#how is that the first tag suggestion even before her surname

[munsonslove]

Hi! I love you writing and I was wondering if you could write a fic we’re Eddie and the reader kinda have like a frenemies vibe going on and then one day they sleep together but Eddie has no idea the reader is a virgin because of people saying stories about her and then they sleep together and he finds out after they did it??

Can I Kiss You?

(18+ only)

a/n: thanks so much for the request, & thank you everyone for 1k followers!!! i’m so happy people are liking my little stories <3 a few notes: reader is dustin’s older sister in this fic, but i make it a point to say that she was adopted, so you can def read this as not white reader still. i also briefly mention the reader’s birth parents passing away when she was very young, so tw for family death. and there’s a part where it’s said that the reader’s last name isn’t henderson (because she kept her original surname after being adopted) so if anyone’s reading this and your irl last name is henderson… just like pretend it’s not for a sec? oh also i hid a taylor swift lyric in here. first person to find it wins! anyways i hope y’all like it!!

summary: Your little brother's annoying DM is always hanging around and trying to bother you. Embarrassingly, you developed a crush on him, you were just too proud to do anything about it.

wordcount: 7.3k

tags/warnings: fem!virgin!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), also adopted!henderson!reader, slight mention of family death, fluff, smut, friends/frenemies to lovers, praise kink, fingering (f receiving), descriptions of masturbation (both f and m receiving), use of pet names (baby, princess), unprotected p in v penetration (she’s on the pill, use condoms irl of course), no use of y/n

“He’s not here,” you deadpan with a roll of your eyes as you open the front door. You weren’t expecting any visitors, so when you heard knocking you were quick to find a makeshift weapon before seeing who it was. Your paranoia diminished when you saw it was merely your little brother's DM.

“I’d be tempted to say ‘how do you know I’m not here to see you?’, but that lamp in your hands has me second guessing myself,” Eddie replies with a laugh, pushing past you to enter your home without permission. “You gonna attack me, princess? Didn’t know you found me that annoying.”

“I’m a young woman home alone, and a lot of really strange things happen in this town,” you explain, setting the lamp back down on the end table. “Sue me for being defensive.”

He shakes off his backpack and tosses on the floor. “Better safe than sorry I guess,” he agrees, though you can hear his amused smirk in his tone. “Why you home alone? Your mom got a hot date or something?”

“Book club,” you correct him while crossing your arms, “And Dustin’s sleeping over at the Wheeler’s.”

Eddie hums in response, licking his lips as he looks you up and down. “Cute pajamas,” he says, winking at you.

At his comment, you realize with a start that your robe had fallen open, and crossing your arms only accentuated the suggestive low cut of your silk nightie. Quickly scrambling to cover yourself and retie the knot, you frustratedly grumble, “What are you even doing here? Dustin didn’t say anything about you coming over.”

He flops down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and settling into the well-worn cushions, making himself at home. “He talked me into letting him DM for a campaign, so I thought I’d stop by with my copy of the Dungeon Master’s Guide. He was bitching about only having the Player’s Handbook and Monster Manual, so…” he trails off with a shrug as he leans forward to snatch the remote to the TV from next to his boot.

“Get your dirty shoes off of my mother’s clean furniture,” you scold before physically grabbing his ankles and forcing his feet to the floor. “Can you at least pretend to have manners?”

“I could try, but then you wouldn’t have a crush on me anymore,” he laughs, then hooks one of his fingers into the belt of your robe, pulling you down to be seated next to him. He rests his arm on the back of the couch behind your shoulders, not reacting when you retort with a curt ‘In your dreams.’

You know that logistically you could make him leave- this was your home, after all- but the possibility of him actually going without protest was very low. It seemed like Eddie’s favorite thing in the world was annoying you, and sometimes you find yourself missing the days back when he barely acknowledged your existence. He was originally two years ahead of you in school, but due to him being held back twice he ended up being a part of your graduating class. You didn’t run in the same crowd, in fact you couldn’t have been further out of each other’s social spheres. You were quite popular, invited to many parties, even won prom queen your senior year. Eddie, on the other hand, only showed up at parties to sell drugs, and didn’t attend prom for any of his senior years. 

