ass.” He takes a step closer to you. Your body moves on its own when it takes a step back. It continues until your back collides with the wall and he locks you in. “Give me your phone!”

You fish your phone out of your pocket and pray to God Tom hasn’t texted you. You haven’t gotten the chance to block his number yet and if he has texted you, well, life for the next three days will be even worse than usual. You’d deserve it, too, probably.

Fear the only thing holding your body up, you hold your breath as he checks. First when he throws it away with a silent grunt and it lands on the couch, and he doesn’t yell, do you let yourself breathe again. 

“Fucking good for you there was nothing there.” His voice is a rough whisper, hoarse and with an underlying tone of want. He doesn’t say more before he presses his lips to yours, pinning your arms to the wall and pressing your head against it. 

When one of his hands falls to your hip, pressing you close to him, pressing you close to the growing bulge in his pants, you know it’ll bruise. Just like you know the grip on your wrist will bruise and that you won’t be able to walk in the next twenty four to thirty six hours. 

You know because that’s how it always is. 

How it always has been. 

 ---

[07.47] Unknown number Hi, this is Tom. I didn’t have time to send a text yesterday, but I still wanted to tell you that I would like to meet you again. Hope that’s possible. - Tom

[08.29] Unknown number I know you haven’t replied yet, and it’s probably because you have yet to wake up, but when you do, would you be up for a cup of coffee? Either lunch or breakfast, whatever sounds best for you? - Tom

[11.32] you Hi, Tom. This is Y/N. Very sorry, but I can’t meet with you. I have plans all week and the next months. Work is taking my time, so is having a boyfriend and friends. Very sorry about my dog, again, but thank you for saving me from the ground. Have a lovely life.

🛇 Blocked

To move this conversation out of Archived and get messages again, unblock xxxxx-xxxxx 

 Unblock

---

You’re unsure what it is that has you think the thought. It pops up from nowhere, really, but it still sounds… reasonable. 

With aching moves, you pack your things. A suitcase is more than enough for everything you own (your boyfriend keeping your hobbies to a fair minimum), and everything for Yoshi.

As you pack the bare essentials, your body shakes. Every few pieces of clothing thrown into the suitcase lands outside on the floor and your heart hammers in your chest. In the bathroom, finding your toothbrush, you hear a noise from the hallway and your heart shoots into your chest. Rushing out and to the living room, you only find Yoshi with one of his toys. 

Tears prick at the back of your eyes. Fear an ever lurking presence. Putting the leash on Yoshi, you hope he isn’t close. You fumble with the clasp and use far longer than you would have liked to put it on, but thankfully, the dog’s big eyes and somewhat smile and the wagging of his tail, helps put you at ease. 

His work day still has three more hours, meaning he won’t be here for another four. That should be enough time, right? More than enough time…

You leave the door unlocked, having left the key to the apartment on the kitchen counter. If anyone robs it… you fear the repercussions, but by the time he comes home, he shouldn’t be able to find you. 

Even as you walk with Yoshi and the suitcase down the street, finding a taxi and asking him to take you to the police station, you don’t know what has settled in you. You don’t know where this is coming from. This… courage.

You’re unsure whether it was the show you saw last night where the relationship between the two romantic leads, even when they were alone, never had any hitting or bruising or anger in the same way he shows. Or if it was Tom, and the way his face still sits at the back of your mind. How you’d compared his gentle eyes and reassuring smile to his fake mask in front of others. 

Has it really taken you so long to see the difference? To see that Tom’s, despite how instilled with fear you were, actually showed genuine compassion and care, and his is always with an extra layer that it takes a lot of study to see (but what else do you use your time on when you can’t look at others when you’re out?). 

You pay the cab driver as he drops you off and you find your way into the police station. It takes a long half hour before you walk out again and sit down on the curb. It takes another three hours to stop crying and shaking. In those three hours, Yoshi lies his head in your lap and lets the weight of him being close reassure you. A man who tries to help and ask what’s wrong is quickly barked away by the dog guarding you. 

It warms your heart.  

A police officer on her way home asks you what’s wrong, and, as you don’t tell, she tells you to contact someone. She also leads you into the waiting room and tells you to sit there until you find help, even if help doesn’t come from the police. In the hour you sit there, you delete the find my phone app and you block him and everyone associated with him on everything you can remember you share. You wish you’d done it sooner. 

