Who’s the Boss? 8
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.
Character: Lloyd Hansen
Note: I couldn’t stop myself.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖
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The only change that comes with the delayed day is that it ends without another female visitor. You suspect it might have something to do with the night before but you don’t mention it. Mr. Hansen made it very clear you’re not to say a word about how you found him to anyone. Especially not Suzanne. He was very adamant on the last point.
You have no desire to engage in office gossip. The faster this whole internship thing comes to an end and you can go back to school, the better. You can be messy but rarely intentionally so. People don’t give you enough credit for that.
Friday morning comes much too quick for your liking. Dreams of the office and your tempestuous boss make it feel as if you never even slept. Between running around at his behest and those fleeting hours of rest, your life has little room for anything else. So that night, Friday night, you’re making yourself do something.
You text Hazel before you can forget and get ready. This skirt thing is going to stick, you may as well break the habit now. The wide-legged navy pants are pretty and professional, and they go nicely with the polka-dot blouse, the little frill at the collar is so cute. It’s your favourite from your small pre-internship haul.
You look in the mirror, checking your silhouette. This man should be thankful you don’t just throw on leggings and a long shirt and bop up with a scrunchie. He has no idea the true disaster that you are.
You’re adjusting to your schedule though. There’s still the constant weight of fatigue in the back of your skull but you’re more cognizant. You set off for another, final day of professional purgatory.
The Starbucks barista greets you brightly. You remember her from the day before and she you. You chat with her about college as she makes your drinks. She gives you extra whipped cream on your frappuccino. You thank her and announce your march to the gates of hell.
That morning, you have a card. You swipe it, impressed by the beep it issues as the door unlocks. You’re starting to get the hang of it. Even if you hate it all, it feels good that not a single obstacle can stop you. The same guard, Oscar, waves at you, his usual, ‘tell Mr. Hansen I say hello’.
It makes you think, as the elevator cables repel, how so many people are so eager to please Mr. Hansen. Sure, he’s a CEO, a rich dude, a man with a plan, but you don’t get it. Even your dad was starstruck. Could they not see the mustache? Were you imagining that part?
Top floor, you strut off the elevator and head straight for his office. You enter and place the holy chalice of espresso onto its plinth, a chorus of angels singing above. You step back and sip your frap, wandering around to look at the framed degree between the black bookshelves. Not a lot of books if you’re being honest.
Harvard. Figures. Actually, you didn’t think he was that smart but rich kids can buy their way into heaven. The Church had a whole thing about that.
“Casing the place?” Lloyd startles you as he strides in, tossing his briefcase in his chair.
You turn and pop your lips off the straw, a stray droplet at the corner of your mouth. You blot it with your knuckles as he eyes you up and down. He curls his lip and growls. You slowly inch away from the wall.
“No, sir, sorry,” you head for the door.
You sense his shadow as he lifts the Starbucks cup, “intern,” he grits out and wrinkles his nose above the lid before gulping down a mouthful. The disgust twitches in his jaw, “urg, what happened to the other stuff?”
“Other… oh, they open at seven.”
“Mmm,” he eyes the label of the cup, “so,” his eyes flick back to you, “they call that coffee too?”
You look down at your caramel crunch delight and shrug, “I’m more the sugar high type, not the coffee fiend.”
“Explains a lot,” he grumbles, “I hate those pants.”
“Well, you don’t gotta wear ‘em,” you sway as you pinch the loose fabric.
“Excuse me.”
“Sir,” you gulp and do your best Elmo impression, eyes round, mouth a straight line, “I’m gonna… go?”
“Please do,” he rumbles as he turns away and shakes his head.
He stares off through the windows as you back up through the door, shifting it shut slowly as you watch his stiff posture. He drops the coffee in the bin and lets out a blech just before you meet the frame. You told him that espresso was shit.
Silvio takes you to get breakfast for the king of the castle and on the way back, you grab him a fresh cup of coffee from the local shop. Better to leave that peeling bandaid on his ego. You present both to him as he doesn’t move in his chair, his eyes closed as he reclines with his feet up on his desk.
You move like the Pink Panther, not sure if he’s really awake. Duh-dun. Duh-dun. Duh-dun, duh-dun, duh-dun, duh-dun, duh-dunnnnn, da-dun. The theme plays in your head as you maneuver around quietly.
“I still hate those pants,” he opens one eye and you meet it in fright.
“Okay,” you nod.
“Take them off.”
“Sir, I don’t have any back ups–”
“Hm,” he frowns and opens both eyes, dragging his feet off his desk, “so?”
You blink at him. Heart racing. He can’t be serious. You giggle. “Sir, you’re silly. I didn’t even get your joke!” You hit your forehead, “I gotta go set up the conference room though so I’ll take my ugly pants with me.”
Before he can say anything else, you flit out the door. It was a joke right? You hope so. You go down to the conference room and stop short as someone else meets you there. Carmichael.
“Hi,” you utter dumbly.
“Better today?” He glances past you to Mr. Hansen’s door.
“He’s been placated,” you answer.
“Good,” he feels around under his jacket as he talks, “wanted to give you this.” He presents a plastic card embossed with the company name, “an expense card. Be easier than having to file for every little thing.”
“Oh, gee, thanks,” you take it with a trill, “awesome, dude… sir.”
“Yeah,” he drags out the word as he considers you, “also,” he lowers his voice and drops steps slightly closer, “I know he’s not the easiest guy to work with so if you ever need someone to talk to, to vent to, my office door is open.”
“Uh, ah, that’s so nice,” you say, “wow, well, thank you, sir.” You grip the door handle, “I really appreciate it but I gotta get this set–”
“Intern!” Lloyd’s voice booms through his closed door and you sigh, dropping your head.
Carmichael chuckles, “well, I’ll let you get back to him.”
“Sure,” you grumble with dread, “can’t wait…”
You turn on your heel and drift back down the hall. You approach the door and slowly ease it open. You peek around it, using it as a shield.
“Sir,” you greet him.
“Get over here,” he snips, “now.”
He points to the floor next to him and you obey. You cross to him as he sits forward and peels his bagel in half, the cream cheese lumped on and melting from the heat. Before you can react, he smears the cream down your right thigh to your knee.
“What the f- fruitcake?” You exclaim.
“You need a skirt,” he lets the bagel stick as he sits back, “and I need a new breakfast.”
“I– sir, but–”
“I can handle a goddamn meeting,” he flicks his fingers at you, barely concealing the gleam of amusement behind his eyes, “go on. You have…” he checks his watch, “I’m feeling generous, half an hour.”
“Half an–”
“Thirty minutes, twenty-nine minutes and fifty nine— no eight seconds…”
“Friggggg,” you catch the bagel before it can fall and throw it in the bin on top of the Starbucks cup. 
You march away, holding back your frustration and the tint of grief at the ruination of your pants. At least you got the charge card. You’ll be sure to pick something real expensive.
The skirt goes with your top, almost the same shade as your pants which you shove hastily in the bag in hopes that you can remove the cheesy stain later. You have a new breakfast and faith in Silvio. You can tell he notices your impatience and makes a few risky cuts in front of other drivers to get you back with… three minutes to spare. Three minutes to get to the top floor.
“You’re a lifesaver, Sil,” you shimmy over the seat.
“I do my best, senorita,” he assures.
You give a harried wave before you dive out, racing into the lobby and to the elevator. Oscar gives you an odd look as you pass but you don’t have time for him. You got to get this to the boss.
Less than a minute. You rush down the hall and stop short as you peek through the wall of the conference room. Shit. The meeting started. Carmichael, Suzanne, and the rest of the managers sit around the long table.
As Lloyd sits listening to a man pointing to charts, you catch his eyes through the transparent wall. You hold up the container and point towards his office. He shakes his head as his eyes rove down and linger on the skirt. When you put it on, it felt longer. He curls a finger at you.
Shit, awkward. You scrunch your lips and go to the door, taking a breath and putting your head down. You answer as subtly as you can. You focus on the path to the CEO and put his breakfast before him as you ignore the gazes from all around. They say nothing as he eagerly pops the lid back.