When your little brother entered high school, you worried about him being bullied. You were aware that most of the school’s population were under the impression that Dungeon and Dragons was a devil worshiping cult, and the Hellfire club along with it. Having been exposed to the game for so long thanks to Dustin’s nerdy interests, you knew better than what the propaganda surrounding D&D tried to peddle to the public, but you held concerns that your status-obsessed ‘friends’ wouldn’t be so easily convinced otherwise. Popularity was never something you sought out, it just came naturally to you, and while it was nice always having weekend plans there was no way in hell you were going to let anyone give your baby brother and his friends any shit. If sticking up for your family made the ‘cool kids’ at school not want to have you in their clique, then that was fine by you. To your surprise, everyone seemed to get the message loud and clear that Dustin and his band of misfits were off limits bullying-wise, and you were able to stay relatively well liked by your peers.

The first time you stood up for Dustin, it was a few weeks into his freshman year in the hallway before first period. One of the guys from the basketball team was giving him a hard time, and you marched right up to the meathead jock and shoved him away. You made sure to get your point across that if you ever saw him fucking with your brother again that you weren’t afraid to fight back. The opposing boy cowered away, not expecting one of the most popular girls at Hawkins to so adamantly defend who he considered a ‘nerd’. Word traveled fast, and by lunchtime the hottest gossip was how you sucker-punched Damian Smith square in the jaw outside of Mrs. Hackett’s classroom this morning. It wasn’t true by a long shot, but you found it rather amusing how much the story got twisted when there were so many witnesses. That day was also the first time you spoke to Eddie.

He had cornered you in the cafeteria, and was attempting to use his ‘bad boy, outcast’ demeanor to intimidate you into leaving Dustin alone. Some of the cheerleaders got the attention of their boyfriends, and pretty soon a group had gathered to see why someone at the bottom of the food chain was messing with you. You called them off with a wave of your hand, then took Eddie’s arm to drag him out into the hall and figure out what the hell he was talking about. He clearly had the wrong idea, because he was telling you off about ‘pretending to stand up for the nerdy freshmen’ and how he ‘knew this was part of some elaborate prank’.

He had no idea you were Dustin’s sister. It made sense, you didn’t look all that similar and you didn’t even share a last name. Your biological parents were family friends of the Hendersons, and they died when you were fairly young. You were legally adopted by your godmother, and were raised as a member of the family. Most everyone who you’ve told has tried to console you after learning the truth, and while it is sad that you didn’t get to grow up with your birth mother and father, you know you were lucky to be a Henderson (by love, not by name). Family is family, even if there’s no blood relation, and that’s exactly what you told Eddie. You let him know that he could accuse you of being one of those airheads whose main concern is how many pages of the yearbook they make it on, but that wasn’t going to stop you from beating the shit out of anyone who tried to give your brother a hard time.

With Eddie becoming a close friend of Dustin’s, even somewhat of a role model (much to your dismay), you saw him pretty often. He was always finding excuses to come over, and you suspected it had something to do with his new life mission of bothering you at every waking moment. The two of you didn’t hate each other per se, on the contrary you actually always secretly enjoyed spending time with the metalhead, despite your differences. That being said, your rapport consisted mainly of jestful bantering, constantly trying to have the one-up in the exchange. You both finished high school together, he actually gave you a ride to graduation (not without a snide comment on the length of your dress, prompting a middle finger from you). Now you were taking a gap year before college and he was staying in Hawkins to focus on his music, the plan being to move to Indianapolis when the final member of Corroded Coffin graduated. With the freedom awarded by not attending Hawkins anymore- from both the stressful preparation for another four years of school and the pressure to stick to the status quo- you found yourself spending a lot of downtime with Eddie. You’re not quite sure either of you would readily call the other a friend, but maybe relationship labels were overrated. All you knew was that if Dustin was hitching a ride home, you could count on Eddie’s van being parked in the driveway for at least a couple hours while he berated you inside.

Lately though, the playful bickering between you two morphed into what almost felt like flirting. Eddie seemed to be laying it on thicker and thicker each time he came to see you, as if he was testing the waters for how much he could get away with without you getting upset. What he didn’t know, however, was that you’ve been harboring a secret crush on him for a while now. After actually getting to know him through the excuse of you both caring about Dustin, you came to the realization that he’s not all bad like his reputation.