In your phone, you’re left with few options. 

The unblock button is easy to press. The text is everything but easy to send. Your fingers shake as you type, and there are countless spelling mistakes. Finding them all takes a few minutes, and even after telling yourself you’ll send it, your finger hovers over the send button. 

Exactly seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds later (you counted), your finger falls down and you press the send button. Watching it turn blue has your heart beat faster and faster, and you press back the tears pricking at your eyes. Swallowing hurts as your throat is unbearably dry. 

The reply comes a lot faster than you would expect, and it helps ease some of the fear lodged in your body. The tears that fall now are a mixture of relief and fear, and Yoshi lying his head down in your lap again helps you regain your composure. 

Tom picks you and Yoshi up at the police station half an hour later. He offers up his guest bedroom, but you refuse, saying you’ll stay at a hotel until you can find something. You don’t refuse his offer of going somewhere to talk over a cup of coffee.

He helps you find a hotel that allows dogs, helps you check in (unlisted) and joins you for a walk with Yoshi before you find a quiet cafe to sit down at. You sit outside, Yoshi quiet by your feet, but regarding everyone who passes by with a steady look. Being a big dog, you see more than one person a little frightened. It warms your heart.

And the coffee in front of you warms your hands. 

“Thank you, Tom,” you say, after the silence becomes too much. “I haven’t told you anything about why but you’re still willing to help. Thank you.”

Tom smiles. One of his hands leaves his cup and when it comes close to yours, you instinctively flinch―though you don’t move it (that has never gone over well in the past). Tom’s hand hovers over yours and his eyes study you as his brows crease into a frown. Your heart pounds in your chest. “I won’t ask, but I hope I can help. However you need.”

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lower lip and look down at your hands. Both now clench around your coffee cup. The steam rises in the cool air and the smell stirs something in your gut, something that has tears prick at the back of your eyes. You let your hearts incessant pounding die down before you look up Tom. 

“I could use a friend,” you say, eventually. The smile you try to show is crooked and unsure, and you know the fright is visible through it. 

Tom still smiles. His eyes are gentle and reassuring, and it warms you that there actually does exist someone who doesn’t raise his voice at weakness and vulnerability. Someone who wants to help, and who doesn’t demand answers. 

You could use a friend. A friend who lets you find your own way and lets you take your time. 

“Anything you need, Y/N,” replies Tom. “Time, space, money, a hug, a friend . Anything.”

This time, when you smile, it crinkles by your eyes. It’s still crooked and unsure, but most of the fright is gone. 

You’ve finally taken off the rose-tinted glasses.

A/N: you’ve reached the end so please let me know that you’re alright, i care!

permanent tags:  @devilbat @adefectivedetective @gamillian @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @heartislubbingdubbing @wiczer @chillcan @geeksareunique @fandom-imagines1 @murdermornings

tom tags:  @inlovewith3 @bookgirlunicorn​ @mindlesschicca​ @justawriterinprogress​ @wolfsmom1 @loser-alert​ @satanskatze​ @timetravelingsociopathicwalker

[wordsysayswords]

After picking Wash up on Sidewinder, it’s going to take everyone a while to get used to the new living arrangements. Especially Wash, who’s a bit directionless now that he’s finally free of the Project. Tucker doesn’t care for Blue Team’s new leader. But he can’t help noticing some of the man’s odd habits and wondering what caused them.

-

Part 2: Sleeping Habits

It hits Tucker that violently shaking the sleeping Freelancer out of a nightmare might be an exceptionally stupid idea at the exact same time Washington headbutts him in the nose.

Or, Wash wakes up swinging.

-

Tucker doesn’t know how he manages to fall asleep, but Caboose’s snoring wakes him at about 6 am. He blinks around the room, taking in the crayon drawings and machine blueprints—also drawn in crayon—plastering the walls.

Beside him, Caboose is spread-eagle on the bed, drooling into his pillow. Tucker rolls his shoulders, trying to relieve the stiffness earned from sitting up against the wall all night. His gaze falls to his deactivated energy sword in his lap.

Right.

It isn’t like Tucker forgot what happened during the night. His chest is still tight with the remnants of nightmares that had seen the incident end differently. Bloody.

Somewhere in the base, a floorboard creaks. Tucker jolts, sword flashing to life in his hand. His eyes fly to the door.

