#i CANNOT fling him out the window. i WILL NOT grab his entire face and squeeze. I SHALL NOT chew on his tail. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

regretthatsme · 3 years

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Looney's Sister - Harry Potter x Fem!Lovegood!Reader

That's right bitches, bros, and nonbinary hoes. I'm back. I'm so happy that I finished a oneshot. AAAAAAHHHHHHHH! I'm sorry I've taken so long to post. But, it's here now!

Harry didn't know when his fondness for Luna's sister, Y/N, started. He just knew that he liked her a lot. They were quite good friends, actually. A few years ago, she saw him struggling with herbology, which just so happened to be Y/N's strong suit. It quite convenient honestly, especially when you consider the fact that Y/N was have issues in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He knew from the start that his feelings for her were more than platonic. What he didn't expect was for him to fall so hard. But, how could he not when she was so perfect.

Her bubbly personality was so inviting and warm. Her eyes made e/c his favorite color. He adored her laugh; it sounded like a beautiful melody. Her smile was just as stunning.

Godric, I'm whipped, he thought. There was one issue, though. He couldn't for the life of him ask her out, ironic for a Gryffindor. What if she doesn't like me? How do I ask her out?

His mind would race into the late hours of the night, wondering how he would work up the courage to ask her out. He knew she wouldn't like something big and extravagant, for she had trouble processing lots of information at once, much like her sister. Her sister!

Harry wondered how he never thought of asking Luna before. I mean, their personalities mirrored each other almost perfectly. He quickly ran to the forbidden forest. Luna spent most of her time there.

"Hello, Harry." A dreamy voice called to him.

"Hello, Luna."

"Is there a reason you are here?"

"Umm... yeah." Harry's face became very hot suddenly, a stark contrast to the nippy weather that morning. "I-uh. I should probably come right out and say it, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, that would be most appreciated." Luna responded. Harry couldn't tell if she was sarcastic or not.

"I've fallen deeply in love with your sister, and I was wondering if you knew how I could ask her out."

Luna was clear shocked by this revelation. She thought for a few minutes before replying, "I appreciate your honesty, however I cannot say that I am too pleased with it."

Harry's face fell slightly. "What does that mean?"

"Harry, she's recently had her heart broken by another. I'm sorry, but I do not trust you with her love."

-*-*-*-

He knew he shouldn't be over thinking this. He knew that it was pointless. He knew it was only going to give him stress, but he couldn't stop as much as he tried. Who would dare hurt her? Her? The most caring, beautiful person in Hogwarts?

Needless to say, Harry's eyes were sporting some serious under eye bags the next morning.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Asked Hermione during breakfast, noting the discoloration under her friend's eyes.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"He was up late last night." Said his best friend and roommate, Ronald Weasley.

"No, I wasn't, Ron."

"Okay. Fine. You went to bed at a reasonable time." Ron said before turning to Hermione and mouthing No he didn't. Harry was about to retaliate before a small body sat down next to him. A dreamy voice rendered his speech effectively useless as a flush filled his cheeks.

"Hello Hermione, Ron. Good morning, Harry." She addressed each individually, as she always does. "How are we this morning?"

Ron smirked a small bit at his friend's face. "Oh, I'm splendid." He remarked, chuckling slightly at his friend's state. "What about you, Harry?"

Y/N seemed to perk up at the name. Her head turned to him, only now noticing the rosy hue on his cheeks. "Oh dear, you don't look so well." Her voice was distinctly quieter, almost as if she only wanted him to hear. Her hand slowly came up to feel his forehead. "You're absolutely scalding! And it's clear you haven't gotten any sleep."

She panicked slightly.

Ron tried to hold in a laugh. "Oh, yes. Harry was hacking and wheezing last night. It was horrible."

Harry's eyes were about the size of saucers. "What are you doing?" He whispered.

"Trust me." He mouthed back.

"He's in no shape to go to class. Someone must take care of him." Harry just realized what Ron was trying to do. Wanker.

"I would, but Hermione and I have a test first period." Hermione nodded too, quickly becoming aware of his scheme. "Looks like you're going to need to take care of him. I really wish I could help."

Y/N's eyes never left Harry's face. "Be sure to tell the teachers about Harry's predicament." She said as she dragged him out of the great hall, despite his protests. She knew the password was as she was a frequenter of the Gryffindor common room. He was led to his dorm and was forced onto the bed.

"Y/N, I'm gonna tell you one more time. I'm not-"

"Shhhhhh." She cut him off. "Harry, relax. I can't remember the last time you did." She did have a point. He couldn't remember the last time he had a stress free hour, much less day. "I'm going to go to the kitchen and whip up something. Get some rest, alright?" He nodded his head. His eyelids slowly fluttered and closed. He didn't really dream, but he felt a sort of presence. It felt like a giant hug.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he woke to the sound of Y/N closing his bedroom door. "I made a soup with some clowort root mixed in. It should help with your symptoms." She said. "And, there is some water to wash it all down."

"You never cease to amaze me." He said rather bluntly in his sleepy delirium. He took a spoonful of the soup. It tasted quite like the food in the great hall, but there was something distinctly different from it. There was an unmistakable taste of... home. He quickly went for more.

"Slow down, Harry!" Y/N's volume raised ever so slightly. "Consuming large amounts of clowort root can lead to some unwanted side effects."

"Like what?"

She gestured for him to lead forward, as if telling him a secret. "People tend to make quite irrational decisions when copious amounts of clowort are in their system." She pulled back and gave a stern yet loving gaze.

"I don't know. I've eaten a decent amount and I don't feel a thing." He said indifferently. She simply rolled her eyes and looked away from him.

"Hey. I uh... I heard from Luna that you had some trouble with a boy and I'm here if you need to talk or anything." He knew that he probably shouldn't invite his crush to talk openly about a romantic partner she had, but he would listen to her talk about anything and everything just to hear her voice.

"Oh. It's nothing. Just a stupid fling that hadn't even lasted a month." Y/N said, her eyes becoming more solemn looking.

"It's just... if I had a girlfriend," especially one as perfect as you, "I would treat her better than that."

"I can see the brash decision making has already taken effect." Y/N jokes lightly, but only was laughing at it.

"I'm serious, you know." He said, grabbing her hand and lacing her fingers through his.

"Harry, you're not thinking straight-"

"Ever since we met each other and you helped me with your helped me with my homework. You were so kind."

"Harry, please don't-"

"I understand if you don't feel the same way, I wouldn't be so keen on falling in love someone who nearly dies every other weekend either, but I needed you to-"

"Harry." Her voice was ferm enough to cut off his incoherent ramblings. Her thumb brushed against the back of his hand. "You're not well. You're saying things you don't mean-"

"No, I'm not-"

"Harry, I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes held a certain glossiness to it that he hadn't seen before. Her voice was almost breaking. "You are amazing and sweet and beautiful and... well, words can hardly describe how much I admire you. But," Her eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid eye contact. "You're just doing this because you're sick and under the influence. You don't mean it-"

"Yes, I do!" Harry giggled slightly. He was getting a bit frustrated at this point. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

She looked deep into his emerald eyes. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and they weren't lying. Every emotion, every thought running through his pretty head, everything could be seen in them. It was so intense, she could only make eye contact for a few seconds.

"Nothing." Y/N whispered. Harry's head snapped to her. "I believe you, Harry." They sat in silence for a while, processing the revelation that just took place. It was a bit awkward. Okay, very awkward. The apprehension of the unknown was creeping upon them. Now what? Where do we go from here?

Harry was the first to make a move. He held his arm out, inviting her join him on his, rather small in hindsight, bed. She happily accepted and curled into his side. She was practically on top of him due to the size of the bed, yet he couldn't be happier. Neither could she.

Bonus:

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?" Y/N was positive that Luna's cries could be heard throughout the entire castle.

"Luna, please calm down-" She tried to console.

"GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER!"

#harry potter #harry james potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter fluff #luna lovegood

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let-it-raines · 3 years

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I Hope We Never See October (6/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

ao3: Beginning | Current

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August

“I come bearing food.”

No one responds, and Emma knows there has to be at least five people in this house. And while David and Mary Margaret live in a really nice place thanks to Mary Margaret’s dad, it’s not so big that no one can hear her when she walks in the front door.

“Hello?” she repeats, shifting the bags of food in her arms. She’s got approximately eight hundred pounds of appetizers in her car, and she needs help carrying them in. “Hello, it’s me, the lowly caterer. Should I have used a separate entrance than the front, or is someone as lowly as me allowed to use that one? What if the neighbors see?”

Still, no answer, and Emma walks down the hallway until she’s in the kitchen. Every inch of the countertop is covered with food, drinks, cutlery, and the works. It’s an organized mess, much like Mary Margaret herself, and Emma puts the bags she’s carrying on the kitchen table before looking out the window to the pool.

“Oh my God,” she whispers to herself. “Like, oh my God.”

Killian Jones is standing on the pool house roof with what looks like garland or bubble lights or some kind of string object, and David is standing below him to...catch him. It looks like David is there to catch Killian.

Emma pushes open the French double doors and steps outside. “What the hell is happening here?”

Killian drops one of the strings he’s holding, causing David to move to catch it, and Emma swears she sees Killian’s life flash before her eyes before he catches himself on the flattest part of the roof.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he gasps, out of breath, “warn a man.”

“Consider yourself warned.” She closes the door behind her and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s ridiculously hot out today, and she can already feel the sweat gathering down her back and underneath her bikini top. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Ah, well,” Killian starts as he picks up the dropped string of lights and starts adjusting them again, “I ran into Dave here at the market, we got to talking, and since I had nothing else to do, I’ve agreed to risk my life to hang his lights.”

“He’s more nimble than I am,” David says, like that explains all of this.

“Trust me, mate, Emma knows that.”

“Oh my God,” Emma whispers to herself as Killian and David keep talking, not paying her any attention.

Emma opens the door back and steps inside, away from the madness. She doesn’t know what’s happening out there, and she doesn’t want to know. Some things are better left not talked about or questioned, and this is definitely one of those things. She knows her friends all know Killian. The night at the bar where he met Mary Margaret and Ruby really snowballed things, and it’s fine. It is. She swears it’s fine. Except.

Except, well, they usually never meet the people she’s sleeping with. They’ve met her boyfriends, if only because it was nearly impossible to keep them away after so long, and they liked...Graham. They really liked Graham, not so much the others, and Emma feels the exact same way. But her casual flings, like with Killian, her friends don’t meet them. They don’t meet them, and they really don’t invite them to their big almost end of summer parties. They don’t ask them to help hang they string lights and get ice. She bets they asked him to get ice.

What is happening?

This is…this is a lot, and Emma doesn’t know how to feel about it.

She doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things, mostly Killian Jones, but there are other things included in there. Those things just aren’t quite so in her face.

Shit.

When Mary Margaret invited him to the party a few weeks ago, Emma was fine with it. It’s just a party. There are going to be a lot of people here, and what was the harm in inviting one more? Besides, it’s not like she could have said no when Mary Margaret asked. That would have been rude, and despite what a few select people say, Emma is not rude.

Emma picks at a grape on the counter, popping it in her mouth, and then gets another one as she watches David and Killian outside. Killian takes another string of lights from David and hooks them over a nail on the roof.

He’s different from her past few flings. They’re usually as big of a mess as she is, and while she assumes Killian is as well, she doesn’t know enough about him to truly know. They’ve got a pretty good deal with their one personal question of the day thing. She knows it’s usually more than that, little things coming out in bed or when he stops by the Blue Dog, but she has comfort in being able to veto any question that gets a little too personal.

If Emma could have a veto in most things in life, it’d be a hell of a lot easier.

Emma grabs another grape and then starts unpacking the food she brought. Mary Margaret must have run to the store to get something else, but Emma knows how she’ll want to arrange things. She’s been to enough Nolan parties to know what happens. If she focuses on this, she’ll be able to ignore the man outside and all the pesky little thoughts in her head.

“Swan,” Killian says from behind her, and Emma lets out a little curse. “What are you doing, love?”

“Helping out in the air conditioning instead of outside.”

He hums and steps up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist as his scruff scratches her neck. It’s a contrast to the softness of his lips that are running down the side of her throat. Arousal rises in her veins, quick like lightning, and it continues when one of his hands glides down her body and cups her ass as he presses against her.

“Killian,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip, “this is not the place for this.”

“What? Your friends’ kitchen isn’t the place for us to have a little fun?”

“No,” she laughs as she tilts her neck to give him more space, “it’s not. They may know we’re sleeping together, but I don’t think they want to witness it.”

He laughs and twists her around. His fingers skim her collarbone, lifting up the strap of her bikini. “I like this.”

“You’re such a man.” She pushes against his chest and moves away, going back to arranging the charcuterie boards. Multiple. “I’m sorry David roped you into helping. You could have said no.”

“It’s fine. Can I help you in here?”

She wants to say no, to send him back outside, but it might be nice to have company that’s okay sitting in silence with her. The rest of the day is going to be filled with people celebrating the near end of summer, even if it tends to linger for another month midway into September, and Emma could use a little quiet time before the chaos.

“If you could slice those apples for me, that would be great.”

“Aye, love, no problem.”

They work in silence setting up the boards. Killian catches on quickly, copying her arrangements, and eventually Mary Margaret comes home with more fruit and cheese and a car full of hamburger buns. She takes one look at the mess in her kitchen, has a bit of a meltdown, but then Ruby shows up with Mulan and it all starts coming together enough for everything to calm down.

For about five minutes before the neighbors start showing up with their own food and alcohol, and suddenly all the quiet, familiar voices are drowned out by loud new ones. Emma pours herself a glass of lemonade and sinks into a corner of the kitchen before moving outside. It’s miserably hot, the sun warming her skin immediately, but she knows it’ll cool soon. Until then, she finds her spot in a rattan chair in the shade, curling her legs up with her, and she watches as more and more people begin to filter in.

Emma doesn’t know how any two people have this many friends. She keeps a small circle, and they’ve been around for years. She’s slow to trust after spending her entire childhood in foster care, and while she likes to think her past doesn’t define her, she knows sometimes it does. Right now, when she’s cornering herself off while everyone else is having fun, she knows it’s a time where some old demons are knocking at the unlocked door waiting to get in.

She twists the lock and tells them to go away. She doesn’t need this today.

Ruby jumps into the pool, splashing everyone around her, and Emma laughs to herself. Ruby is one of the people that’s allowed in her head, and sometimes when Emma thinks her life is falling apart, she remembers being eighteen years old, desperate for food and a place to stay, and Ruby and Granny taking her in. they gave her a job and a place to stay because Ruby told Granny she would throw a fit if she didn’t take Emma in. So, it was a threat, sure, but it worked.

It’s good. Emma’s life is good. It’s messy and confusing, but it’s good.

Mostly.

Killian walks toward her, tilting his head in question, and she nods, scooting over on the cushion to give him room. Killian takes it, his thigh warm against hers, and then offers her a beer.

“No thanks. Not quite late enough in the day for me to want something to drink. I’ve got to save it all for when David starts telling the bad jokes once he’s finished cooking and can get plastered.” Killian chuckles then puts the bottle down on the grass. “What? You don’t want it either?”

“No.” He wraps his arm around her, letting it lightly fall on her shoulder. His fingertips pull on the ends of her hair, and a shiver runs down her spine. She’s always loved when people play with her hair. “It’s too early for me to be drinking as well. I try to stay away from the stuff when I can.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you now?”

Emma nods and leans a little further into him. She shouldn’t. This all feels a little too couple-like, but she does anyway. “You tend not to drink and when you do, you’re very calculated. You don’t just drink a bunch of wine like I will. It’s almost like you measure it out, literally.”

Killian clicks his tongue and yanks on her hair a little more before he draws his nail over the bare skin of her arm. He doesn’t answer, though. He stays silent, so Emma pulls her legs up and curls into herself while staying next to Killian. Ruby is jumping in the pool again, and Mary Margaret is walking around the pool with a platter of appetizers Emma brought from the Blue Dog.

When Killian still doesn’t answer, Emma decides to change the subject.

“So, tell me, how did you end up being some kind of soccer superstar?”

Killian chuckles and scratches at his chin. “Ah, that’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. I don’t plan on giving up this chair any time soon. And it’s my one legitimate personal question of the day, so answer or veto.”

His brow raises, like it’s tempting her to take back her statement. She doesn’t. She must be really good at asking the worst questions possible today. They never really talk about what he used to do for a living, mostly because she doesn’t care, but she never thought it would be a sensitive subject. Then again, she should know better. She’s got enough sensitive subjects herself.

She waits for the veto, but it never comes.

“My mum got me into it as something to do after school to keep me active, and I loved it, mostly because Liam, my brother, did it too.” Killian smiles, one of his more genuine ones, and Emma leans back to get a better look at him. She likes the little lines around his eyes much better than the ones around hers. “Long story short, I was bloody good, my father learned there was a way to bet on children’s matches, and he kept me in it to make money. I nearly quit when I found out about it, but then I was too invested in the camps and in training. I loved it, and by some miracle, I ended up being able to do it for a living. I got the dream.”

“So why’d you stop?”

He laughs, but she can tell he finds nothing about this funny, especially when his fingers tighten around her arm. “Well, my brother died, I fell apart, and by professional standards, I was too old to have any kind of time to redeem myself. I nearly drank myself to death, which answers your earlier question, so I’m careful about how much I consume now. That’s actually why I came here...to get away from it all.”

That was...that was much more than Emma was expecting, and she doesn’t know what to say. That’s a common theme in her life. She knows what she feels, but she doesn’t have a damn clue how to express it. So she leans over and wraps her arm around Killian, matching him, and presses up until she can slowly glide her lips over his. It’s soft and sweet, just a taste of how they usually kiss, and she knows it goes against every rule she has for herself.

He’s leaving soon.

This is okay because he’s leaving soon, and when they leave, Emma rarely has to worry about the consequences.

“I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid,” she says against his lips, foreheads pressed together. “I never took a class or owned a tutu, but all I wanted was to be able to do the Nutcracker dance because that’s what they did at the community theater. I didn’t have any money as a kid, and I just thought it was the most luxurious thing in the world.”

Emma pulls back. She can’t believe she said any of that, but she did. It’s out there, one tiny piece of the gigantic, five-thousand-piece puzzle that is her life.

“You would have made a hell of a ballerina with those legs of yours, Swan. What an apt last name as well. It could have been a match made in heaven.”

“Ha,” she scoffs, getting up from the chair. “You haven’t seen me dance. Unless it’s, like, in a club where all I really have to do is grind my body on a man, I can’t do it.”

“It’s easy. All you need is a partner who knows what he's doing.”

“And what if I want to be a soloist?”

His brows go up at that. “Well, then you need a teacher because apparently you make a poor excuse for a dancer.”

Killian stands from the chair, and in two quick steps, he’s next to her with his hands on her ass lifting her up. She doesn’t register what’s happening quickly enough for her legs to go dead, and by the time she’s in the air over his shoulder, she doesn’t care enough to fight what’s coming.

It’s a party, she reminds herself, might as well have a good time.

“Get my phone out of my back pocket before you throw me in, would ya?” she asks, and Killian slips his hand in and gets her phone. “Thank you. I’m totally getting back at you for this later.”

Killian stops as Ruby wolf whistles, Mary Margaret gasps, David chuckles, and everyone else starts whispering about whether or not Killian is actually going to throw her in.

He does.

The water is cold at first, like a shock to the system, but by the time she rises to the surface, it’s just the burst of energy that she needed. Killian is sitting at the edge of the water smirking, and yeah, she’s definitely got to get him back for this later.

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

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Official Accounts Part 33- Trust

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Masterlist

Hawks is neither dumb nor oblivious. He knows that he is not okay after learning about Endeavor. He knows that it isn’t normal to feel nauseous at the thought of using his quirk. But he also knows that you’re excited for this stupid gala tonight. So even though the very thought of seeing members of the HPSC or Endeavor fills him with quiet, fervent anger, he is determined to take you and make sure you have a good night. Mina had arrived an hour ago with a garment bag and a backpack stocked with makeup and hair products and immediately dragged you into your room to start getting ready. Even from outside he can hear the two of you laughing. So no, he is not in denial about his emotional well-being. He is well aware that he needs to shake off the anger, disgust, and heartache that’s clung to his spine since that night on the balcony. But the sound of your laughter and the sight of your smile makes him forget everything else, even if only for a moment, so if enduring one of the least heroic parts of hero work is what it takes to keep you happy then he’ll do it.

It’s almost time to leave. Hawks wears a crisp black suit with a black shirt underneath. The designer had also given him a red tie to wear but the night would be suffocating enough without a fancy noose around his neck as well, so he’d decided to skip it and leave the top few buttons of his shirt undone instead. He followed Bakugo’s advice and had run out to get flowers while you changed. Now he stands nervously clutching them in one hand while he waits for you to finally emerge.

Mina slips out first, excitement evident in her black and yellow eyes. “You’re gonna flip when you see her,” she whispers to him conspiratorially before clearing her throat and standing up tall. “Now presenting, the breathtaking and stunningly gorgeous (y/n) (y/l/n), as styled by Mina Ashido and Momo Yaoyorozu,” Mina announces with a flourish before throwing open the doors to reveal you standing on the other side. He would like to say something witty and charming but all of Hawks’ smooth charisma seems to have abandoned him, leaving only Keigo staring at the person he loves in all her beauty in a red dress that perfectly matches his feathers. “Told you,” Mina sing songs with a laugh and you think you would pay admission to see Keigo blush the way he currently is again. “These are for you,” he finally says, offering up the beautiful blooms. “Thank you, they’re perfect,” you grin as you take them and Mina is quick to take them off your hands to put them in some water. “You kids have fun! I’ll lock things up here,” Mina assures you before shooing you and Hawks out your apartment.

“Shall we?” Hawks asks as he offers you his arm. You get a flashback to that first date and part of you wonders what would’ve happened had you not bared your soul to him that night. When you look in his eyes though, and see the genuine affection in his golden gaze, you find that you truly wouldn’t change a thing as long as you could still end up right back in this moment. “We shall,” you grin, as you take his arm and he leads you down the stairs and out the door.

You blink in surprise as you lay eyes on a long black limousine. “You got a limo?” you ask incredulously. “Of course, it’s too far to walk and you deserve to roll up to your first red carpet in style,” he winks as he opens the door and helps you in. “Honestly I thought you might fly us there,” you admit. You notice the way Hawks tenses up for just a moment but when he slides in next to you he’s all smiles. “And let the wind ruin all of Mina’s hard work? She’d kill me,” he replies smoothly. You decide to drop it, after all if your suspicions about why he’s so hesitant to use his quirk are correct, then the last thing he needs is to dredge up those feelings right before seeing the very people at the center of them.

Pulling up to the red carpet is odd for a variety of reasons. For starters the idea of walking a red carpet with reporters who you can already hear clamoring outside is surreal in and of itself. But also it’s odd because for the past week or so since your kidnapping you’d been getting to see Keigo without filter. But as he turns to you and asks “You ready little techie?” you can almost physically see him rebuilding his walls. He gives your hand a quick squeeze and you think maybe, just maybe, he’s still left a door in the wall for you. So you take a deep breath to relieve your nerves, meet his eyes, and then you tell him “I’m ready.”