Eddie switches on the TV, turning it to your favorite channel without asking and setting the remote back down on the table. It’s the little gestures like these that have you falling harder for him everyday. You lose your train of thought getting lost in fantasies of doing exactly this with him, only while being able to call him your boyfriend. You’re ripped back to reality when his arm shifts from the back of the couch to actually over your shoulders. His face doesn’t show any sign that he thinks of this as overly intimate, so you try to not let any reaction show.

Some hours pass this way, and you wonder how long Eddie plans to stay for. You silently pray that your neighbors won’t say anything to your mom about his van parked in the driveway, but even if they do, the tingling you felt in your chest was well worth it- and besides, no matter what she said, you were an adult. Just as you're thinking this, Eddie stands to pick his bag up off of the floor, slipping the books he brought out onto the coffee table, before zipping it back up and holding it awkwardly in his hands.

“I guess I should probably get going,” he says with a shrug, “It’s getting late, and your mom will be home soon.”

“She said they were going to drink wine,” you respond. “You know Claudia, she wouldn’t drive after having even a sip. She’s going to sleep on her friend’s couch.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes lighting up a little before he purses his lips and looks out the window. “Well, it’s pretty dark out now. I don’t wanna keep you up…”

There’s a brief pocket of silence, neither of you wanting to be the one to suggest what you’re thinking for fear of the other not returning the same feeling. You don’t want your disappointment at the idea of him not staying to be too evident, but you’re not sure how convincing you’re being. Your gaze drops down to his pretty lips, distracted by how he’s biting them, and wishing you could bite them instead. Faintly, so faintly you’re almost unsure if you even really heard it, he speaks your name, bringing your attention back to his eyes. You watch as he gathers the courage for his next words. 

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s like time stops. You resist the urge to squeal like a little girl with a crush, but that is exactly how you feel. Slowly, you nod your head before moving your lips to say, ‘Yes,’ though no sound escapes you. He drops the bag, and kicks it out of the way when it lands at his feet before taking long strides toward you. The both of you lean forward, and he tilts his head slightly to make room for your noses. His breath fans your lips as he hesitates to close the distance. Impatient after months of pining, you grab him by the zipper of his jacket and finally do what you’ve been dreaming about for so long. 

His lips are as soft as they look, and you conclude that your theory about his chapstick addiction is correct. With as much as he smokes (medicinal or otherwise), he must moisturize them pretty often. He actually tastes very faintly of tobacco, and you remember how he said he was trying to quit and only smoked cigarettes when he was jittery. You wonder if that meant that you make him as nervous as he makes you. The dirty taste was thankfully mostly covered up by a strong minty flavor, and that only makes you wonder even more, this time about if he also obsesses over little detail when he knows he’s going to see you. Whenever Dustin would inform you Eddie was on his way over, you would find yourself primping in front of the mirror, making sure your hair fell in place just the right way and your skin was clear of any blemishes. You even did this before you fully understood your feelings for the man were romantic. Picturing him having the afterthought to pop a mint before driving over to see you had you smiling against his lips.

“What?” he laughs, pulling away from you slightly and raising an eyebrow with both curiosity and amusement.

“Nothing,’ you reply, giggling softly. “Just thinking.”

“Oh? What about?” he asks, leaning in once again to peck you chastely before simply resting his forehead against your and gazing into your eyes. He walks you backwards, back to the couch and sits, pulling you down next to him.

You shake your head, still smiling. Your mind was racing a mile a minute and it was too much to explain, especially when the only thing you wanted was for him to kiss you silly. “Not now. Just come here,” you whisper as you thread your fingers through his hair and push yourself flush against him, ending up fully sat in his lap with his hands gripping your thighs.

You two last like this for a while, (mostly) innocently kissing, just enjoying the feeling of finally giving into temptation. Pretty soon, Eddie’s touch begins to roam, and your hips begin to rock. It was very quickly crossing the line from PG-13 to R. When you feel his cock harden beneath you, you make up your mind about what you want to happen.

“Eddie,” you moan while his tongue circles a bite mark he left on your neck, soothing the sting. He dismisses the sound, lost in his own world as his hands find purchase on your butt, assisting your movements against him. “Eddie,” you try again, shaking his shoulders slightly.

He immediately slides his hands up to a more modest area on your waist, and he lifts his head away from your neck to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, and his hair is wild. “Yeah, baby?” he says, sounding out of breath.

“Do you want to go to my room?” you ask. You can tell by the way he glances back down at your lips, then to your thighs, and finally back up to your eyes, that he knows exactly what you are implying.