The handle doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open. There isn’t even the shadow of feet passing by. The base is eerily silent—save for Caboose’s cartoonishly loud snores. After five minutes, Tucker’s starting to think he imagined it. He almost misses the distant sound of a door clicking shut.

Tucker listens. One minute. Two.

Pushing Caboose’s beefy arm off him, Tucker hops off the bed and tiptoes across the room. Ever so slowly, he reaches up and unlocks the door. He takes a deep breath.

He opens the door.

The kitchen is empty. So is the common area. The base feels cold and gray in the hazy morning light. The coffee pot is off, which is weird considering the unspoken rule that the first person up and about is in charge of prepping it. That’s usually Washington, what with his absolutely fucked sleep schedule.

But Tucker doesn’t want to think about Washington right now. What he wants is an ice pack for his nose because it might not be broken, but it hurts like a bitch. Deactivating his sword, Tucker grabs some ice and heads for the bathroom.

After nudging the door open to make sure a rabid Freelancer isn’t hiding inside, Tucker looks in the mirror to check the damage. Oof. The bleeding has stopped, but his shirt looks like a crime scene. Tucker hadn’t thought to grab tissues or gauze or even a medkit before locking himself and Caboose in the blue soldier’s room for the night. He gingerly inspects the colorful swelling he’s going to be sporting for a while.

He wonders if he gave Washington any bruises to add to his already sizable collection.

Tucker pulls back from the mirror and scoffs. He doesn’t give a shit about how Washington is feeling because it serves him the fuck right after almost murdering Tucker.

Tucker heads back to the common area. There’s a basket of laundry beside the door that the teal soldier hasn’t gotten around to folding. Tucker is fishing out a clean shirt to replace his blood-stained one when he notices the boots lined up neatly in the entryway. The two sets of boots.

There’s supposed to be three.

Wash’s room is empty.

The sun has barely crept above the distant glacier peaks on the horizon. There’s no snow this close to Sidewinder’s equator, but the landscape remains a tundra of frozen earth and hardy brown plants.

Tucker catches up with Washington two miles up the road, slowing the warthog to a crawl beside him.

“You goin’ my way, baby?” Tucker drawls, leaning out of the driver’s side with a wink.

Washington doesn’t stop walking. He glares ahead at the long dirt road stretching into the windswept wasteland, pointedly not looking at Tucker.

Okay, well, fuck. Dead silence wasn’t an option Tucker considered when mapping out this conversation in his head after he realized Wash had up and left. Then again, catcalling the guy hadn’t been on the agenda either, but Tucker’s mouth is always one step ahead. He’s a lot better at this whole banter thing when the other person can dish it out as good as they get. That was one of the nice things about Church. The asshole always had an answer, even if it was just “fuck you.”

“It’s cold as balls,” Tucker says, jumping on the first thing that comes into his head. “Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”

Washington is wearing the poorly fitting fatigue pants and shirt Caboose and Tucker had gifted him (though, Tucker was a lot more begrudging about it than Caboose). The Freelancer must have found the frayed military jacket somewhere in the abandoned base they’d taken over following the fight with the Meta. One of his hands holds it shut against the perpetually icy air. The other grips a sagging duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.

Washington picks up speed.

“You going somewhere?” Tucker prods, the engine of the warthog growling as he gives it just enough gas to keep Washington’s pace.

Tucker watches the man’s jaw clench, mouth set in a grim line.

Tucker sighs dramatically. “Listen, I don’t wanna have to be the one to tell Caboose that his pet ran away, so get your broody ass back t—”

“Take it!” Washington snarls, rounding on Tucker and causing him to slam breaks. Wash hurls the duffel bag to the frozen ground beside the warthog.

“Just fucking take it, okay?” Washington snaps louder, dragging a hand through his hair as he paces the road. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken anything, so just fucking take it, okay?”

Tucker cranes his neck out of the idling car to look down at the contents of the bag now spilled across the dirt. Two MREs and a flashlight.

Tucker doesn’t know what Washington sees in the confusion on the teal soldier’s face, but the man lets loose a harsh laugh. Washington rips off the jacket and flings that to the dirt as well.

“There,” he says, folding his arms firmly across his chest. “You have everything. Now, just fucking go.”

Tucker just sits there for a moment.