The flashing cameras are overwhelming at first but Hawks finds your hand and quickly squeezes it, immediately grounding you. He lets go just as quickly, after all he had promised you this was strictly platonic and the press would surely latch onto any sign of affection as proof of a relationship. He’s pleasantly surprised to feel you take back his hand and intertwine your fingers. He needs the grounding too. He turns to you and you both share a private smile before he slides back on the infectious grin that all of Japan knows him by. Reporters are shouting his name left and right as he leads you towards the entrance. “Hawks! Hawks! Who’s your date this evening?” “Hawks! Are the rumors true about your Twitter fling?” “Hawks! Over here! When will you be returning to hero work?”

Finally you enter into the building and both of you breathe out a sigh of relief as you finally put the reporters behind you. “You said there’s free booze here?” you ask slightly out of breath as your heart returns to its normal cadence. “That there is,” Hawks replies before smiling and pulling you to the elevators up to the banquet hall by your still intertwined hands.

Several tables are set up around the hall and there’s a stage where presumably there will be a few speakers once everyone gets more settled and has had some time to mingle. The two of you spot Mirko in a purple jumpsuit standing with a dark haired woman with wolf ears dressed in a black gown. “C’mon let me introduce you,” Hawks encourages as he leads you to their table. “You already know Mirko, this is her lovely girlfriend Olivia. Olivia meet (y/n),” he introduces. “So you’re the infamous (y/n). I see what all the hype is about,” she says as she gives you an appraising look. “Oh infamous, huh?” you ask already smirking. “Oh yea. Can’t tell you how many times this one has whined to me about Hawks pining over you,” Olivia laughs, revealing her sharp canines in the process as she pulls Mirko in tight to her. “I do not whine!” Mirko says with a roll of her eyes while Hawks protests “I wasn’t pining!” You laugh as both women give him a skeptical look. “Ok if I’m going to be attacked this way I’m going to need a drink,” Hawks sighs, “want one?” “Sure I’ll take-“ “White wine work?” he cuts you off. “You talked to Katsuki,” you laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about Dove,” he grins walking backwards away from you before finally turning to head to the bar.

“Two glasses of white wine,” Hawks asks of the bartender. “Put it on my tab,” a gruff voice says coming up behind him. Hawks feels his entire body stiffen. “It’s an open bar Endeavor, there are no tabs,” Hawks says without turning to look at his former hero. “Hawks we need to talk,” Endeavor insists. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.” “I am trying to do better.” “That’s great and all but it doesn’t untraumatize your kids. If you weren’t a high ranking hero you’d be rotting in a cell right now.” “You cannot tell anyone. The fate of hero society-“ “You think I don’t know that? I’m not an idiot.” “I never said you were.” “Then don’t lecture me old man.” “I have saved so many lives. And thanks to my training so has Shoto.”

Hawks whips around to stare at the man he once idolized and is shocked to see Endeavor genuinely believes what he says is true. As if his hero work somehow undoes his crimes. “First of all, Shoto is a great hero in spite of, not because of you. Second of all, if you really want to take credit for the lives he’s saved then you also have to bear the responsibility for the lives Dabi has taken. How many is he up to now? 30 something? Not counting the death toll from Kamino Ward,” Hawks bites out, his wings expanding instinctively to make himself larger in front of the other man. “You know my father never laid a hand on me. No he was neglectful and cruel in other ways but never physically abusive. I once wished you were my father instead. Now I know I would’ve just been trading one monster for another.” “Hawks I-“

“There you are! I was wondering what was taking so long,” you interject as you slide between Hawks and Endeavor, facing your date. “Ease up a little bird brain, it’s ok,” you whisper in as calming a voice as possible. Hawks hadn’t even realized how worked up he was getting until you intervened, but he’s grateful now that you’re here to ground him. You spin around to address the number one hero directly. You should probably be scared, or at the very least nervous, but instead you stand up tall, chin raised defiantly, and bring your quirk to the surface just enough for your eyes to glow as you make eye contact with the man in front of you. “I don’t care what the rankings say, Hawks is a better hero than you’ll ever be,” you declare unflinchingly. Endeavor opens his mouth to respond but you continue before he can, “I think it’s best you leave him alone now. We have an evening to enjoy.” With that you grab Hawks’ hand and spin on your heel before marching off.

As you’re walking back to the table where Olivia and Mirko are waiting, the lights dim and one of the members of the HPSC takes to the stage. It only takes one quick glance at Hawks’ face to confirm this is the last thing he needs to sit and listen to right now. So you bypass the table entirely and keep moving. “Where are we going?” he asks as you drag him to the first emergency stairwell you spot. “The roof. It can’t be that many more flights up and you look like you could use some fresh air,” you explain.

It takes four more flights of stairs for the two of you to reach the roof and you’d had to pick the door lock to get out, but it’s worth it for the view. Lights twinkle in all directions as the entire city stretches out before the two of you. “It’s beautiful,” you gasp as you take it all in. “It is,” Keigo confirms, although there’s a sadness in his voice. He sits down on the concrete and stares out across the view and so you take a seat beside him. “What’s up?” you ask gently. It breaks your heart to see the way he merely shakes his head with watery eyes. “It’s just me Kei. The roof isn’t even supposed to be accesible, no one is gonna bother us up here. What’s wrong?” you insist. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to outrun my father and be something better. Only to find out that something better was the same thing in prettier packaging,” he admits. “You are nothing like Endeavor. I meant what I said inside.” “I want to believe you but how can I when that’s the model I’ve been striving for since I was a kid?”

You stop and think for a moment as you try to figure out how exactly to word this. “Remind me who was it that called out Endeavor for being number one hero and yet ranking considerably lower than you in popularity polls? It was right after All Might retired,” you respond. Keigo rolls his eyes, “It was me but-“ “That doesn’t sound like something a dedicated disciple of Endeavor would do to me. You’ve always been able to acknowledge the flaws in the system. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit and I’m sure if you asked any of the heroes here tonight they’d agree. I would trust you with my life Kei. I’m serious,” you insist. “Fine, fine. You’re so dramatic,” Keigo laughs but you know him well enough to know when he’s deflecting.

You rise up from your position and casually move towards the edge of the roof, keeping your eyes trained on the city. “You really are an incredible hero,” you say into the chilly night. “So you keep saying,” Keigo laughs ruefully behind you. “Hey Keigo?” you ask as you step onto the edge of the roof and turn back to face him. “What?”

“Think fast.”

You step backwards and then you’re falling.

Author’s Note: First before I forget, shoutout to @oliviasslut for letting me use her oc Olivia for Mirko’s girlfriend. I was low key stuck on that so letting me swipe your oc was a huge help. Anyway, THIS GOT SO FAR AWAY FROM ME WOW. I didn’t think this would be where I ended the chapter but it felt right and opens the next part up for more details which hopefully will be a good thing lmao. I will mostly likely be releasing a SFW and NSFW version of the next part, hopefully I don’t fall behind schedule and can continue the daily updates through to the end 😅 we’re in the home stretch guys.

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @the-adzukibean @a-fucking-sero-kinnie @ladyzayismultifandom @pixelwisp

#hopelessoa #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks smau

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

Text

Power Struggle

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Requested by : @peakyfooky

So unfortunately I clicked on the delete button instead of the edit button and my work just went down the drain. I feel so pissed rn. I'm so sorry, @peakyfooky. Here's the request. Again.

Summary - Being an assassin was all fun and a right handed game until Tommy Shelby fucked up in an important mission and almost got you killed. The only good thing to come out of it was a hinted confession and a heated moment of passion.

Warnings: Cursing, Explicit language, SMUT SMUT SMUT, Sex . Reader's a badass in this one.

The rumours were many. Some said that she was a mythical creature, a story cooked up by mothers to get their children to sleep at nights, while some felt that she was a woman long dead. They said that she walked through the streets of London at nights, shielded by the darkness, hidden from the human eye. They even said that she had a scarred face, and a story to tell, probably why she didn't show herself during daytime. She was looking for the man that had done this to her, scarred her face and once she found him, she would be gone.

The rumours appalled you but at the same time, they made you feel powerful. You were nothing they had described you as. You were beautiful, your face that of an angel, if one would look at it, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

You were not some creature from the storybooks, neither were you someone alien to this country. You considered yourself a businesswoman, and your business was killing people. Killing your targets. Being an assassin, a female assassin, and being a pretty good one, you were the topic of talks among people and a pretty frequent household name for the gangs, having been frequenting them, and doing their petty calling for years now. And they made sure your identity was kept hidden and you were paid handsomely.

And this is how you knew Thomas Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders. You wouldn't lie to yourself, his summons were the ones that intrigued you the most. They were uncanny, came for you on those you had least expected them.

After a long night at the pub next door, you stumbled into your first floor shabby apartment, a good disguise for a woman like you who earned a lot for every target eliminated. Your keys rattled into the keyhole and the door flung open, the familiar scent of your perfume, mixed with whiskey and cigarette smoke filling up your nostrils as you stepped inside and flung your heels off.

That's when you saw it. A card with a gold plated border stood on your bedside table, waiting for you to read it. You often wondered how Tommy managed to do it, sneak into your apartment to get you these notes but you didn't ask. It was Thomas Fuckin' Shelby and he had ways that you had probably never imagined of. To anyone who would see these notes, they would mistake these from a despaired lover, wanting to meet you again.

You flicked it roughly into your palm, turning it around as you read through it.

Meet me by the distillery when the moon's directly above us.

- T.S

He talked in riddles, riddles that no normal person would bother trying to solve but you knew his riddles by the back of your hand. Your eyes flew to the grandfather clock and you rushed out to your window, trying to look at the black starless sky, overcome with black humungous clouds with no moon in sight.You waited for a few minutes, waiting for the moon to show itself and when it finally showed you a peek, you knew Thomas would have seen it too. You grabbed your purse, flinging it across your shoulder and walked out of your apartment, making your way towards the distillery by the end of the street.

By the time you set foot there, you craned your neck upwards, trying to look at the moon that was now shining down on you and you knew it would be minutes before Thomas Shelby showed himself. Years for working for this man, he still hadn't learnt a thing about punctuality. Just then, a twig snapped behind you, causing you to slowly turn towards the approaching figure with a smug look on your face, "I am a busy woman, Shelby. I cannot always be here at your whims and fancies."

Under the pale moonlight, you saw his lips twitch, his hand mechanically moving up to his lips, his cigarette plucked between his lips as he inhaled the smoke that coiled around him.

"I hope you have something good for me. Something better than the man you gave me the last time. That took fucking two minutes. This better be worth my time."

Tommy took a step closer, the cigarette butt dropping from his hand as he stepped on it. Now you could see him clearly, his handsome features and his chiseled jaw struck out.

"Luca Changretta."

Two words were spoken and the smirk on your face went up your ears.

"I hope the pay's good."

"I'll triple it once you get me the news he's fuckin' gone." Tommy's ice like voice reached your ears and you just smacked your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest.

"So, when are we fuckin' doing this?"

Pretending to be a whore was easy. All you had to do was wear a skimpy dress, show a little cleavage, put on red lipstick and there you go, you were ready. Once you were ready, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The woman that looked back at you was someone you hardly recognised, but maybe that was what you always wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you finally pushed yourself out of the shabby bathroom at the back of the pub, your heels clicking against the pavement as you strutted towards the noisy entrance. You could hear loud chatters and occasional bangs, banging of fists, and even breaking of glasses and you rolled your eyes, cringing at the state of disorientation most of these men were in.

You placed your hand on the door, pushing it open as you stepped in, smacking your lips together. Your eyes scanned through the men, some of them now looking at you with hunger in their eyes. "Who the hell ordered a whore, ay?! Send her over once you are done mate!" You heard someone yell.

If you had to do this without testing your patience any further, you needed a drink. You went up straight to the bar, slamming your fist angrily against it to get the bartender's attention. His head snapped towards you, his mouth slightly falling, his eyes involuntarily moving and resting on your chest for a bit.

"Whiskey." You said, dryly. "And stop fuckin' staring at my chest."

The bartender cleared his throat, a red tint taking over his cheeks, flustered at being accused so pointedly. You saw him nod and rush into the backroom. You took this moment to look around, trying to spot the man you were looking for. This is where Thomas Shelby had told you he would be.

The bartender emerged with your drink in his hand, placing it on the counter in front of you. Your fingers curled around it, your hand flying to your lips, your ruby tainted lips pressing against the glass as the liquid gushed through your throat. Without wasting any more time, placing the glass back down, you leaned forward, watching the bartender in front of you struggle to keep his wandering eyes from taking a sneak peak at your cleavage. You placed your elbows on the counter to support you, looking at him.

"Where's Luca Changretta?"

The bartender looked at you, his eyebrow shooting up.

"Oh, you are Mr. Changretta's, ah, guest. The first door on the left." You nodded coyly, your fingers curling around the glass, your eyes fixed at the bartender as you watched him uncomfortably move away, scrubbing the counter on the other side. You brought up the glass and downed the entire contents of it, almost slamming the glass back down.

Following the bartender's instructions, you found your way to the first door on the left. It was a mahogany door, shut, but you could hear muffled shouting coming from the inside. Not bothering to knock, you flung the door open, barging your way in, your heels clicking against the floor.

Luca was sitting on a couch, his legs propped up against the coffee table, his drink in his hand as he was probably in the middle of an argument with one of his henchmen.

"Do you really not know how to knock?" Luca didn't move, only his lips did, as he eyed you his gaze, dwindling from distaste to full of lust.

"Not really, Mr. Changretta. You see, I just did my nails. Trust me, these things do take a lot of my time, that and making sure men don't leave disappointed." Your smirk reached your eye as your hand fumbled against your box of cigarettes, pulling a stick out of it and flinging it to your lips.

You heard Luca mutter a get the fuck out under his breath and the henchman rushed off, leaving you alone with the man. He slowly stood up, taking a sip of his drink, twirling his whiskey glass in his hand as he made his way up to you, looking at you from head to toe. "I didn't ask for a whore, now did I? Not that I remember. Who sent you?"

"No one asks for me, Mr. Changretta, I just flow with the wind. I just know who might have a need for me without actually him coming to me first. I see power, immense power and that's where I go. No one sends me." You took a step closer, lifting your palm and placing it on Luca's arm, using your pointed nail to move your index finger downwards, causing him to grit his teeth as your nail tore through his suit, almost scraping through his flesh. "Sorry about the suit. Where did you get these made?"

"Fenacci, Italian. He's my uncle."

"Well he must be a talented man." You cooed.

A sadistic snicker escaped his lips, causing you to give him a fake smile, although you knew how disgruntled you felt. The things money made people do.

"Now Mr. Changretta– "

"Call me Luca." He cut you off, his hand finally fixing on your hip, his fingers stroking your flesh over your satin dress.

"Luca, what would you like me to do to please you?" You pushed yourself away from him, watching his face flash a look of annoyance, his fingers twitching when it lost contact with you. Slowly, you took off your dress, only to reveal the soft, almost sheer negligee that you were wearing underneath it, exposing your legs and every bit of your skin. You saw him give you a quick do over his eyes flashing with his desire for you and this caused your lips to involuntarily curl into a smirk. You took a step towards him, placing your palm on his chest and using force to push him back against the couch, taking him by surprise.

"You are a man of substance, Mr. Changretta. I love it."

You placed yourself slowly over his lap, letting him wrap his arm around your waist, a low, throaty growl almost leaving his lips. As you moved on to straddle him, his fingers moved all over your arms, trying to feel the softness of your skin.

Taking that second of distraction in your stride, your hand flew up to the pin that held your hair, the pin of poison as you called it, and you pulled it out, your hair now falling loosely over your almost bare shoulders. Clutching the pin in your hand, you were ready to push the pin into the side of his neck, ready to end it once and for all but before you could do that, he grabbed you by your shoulder, pushing you away with such force, you fell back, crashing against the coffee table and fell to the floor.

"I least expected Mr. Shelby to be sending in assassins dressed as whores. Turns out Miss Gray was right. He did send you to kill me."

Your rage filled eyes met his, your finger still clutching the pin, while his fingers slid into his suit pocket and he pulled out his gun, ready to aim it at you. You gave him a smile, not dropping his gaze for a second. There was no way you would let him have you fail. You had never failed before. Fucking Polly Gray. You didn't understand how Luca Changretta already knew what Thomas Shelby's plan was.

You would have pondered more, had your eyes not noted how his finger moved to the trigger, ready to squeeze it. The moment passed by in a blur of a second, you adeptly caught his wrist at the right time, causing his aim to falter but the bullet shot of the barrel before the gun fell off his hand, slicing into your arm and lodging inside. You hissed in pain, your arm slowly turning red as droplets of your blood rolled down and fell to the floor, drop by drop. "Fucking hell," You cursed, your palm flying to the hole in your arm, feeling the warm gush of your blood, your wound throbbing under your touch while at the same time, you used your foot to kick the gun that had fallen out of Changretta's hand under the cabinet.

"Who the fuck are you, woman? You're no whore, that I'm sure of. I wonder how much that bastard paid you to do his dirty work. I'm ready to pay you triple– " He grabbed you by your hair and pulled you up to your feet which was a pretty bad move at his end. This was where you shot out your foot towards him suddenly, causing him to stumble and fall backwards. You let out a loud shriek, pulling yourself on top of him, straddling his waist, your palms coming to rest on his throat as you started squeezing it.

"I'm your death, motherfucker."

Luca Changretta started coughing, his eyes bobbing out as he tried to get your hands off his throat, but you just kept squeezing harder, pushing down at him with all the weight in your body. You were smiling now, watching life drain out of this man so easily, the throbbing in your wounded arm completely forgotten. You had gotten so used to seeing their faces when you killed them, it really didn't matter when they came back to haunt you at nights.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp prick at the side of your neck, the sudden impact of which caused you to loosen your grip on Changretta. Clutching your neck, you fell to your side, your eyes falling on your poisoned pin that was in Changretta's hand. Your chest heaving up and down, your heart raced so bad, you felt it was going to stop. Pain spread through your body, slowly, like a snake coiling at your insides as you started coughing out foam, your vision blurring.

"You can never be the death of me, bitch."

The last thing you saw before you shut your eyes was the door flinging open and the blue eyed gang leader rushed in, with a few men on his tail. You heard the sound of gunshots and screams but it all went black.

Your head hurt and so did every crevice in your body, as though someone had run a truck over you. It felt like you had been asleep for ages. The room smelled like a hospital room. After what felt like eternity, your eyes fluttered open. Even moving your eyes around took most of your energy. The room was warm and so were the covers that covered your body. Slowly, you started regaining shards of memory of what had happened that day. You had failed, for the first time ever. But worse than that, you wanted to bash Thomas Shelby's skull, for betraying you, for telling Polly Gray. He was responsible for your failure.

You winced as you sat up, your eyes flying to your bandaged arm. If the humiliation of failing that one thing you were good at wasn't enough, you had been shot and fucking poisoned.

You slid against the edge of the bed, your feet finding the floor as you hoisted yourself up, your legs almost wobbling at your first attempt. Five minutes later, you were walking down the hallway of what you guessed was the Arrowe House screaming like a mad woman, “Thomas! THOMAS SHELBY! FOR FUCK'S SAKE–"

Just then, the door to your right opened, and someone grabbed your wrist, pulling you inside and the door slammed shut behind you.

"My son's fuckin' asleep in the next room. Can you stop shouting at the top of your lungs? And who the fuck asked you to strut around the house when you are in no condition to get out of bed?"

You looked at the man in front of you and you wanted to gage his eyeballs out. Suppressing the urge to scream at him, you just pushed him away and weakly made your way up to his desk, grabbing his box of cigarettes.

"How the fuck am I even alive? Thanks to you, Changretta had stabbed me with my own poison needle. How the fuck did Polly even find out about the whole plan?" You struggled to light a match, a cigarette now pressed to your lips. Thomas snatched the matchbox from your hand, lighting a match for you and bringing it close to your face.

"Will you just sit down first." He motioned for you to take a seat. Wordlessly, you lowered yourself on it, your eyes trained on him, waiting for him to speak.

"I might have mistakenly said some things to her. I know, I'm sorry –"

You were not having it. You stood up, your fists clenched by your sides as you stormed towards him, almost pushing him angrily.

"You almost got me killed Tommy. You knew my fucking rules. No one except us should have known." He grabbed you by your arm in an effort to catch you if you fell but you just pushed his hands away.

"For fucks sake, will you stop with the dramatics, it was a drunken mistake. Polly came to me and she confessed to having told Changretta about you. That's when I gathered the boys and –"

You shook your head in disgust and cut him off, as your hand mechanically flew up to your lips and you took a drag of your cigarette, spitting out your words, "You wanted to be a fuckin' hero, did you not? You broke our deal, Tom. And then you save my life like this."

You didn't realise how the word Tom had so effortlessly slipped out of your mouth until you felt his lips suddenly press against yours, your eyes widening in shock at the suddenness of it, an electrifying feeling filling you up.

"What the fuck?" You whispered, licking your lips inadvertently when he pulled back.

"You don't fucking shut up, do you?"

"How dare you –" You didn't complete your sentence. Instead, you pushed Tommy to the wall, your hands tugging at his waistcoat to take it off as your lips hungrily devoured his plump ones. When you finally broke the kiss, you didn't look at Tommy like you did before. There was something different about him, something that made you want to explore. Your fingers tore through the buttons of his shirt, until he was standing bare chested in front of you, his lips slightly parted, his chest heaving up and down, his hand resting on your waist as he looked down at you, his eyes thick with desire.

"What was that for?"

"For almost getting me killed and then saving my life." You muttered, sarcastically and he just scoffed.

"I couldn't have left you to die." He deadpanned.

"Oh, and why's that?"

You bit your lip, slowly looking up at him when it hit you. "Don't answer that. Please don't. I can't take it right now."

"You're so –"

"Get your fuckin' pants off."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

It was as though your mind had exploded. All you saw was fire around you, the fire that could only be vanquished by him. Impatiently, you strode up to him, unbuttoning his pants while he just kept staring at you, his mouth almost open. You slid your palm through the waistband of his pants, stroking over his already hardened manhood, watching him as his eyes clenched shut and a low moan escaped those lips.

What you felt right now could only be expressed as sheer torment. You were emotionally drained and physically broken, and the only thing that could calm you down or make it even worse was what you were about to do. And you weren't going to waste any fucking time.

Thomas Shelby didn't realise what hit him. The next minute, he was sprawled over his desk, his pants lowered at his ankles, with you now straddling his waist, your eyes looking down at him. You wouldn't deny, he really looked beautiful under you. And you were sure, he was liking you on top of him.

It was a Power Struggle. But you always won. Atleast with Thomas Shelby.

"You are infuriating." You hissed, as you started rolling your hips against his erect cock, only the fabric of your underwear barring you from taking him in. The aching pain in your core was frustrating, getting even worse with each stroke of your core against the mountain pressed up against it.

"And you're a fucking tease," He moaned under you, licking his lips as he tried to adjust his hips to feel your warmth better.

"Stop. Don't fucking move until I say you do. We do this my way." You slapped his chest lightly, only to get a frustrated growl from him. A part of you wanted to tease Thomas Shelby to the point he was squirming, but the other part of you wanted to satiate the burning inside of you.