“A- are you sure?” he forces out, barely believing what he’s hearing.

“I’m sure,” you confirm. “I’m ready.”

You’re both hurrying down the hallway, nearly tripping over each other’s feet in your haste. The walk to your bedroom is short, but after putting off the inevitable for so long, you can barely wait and have to resist jumping his bones before reaching your destination. Throwing open the door, he ushers you inside and shuts it behind him.

Eddie’s heavy leather jacket thuds as it hits the floor, his shirt being discarded soon after. Your mouth waters at the sight of his tattoos, but you barely have time to admire his partial nudity. He’s on top of you in a flash, pressing you into the wall and kissing you passionately. His curious hands rake over your body, and their wandering loosen the knot on your robe’s belt, causing the thick fabric to open slightly and expose your collarbone. Like a man starved, Eddie’s lips never lose contact with you as he rips the tie from your body, almost making you fall with the force behind it. He steadies you with his hands back on your waist, this time underneath the robe, and you can feel his touch so much better with only the thin silk of your nightgown between you. Shrugging the robe off, he helps you pull it down your arms before tossing it onto your carpet, and the cold air of your bedroom is fought off by his body warmth invading every inch of you.

“Do you want this as much as I do?” he whispers gravelly after parting his lips from yours.

He doesn’t need to clarify what exactly he wants, because you want it all with him. “I do,” you confirm.

He leads you over to your bed, a queen-sized four-poster, still unmade from this morning. You climb on top and turn to face him while sitting on your knees. He looms over you, standing at the foot of the bed with you kneeling on the mattress in front of him. His pretty eyes darken as he looks down and takes in your form.

“God, I like you like this,” he laughs from above you, “Is this what I gotta do for you to shut your mouth?”

“You like my mouth” you shoot back, sitting up to reach him and tangling your hands in his curls. You make a fist, thus pulling his hair slightly.

He grunts as you tug on his locks, but doesn’t let the innuendo in your last comment go. “You do have a real nice mouth,” he says as he swipes his thumb against your bottom lip. Before he can retract his hand, you open your mouth and suck the digit into it, swirling your tongue around the tip while looking up at him from behind your eyelashes.

“Fuck, baby,” he brokenly breathes out. 

The only thing you see in his eyes is pure unadulterated lust, and you feel your belly grow warmer at the thought of what he was going to do about it. He withdraws his hand only to place it on your neck, his palm on the front of your windpipe. He’s not applying any pressure, so you can’t call it choking, but just the implication of such a touch has arousal pooling in your underwear. His thumb is warm and wet on your throat, and when he trails his hand from your neck to the back of your head, the breeze of air on the leftover saliva makes your skin feel cool. Eddie drops his head and his lips meet yours once again, but only just barely making contact. You try to deepen the kiss, but he’s returned the favor of holding onto a tuft of your hair, making it impossible to press against him more firmly without your hair being pulled. He laughs at your cries of protest, but gives in, sucking on your bottom lip and nipping at it before licking his tongue past the threshold of your mouth.

Kissing like this isn’t the most comfortable, what with the springs of your mattress digging into your knees and your neck craning up to be able to reach Eddie, but you could stay in this position for hours if it meant he was going to keep touching you the way he was. The hand not tangled and tugging at your hair was sliding up your side, dragging the silk of your nightie up. He bunched the fabric up in a fist, which caused it to be lifted enough that your cotton panties were on display. You briefly worry about whether he was going to think the underwear you had on was sexy or not, considering it wasn’t silky or lacy like your nightgown was. It was just a simple and comfortable pair of navy blue panties with a white elastic waistband. 

While you were busy overthinking, Eddie bent at his knees and kissed down your jaw, releasing your hair to raise the fabric on the other side of your nightie up to the same level, then backed away to pull it the rest of the way up over your head and off your body. You felt a little self conscious, bare chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that wasn’t even sexy. Your arms went to fold in front of you, but Eddie dropped the silk and  grabbed your wrists, stopping you.

“Don’t cover yourself,” he whispers, his eyes glued to your body, “You’re so beautiful.”

Blood rushes to your head as you bite back a smile at his compliment. Any anxiety you previously felt about him judging you vanishes, and in its place comes even more need. Eddie tells you to lay down as he softly nudges your shoulder, and you do as he says with no contest. He hooks his fingers underneath the elastic of your panties before waiting for one last head nod from you. When you give the okay and lift your hips, he slowly pulls the fabric off of you, sucking in a breath when your bare pussy finally crosses his line of sight.