“Sit,” he hisses with no concern for the presenter.
You nod and find an empty chair at the other end of the table, near Suzanne who makes an effort to ignore you. Carmichael sends you a sympathetic smile as you sink down. You’re not a complete dumbass, you realise it’s all premeditated. The pants, the meeting, all of it. He’s punishing you, for quitting, but for something else you don’t quite understand.
Your routine syncs up gradually. You keep the calendar open and set several alarms on the tablet to remind yourself when you need to make a call or get something for Mr. Demanding. 
You sit in on another call, the absence of Fiona obvious as you curse the boring office pen with its plastic black casing. You click it restlessly, much to the pointed irritation of Hansen. It’s not intentional, you’re just bored. This is boring. Is this what CEO’s do all day?
Finally, you get a chance to hide at your desk and reply to Hazel. ‘Can’t wait to get lit.’ She’s all for it and even snagged some overpriced tequila from her work. Again, you seethe with jealousy. She’s going to yuck it up once she hears about your absurd week.
You leave your phone on your desk and run to the bathroom. It may be your only chance before you’re once more beckoned to bend the knee to king shit. You take your time, bobbing your head to a song only you can hear as you wash your hands.
A toilet flushes and Suzanne emerges from another stall. She looks you up and down in the mirror.
“Cute skirt.”
“You think?” You look down at the dark blue sheath, a tiny split at the hem to allow for walking, a thin white trim that branches up the back.
“I liked the pants better.”
“Oh… I spilled something on them.”
“Uh huh,” she looks at her reflection dully, “I’ve noted that characteristic.”
“Which is–”
“You’re clumsy. Careless. And quite frankly, out of your depth.”
“I full heartedly agree,” you sigh, “oh, jeez, you have no idea–”
She snorts, “that wasn’t a compliment or an invitation to chat further.”
“Oh, alright, well, good talk,” you shut the faucet off, “as always.”
You hold your hands under the hand dryer and visualise yourself evaporating with the water droplets that fleck off your skin. You leave and dawdle back to your desk with no particular urgency. You find Lloyd in your chair, your phone in hand as he holds it at a distance to read. He should probably get some glasses.
“Gonna get lit?” He looks up at your approach.
“Uh, yeah, a bonfire,” you lie,” as you reach for your phone and he holds it away from you.
He lets out a long exhale and thumbs through your cell. You go around the desk, once more trying to snatch it back, “with all due respect, sir, that’s mine–”
“Everything that belongs to you, belongs to me now,” he proclaims, “got it, bee?”
“That doesn’t really make sense so no–”
“So what time is this little… bonfire?”
“Excuse me? Did you just question me?”
“Mr. Hansen, sir,” you huff as he turns the chair to face you, his knees wide. You end up between them, your phone still beyond your grasp, “I don’t know why it matters–”
“Because you have other obligations. Work obligations.”
“At nine?”
“Time zones,” he insists bluntly.
You pout, “it’s Friday.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Sir,” you plead.
He sits up, the chair tilting forward with him. He’s much too close for comfort, his face level with your chest. He reaches around you and you wince, trying to step back, only to crush your ass against his hand. He tugs and retracts his arm, holding up an unused strip of toilet paper, “got something.”
“Oh, uh,” you step back, giving up on your phone as the heat crawls up your body.
“Fine, go get… lit,” he holds your phone out as he stands, “don’t have too much fun.”
You frown and take the cell, turning your back against the desk to let him past, “uh, right now? It’s only three–”
“Not right now,” he chides, “go get me a coffee.” He pauses and faces you halfway, “also, you might wanna take it easy on all that sugar, it goes straight to your thighs.”
His eyes wander down and he stares at your legs. You try to hide from him behind your desk. He carries on without another word but the weight of his gaze looms. You did not enjoy that. Also, you like your thighs so he can choke.
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onlymywishfulthinking · 16 hours
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season 1 + keepsakes
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thevelvetgoldmine · 17 hours
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BOJACK HORSEMAN S03E09 - "Best Thing That Ever Happened"
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widovva · 2 days
𝒊𝗰꩜𝗻𝘀 𓏲 suki, camila and riley
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if you save them, like or reblog 𑁤
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admireforever · 2 days
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Normal People
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excusasbaratas · 23 hours
El sexo es la parte fácil. Dar tu corazón a alguien, esa es la parte que da miedo.
— One Three Hill
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peakyscillian · 3 days
Family Ties | Modern!Tommy Series
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Summary: The Shelby’s will do anything for family. Warnings: ✨SPOILERS✨ Smut, 18+ Minors DNI, Mature themes, use of the word ‘Whore/Slut’ , mentions of unconsenual sex. Mentions of miscarriage proceed with caution Part: 15 Pairing: Modern!Tommy x Fem!Reader Requested: No Notes: If you read a series/story and you like it or even love it, please comment, like & reblog so writers know they’re getting the interaction they deserve! It means so much to see someone reblog your work! I also want to thank everyone who has shown me so much love on my work!!
Family Ties | Part Fifteen
Please Read warning in RED before proceeding!
Masterlist | FT Masterlist
Part Fifteen.
Tommy made his way into the abandoned warehouse, your voice telling him to be ‘bloody careful this time’ ringing in his ears as he strides through the corridors, he stops outside the door at the furthest end of the warehouse, he can hear Arthur inside. 
Checking his gun is sat in his holster before he pushes his way in, Arthur is sat in front of the man who’s tied to the chair, the busted lip and black eye a sign his older brother has had a good go at him before Tommy arrived.
“Brother, we fucking got him” He states, Tommy nods because well, yes he could see that, Arthur stood from the chair, landing another blow to Sam's stomach making him cry out in agony.
Sam looked up at Tommy, he went to speak, but Tommy was in his face, “Think you can go around controlling all those vulnerable women eh?, make their lives hell and get away with it?” he sneered.
Sam smirked “They all fucking deserve it, especially Y/N, she fucking loved every minute being a whore needed putting in her place” he laughed, Tommy’s fist connected with his face “keep her name out of your fucking mouth” he shouted.
Sam was laughing, could see how he was winding Tommy up “Nice fucking cunt eh?” he taunted, Tommy immediately had the gun pressed against Sam’s forehead, eyes locked on the man who had caused his wife so much pain.
“Enough!” he bellowed, watching with a smirk as Sam went to open his mouth, without giving him a chance to say anything degrading about you again, he pulled the trigger.
“Fucking hell, Tom” Arthur chuckled, as Sam’s body slumped forward on the chair, “he didn’t deserve to fucking say her name again” Tommy pushed the gun back in his holster. 
“Call Johnny Dogs he’s waiting to clear up, I need to call John and Finn, let them know to get things underway at Daytona’s” Tommy looked at Arthur, “Get home to Y/N, I can deal with them, Johnny Dogs knows his orders” Arthur patted Tommy on the back, “Get back and tell her the good news eh?” he smiled.
Tommy nodded “Thanks Brother” he took one last look at Sam, finally gone, he couldn’t wait to tell you, to see your face when you found out he wouldn’t be hurting another young women again.
You greeted Tommy a few hours later, throwing yourself into him not caring about the blood on his clothes and face, “He’s gone darling” he hummed, pulling back to get a good look at you “Fucking free of him finally, eh?” he smiled cupping at your face, you bit at your lip trying to hold back the tears. 
“Really?” you were shocked, finally, you felt the weight lift from your shoulders “Really Darling, got what he deserved” he pulled your face towards his, lips pressing against yours. 
Tommy woke up to the sound of you muffled behind the closed door of the en-suite, the soft heart wrenching sobs, he was out of bed in a flash, heart pounding as he twisted the doorknob.
“Y/N, love unlock the door” he gave it a gentle tap, voice soft, “please” he added as an afterthought. Letting out a breath as the click of the lock indicated he could go in, his gaze skimmed over you, the red of your eyes, the red on the tiles “I think I'm losing the baby” you choked out a sob.
Tommy gathered you into his arms, hand stroked over the back of your head as he soothed you “let's get you cleaned up, eh?” He hummed, moving you to sit on the edge of the bath, he could see the red streams on your legs as you doubled over with another pain.