"I'm so fucking angry at you, Shelby, but good thing I know how to calm myself down in the most unholy ways." You lifted yourself up, Tommy's adept fingers worked to get your panties off you and once you had gotten yourself free from it, you took a deep breath, looking down at him before you went down on him. Using your hand to guide his cock, you slowly mounted yourself into him, feeling his thickness fill you up, a symphony of curses and grunts escaping both your lips as he filled you up.

Once you had adjusted to him, your slickness made it easier for you to build a firm pace, your hands using his chest to hold yourself on top of him, his hands holding you from your waist for support. Your body trembled and your mouth spilt vulgar curses as you slowly built up your pace, bouncing up and down his length, the study filling up with the sounds of your wetness of your core and flapping of your skin against his. His hands left your waist, moving up until he was squeezing your breasts, his fingers toying with your nipples, enhancing the pleasure you were feeling.

"Is that all you got?" Tommy moaned and this caused you to throw your head back and let out a dry laugh, only to end in a moan again as you felt pleasure built inside you, ready to burst any time now. By the looks of it, you could see that Tommy was close too, but he wouldn't give you the pleasure of knowing how good you were at this.

"Keep up with me." You swatted him again, deliberately slowing your pace, knowing how close you both were to your climaxes. He only slapped your arse in retaliation, budging you to keep up the pace.

"(Y/N)" Tommy grunted your name in pleasure, his fingernails digging into your hips.

"Say it again, love."

"Fuck." Tommy cursed, his breathing hitching as you continued bouncing on his swollen cock. Your hands found your way to his neck, your palms wrapping around as you started choking him, not hard enough for him to not breathe but hard enough for him to look up at you, his eyes burning with pleasure.

"Say it again, darling."

"(Y/N), fuck." He groaned. As if this was the push that was needed, you let out a whimper mixed with a moan, as you rode him to his own climax as well as your own, his nails digging into your flesh, panting into his sturdy chest.

You rolled off him and collapsed on the desk next to him, staring at the ceiling of his study, your chest heaving up and down, the smell of sex and cigarettes now filling up your nostrils.

"Please don't fuck up the next time, Shelby."

You felt his lips press against the skin on your bare shoulder in a kiss, followed by a hum as he pushed himself up from the desk, "That fuckin' poison pin. I had thought I lost you. You were lucky the doctor drained out the poison. If being an assassin is what you want to do, then we do this my way, not yours." He reached out, pulling up his pants and grabbed a spare tee shirt from one of the drawers of his study, pulling it over his head, looking at you once before he stormed out of his study.

(GIF is not mine, found it on Google. Let me know if it's yours and I will credit you.)

#tommy shelby x reader smut #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders smut

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Mixtape

A/N: Here is my fic for A Very Harry Potter Summer so wonderfully organised by @the-hufflefluffwriter and @kalimagik! My prompt was summer songs/mixtape. I loved writing this - I got to create a playlist and think of my favourite place in the world. The playlist will be at the bottom of the fic. There are a LOT of flashbacks in this, they’re bordered by asterisks and in italics! I have removed the taglist for this fic as there is content in here not suitable for those under the age of 18. If you are under 18, please read the warnings. I cannot stop you from reading but I will do my bit by warning you all. The smut starts with a boat scene, so that’s my warning for you all. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: summer holidays and anniversaries.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, allusions to sex as well as a smut scene so under 18s, do not read.

Word count: 3.3k

The September wind is cold and brisk as it wraps around you on your way to work at the Ministry for Magic.

Summer had come and gone in a rush of sun, sea, sand, and Sirius Black.

The build-up to the holiday was something else; he wouldn’t tell you where you were going. It didn’t matter how many times you guessed or argued; he would not crack. He even went to the extent of enlisting Lily to pack your things.

“It’s our first holiday together,” He said one night, his fingers trailing up and down your arm. “I’d like to keep it a surprise for as long as I can.”

The sincerity in his voice was reflected in his eyes, and you couldn’t remain angry at him, “Okay, I’ll just have to wait.”

He flipped you onto your back; pressing the right amount of his weight on top you, enough so you couldn’t wiggle away. He pressed kisses all over your face, “You’re going to love it.”

“I know I will, I’m with you.”

“Sap,” he mouthed before kissing you, effectively distracting you from your inquisition.

-------

Clocking in, you think back to the moment you arrived on the small Greek island:

******

The warmth of the sun settles over your skin as you step off the plane; Sirius close behind you. You tilt your face into the light, feeling all the tension make its way out of your body. Sirius’ hand is a steadying presence as you take in your first sight of the island. You had seen it from the sky; had gripped your seat in fear and anticipation as the plane made its awkward landing – the island being too small for a traditional landing but seeing the island from this level has you breathless from its beauty.

Your leg bounces up and down for the entire coach transfer to your hotel. Sirius chuckles as his hand grips your knee to keep it from bouncing. Your eyes are wide as you take in the full beauty of the island; the constant views of the Aegean Sea as well as the greenery of the trees. Even through the windows of the coach, you can hear the unrelenting chorus of the crickets – their song heavier in the mid-July heat.

The coach stops outside your hotel; Sirius pulling you off by hand and picking up your suitcases. It’s a small family run establishment – as is every hotel on the island. And from your first look of the whitewashed walls and terracotta tiles, you were in love. The eldest son walks you to your room for the next two weeks; he hands you the key with a kind smile, explaining that the attached restaurant is open until eleven that night, but the bar is open until the early hours of two.

He departs with a goodbye and a thank you, leaving you and Sirius to explore the medium-sized room you would call home for the next fortnight.

Upon sight of the bed, Sirius drops the suitcases and promptly jumps on the mattress, landing on his back. His hair fans out around him, resembling a halo. You snort at him in amusement, grabbing your suitcases from where he had dropped them to place them on the small bench across the room.

Flinging open the balcony doors, you leave your lover on the bed to see more of the resort. You hold your head up to the sun, enjoying the feel of its rays of your face. You sigh happily, opening your eyes and scouring them over the resort. The pool looks so inviting as does the restaurant area by the bar.

Arms wrapping themselves around your waist make you jump but you soon relax into the familiar touch of Sirius. He chuckles as he shifts a piece of your hair so he can kiss your neck. You lean into his touch, enjoying the feel of his lips on your already overheated skin.

“It’s so gorgeous here, Sirius, thank you,” You gush, turning your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

Sirius’ hand pats your waist, “Anything for you, my dear.”

You hum, turning in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. You kiss him for a minute before pulling away. You grin up at the love of your life, “How about we take a shower then go get some food?”

A wicked smirk takes over his face as Sirius drags you back into the room. “I think you read my mind.”

--------

The both you decide that for your first night on the island, you shouldn’t travel too far from the hotel. Instead, ambling down to the restaurant on the beach, hand in hand as you breathe in the night air.

The food is delicious; as is your company. Sirius keeps your gaze as he clinks his wine glass against yours; the conversation between the two of you flowing effortlessly.

Leaving the restaurant, your tangled hands swing between your bodies. You grin at Sirius as you stop outside a heavily populated bar. He beams in earnest before leading you inside.

The wine had gone to your heads; topped off with the cocktails you down at the bar. Sirius drags you into the centre of the dancefloor where other couples are pressed tightly to each other; so tightly you can’t see where one ends and the other begins.

Sirius spins you before drawing you back into his arms. You laugh as your wrap your arms around his neck. His hands find purchase on your waist. You dance together; bodies wrapped up in each other as the upbeat song from the eighties washes over you – the artist singing about an invisible touch.

You fall back into your hotel room; groping at each other. Sirius pulls off your shirt as you undo the buttons to his. Your hands run over the sculpted muscles of his stomach, not missing the way his breath hitches at your touch.

The sex isn’t hurried, but from the alcohol running through your systems it’s sloppy and full of laughter.

It’s perfect.

*******

You groan at the pile of folders perched precariously on your desk. Removing your coat and setting down your bag, you eye the heap with a venomous glare.

The pile of folders has you wishing for the sun of your holiday and the closeness of Sirius.

Opening the first folder, you think back to one of your favourite nights of the holiday:

*******

The young couple clearly fancy themselves the latest duo to hit the charts with the way they belt out the song. You see Sirius’ shoulders shake as he tries to quash the laughter building up inside him.

If only the young couple knew how they were butchering the song about not breaking hearts. Sirius leans over to whisper in your ear, “They won’t be breaking hearts, but they are breaking ear drums.”

His comment has you snorting into your drink, spilling it slightly.

The couple at the karaoke machine finish their rendition of the seventies hit, bowing as they leave the stage. Sirius doesn’t hold back his laugh as he stands up, drawing you up with him. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you up on the small stage which would be nothing short of a disaster since the karaoke machine would not hold any magical singers.

Instead, Sirius leads you out of the bar to walk by the harbour. He pauses by the war memorial dedicated to the second muggle war; pulling you closer to him, arm settling around your waist.

“Hey, Sirius?” You ask.

Sirius hums in answer; grey eyes bright in the moonlight.

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” you sing, laughing as Sirius’ face lights up.

In his gravelly voice that reminds you of a rock singer from the eighties, he sings back, “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Underneath the moonlit sky, you sing the words back to one another – adding the song to the list of promises made to each other through the years of your relationship; first starting on your first anniversary in Seventh Year.

The waves crashing onto the harbour provide the backdrop to your duet and promises.

*****

Lunch isn’t a big affair; something simple brought from home so you can eat at your desk as you catch up on the paperwork. You pause with a forkful of food on its way to your mouth; another memory gripping you in its clutch:

******

The speaker system attached to the hotel resort plays on a loop for the majority of the day. It’s both a dream and a curse. A dream as you get to know the latest muggle chart songs, but a curse as it’s repeated on a loop.

You sit on the bed, running a brush through your hair. You bark out a laugh as Sirius shimmies around the room, thrusting his hips in time to the beat of the Donna Summer song that was playing for the third time in two hours.

“What do you say, babe? Am I ‘hot stuff’?” He asks, thrusting his hips again in emphasis.

You continue to laugh, fanning yourself, “The hottest stuff.”

Sirius dances across the room to you, laughing along with you.

With a tug of your hand, Sirius is sprawled out on the bed next to you. In a second, he has you pressed into the mattress as he straddles you. His hands run up and down your body as he presses kiss after kiss to your face – your eyes, cheeks, lips. He kisses everywhere.

Soon, the kisses become longer and more insistent. Hands start to pull at clothing; discarding them across the room.

The reservations at the restaurant are forgotten as Sirius’ hands find that spot at the apex of your thighs, and you throw your head back into the pillows with a moan.

For the rest of the night, Sirius reminds you just how hot he really is.

******

As the day continues, your thoughts consistently hark back to your holiday.

The September weather has taken a turn for the worse; the rain battering the windows of your office at the ministry.

Balancing your chin on your hand, your desire for the warms beaches of the small Greek island grows stronger. With a longing-filled sigh, you think back to one of the many days spent on the beach:

*****

You run your hand gently down Sirius’ arm, enjoying the goosebumps that rise in your finger’s wake. Through the tinted glass of your sunglasses, you watch the man you fell in love with way back in Fourth Year. His chest rises and falls in a slow motion; he’s utterly relaxed in this place – he has no worries here.

Sirius’ hair is tied up in the leather band he keeps around his wrist. It elongates his neck and reveals more of his face. You bite your lip at the sight of the fading bruises on his neck, knowing you were the one to put them there on your first night here. Your stomach flutters as you know your neck looks something similar… as do your inner thighs.

The tattoos painted on his body stand out in the sun; the magical symbols and the memorial pieces litter his chest and arms with a fair few on his legs.

He really is something else.

He had always been handsome; had always had the attention of boys and girls alike through Hogwarts. It was expected that you had fallen for him too; realising your feelings in Fourth Year but not confronting them until Sixth Year.

Through your relationship, you had witnessed him transform into the man he is today. A man who will always have a glint of mischief in his grey eyes, but a man who loves you fiercely and will do so for the rest of his life.

A sing from the hotel plays in your mind; a Swedish band singing about kisses of fire, and Sirius’ really were.

The feelings for this man had you burning from the inside out; and you had been burning since you first kissed in Sixth Year.

Your hand runs over a scar on his arm; received in a duel through the wizarding war. That night had been one of the worst of your life; using the entire bottle of Dittany on his arm in panic whilst trying to stem the bleeding. Losing him would be a nightmare unto itself; a thought that you couldn’t even comprehend.

The song continues to play in your mind and the lyrics settle deep within your bones. Never before Sirius had you felt like this; you were entirely infatuated with him, and he you.

As your eyes run over his body; from his tied up hair to the tips of his toes, you felt even more in love with than you were before the holiday.

*****

Instead of apparating home, you decide to take the tube, letting the menial aspects of your job leech from your body as you rest your eyes.

The rocking of the carriage hauls you back into another memory:

*********

The waves lap against the boat. The azure blue of the Aegean looking as if it spans for miles and miles. You hold your hand to your forehead, shielding your eyes from the sun as you sunbathe on the deck of the boat.

It was Sirius’ idea to rent the boat; deciding to see more of the island from the ocean and simply spend the day just the two of you where you couldn’t be bothered.

It was a surprise to learn that he could drive boats, but with a sheepish grin, he explains how he was taught by his grandfather when he visited the family villa in Italy one summer.

The tinny noise of the radio sounds quietly in the background; an upbeat muggle song becoming the theme of the boat ride. The singer croons about how love really hurts without his lover. Sirius surprises you once again by knowing some of the words; he shrugs at your questioning eyebrow.

Sirius anchors the boat just off the coastline of an empty beach. He switches off the engine, letting the boat bob in the water.

The heat of the midday sun changes the atmosphere. Sirius’ touch starts to linger; first on your shoulder, then as he thumb pulls down your lower lip. He taps your bottom lip once before pressing a kiss to your mouth. You gasp into his mouth and Sirius takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

His hands undo the fastenings to your bathing suit; dropping it to the side with a salacious grin. With a light chuckle, you pull him back down to your mouth, humming at the feeling of his hands roaming your chest. You draw away from the kiss, instead, moving your mouth across his jawline and down his neck, sucking hickies on the way.

Your hands slip into his trunks; he inhales sharply at your touch before pouncing on you with a laugh.

The weight of his body is enough to keep you pinned underneath him, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him further into you if that was at all possible. He braces a hand above you as he rolls his hips into you; you arch your back wanting him as close to you as possible. Sirius sucks hickeys wherever he can reach – your neck, your collarbone, your chest. He takes his time with you, eliciting drawn out moans and groans from your mouth which he swallows with his own. You run your fingernails down his back, leaving behind red marks on his shoulder blades.

In a small boat anchored by the beach, you lose yourselves in each other until your skin is slick with sweat and you’re panting into each other’s mouths.

*******

The holiday defined so much for the both of you. It was needed; the both of you beginning to feel the stresses of everyday life starting to pile up on your shoulders.

The holiday helped you reconnect as a couple, bringing you closer together than ever before. The island would always hold a special place in your heart for that very reason.

-------

The house is quiet as you unlock the front door. Toeing off your shoes, you hang your coat on the rack and drop your bag next to it. The smell of food wafts to you from the kitchen and you follow the mouth-watering scent.

Two pillar candles are lit in the centre of the table. Two plates filled with food are settled on either side, and the love of your life grins as you enter the room.

“Darling,” He greets, “How was work?”

“Long,” You sigh, pecking his lips in hello.

Sirius pulls you back in for another before letting you settle at the other end of the table.

For a minute, the only noise between the two of you are the scratching of knives and forks on plates. You take a sip from your wine glass, letting the crisp taste settle on your tongue before swallowing. You beam at Sirius, “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

He raises his wine glass to you in a toast, “Happy Anniversary to you too, darling.”

Sirius reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, silver rectangular box. He stares at it for a minute before sliding it across the table to you.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts this year!” You cry, “I haven’t gotten you anything!”

Sirius chuckles, “Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Sap,” You mouth across the table, picking up the small box.

“I didn’t want to forget it.” He whispers, watching you unwrap the small box.

“Oh…” You whisper as the wrapping reveals a tape nestled in the small box.

“It’s a mixtape… of the songs we heard on holiday.”

“How did you do this?” You ask, picking up the tape in your hands.

“Well I made a note of all the songs I knew and then if I didn’t, I asked the wait staff when you went to the bathroom. They’re all songs from my favourite parts of the holiday, though I did love it all.”

“Sirius, this is wonderful.”

“Remus explained how to make the mixtape.”

“I’ll need to send a thank you gift to him.”

“You like it?” He asks, insecurity lining his voice.

“Like it? Sirius, I love it. I love it so much, it’s perfect. I’ll listen to it always.”

“There’s a note underneath.”

You look down to see a small folded piece of paper nestled among the tissue paper. You sit the mixtape down carefully before unfolding the note from Sirius.

There, written in his elegant script are the words: “For the best summer I’ve ever experienced. I love you. Happy Anniversary, my darling.”

“Sirius… I love it. I love it so much. I love you. I’m going to play it right now.” You say, standing to pop the tape into your stereo system.

You gasp as the first song begins to play – immediately recognising the opening bars to one of the many songs you and Sirius had danced to on your holiday.

“Oh! It’s the song from our first night when we fought tiredness and went out. We were at the restaurant down the road from the hotel and then danced to this song we had drunk too much wine and cocktails.”

“One of the best nights of my life.”

You hold your hand out to the long-haired man, “Dance with me,” you whisper.

He takes your hand without question, spinning you before drawing you into his arms, holding you tightly. You sway to the beat of the song; letting the memories of your holiday wash over you in a tidal wave of emotions.

Sirius keeps his eyes on you, holding your gaze through it all. He dips his head, pressing his lips to yours for a long, sensuous kiss that has your toes curling and your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him pressed close to you.

Summer had come and gone in a haze of sun, sea, and sand.

But Sirius Black would always be a constant.

*********

MIXTAPE:

Genesis - Invisible Touch (first night on the island)

Elton John and Kiki Dee - Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Karaoke scene)

Donna Summer - Hot Stuff (hotel room scene)

ABBA - Kisses of Fire (beach scene)

Billy Ocean - Love Really Hurts Without You (boat scene)

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chrisevansszn · 3 years

Text

THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE PT 2 🔺️🔺️🔺️

Word count 2k!

The next morning you arrive to work with a hangover. How much did you drink? You never get hangovers! You go straight to your office and close the blinds.

*incoming text*

Chris: how are you this morning? I see your blinds are close.

You: A total hangover. I never get hangovers!

Chris: LOL! Well, when you drink with a pro, what do you expect.

You: HA HA HA!

Chris: Would you like to go to lunch today?

Uh oh. You hesitate. You know this probably isn’t the best idea, since you did make yourself cum thinking about him last night.

You: Sure! Surprise me with a spot.

You set your phone down. You are playing with sharks right now. You continue on your day making calls and a zoom meeting. You hear a knock at your door.

“Come in.”

Chris opens the door. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“It’s that time already?” You look at your computers clock. 12:06PM. “Let’s go”

You and Chris walk down the street to a local soup and sandwich shop.

“You must have read my mine, I wanted soup today!”, you say.

“Well, I wanted to keep my talent a secret but here we are”, Chris says laughing.

You both order a soup and find a table. You make small talk about your current assignments and jokes. The soups arrive and you both eat and finish your lunch.

You notice Chris is looking at you as send a couple of texts.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

“No….you just look beautiful today.” You froze in shock.

“Thank you very much.” You blush. “Let’s go, we should be getting back.”

“Good idea” says Chris.

You both walk back to the office and get on the elevator to get to the 15th floor. You are on side face and Chris is on the other but you both are facing each other, just chatting. The elevator begins to slow down. The lights go off but come back on.

“Oh goodness”, you say. “This cannot be happening”

“RIGHT!”

The lights go off again, and the elevator comes to a complete stop. There is no way the universe is doing this to you.

“Uh oh”, Chris says as he tries to push buttons. He pushes the emergency button.

“Hopefully, this won’t be too long”, you say. Chris smiles at you.

You both sit on the elevator floor across next to each other. You both check your phones and see that you each barely get service…one bar. You and Chris try to call out, no luck. So, a text it is to the work group chat to inform that you both are stuck in the elevator.

“You said I was beautiful today at lunch,” you blurted out.

Chris looks over at you.

“I hope I didn’t offend, I didn’t mean to since you are marr-“

“Noah hasn’t told me I am beautiful in a very long time. He says, “I love you”. Never “I am in love with you” like he used to. I feel alone…all the time”

You both sit in silence.

“I can help you with that”.

“With what Chris?”

“You not feeling alone.”

“You know I am a married woman.”

“Who is telling the guy who took her to lunch and called her beautiful, that her husband has her feeling lonely.”

You pause and break eye contact by looking down. What are you doing? You just met this guy, your fantasizing about him, and letting him know your marriage issues….what are you doing? Fuck it, you haven’t even heard from Noah in almost 24 hours. You are sick of being the main one who’s reaching out.

No, Y/N don’t do it.

You look back up at Chris.

You lean in for a kiss. Chris kisses you back. It gets more and more intense. You can feel your pussy throbbing. Chris grabs your waist with one hand and behind your neck with the other, then sticks his tongue down your throat. You lean in closer and wrap your arms around his head.

The elevator begins to move again. You open your eyes and realize what is happening. You and Chris let go of each other, stand up, and gain composure. The elevator stops on the 15th floor. The doors open and there is a group of people standing there to make sure you both are ok.

You head straight to your office and close your blinds. Eye contact with Chris today would be entirely too much. You finish up your work for that day and head to your car. You get inside and take a deep breathe.

*Call Hubby*

Noah doesn’t answer. Nothing new.

You drive home, pull into the driveway, get the mail and head inside. You throw your bags and coat on the couch. You cannot stop thinking about the kiss you shared with Chris. You go into the fridge to find something to each and settle on a sandwich. You pour a glass of white wine and sit down on the couch.

*Incoming call Hubby*

“Hello.”

“Hi there.”

“Hey Love, how is working going?”

“Oh, it’s so busy and crazy right now. I don’t have much time to talk. Is everything ok?”

You sit in silence.

“Yes, Noah. Everything is ok. I just wanted to hear your voice and see how you were doing.”

“Just the same ol, same ol.” You can hear him sigh.

“Bye Noah”. You hang up. You are so irritated you can’t even think straight.

You turn on the tv to get your mind off Noah, but you keep looking at your phone. You wonder what Chris is up to? You pick up your phone.

You are absolutely playing with fire right now.

*Facetime Chris Evans*. Oh no call….straight to FT.

He answers.

“Well, hello there”

“Are you busy?”

“No, I am not. Just made it home from the gym”, Chris says.

“Come over”, you reply instantly.

You can see Chris face gets confused. He looks right at you through the phone.

“You want me to come to your home?”

“Yes, or I can come to you…”

“And then what we going to do?”, he asks with a smirk.

“You’re going to give me some dick,” you give him THAT look.

He pauses.

“I am sending you my address right now and the code to the condo”

“Ok, send it now.”

You jump in the shower really quicky, put on some sexy lingerie underneath your close, and head out the door. You put Chris’ address in your phone and head his way. There isn’t a care in the world right now.

You arrive to his condo at about 9:30PM. You enter building with the code and head up. You reach his door …304. You knock. Chris opens the door with nothing but grey joggers on.

Oh, his man means business.