He crawls onto the bed and kisses up your torso, starting at your hip bone and making his way all the way up to your clavicle. The hard tent in his jeans rubs against the delicate skin of your inner thigh as he spends extra time marking up your neck, and you get impossibly wetter at the proof of the effect you have on him. When he pulls away, the mattress dips by both sides of your face due to him propping himself up by his arms. His legs bend as he sits up, successfully caging you in, and he takes a moment to just look at you.

“I’m gonna get you ready for me, okay baby?” he says quietly, one of his hands leaving their spot next to your head as he traces his fingertips lightly down the dip in between your breasts, over your belly button, and caresses your dripping slit.

“Yeah, okay,” you mutter out your consent. With your brain as cloudy as it was, you weren’t entirely sure what he was proposing, but you were at a point by now where you would agree to anything.

His middle digit slips easily past the soaked folds around your weeping hole, and he circles the entrance teasingly, collecting your juices before finally breaching, and just his fingertip enters into you. An embarrassing high pitched squeak escapes from your throat, and you raise yourself up onto your elbows to get a better look at what he’s doing to you.

“You wanna watch as I warm you up with my fingers, princess?” he croons at you sweetly. “It’s pretty, ain’t it?”

You take a deep gasp of air as his finger disappears further into you, his hands are bigger and tougher than your own, and the difference is very noticeable. He bends and straightens his wrist over and over, pumping in and out of you with ease, and the foreign feeling is strange yet pleasurable. Another finger slides inside, and he works them into you, opening you up. He’s determined to make the next step after this as satisfying for you as possible.

“You’re so wet and tight, baby. You’re gonna feel so good on my cock,” he practically mewls. There’s a wild look in his eyes, and it only steers you closer to your climax. “You want that, baby? You wanna make me feel good? Make me crave you all the time, even more than I already do?”

His words are slurring together as he rambles on about how perfect he knows your pussy is going to feel around him. For the life of you, you can’t form any response that isn’t loud moaning, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind one bit. You feel the build up inside of you start, and your entire body tenses involuntarily as you prepare for what you know will be a mind-blowing orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum? My princess is gonna cum?” he asks, and you nod your head to the best of your ability given that the muscles in your neck are locked up. “You’re squeezing my fingers so fucking tight, baby. Show me how pretty you are when you cum. Show me, and I promise I’ll fuck you so good, so right. I’ll fuck you as many times as you let me, and I’ll do it anyway you want. Hard, slow, soft, fast… Just show me how perfect my girl is when she’s cumming around my fingers and I’ll give you what you need”

His promises push you over the edge, and you finish while crying out his name. Literally, you feel moisture leak from your eyes as your head pushes into the pillow beneath you. Eddie leans forward to kiss away the tears, all while still fingering you, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” you hear as you start to come back to the world. His hand slows down slightly, more focused on a deep and sensual rhythm, and you feel his hot breath on your temple as he continues to soothe you through your come down. “Did such a good job, sounded so pretty moaning my name, wanna make you make those sounds forever…”

He trails off as he pulls his hand away, and you both stare at his hand and watch how the light reflects off the glistening slick coating his fingers. He plunges them into his mouth, and groans around them at the taste as your jaw drops in disbelief. It was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Still recovering from both your shock and intense orgasm, you grunt out in annoyance when Eddie rolls off of you and stands up. You’re about to complain at the loss of contact, until you realize his reason for doing so was to unbutton his jeans. You instantly rise. Your head feels dizzy from sitting up too fast, but you push through the lightheadedness in order to give your full attention to what was about to happen.

Eddie hurriedly moves to yank his tight jeans down his legs, stumbling slightly but regaining his balance enough to not fall, then succeeds pulling down the denim and kicking his legs out of it. His legs are pale- as could be suspected from wearing nothing but full length pants in Indiana- and they look rather soft. You want to reach your hand out and graze his calf to see if they’re as soft as they appear, or if looks are deceiving and his dark wisps of leg hair actually have a coarse texture. There’s no time to dwell on that instinct, as very soon after discarding his pants he follows his boxers with them, and you’re distracted by hair in another area.