“He’s fucking dead and he’s still won” you hiccuped, would this ever end? You wouldn’t ever be free of him. Tommy knelt on the floor in front of you, hands stroking against the skin of your thighs “He hasn’t won, I won’t fucking let him” he sighed. 
He called for Polly, someone just to come over because fuck, he didn’t have a clue what to do in this situation.
Polly had got you cleaned up and into bed, a calm presence in the madness, she found Tommy in the bathroom making an attempt to clean up, hands shaking as he wrung out the cloth “Thomas, leave it” Polly spoke softly.
“She can’t come back in here to this, Pol, why her eh?” he was trying to stay calm, didn’t want to make you upset, “She doesn’t fucking deserve this, we don’t deserve this” Polly took his hands “He’s gone, you sorted it, you’ve kept her safe” she spoke trying to get him to see sense. 
“But he’s won hasn’t he?” Tommy gestured to the mess of the bathroom, Polly shook her head “No he hasn’t because you’ve still got each other, you found each other and you saved her” Polly reassured him.
“Tom” your soft voice came from the doorway, stepping into the bathroom you kept your eyes on your husband, “I’m so sorry” you whispered, Tommy pulled you into him “You have nothing to apologise for” he guided you out of the bathroom.
He helped you into bed, letting you curl into his body holding onto him. “I’m going back on the pill, I don’t want to go through this again” you confirmed, you really couldn’t go through this pain. 
Tommy pushed his fingers through your hair, “Baby, you don’t have to worry about that right now, eh? Get some sleep, please?” he urged, looking up as Polly came back into the room. 
“Call me if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow” she smiled, you looked up at her “Thank you Pol, I’ll come see you out” you went to move from the bed. Polly frowned, “You will not, I’m capable of getting out of the door myself, get some rest” she ordered, you nodded knowing not to ignore her orders. 
Polly turned before she left the room, “I don't want to see you working for the rest of this week, that's both of you” she didn’t give either of you a chance to answer, before she left the room.
Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and my awful updating!! I appreciate you all 😘
Taglist @cillmequick @runnning-outof-time @look-at-the-soul @gypsy-girl-08 @heidimoreton @thomasshelbee @forgottenpeakywriter @shelbydelrey @allie131313 @cillixn @midnightmagpiemama @zablife @queenshelby @missymurphy1985 @janelongxox @cloudofdisney @being-worthy @vhscillian @radioheadgirl @elenavampire21 @datewithgianni @magicalpieex @camilleholland89 @cilliansangel @uchihacumdump @inkandpen22 @ysmmsy @lyarr24 @anotherhitandrun @alreadybroken-ts @flyingjosephine-blog @moral-turpitudes @duckybird101 @lostgirl219 @blyanyan @flippittygibbitts @stevie75 @winchestergirl22 @stars-of-scorpio @moral-terpitude @lespendy @lovemissyhoneybee @pocket-of-possibilities @otterly-fey @gotohellandbackforyou @tinyminxie
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toms-gf · 12 hours
summer loving (six) ⎸ t.h
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⌙ summary: your mom and tom’s mom grew up together, swearing that their kids would be life long friends. and it was true, the holland boys were a special part of your life. but on the annual trip to their beach house this summer, everything feels different. and that’s because it is.
⌙ au: based on the book and tv show ‘the summer i turned pretty’ by jenny han. childhood friends to lovers
⌙ wc: 2.1k
⌙ warnings: angst, shawn deserves better :(, fluff, language and a lot of whiplash
⌙ pairing: tom holland x fem!reader with a lil bit of shawn mendes x fem!reader
masterlist ⎸ chapter five ⎸ chapter seven ⎸ listen
                                    ─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“happy birthday!”
you opened your eyes to kat jumping up onto the bed, a gift bag in hand as she climbed next to you. you groaned, grabbing the pillow from under your head before squishing it over your head, covering your eyes and ears. 
“on come on,” she laughed, “it’s your birthday!”
“so as your best friend, i have to make sure you’re having the best day of your life!”
you groaned, “then tell me how to stop feeling guilty about basically lying to shawn.”
she sighed, pulling the pillow off of your face. you squinted, adjusting to the light in your room once again as she looked at you sadly. the two of you had a long talk the other night about how tom was still on your mind and how it wasn’t fair to shawn that you’re with him while constantly thinking about another boy. 
it was confusing, because on one hand, shawn was the best guy ever. everything you could possibly ever want. but tom, he’s the one that has your heart. wether you’d like to admit it or not. 
“i wish i could,” she sent you a gentle smile, “it’s better to be truthful then to lie to him.”
you nodded, sighing again, “i know.”
“when do you plan on… ending things?” she winced as she asked the question, not wanting to upset you more than you already are. 
“i guess i should do it soon,” you said, “i don’t want to keep dragging him through this.”
she nodded, “you should probably call him.”
you nodded back at her, biting down nervously on your bottom lip. you never liked breaking someone’s heart, not when you cared about them the way that you care about shawn. it wasn’t fair to him to keep things from him, it was for the better. 
you grabbed your phone and sent him a text. 
y/n hey, can we meet on the beach? i wanna talk to you
you felt a little piece of your heart breaking before you hit send. you locked your phone as kat changed the subject. you weren’t really listening to her though, just going through everything in your mind about how terrible you felt.
it wasn’t supposed to be this way. you were supposed to realize that shawn was way better than tom by a long shot, fall in love, and live happily ever after. but no, as always, tom holland has a way with sneaking into your mind. you always find yourself coming back to him, even when you shouldn’t. 
you were pulled from your thoughts when your phone buzzed on your thigh. 
shawn hey! yeah, i’ll be there in 10 happy birthday by the way ❤️
you smiled softly, another wave of guilt taking over you. 
thank you ❤️ see you soon 
kat stopped talking when she saw you typing on your phone, “are you listening?”
“hmm?” you looked up at her, “sorry, go ahead.”
“what i was saying was maybe we should go shopping before your party later,” she said, “you need a cute suit to go with the gift i got for you.”
your raised an eyebrow, “do i?”
she nodded, handing you the light blue gift bag with white tissue paper sticking out at the top, “mhm, open it.”
you sighed, “i told you i didn’t want anything.”
“i don’t care,” she rolled her eyes playfully, “just open the damn bag.”
you obliged, opening the bag and removing the wrapping paper. you pulled out a light green bikini, floral patterns in different shades of green all over it. you smiled, “thank you.” 
you leaned over and gave her a hug, she smiled back at you, “of course.”
“i’m gonna head to the beach to talk to shawn,” you said, “but after i get back we can head into town.”
she nodded, “a little retail therapy never hurt anyone.”
you chucked, throwing a sweatshirt on over the tank top you slept in.  you tugged on a pair of sweatpants and slipped on a pair of flip flops, “wish me luck.”
she smiled softly again, “you got this. it’s for the better, remember?”
you nodded, shoving your phone in the pocket, “yeah, better.”
you made your way downstairs, thankful that everyone else in the house was still asleep. you made your way out the door, walking towards the beach. you sat down in the sand, sighing to yourself as you looked out at the rising sun against the ocean. 
this was your happy place. 
you heard someone walk up behind you and sit down. you turned and saw shawn as he smiled at you.  
“hey,” he greeted.
you sent him a tight lipped smile, “hi,”
“everything okay?” he asked genuinely, eyes filled with wonder and concern. you sighed, looking back towards the ocean. 
“what’s wrong?”
he frowned, “what’s up?”
you took a deep breath, “you’re just a great guy. i don’t deserve someone like you.”
he furrowed his eyebrows, “yes you do.”
you shook your head, “no, i don’t.”
“yes you do, y/n, i don’t get what you’re talking about.” he reached out and grabbed your hand. you sniffled as you looked away, shaking your head. 
“i don’t want to break your heart, shawn,” you said, looking back at him as a tear rolled down your cheek, “it’s not fair to you.”
his eyes softened, “break my heart?”
you nodded, licking your lips, “yeah.”