“Welcome baby,” he says as he pulls you close for a kiss. You can feel his hands grabbing your ass. My God this man!

You walk in. This place is spotless, well decorated, and smells amazing. This can’t be real. You walk over to the massive window and check out the city view.

“Wow, what a view.”, you say.

You begin to unbutton your coat and take it off. You turn around to see Chris standing and smiling at you.

“What is it sir?” you begin to giggle.

“I am so happy you are here.” That big, beautiful smile is showing.

You begin to take off your clothes.

“Is that right…show me how happy you are”.

Chris walks up to you and help you unbutton your pants. He gets on his knees and slides them off for you. He leans over and kisses you’re pussy through your lingerie. You are about to absolutely explode. As he stands up, he picks you up and carries you to the kitchen counter.

He begins kissing you so passionately. He kisses your neck, shoulders, chest, right boob, stomach, and then pulls your hips forward.

He takes two fingers and pulls your panties to the side. Small kisses for your pussy, then proceeds to devour you. You can barely contain yourself! No man has EVER eaten you like this. You run your fingers through Chris’ hair while he’s eating your pussy. He stops right when he knows you were about to have an orgasm. He picks you up again and takes you to his bedroom.

He lays you on the bed, but you sit up. He’s standing right in front of you and you put your hands on his waist and pull down on his joggers. His hard dick flings right out and hits his stomach. You couldn’t believe how long and thick his dick was!

You take Chris’ dick in your mouth and proceeds to rub it up and down with both of your hands.

“Ohhh right there Y/N!”, he moans out. You take his dick in until it hits the back of your throat.

He instantly pushes you back.

“I can’t wait any longer”, he says to you as he climbs on top.

“Then put that dick in me.”

Chris grabs a condom from his nightstand and puts it on. He enters you so slow, and you gasp. The moonlight is coming through from his windows. The bedroom is so sexy.

Chris penetrates in and out. He pinned your hands over your head so you cannot move or run from him. You lean up as much as you could to kiss him and he kiss you back.

“Fuck Chris,” you blurt out! He moves his hands down and grabs one breast and uses the other the lift your hips so he can do deeper.

You haven’t been fucked like this in so long. Noah only focused on himself and busting a nut, but Chris took his time and paid attention to you!

Chris takes his dick out. He leans back and proceeds to stick two of his fingers in your pussy. He fingers you nice and slow. You can feel your breathing being to get faster. He removes his fingers, and you open your eyes to look at him. He puts his two fingers in his mouth to taste you all over again.

That did it! You flip Chris over so you can get on top. You begin to ride his dick like you’ve never rode before. You gyrate your hips as you got up and down.

“Fuuuucckkkkkk.” You hear him moan out. Chris grabs your throat with one hand and squeeze gently. You fucking love that shit. You feel yourself about to cum.

“Chris, I am about to cum baby.”

“Bust all on my dick. I want to see you drip.”

“Come for daddy baby.”

DADDYYY?? DADDYYY!!! YES, I WILL!!!

You have an orgasm and Chris cums at the same time. He’s holding your body close to him while sitting up. You can’t remember the last time you had an orgasm during intercourse!

You both get up and wash off. You were about to get dressed and Chris walks out the bathroom.

“You’re not leaving me, are you?” He asks.

“Well, I mean. I was.”

“Please stay. Come lay with me and let me hold you. I want you here with me.”, Chris says.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should get home.”

Chris holds his hand out. You look at it and finally takes his hand. He leads you over to the bed and you both lay down. The moonlight shining in the room is absolute perfection. You and Chris are laying and looking at each other. He reaches over and takes the right side of your face in his hand.

“Tell me everything about you. You have my attention”, he says as he plays with your hair.

This caught you completely off guard, but you can’t say no. You sit up with you hand under your head.

“Where do I start?”

“Your childhood.”, Chris says.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER! 💖💖💖💖

#chris jamal evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans #defending jacob #andy barber #marvel #captain america

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jj-scottsbee · 4 years

Text

Siblings

Prompt: You are the youngest and only daughter of Odin, and you are more of a handful than the God of Thunder and Mischief combined.

Warnings: Violence, language

You were the Goddess of Chaos, everywhere you went you began some kind of trouble. Much of the time even when you tried your best to keep your powers under control, chaos still followed. You were a mix between both your older brothers, you had the heart of Thor, but the mischievous mind of Loki. You inherited both of your brother's good looks and were about as strong as Thor himself. As you often get yourself into trouble, you could either talk or fight your way out of it. You loved both your parents very much, but as Loki did, you favored Frigga over Odin much of the time. Frigga did her best to understand your chaotic nature, whereas Odin punished before he would even try to understand the reasoning behind your actions. Your brothers did their best to help you control your powers, though you would often lose control due to your large temper. Your temper could be small, but it could also outmatch your older brother's and Father's combined.

"I have had enough of your games!" Screamed Odin, looking down as you stood at the bottom of his throne. Thor stood to the right of you, along with Loki both glaring at you in disappointment. You stared at the floor, feeling the god's eyes burn into you.

For the third time this month, he was yelling at you for your actions. You had been wandering the training grounds when you had been startled, letting your powers go and causing an all-out war between guards, trainees, and the Warriors Three, which included your brother Thor. Frigga and Loki were the ones who had to snap everyone out of the spell you had put them under, as you stood frozen in your spot not knowing how to stop what you had begun.

"Father I did not mea-" You tried to argue, but were quickly cut off by Odin's booming voice. You flinched as he yelled, a small surge of your powers traveling through your veins. You were a young goddess and not in full control of your powers yet, though being the daughter of Odin, you were expected to have mastered them by now. The only person who realized your troubles was your mother, Frigga. She knew you were doing your best to control them and were still learning how to wield them, though your emotions were still too strong for you to control the gift which had been bestowed upon you.

"SILENCE. I have had enough of your excuses, you have caused fights and chaos everywhere you go. You cause war in other realms and petty fights between loyal Asgardians. You must learn to control your powers or they will surely be taken from you. You act as if you are not of my flesh and blood."

"I have been working on it," You continued to argue, but again your answer did not satisfy your Father or your brothers.

"Oh, please. I had my power mastered before you even showed signs of yours." Thor scoffed with an eye roll, earning a cold look from Loki. As annoying as it was for Loki to clean up your uncontrolled messes, he still cared for you dearly and understood your troubles. It took much effort and countless hours practicing to master his magic.

"I should chain you up and have you thrown in the deepest cell on Asgard until you learn what control is..." Odin trailed off, everyone's eyes widened. As upset as Thor was at you, he did not wish to see you suffer. You stared at Odin with disbelief, Frigga snapped her head towards her husband ready to argue, Loki doing the same. "But, I will not. You will learn the meaning of control. You are an embarrassment to this family and, if you cannot control what you have, then you will no longer have what was given."

"Yes, Odin." You said pain hidden in your calm tone, though your brothers and Mother could hear it, clear as day.

Odin had released everyone from the family meeting, sending you to your room. As soon as he gave permission, you quickly turned your back to him and swiftly made your way to your room. You planned on shutting yourself in there for the rest of the day, not wanting to deal with anyone else. You quickly made your way through your huge home, ignoring everything around you. You're anger was eating you from the inside out, your power surged through your veins begging you to let it go, to let it live. You clenched your jaw, as all Odin's insults flew through your mind.

"You're an embarrassment."

"You act as though you are not of my flesh and blood."

"You should be chained up."

Your hands balled into fists, your breathing grew heavy with rage, and your footstep became even quicker as you rushed to your room. When you finally reached your door, you flicked your wrist flinging your bedroom door open, it flew back into the wall hard, the handle putting a hole in the wall where it had connected. You then swung your arm behind you, slamming it shut, a loud bang echoed throughout the hallway of where your bedroom sat. You came to an abrupt stop in the middle of your room, your mind was racing. Your anger burned within you, you looked around frantically to figure out what to do to release the rage you felt in your now boiling blood. You spun in circles trying to figure out what to do, you needed to do something, anything to let your emotions out. You had taken too long, feeling your power reach its boiling point, you grabbed a fistful of your hair in each of your hands, squeezing as hard as you could. You let out a blood-curdling scream of anger and rage, your power radiated from your entire body, your vision had gone, blinded by the intense anger you felt. As you did your best to release your anger, you began to send random objects flying across your room, you caused your wardrobe to tip over, your vanity mirror cracked and you windows which overlooked the kingdom's garden shattered.

Your screams stopped, your nostrils heaving as you began to finally relax. Your vision had returned and you slowly removed the tight grip that you had held on your hair, as you surveyed your room. There was broken glass everywhere, your curtains waved softly from the calm breeze that pushed through the shattered windows. You turned your head towards your large wardrobe, it now laid on its belly, a large crack down the back of it, and the mirror of your vanity was cracked into 6 different pieces. You looked at your bed which seemed to be untouched, besides the small family portrait that Thor had, had a famous Midgaridan artist paint for you for your recent birthday. The only person in the photo who had been touched by your power was Odin, he had a tear that ran down the middle of his whole body.

As you stared at the Midgardian painting, dark thoughts began to engulf your mind.

- - -

Within seconds of entering the Bifrost, your feet once again hit the solid ground as you landed in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. You slowly took in your surroundings, your body calming itself from the quick trip. Fear and hesitation took over your mind as you realized what you had done, fighting with Heimdall to let you leave Asgard, deceiving your family. As quickly as those thoughts came, they left your mind even faster. Your fearful expression turned into an evil smile, you let out a small pride-filled laugh as you realized you were actually on Midgard. You were in the realm that Thor loved so deeply, the realm that Odin seemed so overprotective of as well.

You slowly made your way out of the warehouse and into an alleyway, you wore a tight, black velvet dress. The sleeves ran down both your arms, coming to a pointed end in the middle of the backside of each hand. The bottom of your dress was flowing and held two slits on both of your legs that traveled up from the ground to just beneath your hip. On top of your head, you wore a simple, crown that sat as a headband over your head. It was black, wrapping around your head as is they were sharp thorns twisting together, both ends coming to meet in the center of your forehead where a golden triangle faced downward.

As you exited the alley, many eyes fell on you. You were quite the sight in the busy streets of New York City. You took your surroundings in with awe but slightly pouted as you planned to level the city. If Odin wished to see chaos, then that is what he shall see. You were pulled from your gazing as a hard shoulder connected with your breast, a gruff voice following.

"Watch where the fuck you're going bitch." growled the man that had run into you, your starstruck expression changing. Your eyes connected with the rude mortal's and within seconds, he stood convulsing in pain, blood dripping from his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. You watched as he fell to the ground, the scream of the hundreds of witnesses around you only egging you on. Your stared became even more intense as the man screeched in pain, within a minute he had fallen over, his life squeezed from his body. You smiled at the ecstasy you had felt from letting your powers run wild.

Quickly you turned your attention away from the dead man that now lay in the middle of the sidewalk, and towards the abandoned warehouse that you exited just moments earlier. You raised your hand to about shoulder height, your palm facing the sky, quickly making your hand into a fist, you watched as the building cracked. It slowly began to fall apart, turning into nothing but rubble. The mortals ran in fear, many exited their cars as they had nowhere to go. You watched as they fled from you in fear, their emotions feeding your destruction. You walked tall towards the street, with a flick of your wrist you would send cars flying into buildings, people into windows, and put cracks in the foundations of buildings and the streets.

Just as you made another building collapse, a shield came flying at you. You were quick to spin towards the object, catching it in in your left hand as you searched for its owner. Steve came flying over a car, trying to tackle you. He missed, as you moved from his path with ease, you watched with amusement as he regained his balance. The fight gave you energy, the chaos that happened around you, fed your need for destruction.

Steve lunged at you quickly, throwing punch after punch. You threw the shield away from you and began to block each hit, laughing excitedly as you were finally having some real fun. You soon grew bored of the fight and with the slight nod of your head, you threw the blonde man away from you. Turning around you were met by a blast of heat, it stung your abdomen, but caused no severe damage. You were met with another member of the Avenger's, Iron Man. You glanced at your singed dress and then back at Tony, a small snarl coming from your lips. You plunged your hand up towards his suit, dragging him towards you without touching him. You closed your fist around his neck and drove his back into the ground. As you straightened up you gave one last stomp on his chest, but before you could land your possibly fatal blow, you felt a kick in the middle of your back. It did not faze you much, but it had gotten your attention. As you spun to meet your attacker, you were happily surprised to see a red-headed woman. You smirked as you looked her up and down, she was strong.

"Finally, an opponent that won't disappoint." You smiled devilishly as you and Natasha circled each other. Just as you lunged for her, she yelled 'now' signaling Clint to let an army of explosive arrows go towards your head. Natasha ducked behind a flipped car, as she expected the arrows to hit you spot on.

You watched her run, holding your arm out to your side, easily stopping the arrows. You split the group into three, sending some back towards Clint, some at Tony, and aimed the rest at Steve who was struggling to get at you again.

"Why must you ruin the fun," You grunted as you threw her against the wall of a building. You quickly worked with the wall of the building softening it until it swallowed everything but Natasha's head. You did not wish to kill her, though she had not fought fairly, you admired her skills. You left her there continuing down the street but were again stopped as a giant green man landed in front of you. He let out an awful roar at you, you grew annoyed with him very quickly. You cocked your head looking at him, he went grab you, but you caught his large wrist with one hand. You brought your other hand around the same wrist and began to spin. You reached just enough momentum for you to let the green beast go and send him flying through another couple of buildings.

"Hey, lady that's not cool." Came a young voice from above you, you quickly caught a glance of the hero known as Spiderman. You were quickly covered in sticky, white, webs. You looked at your dress that had once been pitch black, now covered in white webs. You let out an aggravated yelled, timing it just right as your legs shoved you off the ground. You grabbed Peter mid-air tackling him onto a roof. You threw him away from you and smiled amused as he tried to scramble back to his feet, trying to flee from you. You grabbed him by the back of his neck, bringing him to face you. With one swift move, you ripped the mask from his face, your heart shattering as you saw how young he was. "Please don't break me."

"I won't break you unless you deserve to be broken." Your voice deepened several octaves, hoping to scare the boy away from the fight. You did not want him getting hurt and you could smell the courage that radiated off of him, knowing he would not leave this fight willingly.

"Sister put him down!" came the thunderous voice of Thor, you rolled your eyes sneering as you set Peter back on his feet and turned towards your big brother. "What have you done."

"I am the Goddess of Chaos, you and Father scold me for doing what I was made to do. You wish to control chaos, CHAOS IS NOT SOMETHING TO CONTROL." You screamed the last part as you brought a car from below, hurling it at your older brother. He stopped it with ease, ripping it in two as he walked towards you.

"Y/N I am warning you, stop your tantrum now. No harm will come to you if you stop now." Thor threatened as the two of you stood off against each other. Your chest heaved as you took in deep breaths, the anger only burning even more intensely inside of you. The sky darkened around you two, both your's and Thor's emotions feeding the storm.

"You have pushed me for so long to control myself, you ask me to control that of which is not meant to be controlled. Do not speak to me as if I am only a child, I am a goddess. I am-"

"You are our sister. We are not your enemy." Loki's soft voice interrupted you, "Y/N I know of the struggles you are having not only with our brother and Father but the troubles that lie within yourself." You now stood in between both Thor and Loki, you carefully snapped your head back and forth not wishing to remove your eyes from either. You argued with yourself about who you needed to be watching. Anger, confusion, and pain that had been trapped within you for so long were slowly hitting its boiling point, the environment around you showing your feelings. The sky almost pitch black, thunder roared throughout the clouds, rain dropped quickly across the city. Your hair soaked as you struggled with yourself.

"You know nothing of me." You growled, in a blink of an eye you thrust each of your arms out in the opposite directions sending both your older brother's flying from the roof of which you stood. In the blink of an eye, you were gone, your mess of destruction left for the other's to deal with.

After that day, no one had heard from you or seen you. You had simply disappeared, no matter how hard your brothers searched for you, the spells Loki would use to track you, the people Thor had called to help him, none of it was any help. None of your family knew if you were alive or dead, your disappearance causing many more problems within your family. Everyone felt guilty, everyone knew they should have done better. Loki had seen you struggling but believed you could get through it on your own. Thor was only so hard on you, so you would reach your full potential. Odin, simply wanted you to be an amazing goddess and Frigga blamed herself for not helping you more.

You were free now.

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oceantoast-writes · 3 years

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Shuake week prompt- Road Trip

Title- Leaving Town

Word Count- 1187

It’s early when Akira wakes him up. The sun isn’t even up yet when his shoulder is excitedly shaken a hundred times a second. He gently swats the hand away as he sits up. “It cannot be any later than 5 am Akira,” His voice is a whine.

“Hey, you agreed to this,” his boyfriend is unfortunately correct. It’s the last of the summer months and Goro did agree to go on a roadtrip with Akira and his friends. Of course he forgot entirely that such an ordeal involved getting up at the fuck-all hours of the morning, which was never something he particularly enjoyed.

He mumbles a few complaints, multiple profanities included in each as he pries himself from bed and gets dressed. Just a button up and jeans, he doesn’t even care enough to pick out a tie, given that the bags under his eyelids are trying so hard to pull his eyes shut once more. A phone buzzes, it’s his. As Goro sits down to grab it, Akira plops down beside him and starts to braid his hair, which he’s positive is a frizzy mess from his pillow. It takes all of Goro’s strength to not flinch at the brightness of the phone screen.

It’s a message from Akira’s sister. Futaba probably was up all night playing video games and somehow seems to find the energy to message Goro at five thirty in the goddamn morning. How that girl gets any sleep is a mystery to Goro.

Futaba: Hey r u awake sleeping beauty?

Goro: Very funny. Yes, Akira woke me up.

The screen goes dark as Akira moves his hand away from Goro’s hair. Whatever Akira did will be fine for sitting in a cramped van for hours at a time, so he doesn’t bother to inspect it. Standing up he grabs the pillows and one suitcase. He’ll have to make another trip.

Akira disappears downstairs, leaving Goro to follow behind. He ducks behind the cafe’s counter, leaving Goro to head out to the van by himself. Everything except for their stuff is packed. If you can call what Akira did packing. He shoves the stuff on top of the other supplies equally as haphazardly, closing the trunk as quickly as possible. If it fits then there’s no real need to spend time on making sure it fits nicely.

Back inside he notices two travel mugs sitting on the counter. Smiling, he steps up to the counter and takes the blue one that Akira bought for him a few months ago. “You only made this so you didn’t have to pack the car,” he teases.

“Not true!” Akira argues. “I made it because I love you.”

“I love you too, your suitcase is still upstairs.”

He hears the soft mumble under Akira’s breath. “Dammit.”

“It’s your fault for packing the car like a jackass.”

“Uh huh, and tell me did you fix the error of my ways, king of dramatics?”

Goro nearly chokes on his coffee at Akira calling his bluff. Yeah okay that was fair.

“That’s what I thought. You and Morgana go get in the van.”

The cat, which had gone all morning unnoticed, brushes past Goro’s ankles on his way to the door. The early morning sun is breaking through the door. Without a word to Morgana he opens the door and they both make their way to the car. Goro takes the passenger’s seat and hoists Morgana up into the car shortly after.

“You can jump you know,” He complains.

“I could but I think it’s much funnier to have you pick me up every time.”

Goro lets that one go as he turns to his phone once more. He needs to let Futaba know that they’re ready to leave.

Goro: If you don’t get over here we’re gonna leave you

Futaba: I know that’s not true, Akira would never XP

Goro: You never know

Akira hops in the driver’s side and glances over at Goro, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Who’re you texting?” He glances down trying to figure it out. Sticking his tongue out as he turns off the phone Goro answers.

“Your sister.”

“I take it she’s gonna be a minute?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t really say.”

Almost as if on cue Futaba practically throws herself through the van door onto the first row of seats in the van. Morgana lets out a loud meow almost in perfect sync with the slight scream of shock that comes from Akira. She slams the door back shut and grins.

“Didn’t keep you lovebirds waiting too long, did I?”

“Think you gave Morgana and Akira a heart attack. How fast did you fling yourself through that door?”

“Could’ve been faster,” She grows a cocky little smirk on her face. “Now let’s get this show on the road!”

Their first stop is the Niijima residence, there for both the sisters. Akira can’t legally drive, naturally Sae would probably kill him if he took the van even a single mile out of Shibuya. He parks the car, leaving Goro to go greet the sisters. Probably because Akira wanted to sit behind the wheel as long as he was allowed to.

He gets out of the car with a slight grumble, rushing to the door and knocking as quickly as possible. The speed at which Makoto swings the door open makes Goro think that they were waiting there watching tv or something.

“Morning Akechi,” She greets, brushing past him on her way out the door. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sae.

Arriving back at the van, Makoto kicks Akira out of the front seat, taking the passenger's seat.

Once they finally get everyone rounded up Goro and Akira get left in the middle row with Futaba. Finally they’re leaving the city. Despite being in the middle seat Goro finds himself staring blankly out the window.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Futaba glance over at Akira and nod. They’d probably been chatting, but Goro wasn’t sure about what since he had tuned them out. Futaba rolls down the window and sticks her arms out, letting her fist rest above her palm. Slowly she begins to play rock paper scissors with the cars that Goro just now realized were stuck beside them behind a red light.

He turns to Akira who does the same thing. “What the hell are you guys doing?” Goro finds himself asking.

“Seeing if we can get someone to play rock paper scissors,” Futaba comments.

Yeah, Goro doesn’t understand. “You have a car full of people and yet you’re trying to get strangers to play? I don’t see the appeal.”

Almost on cue Ryuji decides to join them, trying to get complete strangers to play such a simple game. Looking back to Futaba he notices a window roll down and a boy with meticulously combed gray hair play a few rounds with her.

Her grin is so wide that it might actually go ear to ear. She rolls her window up.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you guys,” Akechi sighs.

#shuakeweek2021 #shuake #akeshu #goro akechi #akira kurusu #futaba sakura #Ryuji Sakamoto #sae niijima #makoto niijima

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cdarkheartzero · 4 years

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Today’s theme- “Too far”

I was skimming through some comments and such and came across @the-garbage-is-my-fandom ‘s comment of “more horror art” on my “Bathtime” piece. And I was inspired. I’m especially excited for @melodyofthevoid to tear into me like I do her when she abuses my son.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen” Dib chanted to himself choking on what little air his lungs could grasp. He had never known fear like this and his body just had no idea how to handle it.

Dib mind raced, playing the previous weeks in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. His master plan, a small gas bomb capable of temporarily paralyzing or knocking his enemy out, was finally complete. Many a sleepless night and wasted weekend on containment structure, chemical analysis and test runs. This was it. Finally, he could capture the alien menace and expose him. Finally, he would no longer be the crazy kid. Finally, the world would see the danger they were in all along. Finally.... he would be the hero.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

[[More]]

Dib snuck in through the front door after Zim’s idiot sidekick carelessly left it open, making haste to the neighborhood taco truck’s sirens blaring in the distance. He cautiously entered, realizing the Invader was no where in sight and gently placed the bomb in the center of the floor of the “living room”. Carefully he made his way up to the wires completely covering the ceiling for shelter. Soon enough, Gir threw the door open, Damn near ripping it off its hinges, absolutely covered in grease and meat. It seemed the taco run was a success.