“What the—god damn it,” Tucker snarls right back, throwing the warthog in park and clambering out. “I don’t give a fuck about a flashlight and some bags of chicken-fucking-flavored rice!”

Wash has the nerve to look pissed.

“What do you want then?” He yells, throwing out his arms. “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU OUT HERE?!”

“That’s MY LINE, you ABSOLUTE ASSWIPE!” Tucker shouts back. “What are YOU doing out here? Are you actually running away?”

“What do you want? An apology? Like that’s going to fix this?” Wash shouts. “Fine! I’m sorry!”  

And the words come pouring out.

“I’m sorry!” Wash yells again. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but I did, and I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry I’m broken, I’m sorry I killed Church, and I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

With that, Wash drops to the dirt, the fight sucked right out of him by the outburst. He sits there, head drooping and silent save for his uneven panting.  

For some reason, it hits Tucker at this exact moment that this is the longest conversation he and Washington have ever had.

“There,” Wash says finally, voice subdued. “I said it. You can go. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” He doesn’t make any move to stand up.

Tucker actually laughs. “Seriously, dude? The nearest settlement is like 70 miles away. What are you going to do? Walk?”

“I can handle it,” Wash says dully.

“Dude,” Tucker says, pointing to Wash’s shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

Wash startles, looking down and finally noticing the slowly growing patch of blood at his side.

“Shit,” he curses, lifting the fabric to reveal a soaked square of gauze.

Tucker pulls a face. “Ugh, I thought Doc stitched you up.”

“Tore them,” Wash mumbles, pulling at the bandage to inspect the wound and face pinching at what he finds. “...Last night.”

Wash glances up at the cold, dirt road ahead and then down at the blood seeping out from around his hand pressed to his wound, frowning.

Tucker rolls his eyes and sighs. “Alright, get in.”

Wash narrows his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“To Mars,” Tucker says flatly. “Where the fuck do you think? Back to base to get your sorry ass stitched up again.”

Wash blinks. “What?”

“No, you heard me,” Tucker says, turning heel and climbing back in the car. Last night is still too fresh for him to offer the man a hand. “Get in the car.”

Still looking a little like a deer caught in headlights, Wash shakily climbs to his feet, wincing all the way. He hisses in pain bending down to pick up his things before limping around the warthog to climb in the passenger seat.

Staring straight out the windshield, Tucker grits his teeth and grips the steering wheel like it owes him money. It would be so much easier to hate Wash if he made excuses or pretended last night never happened. It’s a lot harder to hate someone when they’re standing in front of you in the cold, bleeding and apologizing for taking a coat and some meager rations. Goddammit.

“I still hate you,” Tucker blurts out, every word tasting like a lie.

Wash just nods, tired eyes still fixed on the place where the dirt road meets the horizon in the distance. He sags against the seat, pale and with sweat beading at his brow.

“Look,” Tucker says, slumping his shoulders, “I’m not stopping you from leaving. You’re a grown-ass, presumed KIA adult and can do whatever the hell you want. I just…recommend doing it with proper supplies and when you’re not bleeding everywhere.”

Wash looks over at him.

“I can leave later?” he asks quietly.

Tucker shrugs. “It’s up to you. You don’t owe us anything.”

Wash looks like he’s about to argue but seems to think better of it. He’s visibly shivering now. Tucker cranks up the heat before turning the warthog around and heading back towards base.

“Are...are you okay?” Wash asks softly.

Tucker looks over at him, taking in how he’s slumped against the seat even as his hands tightly gripped the wound. Up close, Tucker can see a ghastly bruise peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. Whether it’s from him or the Meta, Tucker can’t be sure.

He turns his eyes back to the road. “I’m fine,” Tucker says, even as his nose pulses in pain at the memory of the previous night.

“I should have warned you not to come near me when I’m sleeping,” Wash all but whispers.

“Is screaming like a...like an opera-singing howler monkey... normal for you?”

Wash shrugs.

“Whatever,” Tucker says. “Just try not to get blood all over the seats. I just had this thing cleaned.”

“What? How?”

“It’s a joke, Wash.” That’s weird. When did Washington become Wash?

“Oh.”

They ride in silence for a few moments before Wash speaks up again. “Tucker?”

“Hm?”

“...Thanks.”

Tucker stares straight ahead as the base comes into view. “Don’t mention it.”