“it’d be an honor to have my heart broken by you,” he laughed softly, “you don’t give yourself as much credit as you should.”
you sighed softly as he wiped your tears away, “i don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
you were quiet for a second before you mumbled that god forsaken name, “tom.”
he nodded, pulling you closer into his side. you laid your head on his shoulder, his falling ontop of yours, “it’s okay, i knew all along.”
you looked up at him, “what do you mean?”
“i talked to sam,” he said, “he told me that you and tom have been playing cat and mouse for a while. tom thinks he doesn’t deserve your love, and you think that he’s not into you because the two of you are too blind to see that it’s always been you two since the beginning.”
you felt your mood start to switch to anger for a split second, “what else did he say?”
“he mentioned that the two of you almost kissed in front of him on the first day,” shawn’s voice was soft, “and part of me knew this was going to come at some point. i see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. you’re both in love, but too scared to admit it.”
you bit your lip, looking back out towards the ocean, “i’m sorry.”
“it’s okay,” he reassured, “i’m just glad i at least had a shot with you.”
you chucked, “i like to think that in another life, we wouldn’t have ended this way.”
he laughed softly, shaking his head, “me too.”
“are we okay?” you asked, “i don’t want to lose you as a friend, too.”
he nodded softly, “we’re okay.”
you smiled and leaned your head back onto his shoulder. you both sat there as you listened to the waves crash against the shore. the sun started rising higher into the sky, and when it got bright enough you ended up standing on your feet. 
“thank you for understanding,” you smiled softly, “you deserve the best.”
he smiled, “you deserve to be happy,” he motioned towards the house, “so go be happy. i’ll always be here.”
you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck before the both of you went your separate ways. on the walk back to the house, you thought about what shawn and sam had talked about. about how sam spilled your feelings for tom, and about the almost kiss. it made your blood boil, it wasn’t his place to say anything. 
once you got back to the house, you saw sam outside as he waxed his surf board. you walked up to him, smacking him upside the head. he flinched, rubbing the back of his head and turned to look at you, “the hell?”
“you told shawn about the almost-kiss between tom and i on the beach? and told him about the fact that i like tom?!”
he sighed, putting the wax down, “i did.”
he ran a hand through his hair before he rubbed the back of his neck, “i don’t know,”
“you don’t know?!” you crossed your arms, “what do you mean you don’t know?”
“i don’t know!” he flung his arms up, “i guess i was just jealous because tom always gets what he wants but i never get what i want.”
you furrowed your eyebrows, “what do you mean?”
“i mean,” he sighed, cutting himself off, “of course he gets to have you because it’s tom. it doesn’t matter that anyone else wants you, because you’re already his.”
you stared at him blankly, “so you tried to ruin my relationship with shawn by telling him about the fact that tom and i have been back and forth for the past couple months and that i’ve had a crush on tom for years, all because of what? you’re jealous?”
he looked down at his shoes, “yeah…”
you scoffed, “unbelievable.”
he felt bad for trying to ruin your relationship with shawn, he really did. he watched as you walked back inside, slamming the door shut behind you. you raced back up the stairs, ignoring the “happy birthday”s from the moms, your brother and paddy in the kitchen. you went up to the wooden door, knocking on it. you saw sam standing at the bottom of the stairs, seeing that he had followed you inside to try to apologize. 
you were met with brown eyes, a smile on his face, “happy birth-“
you shook your head, grabbing him by the strings on his hoodie and kissed his lips softly. he reacted quickly, his hands moving to your hips as he kissed you back. sam’s eyes were just as wide as yours.
you pulled away, your eyes wide as he smiled softly back at you. you looked towards the steps, seeing that sam was no longer standing at the bottom of the steps. you heard the slam of the back door, causing you to sigh. 
“are you-“
“yep,” you nodded, looking back at him, “bye.”
you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else as he watched you walk quickly towards your room and close the door. you leaned up against the door, sighing loudly before looking over at kat.
“i fucked up.”
she furrowed her eyebrows, “what did you do?” 
“i kissed tom.”
her eyes widened, “just now?”
you nodded slowly. she bit back a smile, letting out a soft laugh. 
“was it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?”
you rolled your eyes, shaking your head, “i’m not answering that question.”
“i’ll take that as a yes.”
after a few hours, everyone had arrived for your birthday party. you smiled, thanking people for coming. you were wearing your new bathing suit from kat, a drink in your hand as everyone talked. you felt someone tap you on your shoulder, turning around and seeing sam standing behind you. 
“can i talk to you for a minute inside?”
you nodded, telling the girl you were talking to that you’d be right back. you followed him inside, walking into the dining room. 
“what’s up?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink. 
“i just wanted to say i’m sorry,” he said, “it wasn’t cool of me to talk about you and tom to shawn. i’m sorry for everything.”
you nodded, “i’m sorry, too.”
he waved you off, “it’s okay. i’m just going to have to live with the fact that we’re always just going to remain friends.”
you sent him a tight lipped smile, “i’m sorry, again.”
“it’s okay, i promise,” he smiled softly back at you, “are we cool? can we just pretend that this never happened?”
you nodded, “i’d like that.”
he smiled and opened his arms for a hug, giving you a squeeze. you smiled back at him, hugging him back tightly.
just then, your mom came into the room, “there the two of you are!”
you pulled away as she continued, “we’re singing happy birthday,” she smiled, “come on.”
the rest of the party you walked around and continued talking to others before you felt tom grab your hand. you apologized to the person you were talking to as he pulled you into the house, ignoring your protesting from behind him.
“what’re you-?”
“just shut up.” he mumbled, pulling you closer before kissing you softly. you tensed under his touch, but kissed him back. 
“what was that for?” you asked, breathing heavily after you pulled away. he shrugged, smiling as he backed up away from you. 
“getting you back from earlier.”
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Reason to Live #8795
  Finishing the Owl House.– Guest Submission
(Please don't add negative comments to these posts.)
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Shackled (Chapter 17)
Dark! Rafe Cameron x Pogue! Reader
Warning: There are some intense, dubiously consenting and nonconsensual sexual themes in this series, MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS DNI.
Summary: You hate Outer Banks with a passion and are working hard to get out despite all the obstacles in your way. Rafe himself eventually becomes one of those obstacles after a night of low impulse control. Will you be able to overcome him or with you have no choice but to submit.
Slow Burn
Series Masterlist
Tag list:
You were ok.
Rafe put in the work when he decided to nurse you back to health, and as grateful as you were for his help, you were just as unsettled being around him.
Which was how you found yourself sneaking out of the front door of the Cameron Mansion. You had no money and no way to get any farther than the entrance of Figure 8.
That is until you catch Sarah, walking out with her car keys in hand,  probably sneaking out as well, so you rush to her side as quickly as possible, frightening her.
"O my gosh, you scared me," she places her hand above her chest for emphasis, giving a deep breath before continuing. "Did you need something?" she asks.
"I was wondering if you were going to the cut?" you ask, looking back at the mansion.
"I was going to see John B." she nods.
"Would you mind taking me there as well?" you ask, looking back again when you thought you heard something.
"What about Ra-," 
You cut her off.
"Don't worry about Rafe. I feel like I'm suffocating here and was hoping to get out for a bit," she looks doubtfully at you. "I promise I'll be back before he notices. I just need to feel some freedom,"
"Ok," she says.
"Ok," you respond.
You had no reason to trust Sarah, Ward had already proven how much of a scumbag he was, and you didn't need any confirmations about Sarah. Sure, it felt like you could tell her, but with your luck, you didn't want to risk it. 
You both get into the vehicle, and she begins driving off.
During your weeks of recovery, Rafe never let you out of his sight, Ward allowed him to work from home, and he would only ever step out if he needed to do a visit. Which was rare, so he'd take you with him when he did one.
You fought against it initially, but realizing he wasn't giving you a choice, you begrudgingly followed along.
Amid your care, he constantly held, stroked, and fondled you. Forcing you to touch and feel him through his arousal. Always whispering promises of your physical reunion, saying that he couldn't wait to officially get his hands on you.
It was so jarring and uncomfortable to go through all of this, but then he'd go back to taking care of you, making sure you took your pills, keeping you well-fed and hydrated. He would be so gentle sometimes; it gave you whiplash.