He wandered over to the “box” in the middle of the floor and started screaming for his master. “MASTAAAAA!!!! A PRESENT!!!!!!” He shrieked and screeched. How did Zim deal with this all the time?

Within a moment or two, an undisguised Zim angrily emerged from the toilet in the kitchen (which was a sight Dib never really got used to. How does a WHOLE BODY fit down the small opening of a TOILET?!)

“Gir! What nonsense are you going on about!?”

“I gots a present! I’m the birthday boy!”

Zim quickly snatched the “gift” from the metallic hands, studying it’s shotty craftsmanship briefly and returning his full attention to the wide eyed robot standing before him. “What have I told you about bringing junk into this house? First that street lamp-” “But I wanted a nightlight to keep the monkey away.” Gir quietly and somberly interrupted.

Zim sighed. Was this conversation going to go anywhere? No. No, it wasn’t. He might as well talk to the jar of mayo still sitting open on the kitchen table from 3 days ago.

He bent down, clutching the box to his abdomen and give the robot a small pat on the head. “Zim told you he took care of the monkey. It can’t hurt you anymore. But please, Gir, refrain from bringing more stuff home.” He said calmly with a defeated tone in his voice. Gir’s face lit up with a wide grin spanning from “ear to ear” (had he had them anyway). “OKAAAAAY!” He screeched and wrapped his arms around his master. Dib could swear he heard something pop and squish under the groans and painful sounds Zim was emitting.

Then there was a click.

It seemed like the blink of an eye it all happened. An explosion unlike anything Dib ever thought possible by his hands unfolding around him. Windows shattered as glass slashed through the air in every which way direction. Chunks of flooring and wall violently slammed into anything unfortunate enough to come into their path. The fogged air was tainted with this disgustingly potent smell blanketing the entire room. The resulting shock wave flung Dib from his hiding spot, colliding with the cold tiles beneath him.

He blacked out for just a moment, his body on fire and his ears ringing loudly, drowning out all other sound. His eyes slowly opened and he worked up the strength to push himself to his feet. He noticed the blood on his hands as he lifted himself. He wasn��t surprised he got cut. He just couldn’t determain how bad. He was so disoriented.

He tried his best to scan the room, eyes adjusting themselves from the bright blast that had just assaulted them. A shine in the corner grabbed his attention in the sea of rubble and destruction. The robot, Gir, was crushed into the wall by large slabs of concrete and tiles. His once blue glowing eyes dim and cracked. He remained motionless.

“Oh, no.” Dib thought, realizing the severity of his actions. “Zim!” He cried out of instinct. There was no response. There was no movement in the cloud of smoke as it slowly decepated. The clearing air revealed Zim’s limp frame sprawled out within the neon-green splattered crater the explosion created by the front door. A gigantic hole displayed the vacant interior of his chest and abdominal cavity. Every bit of his internal organs were laid on the ground. His ruby eyes open and dull with his face resting almost peaceful. Dib’s stomach dropped.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Panic was setting in. He wanted to get close to the alien but it’s like his legs forbid such an action. So he goggled. “WHAT DO I DO?!” He blurted out to no one. He backed into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the crater of debris and guts. His breathing jagged, his pulse racing and his throat overflowing, begging to release its contents on the oddly colored tiling. He felt sick.

“INITIATING SURVIVAL MODE”

He jumped. A sudden noise in this deafening silence. It was a voice he instantly recognized. Zim’s Computer. But it wasn’t echoing from the darkness of the house... it was coming from Zim.

The once limp body slowly started to adjust itself, trying to sit itself up. The more it moved, the more it’s contents leaked out of the organic frame. Dib just silently stared in awe....in relief.... in disgust as his fallen rival stood up. Swaying slightly as it tried to regain its balance. Their eyes locked. A shutter violently shook Dib. Zim was a lot of things. A pain in the ass. An idiot. Selfish. A narcissist. Incompetent. But this wasn’t Zim. This.... was TERRIFYING.

The creature’s thousand yard stare prickled Dib’s skin with the feeling of a million bugs crawling on his person. The paranormal investigator watched-even from several feet away- the speedy throbbing of the veins protruding around It’s eyes. The alien opened his mouth to speak and all that came out through the river of brightly colored blood was the sound of static. It was painful. SO PAINFUL to hear. Dib wanted to shield his ears from the sound but his body stood there still.

The creature’s attention tore away from Dib for a moment, eyeing the damaged robot. His PAK opened up, aggressively flinging his long, thin, robotic legs outwards. The legs came down one by one, echoing a small “clink” on the floor as the razor sharp ends touched the tile. His body lifted and made his way to the faithful metallic companion. Without saying a word, Dib watched as Zim’s body pried the heavy debris pinning the small robot. Gir’s body was released and the gloved hands gently caught him before he could fall on the floor.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

“Zim.... I swear.... I didn’t mean to...-“

He was caught off when the red eyes turned to his direction again. Even without pupils or Iris’, Dib could feel the daggers being thrown at him. The mouth opened to speak. “Gir.... why?”

Dib backed up one more step, further into the kitchen. Zim’s voice.... it was wrong. Metallic. Cold. Disoriented. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. Words caught in Dib’s throat but he mustered all his strength to release them. “It was an accident. It-it was just supposed to knock you out.” Dib continued to ramble. “I don’t know what happened!”

“Miserable”

Dib tensed up “W-what is?”

“Your existence brings misery. To your planet. To your family. To anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with you.”

Those words cut Dib’s soul deep. It’s like Zim could read his worst fears. Something he kept hidden- that black stain in his heart-all this time. Exposed. Just like that.

Before he could say anything, the alien continued “ You have always been an annoyance, you sickening human. We cannot escape you. Your voice. Your presence. Your smell. Forever a thorn in our side. The reason my tallest find me nothing more than entertainment. Why Zim can never succeed in his goals. Now this....the only good Zim had...” he said staring at Gir’s face.

“What is he talking about? What did I do with his leaders?” Dib pondered, eyes frantically shifting between Zim’s body and the door behind him.

His neck snapped in Dib’s direction. “But that’s not the worst part. Zim always heard it. For years. It was always following me.” The legs carried him one step closer to the kitchen. Dib silently took a step backwards. “There. Annoying me. Attacking his senses. A constant reminder of the misery you cause. Zim will rid himself of this....this sound...”

Dib needed to flee. But how? This creature was in front of the door!

Zim’s lips curled up. His smirk growing, stretching wider and wider, tearing the ends of his mouth apart. Blood leaking down the sides of his face as the smile grew to sizes ever more disturbing. It was like he was trying to separate the top and bottom of head. There was a silence. With a grin unseen by human eyes before, The creature chucked.

“OnCe I sILeNcE tHaT hEaRt Of YoUrS, wiLl ZiM FiNaLLy bE FrEe?

As the creature leapt towards the investigator, his body (FINALLY) responded by quickly dodging out of the way, slamming into the sink. The thin, metallic legs crashed into the dining room table decimating it instantly. Without so much as a thought, Dib crawled into the trash can and landed into the claustrophobic elevator to the lab. He panted and shook. It was a terrible idea to go down to the labs. A territory not his. He was out of his element and he wasn’t sure how he would escape. But it beat staying up there and getting ripped to shreds. The pink glow of the elevator made him even more on edge.

The doors opened, startling Dib who was frantically lost in thought. He ran from the elevator, peeking behind tables, tubes and anything else while keeping his senses sharp and alert. Zim was somewhere. Maybe he could just take the elevator back up and leave? But what if he was still in the kitchen?

There was a high-pitched screech pouring from the shaft he had just exited. The elevator lights flickered, sparks raining down and the glow of Zim’s upside down eyes peeked through its opening. His legs slowly pulled him out, adjusting he and Gir (whom was still being cradled) upright. “Diiiiiiiiib.... I kNoW YoU aRe In HeRe....” it gargled.

Dib patiently waited, holding back his sobs and screams, for the towering monster to pass. He needed to keep running. Find the elevator to the toilet! It was the only way! He hid. And ran. Hid. And ran. It was the most horrifying game of cat and mouse conceivable. The longer it went on, the worse it seemed to get for him. He couldn’t find the exit. And he couldn’t find Zim. Not that he WANTED to find him, but at least pass him to know he was still in this metallic labyrinth. That the kitchen was clear.

Finally, he stumbled upon what he assumed was the elevator on the other side of a large room. He was so close-! Within a single second, his joy faded to nothingness by the familiar sound of scraping. He watched the shadow on the floor as it shakily passed by the table Dib had temporarily chosen as shelter. It stopped and stood still like a statue momentarily: Then went about it’s way. “Finally-! To that door!”

He sprinted to the exit, knocking a few items from a table and catching the beast’s attention. Running with all the strength his body had to offer, he was finally within reach of the button left of the doorframe. His fist slammed into it and the sounds of the creature hurried closer, bellowing his name in a mortifying shriek.

The double doors opened. Dib threw his body into the room only to hit into something and get pelted with tools and cans tumbling from above. Realization slapped him in the face. This isn’t an elevator....

This is a closet.

With heavy dread, Dib turned his face to see that he and the creature were mere inches away from each other. There was no where to go. Never taking his eye’s off Zim’s, he felt two sharp knives glide over his ribcage, gently banging on each bone as they made their way to their target. It’s face had a permanent smile, gradually becoming more and more uncontrollable the harder and faster the thrashing in Dib’s chest became. As the blades slowly began digging in and red blood mixed with green, 5 words continuously haunted his thoughts.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

Thanks so much to anyone that read this! I hope you enjoyed!

#invader zim #iz #zim #zero’s art #sketch #invader zim gir #invader zim dib #horror #gore warning #iz fanart

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honey-dewey · 3 years

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The Unbearable Pain of Life Itself

Pairing: FtM Trans Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,385

Warnings: Frankie’s in pain from his period. Lots of tears, one mention of blood, nausea and vomit, and boy oh boy I cannot seem to write Frankie without making him cry.

I just want an excuse to write the reader comforting Frankie okay? He’s had a hard day because of his period and all he wants is cuddles! Am I projecting? Yes! Do I feel any shame at this point? No!

Permanent taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

You knew Frankie woke up feeling like shit the second you rolled over in bed. How? Because he hadn’t left you coffee before leaving.

Should that be a sign of health? Not really. But whenever you didn’t wake up next to your boyfriend, or cuddled up on top of him more accurately, he left you a cup of coffee and a post-it note with a heart on it as a way to say ‘I love you’ when he left early for work.

Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, you listened intently for any sign of your boyfriend throughout the house, wondering if he’d only just woken up and needed something. He wasn’t in the kitchen, as you’d originally thought. No, if he was, there would’ve been more crashing around and the distinct smell of coffee, considering he needed almost three cups before he was functional. But instead of a clumsy, sleepy Frankie, there was nothing. No usual cup waiting for you on the nightstand, no goodbye text or note from Frankie that he usually left whenever he had to leave for work early.

Flinging the covers off you, you realized exactly what was plaguing Frankie and why his normal morning routine had gone out the window, sympathy immediately flooding you as you crawled over the blood stain that was slowly drying on the sheets.

Slowly stripping the bed of the sheets and blankets, you headed into the kitchen, finding a half made pot of coffee and clear evidence that Frankie hadn’t been in the right headspace when he left for work. The bottle of knock off midol that worked just as well as the name brand shit was sitting next to the coffee pot, Frankie’s truck keys were still on the key hook, and he’d somehow managed to leave both his glasses and his hat at home. His birth control pills were sitting beside his empty coffee mug, the ring of spilled coffee making you wince as you put the mug in the sink.

You sighed. Today was going to be long.

All morning, you texted Santiago, who worked with Frankie and had picked him up that morning. According to Santi, Frankie was a mess, slowed by his pain and almost losing his meager breakfast multiple times.

Eventually, you two reached a conclusion. Santiago couldn’t make Frankie go home and rest. No one could. Well, no one except for you.

Around lunch, maybe five hours later, when you knew he’d be at his worst as the pain pills wore off, you scooped up the midol bottle and Frankie’s keys, getting into his truck. It was a bit bigger than your car, but was familiar territory for you all the same.

Driving out to Frankie’s work, you worried about him so much you almost crashed. He very rarely got his period, considering the pills he was on and the extensive hormone changes he’d been through. But every six months, it was hell on earth for a week. He had every symptom under the sun, and they were all horrible. He was essentially bedridden for seven terrible days. Most times, he tried to power through it, but he couldn’t fight himself for very long.

Pulling up to the building, you didn’t even bother locking the truck as you walked through the front doors.

Santiago was with Frankie in the small break room, Frankie’s palms pressed to his eyes in an attempt to block out the headache-inducing lights.

“Hon?” You murmured, crouching in front of Frankie’s bent form. “Oh honey, c’mere.”

Frankie surged forward, blindly falling into your open arms. He shook, body trembling with pain, core pulling tight in regular intervals.

“It’s okay,” you comforted, smoothing up and down his back. “I know, Frankie. Let’s go home, okay?”

A tiny whimper spurred you up, you supporting Frankie’s right side and Santiago coming over to support Frankie’s left as you headed back towards the front doors.

When he was finally in the truck outside, Santiago helped you buckle him in before stepping back and waving. You waved back, handing Frankie a water bottle and the midol. “Two more Frankie.”

He nodded, taking the pills and leaning back, breathing rhythmically, his left hand clutching your right. It wasn’t wisest to drive the truck with only one hand, but for Frankie, you bent the rules.

Getting him into the house was a trip. It took twenty minutes due to the cramps and the headache and the God forsaken nausea, but he was finally breathing heavy on the couch, near tears but at least lying down.

You wordlessly grabbed a few blankets and began to help Frankie out of his work clothes. He didn’t say anything or move much, only slowly thumbing over your wrist whenever it came near his hands and sleepily blinking at you as you draped the soft blankets over his body. You grabbed a heating pad, warming it in the microwave and placing it between Frankie’s hips. “Sleep,” you murmured, kissing his forehead and poking his nose. “It’s soup for dinner. Want a documentary?”

Frankie nodded, the pills and the exhaustion from a night of sleeplessness finally crashing down on him and causing him to flicker in and out of sleep as you set up a few episodes of Our Planet to play. He liked the ocean ones the most, so you made sure they were first as you walked away from his slumped form. You slowly headed towards your office, fully intent on getting a few hours of work in before clocking out early.

Two hours later, you sighed, leaning back from your computer and running your hands over your face. The documentaries in the background had been too distracting, so when you took a break to reheat the heating pad and check on Frankie, who was still asleep, you grabbed your headphones before shutting yourself back in your office. As you tugged said headphones off while scrubbing over your ears, you heard it. Sobbing.

Immediately abandoning everything, you raced out of the office and into the living room, where Frankie was laying, collapsed on the floor in tears, shaking violently and hiccuping on his own breaths as he cried.

“Frankie!” You fell to your knees, checking him over frantically. When you finally concluded that nothing was broken or hurt, you gathered him up in your arms, rocking slowly back and forth on the uncomfortable kitchen hardwood. “What’s wrong? Is it the cramps? The headache? Are you okay?”

Frankie shook his head, still sobbing. “You-“ he stuttered, breath shuddering. “You weren’t. I thought. You were gone!”

You stopped breathing, unable to exist beyond the pain in Frankie’s words. He hadn’t seen you, didn’t know where you’d gone, and for all he knew, you’d left the house completely. “Oh Frankie. I would never,” you breathed, smoothing over his hair. His hands, those damn shaking hands, gripped tightly at your shirt, as if you’d disappear if he let go.

“Frankie, darling,” you said, feeling a full body chill racing across his skin and knowing his body was swinging wildly from feverish and freezing. “Let’s go have a bath.”

Frankie didn’t object, allowing you to help him up and lead him to the bathroom. He was quiet, watching as you filled the tub with water and epsom salt. You left for a minute to grab a glass of cold water before hurrying back to the bathroom, not wanting to leave Frankie for any longer than you had to.

The entire time you and Frankie lounged in the tub together, your back against his chest, he was calm. Much calmer than he’d been earlier, so you could only assume the pills were starting to touch his pain.

Eventually, after both yours and his fingers had turned pruney and Frankie smelled like epsom salt and lavender soap, you hauled him out of the tub. He yawned, grinning sleepily as you handed him a warm towel and his favorite old pyjamas. So yes, the pills were finally working if Frankie was actually smiling.

“Nap time?” He asked as he shuffled after you into the living room.

“Snack time,” you corrected, grabbing one of the everything bagels Will had dropped off the other day and slicing it. “At least half of this, and then we can nap.”

Frankie pouted, but waited patiently for you to toast and butter the bagel. Usually, he insisted on a load of cream cheese, but his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle it right now. Hell, you even were hesitant to use too much butter.

You made yourself a bagel as well, also only using butter. When both were done, you and Frankie cuddled up on the couch and continued the documentary he’d been watching earlier. It was about sharks, something Frankie was surprisingly eager to watch. He absently ate the required half a bagel before he slumped against your side and then scooted down so he could lay his head in your lap. You smiled, humming Billy Joel and eating the other half of his bagel, knowing he probably wouldn’t.

About halfway through the Disney nature Oceans documentary, you felt Frankie shift. He rolled to his side, then to his back, and then sat up and bolted for the bathroom.

You paused the TV, following after Frankie with matching urgency. As he threw up the half a bagel he’d eaten, you rubbed his back, just waiting for it to be over.

When he finally sat back, he was sweaty and panting, eyes full of tears. You sighed, handing him a cup of water. “Drink. You need to rehydrate.”

Frankie nodded, accepting the water and taking small sips, slowly draining the cup over the course of a very agonizing forty five minutes, during which Frankie almost threw up again twice.

When it seemed his stomach had finally settled, you helped him up and onto the couch once more.

He was exhausted, immediately cocooning himself in the blankets and falling asleep again. You didn’t even bother with the documentary, instead grabbing an old book and reading out loud in an effort to keep Frankie asleep.

The book wasn’t a favorite of yours, but Frankie really liked it, so you indulged him. Eventually, when it seemed he was well and truly asleep, you detangled yourself from him, getting up to grab two cans of soup from the cabinet and putting Frankie’s heating pad through the microwave again. Normally, you’d make the soup, but with how Frankie was, you didn’t want to risk being away from him for too long.

Sure enough, when you sat back down, Frankie’s eyes blinked open slightly and he snuggled close. “Warm.”

You smiled, the rasp to his voice incredibly endearing. “Mhm. I know. Here.” You pressed the heating pad to Frankie’s body, and he made a small noise of bliss.

“What would I ever do without you?” He mumbled, sliding against your body and practically molding himself to you.

Reaching an arm out to wrap Frankie in a one-sided hug, you shrugged, kissing his forehead. “I have no idea.”

While he dozed, you texted the boys, who were all periodically texting you and fretting over Frankie. You gave them the run down, skipping over the more horrible bits. Will and Benny both wanted to visit, but you and Santiago decided that probably wasn’t the best idea tonight. Agreeing on tomorrow night, when some of the worst pain would be fading, you put your phone down and shook Frankie awake.

“Huh?” He grumbled, rolling and glaring at you. “Why?”

“Dinner,” you said, helping Frankie sit up. “The boys are coming around tomorrow, by the way.”

Frankie shrugged. “Why do I have to eat dinner?”

“You don’t,” you said, setting a bowl of canned soup in front of him. “Just drink some broth. Eat some of it if you can.”

The rest of the night was spent on the couch, Frankie slowly drinking the broth out of his soup and you monitoring him. He didn’t throw up again, which was a blessing, and you were able to get a cup of tea into him as well before he finally asked to go to bed.

“Sure thing,” you said, standing and stretching. Frankie watched, tiredly admiring your body. He grinned when you helped him to his feet, hands wandering, causing you to laugh.

“Francisco Morales!” You scolded through your laughter, swatting his hand away from your ass. “That is rude!”

Frankie pouted, his adorably crooked grin returning within seconds. “I’m in pain babe. Indulge me.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling and helping Frankie into the bathroom. “I washed the sheets from last night,” you said, handing him his toothbrush. “And you are absolutely calling in sick tomorrow. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Okay,” Frankie said, sticking his toothbrush into his mouth. “I love you.”

You smiled, wiping toothpaste foam off Frankie’s face. “I love you too.”

That night, you listened absently to the hum of the cicadas, cuddling Frankie, who was curled around you and his heating pad, his soft breath tickling your bare arm. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he was close.

You took a deep breath, looking over Frankie’s head and staring at the moon, high in the summer sky. On nights like this, you cracked the window open to let the air in, with the precaution of multiple bug screens.

“Babe?” Frankie mumbled, rolling a bit and pulling the heating pad out from between you. “You up?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie tossed the heating pad aside, making a face as it hit the floor with a heavy thump. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just can’t sleep.”

“That’s not good,” Frankie mumbled, scooting around until his face was six inches from yours. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You smiled, kissing Frankie lightly. “Go to sleep, Catfish.”

Frankie grinned. “Ooo, busting out the nicknames. Seriously, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you answered honestly. “You’re just super warm.”

Humming, Frankie wrapped you in a hug, the absence of the heating pad making it much more comfortable. “Better?”

You melted into his chest, tracing a feather light finger over his top surgery scars. “Much.”

Frankie kissed your forehead, head falling back to the pillow as exhaustion threatened to overtake him. “Get some sleep babe.”

Nodding, you moved Frankie’s arm so you didn’t accidentally cut his circulation off. “Right back at you Frankie.”

#Triple Frontier #francisco 'catfish' morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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muertawrites · 4 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Fourteen (Zuko x Reader)

Chapter 13

Word Count: 2,400

Author’s Note: I’m not gonna say much about this one other than a few fun little tidbits from my creative process. I have a headcanon that the Firelady would’ve ended up with Kuei if she hadn’t married Zuko, and I wanted to make Druk’s collection forks, but since there are no forks in the Avatar universe (which is a strange little statement), I had to change it. Enjoy (and also I’m sorry [not sorry]).

~ Muerta

You awake in Zuko’s arms, his head nestled heavily within the crook of your neck. For a moment, your mind wanders, groping about the unfamiliar space around you as it tries to make sense of its surroundings. The bed cradling you isn’t yours, the sheets twined around your legs feeling entirely new; the large windows to your right and crimson canopy fluttering in the breeze they admit don’t belong to your bedroom. This is Zuko’s room, where you fell asleep the previous night after returning to the palace.

You sigh sleepily as you extend your arms and legs, stretching your muscles while your memory aligns through your grogginess. Nightmares rocked your sleep not long after you hit your mattress, and you crawled into Zuko’s bed seeking his comfort. He hushed and held you and eased you out of your terror, forming a fortress around you with his tall, strong body. He made you feel safe. He made you feel loved.

“Firelord Zuko!”

Rina’s shrill, panicked chirping from the other room breaks you from your haze. Zuko, light sleeper that he is, wakes with a start, blinking in a fluster before sitting up, immediately alert.

“I can’t find her!” Rina cries, her voice drawing nearer. “The Firelady’s missing! She’s not in her room, and the servants-”

She halts as she thrusts open the doors to Zuko’s bedroom, her fearful expression dropping into one of wide-eyed surprise and embarrassment. She falters only for a moment, however, composing herself as quickly as she fumbled and bowing apologetically.

“Forgive me,” she says, keeping her gaze cast downward; you manage to glimpse the tail of a smirk as it curls around her cheek. “I wasn’t aware she was with you.”