Eddie’s cock springs to his stomach when he straightens up from pulling off his underwear. The sight of it both makes you want to spread your legs and squeeze your thighs together, but the choice is made for you when Eddie takes your knee with one of his hands and settles between your legs on the bed. His lips met yours as his shaft grazed your soaked lips, brushing against your clit and causing you to buck up into hip, but your hips are pinned down by his pelvis. The pressure allows some relief, but you crave more.

“Fuck me,” you beg, “Please fuck me, Eddie.” You sound pathetic even to yourself, but you’re far past the point of no return as far as shame goes.

“Do you have protection?” he asks, in between kisses. “I didn’t bring condoms. I didn’t think- I didn’t expect you to actually-”

“I’m on the pill,” you cut him off. “Just fuck me.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, “Are you sure, princess?”

“Please, Eds,” you whine, “I need you.”

“You need me, baby?” he smiles against you while you nod your head. His teeth clash with yours as you try to pull him somehow closer to you than he already is. “I know what you need. I’m gonna give it to you, don’t worry.”

He lifts himself up so that he can grasp the base of his shaft, and slides up and down your slit before he positions the head of his cock to be poking your entrance. There was a stinging sensation as he stretched you out, sinking in slowly inch by inch until you can’t take anymore and have to stop him.

“Too big?” he asks, and the tone of his voice leads you to believe he’s asking this with genuine concern rather than inflating his own ego. He really doesn’t want to hurt you.

“I just need a s- second,” you stutter out while adjusting your pelvis, trying to ease the dull ache.

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs while pecking you on the tip of your nose. Your hand immediately flies up to guide his lips to your own, and the emotion behind the kiss distracts you from the tenseness you feel, allowing you to loosen up slightly.

“God,” he moans, “you feel even more perfect than I imagined.”

A smug smirk crosses your face and you lift an eyebrow at him. “So you’ve imagined?” you ask, tilting your head and chuckling.

“Don’t act you haven’t fucked yourself with those fingers of yours while calling out my name,” he responds with a challenging look, “I can just picture it now, your sheets all crumpled from you tossing and turning, your hands cramping up but you ignoring it cause you’re so desperate to cum. Tell me, princess, when we would hang out, how long would you wait after I left to run up here and start rubbing this pretty little clit.”

As he tortures you with these (very true) accusations, his right hand snakes its way in between your bodies to start playing with your clit. He touches the nub with the tip of his thumb, applying pressure before rolling it in gentle circles. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“I asked you a question, baby,” he says, his lips now moving against your jaw as you focus on relaxing and getting used to the feeling of him inside you. “You gonna be a good girl and answer me?”

His vulgar words combined with his hand’s actions send you a wave of slick arousal, and suddenly you’re ready, and you want him deeper. “Eddie,” you whine, “more.”

“Nuh-uh,” he mutters, not moving an inch and keeping that deviously slow pace with his fingers. “I wanna hear about you touching yourself, princess.”

“Ugh!” you groan, kicking your leg out like a kid throwing a tantrum. “Eddie! It’s embarrassing!”

“No it’s not,” he comforts you, his left hand stroking your cheekbone as he leans down to kiss you sweetly on the lips. “When I’m thinking of you, I like to go nice and slow at first…”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat as you realize what he’s about to do. He’s going to tell you about him getting off to dirty thoughts of you. It should disgust you to know the boy who was teasing you and picking little fights for the past almost two years has been fantasizing about you, but it only gets you going more. You force your eyes open to look at him, and he’s already staring deeply at you, his face showing no signs of mocking.

“I think about those pretty lips, so soft. I think about what they’d feel like on my skin, around my cock.” His unabashed admissions are doing nothing to help with how impatient you’re getting, but his fingers stop circling your clit when you try to slide down deeper onto his dick yourself.

“I know you want it baby, but I’m trying to talk to you,” he whispers, “You don’t wanna be rude, do you? You already wouldn’t answer my question.”

“Sorry,” you whimper weakly, hoping that if you play along he’ll hurry up.

“So sweet for me,” he says as his hand starts up again and he nips at the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck. “I knew you’d be sweet. I knew your tough girl act was a show. All the times you got mouthy and bratty with me, you just wanted to be my sweet, good girl.”

“I take off everything but my panties. And then I lay down in bed, with the fan on cause I get hot. And I start feeling up my stomach-”

He cuts you off with a chuckle. “What are you talking about, princess?”