Tomorrow would be one of your last appointments pertaining to the injuries caused by your father. You knew you would be given the ok, because you were ok. You could finally breathe without pain, your limp was basically nonexistent, and your face was completely healed. They had no reason to deny Rafe his need to have you.
Tonight was the only night where you had just enough freedom to escape your personal hell known as Rafe Cameron, and it was by pure luck.
He was under the influence when he walked out of the bathroom that night. You could tell through his slurred words and wobbly movements. 
You assumed he did a line while he was in there. 
When he came to bed, he started talking about work, Ward, Sarah, and even you.
He got you to pull on his cock, releasing himself in your hand, saying he couldn't wait to have you again before knocking out cold. An hour had passed before you realized this was the perfect opportunity to leave. So, you put on some clothes, pulled on one of his jackets to keep you warm through the cold, and stepped out.
As Sarah drove on the cut's main road, you waited a few moments before telling her to stop. Your house was still a couple of blocks away, but you would manage.
"You sure?" she asks. "I can just take you where you need to go."
"I'm sure. I'll see you later," you close her door and wave her off, waiting for her to leave before you walk toward your home.
It stood the same, the only difference being the police tape and the giant hole dug out in the backyard. You walk around to look in the hole, and your heart clenches.
You were sure they dug your mother out, and if you hadn't done anything to save your neck, you'd be buried beside her. You couldn't say you were surprised because your father did have his violent tendencies, and in terms of evidence, it worked against him.
Once the shock slips away, you try the back door to find it open. You didn't know what you would find, but you had to try.
An hour and a half later, you found 200 dollars and your father's truck keys. You got a small bookbag from your room and started packing from whatever was left behind when Ward and Rafe last came to get your things.
It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
You planned to return to Misty's Lounge and beg Sam for a set or two. You could stay with someone for a few days, then skip town as soon as you have made enough money.
You walked to the old beat-up Chevy, adjusting your seats and mirrors, as your nerved became unsettled. Of course, it could have been better, but you were pressed for time, on your own, and desperate. You just needed the plan to follow through.
The last time you drove a car was for a driver's test provided by your school. Since then, you haven't touched a wheel.
You take a deep breath before pushing in the key and turning it, the car sputtered and wheezed, but it didn't start. You tried a few times until all you heard was a click from the key turning.
You couldn't give up, you knew your dad had one of his battery starters in the garage. You'd seen him use it a few times, so you had an idea of how it worked. Maybe that was it, at least, you were hoping that was it.
When you found the battery starter, you turned it on to see if it worked, but the little screen remained blank. You sat after a few more times, turning the knob, and started wondering if it needed to be charged. 
You plug it into an outlet, and after a few minutes, the screen starts blinking.
Relief was flooding your chest, things were starting to look up. You let it sit while you looked around the house. It was just as you left it that night untouched until this moment. You glance at the microwave in the kitchen to watch how much time goes by.
When an hour passes, you unplug the starter hoping it's enough to give you what you need, just as you step onto the porch, you notice another truck parked next to the Chevy and figure walking up the path to your house. As soon light catches the face of the stranger, blue eyes flicker back at you, and you drop the starter rushing back into the house.
“Y/N!” Rafe yelled.
You move up the stairs, rushing to your father's room, it was the only room in the house with a deadbolt lock, and luckily for you, it was open. You quickly move inside, closing the door, not just latching the deadbolt but locking the handle.
You needed to find a way to get out. Looking toward the window, you could find a way to sneak to the starter and work on the Chevy while he was busy trying to open the door inside.
You heard the knob jiggling and started making your move.
"Y/N!" he starts. "Sweetheart, please open the door, or I'm gonna have to do this the hard way, and you'll pay for it if I do,"
He's met with silence as you carefully jiggle the lock on the window.
A sudden bang makes you jump, causing you to stare at the bedroom door. Another bang follows, causing you to jump again. This time the short head of an axe peeks through.
Of course, he had an axe. It had to be one of the two your father used for decorations in the hall. This man had to be the bane of your existence. 
You struggle to push the window up, but you manage and carefully climb out.
When you hop off the window from the other side, you land wrong, a sharp pain invading your ankle as it travels up your leg. You had to keep moving, limping toward the front door, grabbing the starter you'd dropped, and pushing yourself toward the Chevy. 
You heard the dull thumping of feet going down steps, and that was when you knew you were fucked, but you kept going. Something needed to give.
But nothing did.
You could hear Rafe's steps slow as he got outside, watching you struggle to carry the starter, an unamused chuckle pushing from his throat. Soon enough, he was behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pushed you against the Chevy.
"You're cute, you know that," he whispers into your ear. He grabs a handful of your ass before giving it a painful squeeze.
"I should fuck you right here for the trouble you've caused me." He moves his hand around to your front, palming your mound and squeezing it, grinding his hard-on into the crack of your ass as hard as he can.
"But we don't want any irreversible damage, now do we."
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crackedpumpkin · 3 days
ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪꜰᴛᴇᴇɴ ||
2k12! Leonardo x Waterbender! reader
a/n: Ooooo we really getting into the backstory now :) I already can't wait for the s3 arc, i have so much planned!! tw: gets a bit dark
Y/n is startled when she hears the door open, then loudly slam shut. Peering around the corner of the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, she spots April tossing her bag onto the floor.
“Did something happen?” She turns off the stove, bringing out a glass of water. April accepts it gratefully, though the scowl on her lips remains as she gulps down the refreshing liquid. 
“Yeah, Donnie followed me home,” April answers bitterly, Y/n taking the now empty cup from her hands. “Anyway, I just came by to drop off a few things before heading back out again.”
“What about dinner? I made some fish stew,” Y/n tries to coax, gesturing to the pot on the stove. April hesitates but shakes her head in response. “C’mon, at least bring along some salmon jerky.” 
“You already gave me some. It’s still in my bag. I’ll have that and microwave the stew after I return home.” April stands back up, grabbing her bag and slinging it across her waist again.
“Who will you be out with? Don’t come back home too late.” 
“I’ll be going to see a friend. Casey Jones. Y’know, the guy I’m tutoring?” Y/n shakes her head in response, April looking at her blankly before remembering that Y/n didn’t go to school. She had stayed at April’s home for the past week, doing her own thing.
Ever since that night, when the small voice of temptation whispered in the corner of her mind, Y/n tossed and turned in bed, restless. She didn’t understand where it had come from, much less why it had turned up.
But she knew it was a reminder of the memory she tried so hard to push to the back of her mind, one that haunts her if she doesn't try to forget.
“I don’t want that kind of power.” 
It was the night of the full moon, and Y/n and Katara stood behind Hama. Y/n had bluntly refused Hama’s initial offer to teach them bloodbending, Katara nodding in agreement. 
“The choice is not yours. The power exists.” Hama’s voice hardens. “It’s your duty to use this gift to win this war. They tried to wipe us out, Katara. Your culture, your tribe, your mother.” Hama switches to winning over Katara instead, the soft-hearted girl hesitant.
Y/n places her arm in front of the younger girl, taking a bold step forward protectively. “You’re the one who’s behind the missing people, aren’t you?” She realizes, putting the pieces together.
When Toph mentioned voices under the mountain, they all thought she was joking, maybe even hearing things. But now Y/n knew for sure that Hama was behind everything.
“They threw me in prison to rot, along with my brothers and sisters,” Hama’s smile twists into a sneer, practically spitting her words, "They deserve the same. You must carry on my work.”
“No, we won’t. I won’t use bloodbending, much less use it as a means to an end. It's not something that should be tampered with.” Y/n states with finality, grabbing Katara’s hand and turning. “C’mon, Katara, we need to find the others.”
She lets out a yelp when her arm is twisted behind her back, fingers letting go of Katara’s wrist. She spots Hama moving, bloodbending her entire body along with Katara’s. She grunts, trying to fight back. Her arms are forcibly pinned down against her sides, teeth gritted as she glares at the witch.
“Let me go!”
“You should have learned the technique before you turned against me. It’s impossible to fight your way out of my grip.” Hama cackles in glee, “I control every muscle, every vein in your body!” 