[skeletaldarling]

Chase The Fire Away Chapter 2

Stress Eating

AO3

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 

Chapter 8

Summary: Some Sleepxiety softness followed by Patton with his new best friend... 

Ship: Sleepxiety, Lomile 

Word Count: 1512 

Warnings: Blood, blood drinking, vampires and witches, dark sides, Remus Sanders, swearing 

“REMY!” Virgil tore through the fridge, knocking things to the floor and growling as he grew more and more anxious. 

Remy bounded down the stairs. “Babe?”

“Where’s the emergency blood?”

“Downstairs fridge.” Remy frowned. “It’s always there. Oh. Unless we haven’t restocked?”

Virgil hissed and sunk to his knees on the kitchen floor. He shook his head in his hands and curled even tighter around himself. “Shit shit shit!” 

Remy itched to go over and pull Virgil into a hug, wrap him up in his arms and tell him everything would be okay. But the witch knew that wouldn’t go down well. He stepped to the opposite side of the kitchen. “Hun, do you want a drink?” he asked softly. 

Virgil shook his head. “No I can’t! I fed from you like three times yesterday! I can’t take more from you- and I won’t be able to stop!”

Remy shushed him gently. “Hey hey. It’s okay, V. I’m sure Logan has some blood for you, okay?” 

Virgil took a few deep breaths and rocked back and forth on his knees. “Logan has blood…”

“Yeah, he does. He always does. Do you want to drive there now?”

Virgil got to his feet before whimpering. “Patton could be there…” 

Remy cursed and fished his phone from his pocket. “You’re right. Okay. Okay, I’m going to let Logan know what’s happening, and he can make sure Patton’s out of the house and Emile knows how to keep his distance. You’re fine, hun. It’s okay, remember?”

Virgil whined with a nod and banged his head against the fridge. His throat was burning. His head was pounding. He desperately wished he could have blood. Just keep breathing. 

Remy would taste so good. His scent was just so painstakingly appetizing and Virgil craved to sink his teeth into his neck and finally drink. 

You can’t. You’ll never be able to stop now. You’re too hungry. 

Virgil clenched and unclenched his fists, watching his knuckles move to distract himself from his aching body. 

“Baby?”

Virgil didn’t move. 

“Virge, hun c’mon, we need to go to Logan’s now. He’ll get the bags ready while we get there.” Remy stood by the door and opened it. 

Virgil held his breath as he walked past his fiance, hurrying to the car and curling up in the back seat furthest from the driver’s side. 

Remy drove stupidly fast to get them there and ushered Virgil through the door as quickly as he could. “Lo?” He called. 

Logan was by their side in an instant, taking Virgil’s arm and together they disappeared through the house to the shed outside where Logan stored his emergency blood fridge. 

Emile came down the stairs as soon as they were gone. “Hi, Remy.”

“Hey, cutie.” Remy pushed his sunglasses up to his head and followed his friend to their kitchen. “Thanks for letting us pop over like this.”

Emile waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous! You’d do the same for us.”

“Well, us vampire babes gotta stick together, huh?”

Emile giggled and pulled a couple mugs down from the shelf. “You want some coffee?”

“Ooh, yes please!” 

“So where’s Patton?” asked Remy. 

Emile wrinkled his nose and he turned to look at the witch with a slight pout. “He’s at a friend’s house.” 

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“He was so nervous!” Emile whined. “I’m just so worried for him. This is his first and only friend since moving here and I’m so scared that they won’t be good enough for him.” 

“Oh, Em!” Remy laughed. “He’s such a good kid. He’ll have no trouble making and keeping friends.”

Emile chewed on his bottom lip. “I suppose… I just feel like sometimes no one deserves a kid as sweet as Patton.” 

“They don’t.” Remy assured him. “But I’m sure he’ll find someone who comes close.” 

“Hey.”

They looked behind them to see Virgil and Logan coming in through the backdoor. Virgil was clutching another bag of thick, dark, liquid. 

Emile set a cup in front of Remy. “Feel better, Virge?” 

“Yeah. Much.” Virgil sat down next to Remy. “Sorry for being a handful.” 

“Oh goodness no!” Emile smiled. “You’re always welcome here!”

“Guess I’m just lucky that Patton’s not here, huh?”