“It’s alright, Rina,” Zuko yawns, relaxed once again now that the threat of possible danger is gone. “Good morning.”

Rina straightens her back, making a point of looking only at you. You hadn’t noticed it last night when you joined him, but Zuko is naked from the waist up; the realization makes you blush, the skin all over your body raising to a fever.

“Will you require me to help you prepare for the day?” Rina asks you. Amusement still twitches in her lips, a taunting gleam in her eye; you fight the urge to grab the pillow nearest to you and fling it at her.

“I’ll meet you in my room in ten minutes,” you tell her, and she nods, bowing once more as she slips from the room. You know she’ll want the details of your night with your husband, and you prepare yourself for her disappointment when you break to her that the circumstances were entirely innocent.

Zuko falls back into the sheets, burying his face in his pillow in an attempt to make the most of the last dregs of his slumber; he reaches for you, his arm wrapping around your middle and pulling you in, compelling you to do the same. You let out a quiet breath of laughter as you comply, noting the way his expression eases when your body meets his.

“Do we have to do this?” you whisper as the day’s impending events form in your mind.

He hums, pressing his nose back into the space it occupied before his sleep was interrupted; his lips graze your neck, your skin rising in millions of minute peaks at the sensation.

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Unfortunately.”

You run your fingers pensively through his hair, loose from its typical knot and falling in cascades of black ink around his bare shoulders and back. He shivers, his hand finding the exposed skin of your thigh under your night dress and stroking his thumb tenderly over the flesh.

“Don’t let them force me,” you plead. “I won’t do it. I don’t think I even can.”

“You’ve never given into them before,” Zuko reminds you. “This won’t be any different.”

Beside your setting at breakfast, you find a letter addressed from Kuei. You grin as you read it, instantly missing his gentle sarcasm and subdued demeanor, but finding comfort in your thoughts of him.

My dearest Firelady,

I've just heard of Aang and Katara’s wonderful announcement and had to write my congratulations. How exciting it will be to have a little niece or nephew! I've already sent forth gifts on behalf of my kingdom and myself.

However, I do also write my concern. Having met your council, I can say quite honestly that I do not trust them - I fear that in the wake of such pivotal news, your advisors may attempt to steer you into decisions that aren't theirs to make.

Firelord Zuko loves you dearly, that much is clear to me. I trust in my heart of hearts that he's caring for you in his uniquely attentive way. I also love you dearly, and it is with this love that I inquire about your health. Are you taking precautions? Are you standing your ground in regards to your actions? (I know you are.) Are you caring for yourself as much as we who love you care for you? Please answer in detail - I cannot stand the worry.

On a more serious note (or perhaps no less serious, but an entirely different vein of seriousness altogether) we have heard of your meeting and its subsequent revelations from the warden of Azula’s compound, and have begun tracking and arresting as many Dai Li as we can in order to question them. Those in custody have given us very little, and our informants within have revealed possible collaborators with the former princess, though we have no strong leads. We've even launched an investigation into Ozai’s prison, but have come up with nothing as of this moment in which I write to you which connects him to any of the matters at hand.

My sweetest little friend, I fret for you so. I think of you always, and have taken to consulting daily with the Spirits after the well-being of yourself and your husband (a practice you know I have never engaged in, but as of late, it feels like the only thing I can do).

Promise me you will keep safe and sound, but in the fearless way I so admire you for.

Sincerely and forever yours,

Kuei

Zuko huffs as he reads over your shoulder, biting into his meal with a bit too much force.

“He talks to you like he's your lover,” he mutters.

You smirk, folding the letter into the breast of your robes.

“I thought you liked Kuei?” you needle, taking a slow sip of your tea.

“I do,” Zuko replies. “I just like him better when you're not around.”

As you enter the meeting room, you make a point of keeping your chin held upright, your gaze steady. Advisor Qiang watches you in his typical, scrutinizing way, while Advisors Sung and Yong greet you kindly. Zuko takes your hand as he lowers himself into his place beside you.

“Firstly,” Yong opens, “I want to give my congratulations to the both of you on your new addition to the family.”

“Thank you,” Zuko replies with a nod. “We’re all very excited.”

“Of course,” Sung interjects, “the announcement also raises questions about your own heirs, and when you plan for them to arrive.”

“Yes,” Yong agrees. “In typical royal marriages, children would already be on their way; but we all understand that yours is not a typical royal marriage.”

She gives a pointed look towards the international affairs advisors and their aids, which is met with a sharp twitch of Qiang’s brow.

“The question remains one of public reception,” he quips. “I, for one, believe it would enrage those among the Fire Nation population who remain purists.”

“But, of course, domestic concerns are my responsibility,” Yong counters, “and I believe a child would bring more cohesion to the image of our Lord and Lady’s marriage - especially to those who are doubtful.”

“You all seem to forget,” Zuko chimes in, his voice smooth and calm, “that none of you will be carrying or raising this baby.”

Each of the council members turns their heads towards you, as if suddenly remembering you're there.

“Whether or not we have children is our decision,” you state, “and our decision alone. We won’t allow the people we bring into this world to be used as political pawns.”

“Political involvement is unavoidable,” Qiang scoffs, glowering at you. “You're foolish to think you can dictate whether the inheritants of the nation remain neutral.”

“We can,” you contest, meeting his belittling tone with one of soft determination. “Firelord Zuko and I wish that royal children no longer inherit their station - successors to the throne will no longer be elected by blood, but by vetting from the council.”

The room falls deathly silent. For an excruciating moment, your advisors stare at you in shock, their bodies frozen as if carved in stone.

“That has never been done before,” Yong finally says.

“Neither has a Firelord’s marriage to a member of another nation,” Zuko replies. “The war is over. We can't continue to live as if it isn't.”

“Why would you want to change the operation of the government so drastically?” Sung wonders.

“Because our rule is not a dictatorship,” you answer. “In the Water Tribe, the chief is always appointed by members of the community - we choose who will govern us for the benefit of everyone. Since the Firelord’s council is chosen by the people, we believe it will best decide who should take over the throne upon our retirement.”

“We don't want to continue the system my father and grandfathers created,” Zuko adds. “Putting a vetting process in place will ensure that nothing like the Hundred Year War ever happens again. And even besides that, we all know that trying to live up to a title was what destroyed my family. I don’t want to repeat that cycle.”

“The Fire Nation has always been a monarchy,” Qiang resists. “The global repercussions of such a drastic change could be catastrophic - you’ll look weak.”

“They’ll look compassionate,” Yong tosses back. “Our people already benefit from having a Firelord who wants to lead for the sake of leadership; distributing the power further will help to erase Ozai’s mark on history. I think it's excellent.”

You return your attention to Qiang, fixing him with the same searching, calculating gaze he's so accustomed to using. Though his expression remains stoic, the glare of his pupils reveal rage, their wild, acute fizzling back and forth conveying a panic that you're certain isn't for the sake of his government or his people. After a moment he nods; you know his surrender is only temporary.

“It will take time,” is all he says.

He shares a glance with Sung. Beneath the table, you grip Zuko’s hand in a vice.

The evening is cool; cool enough that Zuko bends a sizable fire in the hearth of your sitting room to fight the chill. You curl up with him on a gathering of blankets and cushions at the mouth of the flames, leaned back against his chest as you share your nightly pot of tea. Druk nuzzles his way between you into Zuko’s lap, dropping a flat, round stone onto his leg. He chuckles as the dragon disappears under a table in the corner, emerging with another, similar stone which he presents to you.

“He's starting a collection,” Zuko explains. “Uncle sent me some of his old books on dragons. They keep collections of different things. Apparently Druk likes rocks.”

You smile as Druk shimmies once again into the space between you, purring contentedly as he burrows into the fabric where your robes meet. Zuko absently scratches at the space behind his ears.

“We should take a honeymoon,” you suggest.

“A what?”

You turn to face him, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“A honeymoon,” you repeat. “It's something that newlyweds do - after the wedding, the bride and groom go on a trip together so they can spend time alone as husband and wife.”

“Is that a Water Tribe thing?” Zuko asks.

You smirk, shaking your head.

“They do it in the Earth Kingdom, too,” you tell him. “Sorry, I forgot that the Fire Nation spent a century without anything nice or fun.”

Zuko pinches you in the side, causing you to erupt with giggles. He grins at the reaction, reaching to brush a few stray locks of hair away from your face.

“We should do that,” he agrees. “We can go to Ember Island. My family has a house there where we used to go in the summer. It's where we stayed before the comet.”

His expression becomes wistful, and you lay a hand on the side of his neck, tenderly stroking his skin; you can tell the memories are as painful as they are warm.

“I would love that,” you murmur, chastely kissing his lips. “Maybe we can pretend we’re normal for a few days.”

Zuko chuckles, then with a sigh rests his forehead against yours; he gazes at you for a long moment, his hands resting on your hips and gripping just a little bit tighter, pulling you just a little bit closer.

“Kiss me again,” he whispers. “... For real.”

You search his eyes, looking for anything that will spark your doubt; all you find is exaltation, so quiet and yielding you can hardly bring yourself to fight him. You don't think twice about the command, your lips finding his in the scant space between you.

As you kiss him, your body lights with fireworks. Every one of your senses seems heightened, your body rippling with embers of a flame that grows stronger the nearer he gets. His lips are soft against yours, the taste of his skin sweet on the edge of your tongue; his chest presses firmly to yours, his hands on your back attempting to pull you nearer despite the impossibility of such an act. You can feel his breath quickening to match his heartbeat, each movement aligned with your own.

You're broken apart by the rapping of knuckles on the sitting room door, followed immediately by Rina’s entrance. She bows hurriedly simply out of respect - her lack of reaction to your intimate position piques a deep, hollow dread in your gut.

“Firelord Zuko,” she addresses him. “I’m sorry to come to you so late, but the head of the royal guard just received word from the warden - Azula is dead.”

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greytoiletpaper · 4 years

Text

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish street-siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re still awesome). I present to you... Angst.

Drizzle | AO3

Chapter 2: Deluge

Felipe Garzonas falls.

Jason cannot find it in himself to care. The man was human garbage at best-

A shriek of anguish rents the air, a woman's, while the stalking man pounces on her and bays with his manic glee.

-and they were just going to let him go? No dice. Jason did not push him off the edge, but it’s still satisfying enough for him to know the man is gone now.

It is here, on this rooftop, that Jason understands that the horrors of the world can never be contained, only controlled. In what ways, he isn’t sure yet, but when he thinks of killing, all he can imagine is a figure adorned in a red helmet, ruthless and proud.

When Bruce takes Jason away from the scene, long crimson snakes flow off Garzonas’ body with the deluge, painting the face of Gotham.

Cass believes Jay when he says he didn’t kill Garzonas. He can lie like the best of them, but he can never hide anything from her. Bruce still doesn’t believe him even when she says as much.

“You’re a danger to yourself and the people around you,” Bruce is saying. Cold is the only way that Cass can describe his body.

For as long as she has been with Bruce, Cass has not thought of David. But looking at him now, a small, insidious part of the man that projects the urge to control (something she had only seen from David) starts to slip through. She is so thrown about what to think that she almost misses him firing Jay as Robin.

“No.”

“But Cass-.”

“No.”

Jason resists the urge to groan at his sister. Above them, the three names of his potential mothers are displayed clearly and brightly.

“I get why you don’t want me to. But think of what will happen if we manage to bring one! We could- we could-.”

“My brother,” Cass says, with finality. She gestures to the names (although ‘Sandra Wu-san’ in particular catches both their eyes). “Not theirs.”

Cass makes that stance she always does when she wants him to stop, her back hunched and her eyes pleading. He hates it when she does that, which is why he bites back a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll leave it alone,” Cass has been trying harder to get her smile right. Her effort shows when she gives him a mega-watt grin when he relents.

“My family, love,” She says as she hugs him before leading him away to raid the freezer for Neapolitan.

Later that night, Jason leaves his copy of Huckleberry Finn on her nightstand. He has to make sure that she doesn't think he'd left her behind when he goes. As Jason leaves the window wide open, his sole companion is the rain for the first time in years.

Gotham feels it as it happens. As the madman clubs her boy over and over with his crowbar. She feels every bruise, every bone that fractures, every act of pure, unadulterated cruelty inflicted on Jason.

Her eldest cradles the body, surrounded by a field of debris and smoke left in the wake of the monster that is the Joker. She washes the blood away with her tears.

When Cassandra wakes to see her brother’s prized possession on her nightstand, she instantly knows and never lets it go, even as the sky opens up in time with her tears.

As the casket lowers into the earth, she absently notes no rain, not a cloud in sight. Somehow, in the void that is the Jason-shaped hole in her heart, she realises he would have hated it.

“I think… I want to have my burial when it rains. Gives a whole ‘nother meaning to bleary doesn’t it?” Jason had confessed that once, a slight chuckle drawing from his chest. It fades as fast as it came. He looked away, then. “I don’t think I’d rest in peace without it.”

Cassandra fills the silence with the hymns of her tears – droplets staining the well-loved pages of the last piece of her brother – and hopes that it will be enough.

In her mind, her efforts are for naught when they devolve into wails as the first shovelfuls of dirt encase the ebony coffin.

The first thing she sees when she enters the cave is- is the atrocious thing. All the noise in the cave seems to phase out. The squeaking of the bats. The banter between Dick and Babs. The low murmurs of Bruce and Alfred in the corner. All she can focus on is the caricature of her brother in full view of everyone in the Batcave. She looks at it, and the world becomes a sea of pink and brown and white. The uniform he died in still bloody and ragged; all her thoughts a cacophony of wailing; iron on her tongue; roaring in her ears; she feels nothing in her but pain.

Jason Peter Todd

A Good Soldier

She hates it. Hates it with a passion because Jason was so much more than a soldier. He was her Jay, her brother, everything; all she has left of him is a small paperback and this disgusting mockery of his memory.

But he’s Batman, and he grabs her by the arms and pins her, even as her legs kick out viciously. She headbutts him and manages to push him off, nailing him square in the jaw with her knee as she flips back.

“Cassandra-.” Batman starts.

“Mine,” She snarls, eyes blazing and her hand pushing Bruce away from her. Even with the pads of his armour, she knows it hurts. She turns to leave.

“Not Robin. My Jay. My Brother. My Jason.”

Standing in Jason’s room, Cassandra closes the window he left open. She notices a picture frame on his nightstand. It’s of them, Huckleberry Finn spread between their legs and their foreheads pressed together.

Cass curls into a ball and clutches his treasures to her chest, sobbing because there is no rain to fill the vacuum she’s found herself in.

Far, far away, a man between worlds shatters the dimensions. The ripple disturbs Gotham, but she cannot deny her love of the results.

Gotham watches as her prodigal son begins his dramatic return; rising from below to walk above once again.

“So, is it really true that you took down Troia when you were only thirteen? All on your own?” The new Robin, Tim, is okay. Really. Cassandra just can’t look him at and see someone else in the uniform. When she doesn’t answer, the boy seems to fidget nervously. She doesn’t even know what his eyes look like.

“I–I guess, since I’m here to be Batman’s new Robin, I was hoping I could be the Robin to –.”

Cassandra doesn’t even let the boy finish before she leaves.

Jason wakes up drowning. It’s not water that enters his lungs, but an unnatural, sickly green liquid that vexes and rots and makes his body feel like he’s on fire. Nandra Parbat is where he is when he’s calmed down from being dipped into the Lazarus Pit, trapped in a fortress of assassins that want to mould a Bat into one of them. It’s an entirely different League.

This time, Cass is not here to keep them away.

When she meets Steph, Cassandra is enamoured because the girl smiles and laughs (except she still isn’t the same, no one is), almost just like Jason. But there are slight differences between the girl and her brother. Her hugs are great, but they don’t feel right. She smells like lavender instead of the rain. Despite how much the girl likes to joke with her, not one of them manages to draw out her smile.

Cassandra holds onto the girl like a lifeline anyway.

What bone she can throw, Steph has an uncanny knack of finding things that others take ages to locate, which is helpful enough for right now since Tim is still missing. It doesn’t help when Steph reads that Tim is in a warehouse with none other than The Joker.

He’s practising his aim when she comes in, almost plucking the gun out of his hand. Jason grips the girl’s arm and flings her over his back. Rose Wilson, a wolfish grin plastered on her face and snowy hair fanning under them, doesn’t even look fazed.

“Wow Jace, if you wanted to pin me you could have just asked,” His only friend in this place is what keeps him sane; when the Joker of his nightmares haunts the edges of his mind, she is there to let him know it isn’t real. Despite how different they are, she’s a breath of fresh air in this hellhole they’re in. He should probably tell her how he feels.

“You’re such a fucking chicken-shit,” Is what comes out of his mouth instead. Rose only smirks at him, silver mane and eyes with almost the same mischief his sister had.

“Your aim still sucks balls by the way.”

He growls, raising his arm to let his gun do the barking.

Ranting and raving greet her as she sneaks in through a window, a litany of nonsense and stammers echoing around the warehouse. She drops from the catwalk as silently as she can, but the madman obviously still hears her as his head bends at an impossible angle to look right at her.

“Oh. Look who showed for quality time with Uncle Jay!” She doesn’t mean to, but Cassandra flinches, and the Joker’s twisted grin shifts. Big mistake. “Oh? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” It takes every inch of willpower in her not to rasp the words, but Joker sees through it regardless.

“What? Don’t like my name?” The Joker pouts, but it looks more like a sneer. “It’s just me yaknow? Your Uncle Jay.”

Another flinch, and the Joker steps closer, a snake in the reeds.

“Mister Jay,” He’s stalking closer now; her body won’t move. “JayJay.”

“Jaybird,”

“Jay,” She is so still as the Joker seems to tower over her, his sick grin crueller and sharper (David flashes in her mind) than any other time she has ever seen it. Poison flows from his mouth like saliva as he croons.

“That’s what you called him, isn’t it? When he was still here, your precious Robin. Not this -,” He gestures to Tim, who is wide-eyed and struggling. “-phoney replacement. Want me to-? Let me tell-.” The Joker stops, frowning at the ground before continuing, his voice aberrantly low. “When I beat him over and over with that crowbar – pink with blood and brown with dirt over the white of his skin –, do you want to know what he was saying?

“The only thing that came out of that pretty little mouth of his was how sorry he was that he was for leaving ‘Cass’ behind.” The madman leers at her. “Was that you? Cass? I gotta tell you, the whole apology shtick got really boring after a while, but…

“I’ll tell you one thing. Something you can keep between just you and your Uncle Jay,” He leans in close to her ear. “I think that our Jay is almost just like me now!”

The madman cackles, his eyes sick and twisted, and his body is nothing but mania. Something in Cassandra, strained and twisted for the past three years, finally snaps.

She strikes him, harsher than she’s struck anyone ever before. So severely, she can feel his ribcage snap. His flesh becomes mince under her fists. He stumbles and contorts as she overwhelms him with every piece of her fury. The gale-force that is Cassandra Todd blows through the Joker, who laughs and laughs and laughs.

The monster scrambles for his gun, suddenly slick and focused. Cassandra snaps off the comic ‘Pow!’ that sticks out of the muzzle when he fires it at her. She backhands his face with the full force of her knuckles, knocking him down, and all he does is chortle. The Joker’s body twists and squirms as he is pinned in place. She raises the broken end of the comic and skewers his leg into the ground.

The Joker’s mouth froths. His eyes are bloodshot as he becomes more depraved and maunders yet, he’s still fucking laughing. Laughing as his spittle flecks onto every surface around them when he thrashes. Laughing even as she clenches the sides of his head and pulls. Laughing even as they both feel his flesh strain and shear as she tries to tear it off. The part of her that has so vehemently denied killing now cries for bloodlust. For this is justice, this is vengeance, this is for her, Jay. Cassandra, with all her might, prepares to wrench off the monster’s head and-.

And Batman pushes her off him. Batman blocks her assault on his body when Cassandra rebalances herself. Batman protects the god damn fucking Joker. She roars with her rage, her grief, and doesn’t even feel the sedative that Tim plunges into her side until it’s too late.

Glaring at Bruce, at Batman, all she sees from his body is fear and concern and all the latter is directed at the death-worshipping monster he cradles in his arms. Absently, before it all goes to black, she thinks she should leave. Leave without Batgirl, without Jason, without everything she has ever cared for.

She does, and like her brother, the tears of Gotham are the only family she has left.

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

your wonder under summer skies (7/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: I have been taking a little social media break and will continue to do so, but when I’ve got 90% of this story written (I really have to get to finishing it, haha), it felt wrong to keep it from you guys. So I’m slipping in and posting a new chapter! All my love ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

-/-

“Do you want some of my chips?”

“Hmm?”

“My fries,” Killian corrects. “Do you want some of them?”

“Is that rhetorical question?”

Killian sighs and rolls his eyes before pushing his basket of fries toward her. “Half the time that I offer you my fries, you say no because you’d rather have onion rings. Though, a part of me is surprised you haven’t simply taken over and started eating them without asking.”

Emma reaches over and picks up a fry, dipping it in the ketchup before popping it in her mouth. “Look, just because onion rings are obviously the superior side for junk food doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a well done French fry. And this? This is a well done fry. “Skipper barks at Emma’s feet. “See, Skipper agrees with me.”

“Skipper agrees because he wants you to feed him.”

“He can have my leftovers.”

“Bloody hell no he cannot.” Killian snatches the basket away from her. “I’m sharing my food. You hear that, Swan? It’s mine. You can’t be giving it away to the dog.”

“You should have gotten me some lunch, too.”

“I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Did I not text you?”

“No, love, I don’t believe I got your booty call.”

Emma picks up another fry and points it in Killian’s face. “This is not a booty call. You’re working, and I’ve got work in thirty minutes. We’re taking the kids to do a relay race on the beach this afternoon, and I don’t think my body can take jumping out the window again.”

Killian chuckles and slides the basket of fries back to him. “I’m going to build you a ladder out of my bedroom.”

“I think that would be a little obvious.”

Killian shrugs. “So, a relay race with dozens of kids. Good to know that I need to avoid the beach.”

“You just wait until we do the weekend festival for Labor Day. Then you’ll really want to avoid the beach.”

“I already have it noted in my calendar.” Killian’s eyes glance up and down her face before landing down at the top of her shirt. The man can be as subtle as a whisper, but sometimes he doesn’t even try. “You know, I can do a lot in thirty minutes.”

Emma scoffs and keeps eating her fries. Okay, Killian’s fries, but he’s sharing so now they’re definitely hers. “I know you can, but I actually look presentable today, and I tend to look not presentable after, you know…”

“After I ravish you?”

Her stomach swirls, and the way Killian’s licking his lips certainly doesn’t help. They could go to the back office or go up to his bedroom right now. It wouldn’t be a big deal. She could let him do all the effort. And as much as she wants to, she really didn’t come here to have sex.

Then again, she doesn’t know why she came here. There was no way she could know that he was going to have food.

Wait no. She came here because it’s been a week since she’s seen him, and she needed someone to complain to about this family that’s in town that takes up all of the booths at Granny’s at least twice a day. She doesn’t treasure much in her life, but she treasures her booth at Granny’s.

But she’s gotten her complaining out, filled him in on everything she hasn’t texted him this week, and really, what else do they have to do?

“Where’s Liam?”

“He’s meeting with the harbormaster.”