You bang your head on the pillow and start squirming. “I’m answering your question,” you whimper, “You’re taking too long, Eddie, I need it!”

His fingers circle your clit fast and he finally, finally sinks the rest of the way in you, bottoming out and filling you up so deep and full. “Keep going,” he orders as he starts rocking in and out of you at such a cruelly slow rate. As if reading your mind, he adds on, “I’ll go faster if you keep going.”

“Fuck, Eds,” you moan out in ecstasy, your mind empty and only able to think about his cock and what he’s doing to you. But you want- no, need- him to go faster, so you summon every brain cell you have and force yourself to speak semi-coherently.

“I feel up my stomach til I get goosebumps, and I start massaging my tits and thinking about what it would feel like if it was your h-hands,” you start to stutter as his left hand mimics your descriptions, tickling your abdomen as it makes its way to your chest. “And while I did that, I would spit on my fingers a little bit then stick my hand in my underwear, and I would start rubbing my clit.”

“And you imagined it was me doing it?” he interrupts, now thrusting into you a little harder and a little deeper, his hand massaging your breast before taking a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger and rolling it gently. 

You nod your head, too lost in the feeling to answer verbally. He really started to pick up the speed now, hitting a spot in you that you were never quite able to reach on your own, and it’s so sinfully delicious that you feel like you’re going to black out from the intensity of the pleasure. He feels so perfect moving against you, the velvety skin of his cock merging so right with your inner walls. You chastise yourself for holding out for so long, if you had known how blissful it would be, you would have confessed the day you realized your feelings. The idea that you could have been doing this for nearly a year has you cursing whatever forces that kept you apart, though a bitter voice in the back of your head reminded you it was your own stubbornness.

“Then what do you do?” he urges you on.

“Um, I would stay like that for a little while,” you continue, finding it difficult to get your thoughts out into full sentences, “and then when I was close I would… um, like stop playing with my tits. So that I could use that hand to finger myself.”

“Fuck, princess. The way you describe it… I bet you look so pretty when you’re touching yourself,” he groans, now pummeling in and out of you in a steady, fast rhythm. His eyes keep switching between watching you and being scrunched closed, like he’s trying to focus on making this last but still wants to look at your face. “I wanna see it someday. Will you show me?”

“Yeah, mhm, sure,” you agree, not even really paying attention to what he was asking you due to being too lost in what you were experiencing. Your orgasm was near, and you wouldn’t be able to hold it off for much longer. “Eddie, I’m close,” you warn, your nails digging into his back as your arms tighten around his neck.

“Me too, baby,” he says back. The rocking of his hips combined with the closeness of his face caused his lips to brush against yours in a repeated pattern, and the intimacy of that only builds your climax up faster. “Where do you want it?”

Eddie Munson, the bane of your existence for the past couple of years is asking you where you want him to cum. “Inside,” you answer without thought. “Inside me, Eds, I wanna feel you leaking out of me.”

“Oh fuck. You can’t say shit like that to me. How am I supposed to keep living my life like normal after this?” he whines, “Are you gonna cum for me, baby? I want you to go first.”

As he finishes telling you this, the wire snaps and you feel electricity shoot throughout your body. Your second orgasm is much stronger than your first, and considering how the first one had you nearly losing consciousness, that was really saying something. The shockwaves make you feel like you’re literally vibrating around him, and being able to feel his dick twitching as he released his load into you only added to that feeling. You were a moaning mess, gasping in and puffing out little breaths of air as you hopelessly cry out, ‘I’m cumming, Eddie, you’re making me cum,’ along with assorted swears over and over and over. His grip on your waist loosened as he wrapped his arms around your middle and held on tight, burying his head into your neck as he rode out his own orgasm. He muttered something into your skin that you couldn’t quite make out with it being muffled, but it sounded suspiciously close to, ‘I love you,’ and your heart leapt at that possibility.

After a few minutes, after you both gathered yourselfs, he rolled over onto his back and you cuddled up to his side. Your head rested on his bare chest and your arms hugged around his stomach, pulling him as close as you could.

“So,” he starts, his arms folded behind his head and a crooked grin adorning his face, “was I the biggest you’ve taken, or does that happen with all the guys you bring home?”

You furrow your brows in confusion as you turn your head to look at him. “What do you mean?” you manage to mumble out.