As if to prove her point, she forces Y/n’s body to move against her will, making her dance as her limbs move jerkily, like a mere puppet on a string. Katara struggles, trying to escape and help her friend.
Y/n’s pinned against the tree trunk, eyes burning with unshed tears as every cell in her body screams in pain. Nothing was listening to her; she had never felt so powerless against a foe.
Katara screams, Hama forcing her to kneel down. “Stop, please,” Y/n begs. Katara was probably going through the same pain, wanting nothing more than to protect the young girl. 
With a flick of her wrist, Hama pulls Y/n’s body to kneel closer to her, placing a foot on her bare shoulder. Evil laughter echoes throughout the forest, Y/n seething at her helplessness.
No. No more. She wouldn’t be manipulated by someone like this. Not by someone who has taken them in with false kindness, someone who had given them hope that everything would be okay again.
The howling wind fills her ears, the light of the full moon shining down on them in the open area of the forest. Her eyes are closed, feeling the tears trickle down her cheek. She couldn’t surrender to her. Her mind races with thoughts and potential ways to get out of their situation. But no matter how hard she thought, there was no way out.
But in a moment of desperation, it hits her.
There was only one way to even the playing field.
Her fingers curl into fists, the grass that tickles the skin of her fingers wilting as a circle of death spreads out from under her hands. She slowly stood up with all the courage and strength she could muster. Her eyes open, filled with a new determination.
Sure, she was a healer from the North Pole and didn’t know what Hama had gone through. But she was tired of hiding and having others fight the battles for her while all she did was heal. 
She watches Hama’s expression turn into one of shock, stumbling back. “You’re not the only one who draws power from the moon, Hama. I’m a more powerful bender than you’ll ever be.”
She moves her arms into a circle, summoning a ring of water surrounding her. She sends it hurtling towards Hama with all the force she can muster, but Hama manages to catch it, sending double the amount back. 
The stream of water narrows as it gets closer, Y/n watching with focused eyes and a calm gaze. She’s a healer, one that can see the flow of life itself. Defence and healing were her strengths, which she would wield as her weapons. 
She sees how the water flows, closes her eyes and places her hand in front of her. In a single moment, she takes control, suddenly stopping its movement. It splashes onto the ground around her, droplets landing on Hama who’s taken aback by the sudden display of power while Y/n stands firm, untouched. 
In another swift movement, she draws on the moon's power once more, using the water to pull Hama’s feet from below her, flipping the old woman and making her land on the dirt.
She spots Aang and Sokka running towards them, gasping when she sees Hama’s eyes light up with a sinister smile. 
“We know what you’ve been doing, Hama!”
“Give up; you’re outnumbered!”
Not them. 
Dread pools in her gut, feeling it twist as Hama chuckles.
“You’ve outnumbered yourselves.”
“Y/n? Hello?” 
She starts, looking up from the cup in her hands to April, who looks at her with concern.
“Are you okay? I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes.” 
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She forces a smile, trying to assure the worried girl. “Go hang out with this ‘Casey', but don’t be back too late, okay?” 
April rolls her eyes with a smile, her earlier encounter with Donnie now forgotten. “I’ll be fine, Y/n. Don’t stay up too late, though.” She walks to the door, glancing back at the quiet girl who looks back down at the empty cup in her hands. 
She hesitates. Was it really okay to just leave like this?
“Hey,” She finds herself speaking, “Would you like to come to school with me tomorrow?”
Y/n practically lights up, sitting upright when she hears April’s words. “Really? You mean it?” 
April nods, chuckling when Y/n claps her hands excitedly. “I can’t wait! What will I wear??” 
“You can look through my closet. School’s at 8 am tomorrow, so we gotta leave by 730.” 
“You say that like I’ve never attended school before,” Y/n says with a roll of her eyes.
“Have you attended school before?” April’s already closing the gate behind her, her head tilted slightly. Y/n pauses in her steps, heading to the kitchen.
“I was homeschooled.”
— — — — — — — — 
“Maybe I should bring some brushes!” Y/n finds the tote bag April had gifted her a while back, slinging it across her shoulder with glee. She pauses, forgetting that they used ‘pencils’ and ‘pens' in this world.
So she grabs a few that lay on April’s desk, making a mental note to let her know that she had borrowed them. She opens the fridge next, pulling out some salmon jerky she had made while she stayed home. She wraps them in cling wrap, used to the strong fishy smell that it gives off and shoves it into the tote bag as well.
Pulling out her T-Phone, she scrolls down the (somewhat limited) list of contacts. Stopping at Leo’s name, her finger hovers over it. 
Should she call him? Would it be awkward? What if he didn’t pick up? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? 
Instead, she calls Raph.
She puts it on speakerphone, sits on the couch and grabs random items to put inside her bag. Sachets of tea leaves go in, with a book to keep her entertained and to brush up on this world’s vocabulary. What else would one need in a school?
She continues to ponder, the phone ringing till it reaches voicemail. She tries calling Mikey next, but it just goes to voicemail. 
Leo it is.
She waits, wondering why they aren’t answering. Anxiety pricks at her gut, worried she was interrupting them on a critical mission. However, Leo picks up.
“Leo! Guess what??”
She waits for a response, hearing his laboured breathing. Her brows furrow in confusion. “Are you okay?”
“I’m-” She hears the sound of a blaster going off with a yelp from a voice she recognizes as Mikey before Leo continues to speak. “Okay! Just a bit preoccupied right now. But what’s up?” 
“Tui’s gills, Leo. Why’d you pick up while you’re in the middle of something??” She practically scolds him.
“You called. Why wouldn’t I pick up?” She can hear the innocent confusion in his voice, feeling her cheeks heat up. 
“Just- I’ll text you instead. Stay safe.” She blurts out, pressing the button to hang up the phone, glancing at the clock with a sharp exhale. She holds her hands against her hot cheeks, willing them to cool down. It’s only eleven pm. 
Maybe a quick meditation session would do some good.
She sits down on the floor, cross-legged and closes her eyes. She tries to empty out her mind, banishing all thoughts from her mind except one: 
Why now? 
Why had the temptation of using bloodbending only shown up now?
It’s a term she never thought she’d ever have to bring up again, not after that night. It draws her in, lacing its dark power with words of honey, promises of control and desires granted.
But she knew better. Didn’t she?
You know you want to. Just bloodbend, and you’ll have the whole world under your control. It’s just a small step away. 
She tenses, forcing away the whisper in the corner of her mind that disappears with what sounded like a growl. She takes a deep breath in, taking in the power of the full moon all around her and sensing the presence of all forms of water around her.
The tap drips slowly, the hot water cooling down in the kettle, even the ice in the fridge. She breathes out slowly, beginning to sense the bodies of people around her. The old man sleeping in the unit above, the dog that looks for scraps in the alleyway beside the building, even the mugger that corners an innocent passerby a distance away… 
It’s so simple; to just reach out and grasp the strings. Her fingers brush against them, pulling on a single thread out of pure curiosity. Just to see what would happen if she did. To control them.
She gasps, her eyes flying open at the thought as beads of sweat form on her brow and trail down the side of her face. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest, and panic begins to overwhelm her.
What was that?
She shakes her head, gritting her teeth and glancing at the tote bag she had placed on the couch. Her eyes soften, remembering April’s words. School. She’s going to school for the first time in her whole life tomorrow morning. 
What happened earlier was probably nothing. 
She stands up, satisfied with what she had packed for the next day, heading to April’s bedroom and lying in their bed. She feels her eyelids grow heavy, letting them slide shut as she finally drifts off to sleep.
And yet, in the dead of night, the mugger a few streets down gasps for air, lying on the cold concrete as his fingers desperately grab at nothing. His heart was being squeezed so tightly it felt like it’d burst. His fingers turn a light shade of purple, and he pleads desperately for the pain to stop.
And finally, it does.
— — — — — — — — 
“Did you hear about that mugger a few streets down?” 
Y/n looks up from her leftover fish stew from the night before, chewing and swallowing with a small polite burp. “No, why? What happened?”