Perfect.

“Do not touch my hair,” she tells him. “You do all of the work.”

“Don’t I always do all of the work?”

She tosses a fry at him. He misses it, and Skipper gets up from his spot to get the food. “Considering the fact that I know you like me on top, I’d think not.”

“I also like you on your knees when – ”

The bell to the shop rings behind her, and Emma sees Killian’s face before she turns around. The smirk disappears, his lips falling into a flat line, and all of the mirth in his eyes vanishes along with the crinkles around his eyes.

What the hell?

Is Liam back? She really hopes Liam isn’t back because she does not want to deal with his icy stares and snide comments today.

And then she turns around on the stool she’s sitting on, fry still in her mouth, and sees Isabella Greene.

Oh wait, she went by Tink, didn’t she? Yeah, she definitely went by Tink, which is such an awful nickname, but that’s probably not what she should be focusing on.

Emma’s stomach does that weird flipping thing again and she quickly chews the fry before pushing her hair off her shoulders and straightening her shoulders. What the hell is Tink doing here?

“Tink,” Killian whispers before clearing his throat. “Uh, hello, love. I didn’t – I didn’t know – ”

“You didn’t know I was coming back?”

“I thought you were in New York.”

“I am. I’m not here for the summer or anything. My dad didn’t rent out the house this week, so I’m here with a few friends for the week. You’re not renting out the boat are you?”

Killian can’t stop blinking, and Emma swears that if he didn’t have any semblance of self-control, his mouth would be wide open.

“Let me check. I don’t think it is.” He turns to the computer, hits a few buttons, and Emma takes her eyes away from him to see Skipper walking toward Tink. Tink immediately bends down and scratches his head, murmuring toward him. “You should be good to take it out. It is rented for next weekend, so you’d have to return it by Thursday morning for maintenance.”

“We can do that. Do I need to fill out any paperwork?”

“It’s your dad’s boat, lass.”

“So that’s a no?” she laughs, and Emma swears the woman bats her eyelashes at Killian.

Is batting eyelashes a real thing that works on men? She doesn’t think she’s ever attracted anyone by batting her eyelashes.

“That’s a no. You’ve still got the spare key, aye?”

“I do.”

“Then you’re all set.”

Killian flashes his most charming smile, and Emma doesn’t know if she’s ever felt so invisible. Skipper isn’t even acknowledging her anymore, and Emma is about to demolish all of Killian’s fries in the span of two minutes. Maybe that’s why no one is acknowledging her. She’s some kind of fry hog.

“Thank you, Killian.” Tink leans over the counter in a move Emma’s seen a million times. Hell, she’s done it herself. That works a hell of a lot better than eyelashes. “If you want to grab dinner sometime, you have my number.”

Killian’s eyes finally glance at Emma, but it’s brief. If she hadn’t been paying attention to him, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“Last time I checked, you had a boyfriend.”

“Last time I checked, that didn’t seem to bother you.”

Holy shit, the balls on this woman.

Killian’s jaw clenches, and he’s definitely grinding his teeth now. This is not how she thought this conversation was going to go. She thought she was about to end up as a major third wheel when three minutes ago she was going to be the one with her shorts pulled down and Killian thrusting into her.

But it would be fine if he wanted to sleep with his ex instead. Emma has purposely never learned about his flings, knowing they’re never going to last, but she knew Tink enough to recognize her and to know that if one of them was going to, it was going to be her. She had no idea why it ended, though, and now that she kind of does, she definitely feels like she shouldn’t be here.

Would it be more awkward to get up and leave right now or to stay?

Did Killian know Tink had a boyfriend when he was sleeping with her? Because if he did…oh fuck, if he did she might just have to punch him. She used to think things like that weren’t any of her business, but then Neal and Tamara happened and…no, she’s not going to go there. She hasn’t let her mind fully go there in the month that she’s been broken up with Neal, and she’s certainly not going to do it now.

“Last time I checked,” Killian grits out, “I was unaware of your attachment.”

Oh.

“He and I were on a break then.”

“Are you now?”

Tink clicks her tongue. “We’re having some issues.”

Oh God, this really is the most awkward Emma has felt in years, and an entire town knows her boyfriend cheated on her and stares at her every time she walks down Main Street. It may have been a month, but the news just broke last week. It has been like reliving it all over again.

At least she hasn’t seen Neal. She’s avoided him at all costs.

Maybe not having her regular seat at Granny’s is a good thing.

“Return the boat by nine on Thursday, Ms. Greene. Have a good week with your friends.”

Tink scoffs, her lips parting, and she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest.

Oh shit, Jones. That was bold.

And then Tink is turning around and walking out the door, the bell ringing behind her.

Emma doesn’t know what to say. Does she say anything at all? What can she say? She just witnessed something she definitely wasn’t supposed to see, and she is not good enough with emotions to be able to deal with this.

Where’s Mary Margaret and her emotional intelligence when Emma needs her?

Even if Emma wants to strangle Mary Margaret half the time when she’s giving some unrealistic perspective on love and relationships.

She could use some of that right now.

“How much time do we have until you have to be at work?” Killian asks as he stands from behind the desk.

“Um, twenty minutes now.”

He tilts his head back toward the office before walking past her and flipping the sign on the door over. “That’s enough time, don’t you think?”

There’s fury in his eyes, and he’s never looked taller to her than he does right now as he looks down at her with his jaw so tight she can see it clenching. He’s angry, she realizes. He’s angry that Tink came in here and tried to start something back up. She has never taken him for the type to get angry about something like that. He’s Killian. He’s got a hell of a temper, gets pissed off when he sees some kind of injustice happening, but he’s always been easygoing when it comes to relationships.

Maybe she really doesn’t know him as well as she thought.

Or, at least, maybe she doesn’t know this facet of his life.

“That’s enough time.”

Killian grabs her hand and pulls her up from her chair. She nearly stumbles, but his grip is strong enough to keep her steady. They walk quickly out of the front office and to the back, where Killian quickly closes the door and turns the lock before he’s on her, caging her in and hovering his lips right over hers while his hands push against the wooden frame. His breathing is so heavy, his chest heaving, and she’s so distracting by it that she barely notices the way her own chest is moving up and down with anticipation.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Killian whispers into her ear. His breath is hot as it tickles down her skin. “I’ve thought that since the day we met, but I’ve never been able to tell you the way that I wanted to.”

“You definitely could have.”

“Aye, but you wouldn’t have taken it well.”

“Who says I’m taking it well now?”

Killian laughs into her neck while he rolls his hips into hers. Emma gasps as heat curls between her thighs, licking across her skin. Her heart is pounding, and her head is still reeling. She wasn’t expecting this, then she was, and it’s been back and forth so quickly that maybe she should stop thinking all together.

Hell, she definitely should.

Not thinking means she doesn’t have to focus on the big demons in her head or the smaller ones that are telling her that sleeping with Killian might not be her best idea.

Not thinking means that she can let Killian run his lips across her neck before his teeth tug down on her earlobe. The moment he figured out that she liked that, she was a goner.

The moment they first did this, she was a goner for the way that it feels and the way that she can only focus on the feel of his lips and his hands and of every inch of him covering her. Killian keeps rolling his hips into her, and the friction of the zipper on his jeans his hitting just the right spot.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as her head tilts back to hit against the door. “Take off your pants.”

“A little busy at the moment, love.”

Suddenly, she notices that his hands are at her waist and fumbling with the zipper on her shorts. She hears it slide down, feels Killian push her shorts and her underwear down, and then his hands are on her exactly where she wants him.

Well, almost. They’re on a bit of a time crunch, so they don’t exactly have time to take it slow.

Her hands reach between them as Killian’s lips fiercely press into hers. He’s determined with each slide of his lips and swipe of his tongue. There’s no laziness or slow exploration, and as much as she likes that, this feels too damn good to stop.

His hand stops hers, and she pulls back from the kiss. “What are you doing?”

“Let me take care of you.”

“What about – ”

“We’ll make up for it at some other time, yeah?”

Emma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and swallows the lump in her throat. She’s so damn frustrated right now that she can’t imagine saying no.

Not that Killian lets her. His determination continues as he bends down until he’s on his knees and his hand and his lips are working her higher and higher until air is escaping her so that it’s difficult to breathe. Fuck, he’s good at this, and she doesn’t want it to stop.

Pretty much ever.

“Just like that,” Emma groans as her head tilts back to the door. Her knees are getting a little weak, her legs shaking, and she reaches forward to curl her fingers into his hair. “Oh, fuck.”

Her releases crashes over her in small waves, and her legs shake a little more until Killian’s free arm wraps around her and holds her up, pressing her further back into the door. There’s sweat prickling at her temples, and her heart is definitely going to do something unnatural that’s going to put her in the hospital.

She would rather die than tell Whale that she’s in the hospital because of an orgasm.

Damn. Just damn.

“Swan, if you don’t release my hair soon, I’m going to have a bald spot.”

Emma blinks and releases her hand from Killian’s hair, smoothing it down as he helps tug her shorts up. Slowly, he stands from the ground until they’re almost eye-to-eye, and the idiot has the biggest smirk on his face.

At least he’s no longer furious.

“Hey,” Emma hesitates, “so about earlier with Tink – ”

“That’s a story for another time,” he quickly interrupts as he scratches behind his ear. “Why don’t you go to the restroom and straighten yourself up? Wouldn’t want any of the kids asking why you look a wee bit off.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll go do that.”

Killian’s not in the main part of the office when she finishes up in the bathroom. Skipper is still sitting behind the desk, but she barely looks up when Emma walks by.

Huh.

She’d go upstairs and look for him, but she really had to go and get to work. Mary Margaret will kill her if she’s late, and she’d really rather not be murdered, especially since David will definitely cover things for Mary Margaret.

It’s not a long walk to the club, so Emma’s still the slightest bit shaky when she gets there. Mary Margaret, Ashley, and Aurora are all there and wrangling kids, each of them in matching t-shirts to coordinate teams. Emma’s the green team, and her kids look like they’ve gone crazy with the way they’re running around.

No wonder their parents pay an exuberant amount of money to leave their kids with someone else while they lounge on the beach or work from home while indulging in as many margaritas as possible.

Emma always wonders if these kids care that they don’t spend time with their parents or if they’re too young to truly realize it at the moment.

“Why do we do this?” Emma asks as she walks up to the deck.

“Because we like paychecks.”

“And the children,” Mary Margaret adds in with a bright smile on her face.

“You should have been a teacher, Marg.”

“If I had gone to school, maybe I would have. This pays better, though, and like Ashley, I’m about the paycheck.” Her eyes narrow at Emma. “Did you walk here from your apartment? Your cheeks are flushed.”

“It’s a hot day and I haven’t gotten my tan yet. That’ll happen. You guys ready to go?”

The kids end up loving the relay race.

It’s exhausting, overwhelming, and Emma ends up was an ass full of sand. But it’s so damn fun that Emma doesn’t really care about the craziness of the kids or the way that they didn’t filled up on sugar beforehand.

Okay, she cares a little bit.

But by the time they’re finished, the kids are all exhausted, and Emma and Mary Margaret send them back to the kid’s clubhouse with Ashley and Aurora while the two of them go back to their offices and catch up on emails and phone calls before opening up wedding files for all of their couples this summer. They’ve got a weddings and rehearsal dinners almost every weekend until the middle of September, and right there on the middle weekend is Liam and Elsa’s wedding. They’d wanted to do Labor Day, but that was impossible with the party the club does and all of the town’s labor day weekend festivities. Everything was booked, and there was no way Emma or Mary Margaret could have been there as guests even if they squeezed them into a ballroom.

Elsa said there was no way she wasn’t having the two of them there. Liam would probably not want Emma there, and she swears there was disappointment on his face when they found another weekend.

Ass.

Emma has to take a deep breath and close her eyes as she looks at her calendar. It’s too much looking this far ahead. It’s too much, and she desperately needs to zoom back in and be a little more narrow-sighted.

She can do this.

She’s handled a hell of a lot of stuff that’s been more difficult than this job.

And this is a job. It’s good pay and stable. She loves her coworkers, and she doesn’t actually mind dealing with wealthy people all day or her awful boss or couples who are way too into each other planning their weddings.

She hasn’t been bitter about people getting married and her having to plan it for the entire time she’s worked here, and she’s certainly not going to be bitter about it now because she broke up with Neal. In the back of her mind, she used to hope and wish and maybe…but no. She’s never needed that kind of commitment. If you love someone and want to be with them, you make the commitment and you stay. It doesn’t matter if there’s a piece of paper legalizing that commitment.

Not that Neal was committed.

Obviously not.

“Hey, this says you have tomorrow off,” Mary Margaret says as she looks at Emma from over the top of her computer.”

Emma blinks and shakes her head before pushing her hair back in its ponytail. “I worked Monday this week, so I took tomorrow off to make up for it. I’ll be back to our normal schedule next week.”

“Oh, good, because David was thinking of us hosting a barbecue next Saturday.”

“Next Saturday is Killian’s birthday.”

“Oh shit. Is it?”

“Mhm.” Emma rolls her chair across the office to the mini fridge to grab her bottle of water. “So, unless you want to have the barbecue be his party, I think it’s going to have to be another day.”

“I’ll text Liam and ask if they have any other plans.”

“Why not ask Killian? It’s his birthday?”

“Oh, good point. I guess it’s not a surprise. It’ll have to be late since we all work on Saturdays.”

“Supply us all with coffee and alcohol, and I think we’ll all be able to stay awake.”

“Perfect.”

-/-

When Emma finally gets to leave at nine that night, she’s starving. She didn’t get the chance to sneak into the kitchen and steal some food for dinner, and she’d do awful things for a grilled cheese from Granny’s. Emma makes them at home all the time, but it’s never quite the same. After getting her car out of the parking lot for the public beach, she back downtown to, passing by the packed Rabbit Hole and pulling into Granny’s parking lot only to realize whose car she’s parked next to.

What the hell?

No. Just no.

She is not going in there are dealing with him tonight. Ruby said he’d been hanging around a lot to spend time with Tamara, but Emma thought that was Ruby overexaggerating. Emma hasn’t run into him once, but here he is.

Fuck.

Emma leans down to rest her head against her steering wheel before slowly peaking back up. Neal is right in front of her. He’s sitting in a booth with his dad, Tamara next to him, and Emma nearly vomits at the smiles on all of their faces.

That’s not supposed to be happening.

Tamara is just supposed to be the girl he’s fucking. She’s not supposed to be someone who he’s smiling with and who his dad has dinner with.

Emma barely ever did that.

She didn’t want to. She didn’t trust his dad. She still doesn’t. He’s not a good guy, he creeps Emma out, and she didn’t want to get anywhere near him if his pawn shop does end up being as shady as everyone thinks.

She worked too damn hard to have good things in her life to get pulled down by association.

What the hell is Neal doing?

Was it…did he have feelings for Tamara while he was still with her? Was it more than just someone to sleep with? Because Emma could deal with it when it was just physical. She could push past that. Hell, she did while she still stayed with him. If it was more, though, she’s not sure that she’s up for that.

From the way that her heart is pounding, she knows that she isn’t, that it was more between the two of them.

Fuck.

Emma slaps her hand down, and the horn on her bug goes off.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

She quickly ducks down and hides herself. They’ve got to be looking out at the parking lot, and maybe if they don’t see her in the car, they won’t think it was her. Her car isn’t exactly inconspicuous, but someone else could drive the same way. The place is full of tourists and outsiders right now. The odds of someone else driving a bright yellow bug have to be pretty good.

Or maybe he’ll think that she’s at the Rabbit Hole but that parking was full so she put her car over here.

Or maybe he’ll know that it’s her and that she’s currently hiding in her own car as if she was the one who ruined her relationship.

What the hell is she doing hiding from him? He should be the one hiding from her, not sitting in her favorite restaurant eating with his dad.

Of course, Tamara does work there, and it’s not like Emma can get the woman fired.

Or could she?

No, that’s wrong. Tamara knew Neal was with Emma, but it’s all on Neal. She’s not going to be the girl who blames the other woman and not the scumbag man.

She’s also not going to be the girl who goes inside the restaurant when she’s had a long day and doesn’t want to fake pleasantries or be the talk of the town’s gossip mill tomorrow. As quietly as she can, Emma turns the key in the ignition and pulls out of the parking lot without looking back at Granny’s. That way she’ll never know if Neal saw her or not, and that’s the only thing that will keep her sane.

She ends up driving in circles around Storybrooke and goes through a drive-thru to get herself a cheeseburger. It’s not the same as going to Granny’s, but it’s good for now. Really, she should go home, clean up a little bit, and go to bed, but she can’t seem to bring herself to. Instead she uses up half a tank of gas aimlessly driving while trying to control her breathing. It’s pretty much a lost cause when each breath is shallower than the next and soon she finds herself in a service station parking lot with her phone in hand typing out a text she definitely shouldn’t be typing out.

He answers back within a few minutes, and his car is pulling up next to hers a quarter of an hour later. He’s silent as he slides into the passenger seat, but she appreciates that. She’s not really sure what she wants to say.

Instead she stares at the tattoo inked across his forearm.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

She’s always liked that tattoo of his. It’s mixed within all the angry red scars that map out his skin, and there’s something beautiful about the words coexisting with proof of an accident. Maybe one day she’ll hear the story, but for now, all she knows is those words.

Emma’s not sure if she’s getting to fail better or if it’s just the same thing over and over again.

Killian’s slushie is half empty by the time she finally speaks.

“I’m sorry about Tink showing up at your office earlier.”

“It was nothing.”

“Superpower,” Emma murmurs. “And I don’t even need it to tell that’s a lie.”

“I apologize for how I acted afterward. I shouldn’t have…hell, Emma, I shouldn’t use you like that.”

She twists in her seat and turns toward him, resting her cheek against the headrest. “We’re using each other physically. We both know that.”

Killian nods and mimics her movement. “Aye, I know, but on occasion, when I have the chance to think, I realize that sometimes I can be too gruff and too impulsive. Our friendship is first, and I sometimes forget that when I need to release some of the tension.”

“I don’t mind. I promise. I’m the same way. It’s why this is working.”

“What happened tonight that you called me here? It’s nearly midnight.”

“We’ve been here at three in the morning before. Midnight is nothing.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it just as quickly faltered. “Swan.”

It’s so simple, the way he says he last name so frequently, but he could get her to tell him just about anything just like that.

“What did I do wrong to make Neal cheat on me? I know we had drifted apart at the end, that we weren’t sleeping together as much, but I still didn’t…the thought never crossed my mind to cheat on him. And when I found out about it the first time, I let it go. I figured it was physical. But he’s in a relationship with her, and for some reason that makes it all worse.”

So, she went there. Finally. And she doesn’t know whether or not it feels better to get it all off her chest.

“The first problem, love, is thinking there’s any fault of your own.” Killian reaches forward and tucks her hair behind her ear before swiping his thumb across her cheek. “As much as Neal had his moments, I thought he was an asshole. You have always deserved better than someone who puts your down and who betrays your trust like he did. It hurts like hell to be betrayed like that, but you’re going to be better for it.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

Emma blinks and closes her eyes as she makes another attempt to calm her breathing. “Is that how you felt with Tink?”

His tongue clicks. “I had feelings for her, but it wasn’t like it was for you and Neal. Most of the betrayal there was because of something in my past.”

“Oh?”

“Aye, but that’s a story for another time.” His hand runs along her neck until she can feel him gently tugging on some of the strands on her ponytail. “I’m actually a bit glad to see that you’re upset over Neal.”

She opens her eyes then. “You’re glad to see I got my heart broken?”

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat and tries to keep her eyes focused on Killian’s, but his stare is so intense that she squirms and looks down back at his arm and at all of the ink that scatters his skin. It’s safer there. He can’t read her as easily. He’s always been able to do that and has called her out on her shit when he needs to, and she usually appreciates it.

She doesn’t know what she thinks right now.

“Sometimes I don’t want it to work,” she quietly admits as cars keep driving by the two of them, headlights brightening before fading away.

“But it does, love, and I swear to you, one day you’ll want it to again.”

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

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another-miracle · 4 years

Text

#1: I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth

They’ve been waiting for more than an hour now. No sign of the Olin Maris. It has been ten minutes past the timing Obi was meant to give the second signal.

“Something’s not right,” Shirayuki tells Tsuruba. She stands up, grabbing her satchel and covering her face with her cloak. “I’m going in.”

Tsuruba’s hand lands lightly on her shoulder. “No, Miss Shirayuki. I cannot in good conscience allow you to go in.”

Shirayuki turns and smiles, hopefully providing him some reassurance, but this isn’t her first rodeo. “That’s my knight in there,” she says. “ If I don’t have him, someone else might.”

Tsuruba sighs and lets his hand fall. “Alright. At least let me help you in. And please be careful. We don’t know who we should trust here.” Shirayuki nods.

They approach the balcony, and Tsuruba interlocks his hands in front of him. Shirayuki steps up and grabs onto the balustrade. She pushes herself over, before glancing down at Tsuruba. He gives her a look of acknowledgement, and Shirayuki enters through the large door windows.

Hiding in the curtains, she slowly makes her way through the room. The people in the room, she notices, are awfully still- which, isn’t so strange from what she knows of high society, but she’d expect at least some commotion of sorts. She releases a puff of confusion, and on an inhale, is belatedly hit by a strong familiar fragrance. Alarmed, Shirayuki quickly wraps the cloth tighter around her mouth and nose.

I have to find Obi fast, she thinks and makes haste to the next room over.

After sieving through the next two rooms, Shirayuki finally spots Obi’s unmistakeable black uniform. She almost calls out, but remembers she’s meant to be undercover and instead attempts to make her way over to him. As she approaches Obi, she notices something off his gait. It is heavy, sluggish - nothing like the lightness that typically colours his footsteps. She’s sure if he snuck behind her now, she will definitely catch him in the act.

Nearing him, she reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him towards a darker corner of the room away from prying eyes. However, her plan is instantly thwarted by the sudden tightening of muscles under her fingers and the growl leaving Obi’s throat. Shirayuki finds herself slammed against the wall behind the curtain, Obi’s forearm pressed painfully against her collarbone. Through his mask, Shirayuki sees his eyes are wild and glazed over and she panics.

“O-Obi!” Shirayuki gasps, clawing at his arm. God, she forgot how strong he was. “I-it’s me! Shirayuki!”

Obi frowns, familiarity briefly passing through his eyes. Then, he relaxes, letting Shirayuki fall. She doubles over, coughing, but instead of being given ample space to conclude her spiel of sputtering away from Obi’s face, Shirayuki finds herself still very much pushed up against the wall. This time, Obi’s arms stay tightly at her sides, palms placed surreptitiously against the wall behind her.

“Obi?” Shirayuki asks, tilting her head up and looking at him through teary eyes. His face is suddenly very close and Shirayuki once again makes out the wild and glazed tinge in his eyes, only this time, it’s directed at her mouth. He takes a step toward her, lining his body with hers and bends down. A whisper away from her lips, Obi’s breath is labored, warm air passing over her mouth. Shirayuki’s eyes flutter close, and her hand goes up to grip at his sleeve.

A heavy exhale, and he pulls her even closer.

He whispers, “Shirayuki.”