Emile deflated. “We really need to explain this all to him…”

“Soon,” said Logan. He put a hand on Emile’s hip and kissed his temple. “Soon, love.”

Virgil sucked on the opening of the plastic blood bag. “Thanks though. For the blood, I mean.”

“You need it more than me.” Logan reasoned. “I still have some emergency stock left and I can get more soon.” 

“Why’d you need it so bad anyway?” Emile asked. “Oh you don’t have to tell me! I’m just being nosy, sorry.”

Virgil shrugged. “Just been hungrier lately, I think. Fed from Rem too recently to feed again.” He took another sip, relaxing as he kneaded the bag with his fingers. 

“I think all that wedding planning is getting to you.” Logan decided. 

Virgil sighed. “God, probably. I’m definitely stressed about the wedding.” 

“Hey,” Remy squeezed his hand. “We’re on top of everything. It’s all going just fine, boo.” 

Virgil squirmed. “I guess… I just, what if it’s not? We’re spending every moment we have planning and making calls and decisions and what if they’re all wrong? Or if we plan the most perfect, amazing wedding ever, and then one thing goes wrong and boom! Everything’s ruined.”

“Oh, honey.” Remy chuckled gently and rubbed Virgil’s shoulder as he stood to wrap him up in his arms. 

Virgil breathed deeply, letting Remy’s familiar smell of coffee and smoke envelope them in their own safe little bubble. Virgil closed his eyes and listened to his fiance speak. Remy was so busy gently murmuring to him that he didn’t notice Emile taking Logan’s hand and leading them into the back garden, giving the couple some space. 

“I know it’s tricky, baby. I know it’s getting stressful, and it probably won’t get easier for a little while but there’s two of us.” Remy stroked Virgil’s hair as he spoke. “And we can do this together, ‘kay? Between you and me, we can make this wedding our bitch.”

Virgil giggled and gently bumped Remy’s chin with his head. “Thank you.” he mumbled, smiling against his fiance’s bare collarbone. 

Remy kissed Virgil’s hair. “If stress drinking blood is gonna make all this easier on you then we can get some more from the blood bank. I’ll make Logan get it for you. We can help you cope.”

Virgil took in one last deep breath before pulling back and giving Remy a quick peck on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

+++

Patton giggled from his perch on the top of Remus’s monkey bars. Apparently he’s had them since he was three, and now, eleven years later, Remus was tall enough to bonk the bar with his head while standing firmly on the ground. 

Remus was now standing on his hands, his feet hooked around the bars. “Shake them!” he demanded with a grin. 

Patton laughed again and wriggled, making the bars shudder dangerously. Remus cackled and lifted his hands off the ground to grab the bar, he shimmied until he was securely hooked onto the bar by his knees before swinging back and forth and laughing. 

Patton hopped off the bars and lay down on the grass, looking up at Remus and smiling brightly. Remus poked his tongue out with a teasing grin and poked Patton’s nose. “You’re short.”

Patton scrunched his nose up with another small giggle. Remus rocked back and forth, the feet on the children’s monkey bars starting to lift off the grass slightly. He reached out to grab Patton as he swung forwards again. “I’m gonna get you!” 

Patton shrieked and threw himself forward, away from the bars. Remus yelped as a rush on air slammed into the bars, sending them toppling backwards, they fell to the ground with a huge clatter. 

Patton swore. “Remus!”

Remy sat up suddenly, his eyes shot open. “That. Was. Awesome!”

Patton let out a breath and hurried over. “Are you okay?”

Remus bounced up again. “That was so cool, dude! It fell over, like, so fast and then boom! I was on the ground!” 

Patton listened to him ramble until his phone buzzed his back pocket. He glanced at his lockscreen and saw messages from Emile. 

Dad: We’re going to order pizza for dinner but if you don’t come home soon I guess we’re gonna have to eat it all! 

Dad: Remy and Virgil are over too so let us know when you’re leaving and we’ll order it. Xoxo

Patton sighed and Remus deflated. “You have to go?” he guessed. 

“Yeah. My dads want me home for dinner.” 

Remus shrugged. “Okay. I’ll walk you home! I have nothing better to do.”

Patton grinned and they walked around the block to Patton’s house. He turned to Remus. “I’ll text you later.”

“You better.” 

“Goodbye, Remus.”

“See ya, Pat!” Remus waved before he raced off, cartwheeling down the street.

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