“Apparently, he had a heart attack while mugging someone,” April says, sitting on the counter with a wince. 
“I guess he deserved it,” Y/n shrugs, noticing how her roommate avoids putting pressure on her left arm. She puts down her spoon, instantly suspicious. “Okay, what’s going on? I know bad acting when I see it.” She crosses her arms, watching April shift around in her seat guiltily.
“I might have…Gotten into a fight.” April admits sheepishly. 
Y/n pinches the bridge of her nose, holding out her hand. “Arm.” 
“It’s not that big a deal; it was just….” April hesitates, surrendering her bruised arm to Y/n, who inspects it, bending the water out of her cup and wrapping it around the bruise. She can’t stop the sigh of relief that slips past her lips, grateful for the cool sensation.
“Was just what?” Y/n asks, looking up and waiting patiently for an answer.
“...Was just Karai – OW!” April flinches, pulling her arm back when the temperature instantly drops. 
“Sorry!” Y/n apologizes hastily, gently taking April’s arm and continuing to heal it. “So, what about her?” 
“Well, it really wasn’t anything big. She just tried to…well, destroy me – OW!!” April wrenches her arm away once more from the sudden drop in temperature. “I’m beginning to think that you don’t like her.”
Y/n laughs in embarrassment, April huffing before choosing to keep quiet about last night's encounter. Until she finished her healing, anyway. The yellow skin, splotched with hints of purple and blue, slowly fades until her skin is back to its normal tone and colour.
“Thanks.” April finishes her breakfast quickly, placing the bowls in the basin. 
“I wasn’t done with that!” Y/n complains, but she notices why April’s in such a rush. She glances at the clock above the television.
7.40 am.
“Oh! We’re gonna be late!” April rolls her eyes playfully at Y/n’s realization, grabbing their bags and approaching the door. “C’mon, we gotta be there by eight!”
Y/n grabs a brush, trying to comb her hair nicely. “Do I look acceptable for this world’s society?” She asks April, who gives her a once over, nodding in acceptance. She grabs her water bag, slinging it across her waist, only to be stopped by April, who shakes her head.
“This is school, not a battlefield.” April reasons with Y/n, who frowns. She reluctantly removes it and leaves it on the couch, shutting the door behind her. Oh well, anything to experience school.
They rush there, April running while Y/n jogs. “I don’t get how you’re at the same pace as me while I’m running, and you’re not.” April grouches, struggling to catch her breath as they stand outside the school.
Y/n feels perfectly fine, though a few beads of sweat form on her brow. She shrugs. “I mean, I did have some practice in running away.”
She offers April some of the bottled water in her bag, the latter taking a grateful sip. “I’ll introduce you to my friends later, but for now, we have history class first in the morning.”
“Oh? Does this include the ‘Casey’ you keep talking about?” Y/n teases lightly, grinning when the redhead starts, a blush slowly forming on her cheeks as she splutters, trying to find a response. 
“Yes, it does.” April calms down with just a simple roll of her eyes, smiling back. “Oh! I forgot to tell you this, but I made up with them. Donnie and the rest, I mean.”
A flicker of annoyance pricks Y/n’s gut, her brows furrowing. She pulls out her T-Phone, scanning the messages to see none from the turtles about the new information, much less about the attack last night. “Seriously…” She grumbles, inhaling deeply as frustration makes itself known on her face.
“Why does no one tell me anything??”
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Who’s the Boss? 9
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.
Character: Lloyd Hansen
Note: Monday, ew.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖
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"So your boss is just handing out gold bottles of liquor?" You roll your eyes as Hazel pulls the square bottle out of her bucket bag.
"Yours doesn't?" She retorts with a giggle.
"Not exactly," you frown as you sit against the headboard of your bed, watching her in all her primped and preened glory, "he's more the get me tequila type."
"Fun," she wiggles the glass cap and pops it free with a hollow pop, "you're so dramatic, intern work is easy peasy."
"I'm not an intern. Well… kinda. Sorta. It's confusing," you watch her pour tequila into the neon plastic cups and add some soda, "the CEO chased off his last assistant so guess I do that now."
"What? CEO? You mean…" she looks at you as the thoughts sparkle in her greenish hazel eyes, apt given her name. "Hansen?"
"Yeah, how–"
"Oh my god, we don't all got our heads in the sand. Oooo, right up there with rich boy."
"Boy? He's old. He's like… probably forty."
"Pfft, prime daddy material."
"Gross. Have you even seen him? He has the dumbest mustache ever."
"He's eccentric, all billionaires are. Billionaire, baby," she pokes her finger towards you emphatically, her french tip decorated with tiny gems, "he must like you if he promoted you so fast."
"Nope, hates me and I can't stand him either. Piece of work...awful taste."
"Look who's talking," she laughs.
"Whatever, I never claimed I had good judgement."
"Now that would be a real joke."
You poke your tongue out at her, "whatever. Wanna trade?"
"Hmmm, nah, I like my free breakfast, and I'm not gonna lie, you look awful."
"Wow, thank you," you mutter as you accept your drink, "I do feel awful so…"
"Hey, it's the weekend!" She raises her cup, "gonna live it up."
"I can't wait to go back to school," you clack your plastic cup against hers, "I even miss my philosophy essays, can you imagine?"
"You took philosophy?" She hovers her cup before her lips.
"Well, to be fair, when I signed up, I didn't realise it was a philosophy class. They need to be a bit clearer in their messaging."
"Sure," she shakes her head and takes a gulp, "fuck school, fuck work, let's party."
Hazel snores beside you on the narrow bed. You teeter on the edge, cloudy and dizzy from the tequila. You feel fuzzy and light, but restless.
Your eyelids are heavy but your mind is running a mile a minute. You can't help that you're a hyper drunk. Well, actually, you could just not drink. Aha, okay. 
Your phone lights up. It's almost 1am! Mr. Bossy Pants 👖. Why is he calling? You're off the clock.
You sit up and swipe away the call, pulling up your snap and watching the snaps of you, Hazel, and the tequila bottle. The call pops up again. Alright, this guy needs a life!
You answer, "bllrhgh, hello!" You manage to force out after unsticking your dry tongue from the roof of your mouth.
"Pencil this in to my schedule, bee, tomorrow at noon–"
"What do you want?" You blab over him.
"I said, pencil it in, tomorrow–"
"It's Friday," you slur, "what you want me to manage your Tinder too? Hm? Good night, Mr. Bossy Pants."
He's silent. You wait for his response. You know it'll be something rude.
"Are you drunk?"
"Get with it, I'm lit," you correct it, "can you keep up? It's my weekend and I'm not working so… go to bed!"
He laughs. Not his usual dark snicker but something lighter. 
"You wanna join me?" He counters.
"Huh?" You sit up straight, "scuse you, sir, I think you have the wrong number. Good night!"
You hang up and toss the phone away from you, hoping that will take back the words he just said. If he even did say that. You're drunk and stupid and tired.
You stand up and drag your feet back to the bed, falling in next to Hazel. You pray the tequila drowns that memory forever.
There's a tapping at your door. You snort as you sit up, falling out of the bed as Hazel lays sprawled across much of it. You scramble and hide the tequila bottle before stumbling to the door. You open it and find your mother on the other side.
"Hi, mom," you smile sleepily, "sup?"
She scowls and tries to see past you, "There's an Italian man outside for you."
"Italian– Silvio?"
"He said he's to take you to work," she crosses her arms, "and it's after eleven so you better hurry. Make sure you send Hazel home too."
"But– it's Saturday?"
"Hon, sometimes that's just how it goes. If you wanna make money, you gotta work."
You don't say anything and turn back to the room. Work on a Saturday? Oh you know it's deliberate. He's lucky you don't get hangovers. In fact, you feel pretty well rested.
You go to the bed and kick the mattress, "Haze, get up. I gotta go."
"Go away, mom," she covers her face with her arm.
"It's me. Get up," you repeat, "friggin… I don't even get a day off…" you mutter to yourself as you pull the chain on your daisy lamp.