Like lightning struck, Shirayuki snaps out of her stupor and reaches into her cloak. Throwing the pepper in Obi’s face, she watches as Obi backs off immediately and starts his own round of coughing and wheezing, doubling over much like how she had previously. A part of Shirayuki gloats in revenge well-served, while the other...is still imagining what Obi’s lips may feel like on hers.

“M-Miss?” Obi rasps, alternating haphazardly between coughing and sneezing.

“Are you awake now?”

Obi attempts to look up at her, but holds up one finger before flinging his entire upper torso into one last sneeze. He rubs at his face, and shakes off the last bits of pepper from his uniform. Dusting himself off, he blinks repeatedly, and answers, “Yes, I think so. Wait- what happened?”

Shirayuki gives him a slight smile. “You were under the influence of the fragrance. You’re lucky I prepared some spare pepper just in case.”

“Pepper..?” Obi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why would you- oh.”

Shirayuki gives him a pointed look. To her satisfaction, Obi pales. “I-Did I do anything?”

“N-No!” Shirayuki can feel her face grow hot. Then softer, “nothing. You didn’t do anything.”

Obi gives her a concerned look. “Okay... If you say so…” He freezes. “Wait! What are you doing here, Miss? How long has it been since the last signal?”

Shirayuki nods solemnly. “I came in because the signal was late. And my gut was right.”

She stares at him, then reaches for his hands. Shirayuki cradles them in hers, watching as Obi’s fingers twitch briefly before relaxing. She brings them up to her forehead, pressing them gently and breathes. She could have lost her knight tonight.

Looking up at him, she says, “You always do what you promise. And I will always trust that you do.”

Obi stares at her, his fingers slowly curling over hers. The light in his eyes shifts to one reminiscent of when he had returned from the Bergatt mission with Zen and the others, and Shirayuki almost braces herself to be carried once again.

Instead, Obi squeezes her hand once, then slips out of her grip. He coughs, then rubs at his shoulder. A smile dances on his lips.

“I trust you too, Miss!” Obi tells her, smile widening.

Shirayuki relaxes, hands returning to her sides. She looks around at the faces of the guests, listless and lifeless. “I think it’s time we go find Tsuruba. Where’s Eisetsu?”

“I...I’m not sure,” Obi replies, hand going to the back of his head. His voice grows sheepish. “I vaguely recall him leaving and saying he wanted to talk to someone… But. Yeah. Um… I’m sorry…”

“Mm, I figured,” Shirayuki begins to walk past the guests, glancing back to make sure Obi follows suit. “No matter, let’s go find Tsuruba for now and regroup.”

“We’ll figure what to do with Eisetsu later.”

#obiyuki #Akagami no Shirayukihime #AnS #a canon compliant fic?#it's more likely that you think!#also we were discussing kabe-dons on discord #and i was side-eyeing the entire chat #because this was in the works #gosh #yixin's fic

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part fourteen Word count: ±4360 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fourteen summary: Laura needs to come to the surface in order to move on, but come hell or high water, she will fight the hunters. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

The moon is full and shines a mystical light upon the lake. Rippling water reflects the shimmer, playfully and silent. Silhouettes of trees mark the slightly hilly horizon under a clear sky. The only thing to break the sound of silence in this calm area just out of town are some geese, bobbing on the surface, their heads under their wings. But those who observe closely, will spot movement on one of the docks. Three figures do what they do best in the still of the night.

“I could be hunting wolf in Texas right now,” Dean complains, as he drops a bag on the end of the dock, staring up at the moon. “Could you stop whining? If we hurry it up a bit, you can still make it in time for your heart-removing-beasty.” Zoë gets down on one knee next to the duffle and starts rummaging through their gear. She feels the wooden planks of the dock vibrate and looks up; Sam is walking towards them. “The Shire family locked themselves in the house. All the windows and doors are salted and the water has been shut off. There’s no way Laura will be able to enter,” he informs them. “Good, enough have died over this.” Without further consultation Zoë takes out a pair of goggles and a snorkel in order to fit them.

“Whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” Sam questions, disapproving. “That body isn’t gonna come floating up to the surface by itself, is it?” she returns smartly, while adjusting the rubber headband. “You’re not going down there,” Dean states as he grabs the goggles from her. “Yes, I am.” Zoë yanks them from his grip again. “You’re hurt,” Sam argues. “Oh, would you two fucking stop that already? I’m fine!” Zoë cries out as she shrugs off her leather jacket, not wanting to ruin it when she takes a swim. “Shhh!” Sam hushes, annoyed, not wanting to wake the entire neighborhood. “Don’t you ‘shhh’ me. I have to go down there, don’t you see? And so do you,” she says, nodding at the older one of the brothers. “Me?” he returns, surprised, pointing a finger at himself with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Sam said it himself; you and I have to stick together, or we’re dead meat. One in the water, two on the dock sounds like a certain death to me, with a vengeful spirit watching our every move. So unless either of you knuckleheads has thought of a plan B...”

Awaiting a reaction from the boys, her focus bounces from one to the other, her hands placed on her waist. They both keep quiet; there simply isn’t a second option. “That’s what I thought,” she responds somewhat victoriously, and glances at Dean. “Get into your Hawaii shorts.” “Wouldn’t you like to see that,” Dean smirks, shedding his leather coat as well. “But, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.” Zoë tilts her head and eyes him, but cannot help but to imagine it for a brief moment and suppresses a grin. Then she turns to Sam, addressing the job again. “Make sure that you’re ready to torch whatever we bring to the surface. Laura might have changed tactics now that we’re closing in on her.” She looks deep into his eyes to make sure he gets her point. “Fuel, salt and fire standing by. Got it.” He holds up the jerry can, the bag of seasoning and his lighter, which he just got out of his backpack.

She tosses Dean another pair of goggles and a snorkel. “Good, now let’s get this over with.” “Ah, come on. Do I have to?” he sighs, dangling the equipment in front of his face. “If you don’t use them, you’ll be up at the surface more than you are down searching the bottom,” she counters while putting hers on. “Charming,” Dean grins and hints at the goggles. “Are you gonna get in the water, or are you afraid to get wet?” Her eyebrow perks up, challenging, before she walks over to the edge and jumps in, coming up again a second later. The hunter smirks widely, mischief reaching his ears. “Oh no, I’m not afraid. Getting something wet is kinda my specialty.” Zoë rolls her eyes skyward. “Grow up already and get a move on.” Grinning, Dean puts his equipment on and glances over his shoulder at his brother for a moment, who can’t help to chortle as soon as he does. Immediately, the older one’s initially gentle gaze turns into an annoyed glare. “Dude, not funny,” he makes clear. Sam thinks otherwise. “It’s kind of funny.” “Let’s see if you still have that smile on your face when you have to burn the smelly swamp kid,” Dean brings to mind.

With those words he plunges into the water and surfaces next to Zoë. The water feels cold, causing their movements to be slow and heavy. Dean doesn’t like it, never did; he’s out of his element. Zoë on the other hand, seems to feel like a fish in the water. She floats around, the weightlessness more comfortable for her battered body. “Here, you’ll need this,” Sam tosses them two waterproof flashlights. Skillfully, they both catch the torches before they sink to the bottom, and Zoë puts her snorkel on her mouth. Sam looks down on them from the dock. He seems worried. “Be careful, okay? Stay together--” “Yeah yeah yeah, and be home before five,” Dean intervenes, both dismissing his brother’s concern and reassuring him that it’s going to be fine. “I’m serious.” He takes a rope out of the duffel as well and throws it in. “Tie yourself together so that you don’t lose each other, this water is turbid.”

With a sigh, Dean wraps the rope around his waist as Zoë does the same. Then she glares up at the youngest brother on the wharf again, not amused with the precautions. “Satisfied?” “I feel bonded already,” Dean comments sarcastically. “Let’s bring her up.” He bites down on the mouthpiece, takes a deep breath and disappears in the dark waters, followed by the huntress. Apprehensive, Sam slowly paces up and down the dock while keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings. Everything seems quiet. Lights are on in the several houses which surround the lake, but no one notices them during these dark hours. It feels like ages before his brother and Zoë surface again, but when they do, they’re further away from where they started out. After getting some air they almost instantly go under again, continuing the search. This routine repeats several times, as they comb out the bottom of the lake. Sometimes they are so far off that Sam doesn’t even see them, he just hears the swell of the water in the distance.

Impatiently, he tests his lighter as he scans the surface. Then both come up again, but this time they don’t dive under. The sound of splashes carries over the flawless water and soon he sees the two figures swimming towards the dock, dragging something behind them. “One smelly swamp kid coming right up,” Dean comments, after he removes the snorkel from his mouth.

Sam is relieved to see that Laura’s remains are still packed in the black body bag. Gracefully, Zoë lifts herself out of the water and sits on the edge of the dock, facing Dean, who’s still in the water. With a sigh she removes her goggles and snorkels as the water runs down her face. Long lashes cling together, her brown hair stuck to her skin as droplets down from her nose and lips. A little out of breath, her chest heaves, the black tank top airtight against her slender body. Even though her cheek is blue, now that her make-up has washed off, she still looks smoking hot and Dean can’t help to notice that. “What?” she comments when she picks up on the ogling. “Nothin’,” he recovers quickly. “Let’s fire it up, I thought you were in a hurry.” “Pass me the bag.” She reaches out, beckoning him to hand over Laura.

Dean swims to the wharf and grabs the edge while he holds up the heavy body bag, which Zoë pulls ashore. Even through the fabric, they can smell death. She gets up as Sam helps her drag Laura’s body further on the dock, as Dean hoists himself on the dry surface. He slowly approaches them, walking like a bow legged cat who just got home after a heavy rainstorm, while the look on his face can be compared to one of a baby who just ate a slice of lemon. “You’re so dramatic, know that?” Zoë scoffs. “What can I say. I adjust to my company,” he bites back.

Sam shakes his head and doesn’t bother to comment; those two won’t ever stop. He unscrews the cap of the jerry can when suddenly the geese, who were fast asleep on their nests a minute ago, fly up as they honk a warning. The warm night turns cold in a matter of seconds, noticeably dropping several degrees. Dean is confound when he notices his humid breath lingering in the air visibly; Laura is here.

Alert, he scans the area and then turns to Sam. “Step to it.” Just as Sam is about to pour the gasoline over the body bag, the jerry can flings from his hand. It flies through the air and lands in the water, several yards from the dock and drifts there, the fluid spreading oil rings on the surface. “What the hell?” he stammers. Quickly, Zoë looks over at Dean, but it’s something in the water behind him that catches her attention. Two hauntingly dark eyes stare straight into hers, just over the edge of the dock, right behind where the hunter is standing.

“Dean, WATCH OUT!” she shouts.

But it’s too late. As soon as Zoë lets out those words, a pale child’s hand grabs Dean’s ankle and pulls with a strength that wouldn’t be possible even if she was still human. With a loud bang he slams on the dock face first. Staggered by the ambush, he does his best to get a grip on the planks. “Son of a bitch!” he curses, fighting the strong pull. “Dean!” Sam hollers.

Instinctively, Sam rushes towards his brother as Zoë tightens the rope that still connects her to Dean. Deep down she realizes she can’t outdo the spirit’s powers, but she has to try. As fast as she can she tries to reinforce herself by wrapping the rope around an iron bollard, which is normally used to tie boats to.

In the meantime, Sam reaches the end of the dock and skids across the slippery wood towards his brother. Desperately, the youngest Winchester grabs both his arms, locking his big hand around them. The oldest peers into Sam's eyes as he grinds his teeth, using every bit of strength he possesses to hold on. “Don’t let go,” Sam presses as he tries to pull his brother out of the water. “Outstanding advice, Sammy!” Dean comments, frustrated. The incredible force that’s trying to haul him under the surface seems to build, and it feels like it’s about to dislocate every joint in his leg. Sam’s grip slips from Dean’s lower arm to his wrist and it only takes seconds before all that the hunter is hanging from is Sam’s fingertips. Unlike others in this situation, Dean doesn’t seem scared whatsoever. His piercing green eyes focus on his brother, before he lets go.

“Burn her,” he tells him bravely. It’s the last thing Dean can say before he slips from Sam’s hold completely and is dragged into the depths of Reynolds Park Lake. “Dean!!!” Sam exclaims, struck by terror.

The rope still connected to Zoë unwinds rapidly, one end shoots down after Dean. For a very short second of time Zoë stares at the bundle, and realizes that he’s going to drag her right down with him. “Fuck,” she curses.

Then the rope tightens and with one single blow the bollard is ripped from the dock. Both the bollard and Zoë slide across the wooden planks, pulled towards the edge at tremendous speed. Zoë has to act fast to save herself and draws a knife from her belt. In one quick streak she cuts herself loose and comes to a stop right before the end of the dock. There’s not much time to be relieved, though, because Sam is about to dive in after his brother. “Sam, don’t!” she warns. “Burn Laura!” he orders.

Staggered, she watches him disappear into the dark abyss, then snaps her head to the side to the jerry can, floating on the surface. She needs to find gas, right now. As fast as she can she gets up and makes a run for land, adrenaline pushing down the pain that her broken ribs would have normally sent through her body. Her footsteps bounce off the water under the landing until she reaches solid ground, making a break for the Impala. Frustrated, she tries to open the trunk, but the man who is currently drowning locked it. Stupid son of a bitch! She glances back at the wharf, spotting Dean’s leather jacket, assuming the keys to the Impala are in his pocket. But running back would cost her a valuable minute, a minute she doesn’t have. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” she curses, looking around her for something to open the trunk with.

Then she spots a shovel, leaning against the boathouse. She bolts to the tool, grabs it, and heads back to the Impala. Forcefully, she jams the shovel right between the small opening where the lock is positioned. With one skillful twist she turns the iron plate and the lid breaks open. Dead or alive, he’s gonna haunt me for this, Zoë realizes as she searches the trunk.

It contains an entire arsenal of weaponry, enough for a small army, but she has to dig deep until she finally finds a jerrycan. As fast as her legs can carry her, she heads back for Laura’s remains on the dock and pours the gasoline and salt over the body bag. As a last ingredient to the ritual she hurriedly picks up her leather jacket, takes out her zippo, flips it and throws it on the remains. Within moments the canvas catches fire, and so does the body inside.

Out of breath, she watches the rustling flames for a second, then turns around in time to watch a pulse coming from the depths of the lake to ripple the surface, pressure hitting her eardrums. The temperature noticeably rises again, the bad vibes passing; she knows Laura has moved on now. The silence remains eerie, however. All she hears is her own respiration, the thumping of her heart, and the water dripping onto the wood.

Anxiously, she scans the calm surface, waiting for a sign of life from either one of the boys. Splashing of water has her snap her head in the direction of the sound, but it’s only Sam who surfaces, taking a deep breath before he submerges again. For the first time in quite a while a deep fear comes to her; is it too late?

Not wasting another second, she takes two determined steps towards the edge of the dock, launches herself off and dives into the treacherous waters. The cool reservoir swallows her whole, darkness engulfing the huntress. With steady strokes she navigates to the bottom, unable to see, but trying to find Dean by touch. After a minute and a half she comes up for air, frantically looking around over the mirror of the sky. She’s about to go under again, when Sam breaks through the surface, and thankfully, he’s not alone. But when Zoë notices the lifeless body in his brother’s hold, her own breath is stolen away from her. Sam gasps for air, but Dean doesn’t. “Zo!” The younger Winchester desperately calls out, very much aware that his brother is unconscious, and quite possibly even worse.

She swims back to the dock, hastily climbing the ladder, and reaching for Dean when Sam brings him to the landing. After hooking her arms under Dean’s, she tries to pull him out of the lake with all the strength that she has, but water has added to the weight of the brawny hunter’s clothing, and Sam still needs to assist. “Is he breathing?” he asks, petrified for the answer, while he hoists himself out of the water. Zoë has laid Dean down on his back, her hand on his chest, waiting for it to rise while hovering over him, listening for a breath. Then she shakes her head. “He’s not.”

Every second counts now, and the instincts of the former med student kick into gear. She tilts his head back, opening his airway, pinches Dean’s nose shut and seals her mouth over his, giving him four breaths. When he doesn’t breathe on his own, Zoë then places the heel of her left hand over the center of his chest and covers it with her other, lacing her fingers together, before she positions herself above him. With her arms straight and shoulders directly over her hands, she starts chest compressions.

“Oh my God…” Sam stammers helplessly, unnoticeable tears brimming in his eyes and joining the drops of water that come down from his brown hair. “Sam, listen to me,” Zoë says, strictly, not stopping the CPR. “Get my phone, it’s in my jacket. Call 9-1-1 and go to the boy scouts,” she nods at the camping facility across the lake. “They will probably have an AED there. Go!” The younger Winchester springs into action, pulling the Nokia from the pocket of the Harley Davidson jacket left on the docks next to the burning remains, before he dashes to land.

Zoë returns her focus to his brother, who remains unresponsive, despite the first aid. Her knees are painfully bruising against the hard wooden surface as she uses her entire body weight, her ribs and abdomen aching every time she pushes his chest hard and fast. Keeping a steady hundred beats a minute pace, she counts, making sure to allow his chest to rise completely before she follows through with another one. Wishing she hadn’t, Zoë glances at the young man’s handsome face, his expression slack, skin pale, and green eyes hooded. “C’mon, Dean. Not on my fucking case,” she mumbles, more to herself than to him.

After thirty compressions, Zoë pauses her actions and gives him air again, two breaths this time. She knows that even though time is limited, as long as she keeps the blood flow going, he might still have a chance. The huntress continues to give him CPR, but when she has pressed down on his chest again, something happens. He stirs only slightly, water spilling from his mouth. For a second Zoë thinks he’s gasping, a spasm reaction of the body in its final fight to live, but when she quickly turns Dean on his side, more liquid begins to flow out of his lungs, followed by a weak gurgle. After putting him in recovery position, she takes his wrist and feels for a pulse. A thready thump beats against her fingertips and she exhales relieved; he’s alive.

Water runs down his cheek, and with every amount he throws up, he has more room to breathe. Her grip leaves his wrist and slides into his palm. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” she says, her request answered by him with a slight increase of strength on their hold. Somewhat at ease now that Dean is conscious, she rights herself, spotting the younger Winchester running up the street towards the boy scout cabins, phone to his ear. “Sam!” she calls out, catching his attention.

The younger Winchester stops dead in his tracks, listening to the steady tone coming from Zoë’s Nokia, telling him he’s being put through to the dispatch emergency center. When he detects movement on the dock, his brother now rolled over on his side, he dares to hope that Dean came to, but it’s only when their hunting partner confirms it, that he lets out a shuddering breath and lowers the phone. “I got him back,” she states, beckoning Sam to return. “He’s okay.”

Meanwhile, Dean begins to cough, fighting to get the water out and air back in. “That’s it, clear your lungs,” Zoë encourages, rubbing his back comfortingly. “Spit it out. You’re alright.” Motivating him helps, because he hacks violently now that he regains his strength, throwing up more water than one could ever imagine. Thankfully, this isn’t the first drowning the former med student has experienced. She spent most of her life by the beach back home in California, where swimmers and surfers would get in trouble all the time.

After Dean settles, she reaches for her jacket and folds it into a ball, carefully lifting his head and placing the clothing under his head to serve as a pillow. “Show off,” Zoë jokes, lightening the mood. “You just had to hold your breath longer than I did, didn’t you?” “Shut up,” he returns, his voice raspy and barely audible, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She rubs his shoulder, monitoring him while giving the hunter who was inches from death the time to catch his breath. Her hand slips to his neck, checking his pulse again; it’s a lot stronger now.

“Dean?” Sam runs up the landing, his last steps slowing before he reaches them. “You okay, man?” Zoë’s patient nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Aces.” His brother crouches down, a concerned frown knitted between his eyebrows. “Dude, you scared the shit out of me.” “What took you guys so long?” Dean replies hoarse, the words triggering another coughing fit.

The huntress scoffs. Typical, he was well on his way to the afterlife only moments ago, and he’s already smart-talking them. “Hey, I went through a lot of trouble to get fuel to fire up that little brat. Next time, don’t lock up your car, moron.” He grins with his eyes closed, but then tries to sit up. “Whoa whoa, stay down, Dean. For fuck’s sake, take a minute,” Zoë orders sternly, gently pushing him back into recovery position.

Reluctantly, Dean listens, laying his head back on the makeshift pillow. His breathing is still fast and shallow, his body quivering, fighting off the cold. Zoë knows his core temperature has dropped during his near death experience. It’s unethical, but Zoë is glad that Laura’s remains are still burning, offering him some warmth at least. Dean might be breathing again, but he’s not out of the woods just yet.

“Give me his coat,” Zoë tells Sam, nodding at the heap of leather that lays on the dock a few feet away from them. Without question, the younger brother rises to his feet and picks up what used to be his father’s jacket, and hands it to the huntress. She lays it over the man who it belongs to now. “Do I still need to call that ambulance?” Sam wonders, worriedly glancing down at the two. “Wouldn’t be a luxury,” Zoë admits. “No,” Dean objects, his eyes a lot less hazy than they were a minute ago. “C’mon, guys. I’m fine.” “You need to get yourself looked after, dumbshit,” she bounces back, not impressed with the tough guy attitude. Sam agrees with their female colleague. “You almost died, Dean.” “I’m gonna correct you here.” She turns from the younger sibling to the older one. “You didn’t almost die. You were clinically dead for a good minute.” “I’m not going. If you wanna give me a check up, fine. But we have a case in Texas and I can’t afford to be admitted in a hospital,” the hunter decides, hard-headed, carefully sitting up again.

His brother sighs, while Zoë sits back on her heels and shakes her head, gazing into the distance. Stubborn asshole, she thinks to herself, but agrees to his terms nonetheless. She has a couple of hours left on the clock anyway, and although she doesn’t have the equipment or the knowledge of an actual doctor, it’s better than sending him off without any form of evaluation. “Fine. But we need to get you back to the hotel. Staying here in those wet clothes is only gonna bring down your temperature further,” the huntress compromises. “Sam? Can you start the car and crank up the heat?”

The youngest Winchester nods, but reaches out and helps Dean on his feet first. A little unsteady, Dean steps forward, testing his legs. He puts on his leather jacket and hands his brother the keys that he digs up from his pocket. Not even asking if he needs a hand, Zoë wraps her arm around his back and pulls his over her shoulder, letting him lean on her might he need to. “You good?” she checks. “Yeah.” He nods, even though the drowsiness in his speech and his movements give him away.

Before they make their way down the wharf, they halt by the fire. Flames flicker in their eyes and shimmer an orange glow on their features. “Rest in peace, Laura Shire,” Zoë comments with a soft voice.

Although the little girl tried to kill them, the huntress never felt that the ten year old was truly evil. All she became, was an angry and frustrated spirit, fighting for the truth to come out, longing for rest and redemption. It’s strange how this case wasn’t just about the good and the bad. It wasn’t black and white, it was one grey mess. What Ronald Shire did was wrong, what everyone involved didn’t do was wrong, but did they deserve to die for it? Some may think that they got what they deserved, others might think differently. Zoë's certain about one thing though; Laura was just a victim of her own environment. The child was right when she spoke to her this afternoon; she knows what that feels like. And unlike the poltergeist they put down today, those memories will haunt Zoë for the rest of her life.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter fifteen here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural series #Supernatural OFC

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