You realise you should've taken a few shots of him tied to his bed. That would make for great leverage but as ever, your mind is twenty steps behind. Goddamn motherf–
"Hazelllll, please, you need to go. My mom's gonna flip if she comes in and finds that bottle," you beg, "goddamn, I have nothing…" you go to the window and glance out, "whatever. He gets what he gets."
You go to your closet and pull out khaki capris and a fluttery blouse. Classic old lady wear. You dress and do what you can to make yourself presentable. You grab Hazel as she sits up dopily and yawns.
"Can you move faster than Gary the Snail, please?"
"Fuck, my head is killing me," she growls, "no more tequila."
"You said that last time," you pull her up, "right, shoes."
You find hers and put them beside her as you find a pair of pastel tie-ups and slip them on. Deal with it, Hansen.
You go back to Hazel and haul her up, "look, I'll get Silvio to drop you off but you gotta stand."
"Urgh, what's going on?"
"No idea, bossy baby needs me to be his personal punching bag so we need to get out," you drag her to the door, "we'll get some coffee on the way."
You manage to descend to the first floor without Hazel toppling. It's like that movie your parents love, Weekend at Ernie's or whatever. You get her down the walk and into the car as Silvio waits patiently.
"Is it okay if we drop my friend off first? She's sick."
"Yes, senorita, my pleasure," he answers over the Italian tenors.
You slide in next to Hazel, a garment bag hitting you as you close the door.
"Senor sends this," Silvio jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "he says to dress up."
"Of course," you growl as you lift the hanger from the little plastic hook, "Hazel…" you shover her away as she slumps against you, "Silvio, can we hit a coffee shop too?"
"Si, si," he answers chipperly, "you know, in Italy, the coffee," he kisses his fingertips, "delizioso."
"Oh, sounds nice," you say as you unzip the bag and look inside. You hate it already.
You don't care. Whatever this fucker is doing isn't going to work. You'll call his bluff. You've seen how he does things. He wants to play hardball? Well, you got the hardest balls in the game, baby.
You pull off your shirt, content that the road is more interesting than your bra and unbothered by Hazel's witness. She can barely sit up. Well, you told her to slow down several times.
You roll the white dress down and the fabric ends much too soon. Are there a few inches missing? You slip off your pants and pile them with your blouse. Tennis? What is this thing for?
Silvio stops at a drive through and you get two medium roasts. He says he only drinks Italian blends. Fine, fine.
You get Hazel to her front door. Like a scene in a mid-80s romcom, you're running around like a chicken with no feathers. Is that the saying because you're fairly sure your ass is out.
You get back in the car and puff, collapsing against the seat.
"Alright, good to go," you declare as you grab your coffee from the plastic holder, "can I get a hint to where?"
"Ah, senorita, senor is to golf. He always golf on Saturday."
"Golf?" You look down at the white dress holding the cup away from it. Makes sense but no it doesn't. "I don't know how to golf. I got kicked outta mini-putt for trying to sword fight."
"Ah, no, no, senorita, it is big golf. Fancy."
"Great," you snarl into your coffee, "well, I wouldn't be mad if you took the scenic route."
You gape at the sight of the golf club. As if you don’t feel wildly out of touch already in this facsimile corporate world, you’re entirely put off by the romanesque marble pillars that greet you before the sprawling bright greens. You always wondered how they kept the grass so vibrant… Aliens, probably.
You’re stopped at the door. Again. It’s happened several times already. The first guy recognised Silvio but this one is less convinced by your solo air of confusion.
“Sir, I’m here to meet my boss,” you insist, “Lloyd Hansen. Tall guy, mustache,” you imitate facial hair with your finger, “do you really think I wanna waste my Saturday here? Please.”
“You need a club pass to enter, miss,” the man in his branded polo insists, “I’m sorry.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “right, well, can you carry a message for me. Can you tell Mr. Hansen that his intern is waiting.”
The man blinks at you, unmoving. “Pass?”
“Ugh, god, not this again,” you huff and spin away from him, “very unhelpful, dude.”
You step away and fish around in your purse, a transparent plastic bag with confetti in the lining. Super cute!
You take out your phone. It’s barely noon. There’s that at least. You pull up your chat with Hansen and type in angrily, ‘here but the buff guy at the door hates me.’
You hit send and bounce on your heels as you peer around at the large man guarding the gateway to the bougie life. You sway listlessly and watch middle-aged women in ridiculously heeled shoes strut by. Those don’t look like golf shoes. One sends you a particularly scathing sneer. You smile and she rolls her eyes.
“Intern,” Lloyd’s voice cuts through your internal adventure across the lawn, dancing with the figures hewn in marble in a poor recreation of some emperor’s excess. This place is overrated. “We’re already late on the green. Let’s go.”
You turn and greet him with a crooked expression. The man at the door glances between you and Lloyd. You smile at him. You could tattle, you could make a scene. As you near, you check his name tag.
“Thanks so much, Randy,” you say dramatically, “always helpful, buddy.”
“Mr. Hansen,” he nods at your boss, barely acknowledging you and receiving as little from Lloyd in response.
“Hurry up,” he grabs your wrist and drags you inside.
“Sir, I can’t hurry any faster.”
“Enough, no talking back in front of my associates, got it?” He turns you and lets you go, peering up and down your figure, “hm.”
“Uh, okay, yes, sir, Mr. Hansen,” you reply and you fold your hands over the skirt, the hem is too free for your liking, “thanks for… the dress but I’m not really the white type. Oh, and it’s too small, I’m size–”
“You look fine, shut up,” he tuts, “let’s get going.”
“Mmm, okay, sir,” you trail him as he spins away impatiently, “can I inquire, however, why I’m here–”
“It’s a business meeting. Take notes,” he says as he strides ahead of you.
“Right, right, but sir, I didn’t bring my notebook.”
“Use your fucking phone, I don’t care,” he snarls, “no more questions.”
“Uh huh,” you babble dumbly, “no more questions…”
He sighs. You almost laugh at his exasperation. He’s the one who brought you here, he can only blame himself. He stops before two men.
“Alright, we’re set,” he says as he checks his watch emphatically.
“Bout time,” the darker haired man chides.
Lloyd grumbles but doesn’t response. The taller man, slimmer but with broad shoulders, watches you with his sleepy set eyes. He turns his latent gaze onto Hansen.
“You gonna introduce us?” He prompts.
“She’s the intern, don’t worry about her,” Lloyd shrugs.
“You are such a pleasant guy, you know that?” The man retorts and turns to you, “Court.”
He offers his big hand, a black golf club over his long fingers. You smile and shake it, trading your name in return. The other man, shorter but broader, grins and echoes the man with his name and his hand, “Nick.”
“Can we go?” Lloyd huffs.
“We’ve been waiting on you,” Nick pulls back his hand to face Lloyd, “neutral party here starting to have favourites, to be honest.”
“No one asked you to come, Fowler,” Hansen snaps.
“If I didn’t, you think this guy would,” he scoffs.
Court, with a placid look, lets his cheek dimple. There’s something between him and Hansen, an unspoken tension. You’ve never been good at reading people, or a room, or academic articles, but you can tell there’s something deeper.
“My fault,” you offer, “I got lost on the way and–”
“Intern,” Lloyd warns sharply, “go find the caddy.”
“Caddy…” you repeat.
“Go,” he insists, an underlined threat behind the single word. Go or I’ll make you go.
“Yes, sir,” you reply eagerly and smile at the two other men, “it was nice to meet you guys.”
Lloyd growls and you take your cue, twirling and catching your skirt before it can reveal your smiley face undies. Admittedly not your best choice. Caddy. That’s the dude with the golf sticks, right?
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drackerkwke · 3 days
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THE SANDMAN S01E10 - "Lost Hearts"
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gncatelier · 7 months
i hate you rushed endings, i hate you final books split into multiple part movies for profit, i hate you unwarranted series cancellations and crunches, i hate you adaptations that completely disregard the source material, i hate you studios forcing writers to limit representation/diversity in the final product, i hate you rushed releases causing poor quality and exploited workers, i hate you devaluation of film as a product rather than a story to be shared with the world, i hate you outrageously low animator salaries.
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