“I mean, how tight you were. And how you couldn’t take all of me at first,” he says, like it was obvious.

“Well, in sex-ed they said the first time usually hurts. This wasn’t as bad as I was expecting though, just kinda stung a little bit at first,” you explain, laying your head flat against him once more and scraping at the nail on your index finger with your thumb.

Eddie stops moving and is quiet for a good thirty seconds. You start to feel a trickling of doubt, and become anxious that you somehow said the wrong thing. He reaches up to take your hand in his, effectively stopping your nervous finger picking and stealing your attention. When you glance back up at him he’s staring at you with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Princess,” he says slowly, like somehow you were the one in this situation not making any sense, “You’re not telling me that was your first time.”

Oh. You suppose that was a pretty important tidbit of information you withheld that he probably would’ve liked to have known before you engaged in intercourse. In your defense, there was no reason for him to assume you weren’t a virgin. You only graduated high school the year prior, and during your time at Hawkins you never had a serious boyfriend. Even when you were being crowned prom queen, your date to the dance was James McKenna, and he came out as gay the week after graduation before moving to New York. Sure, you were privy to the rumors thrown around in the boy’s locker room about what you did to this guy under the bleachers and what you did to that guy at Skull Rock, but there was no more gossip surrounding you than the average cheerleader.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly feeling guilty for not being completely transparent. “I guess I just thought you knew, or like, would be able to tell?” you say, your intonation changing to a questioning lilt by the end of your sentence.

He starts blinking his wide eyes frantically, his head shaking in disbelief as he tries to think of what to say. That self conscious dread from earlier starts to sneak it’s way back in, and you begin having second thoughts, worrying if he- like your high school friends- thought it was weird that you waited to have sex. He must have noticed the fear in your eye, because he held you tighter against him and comfortingly rubbed up and down your forearm.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” he says, speaking quickly. “I guess I just assumed. I mean, you were so popular. Everyone wanted you, anyone would have been lucky to have you-” you smile and blush at his words- “And those guys on the basketball team were always bragging and telling stories-”

“If a plate of spaghetti grew legs and started walking around, those guys would claim that they fucked it. Why would you listen to that noise?” you interjected, your annoyance clear.

He held his hands up in defense. “You’re right, I don’t know why I believed any of that crap. I know you have better taste than that. I mean, you like me, so that proves you have a much more sophisticated taste in men.”

“Sophisticated is one word for it, I guess,” you mumble while rolling your eyes, before sitting up to grab your nightie from the foot of the bed.

“If you weren’t active, why were you on the pill?” he questions you while rubbing your back.

“I’m a grown woman. I figured it was going to happen eventually, and I wanted to make sure I was ready when it did,” you answer distractedly as you work on turning your pajamas the right side out.

Eddie hums in understanding but is otherwise quiet as he watches you redress yourself, except for a cheeky wolf whistle when you need to bend over to pick up your panties. Once you're covered up again, you turn around to see him staring at you in amusement.

“What?” you ask with a smile, climbing back onto the bed and throwing a leg over his thighs, settling onto his lap. The tips of your noses brush against each other as you see that gleam in his eyes you recognize as him trying to stifle laughter when teasing you. “What is it?” you repeat, shoving him gently on his chest before looping your arms around his neck.

He shakes with silent laughter then leans back to quirk a brow at you. “A plate of spaghetti?” he asks. You grab a pillow to hit him in the head with, but drop it when you’re tackled and pinned down, giggling and kicking your feet as he kisses up your collar bone.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Two (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Thank you so much to everyone who let me know that you enjoyed the first chapter through your reblogs and tags and comments. I don't expect people to feel like they have to engage in a way that I'll see, but I can only tell you how much it means to me if you do have the energy to do so!

Things have been pretty effing rough on this end of things for me lately, so this story had to take a back seat, but I'm hoping to be able to work on it more for you now. This chapter was originally 5k words but I broke up the 'action' of this one, so it ends on a bit of a cliffie... quite literally, almost. Sorry? Hope you enjoy it anyway??

Content: Nel settles in at Heath Top House, meets Lady Winnifred, accidentally witnesses one hell of a smooch, and finds a body floating in the water after a storm... Wordcount: 3067

Part One

If the housekeeper at Heath Top House was surprised to find a well-dressed, if slightly wind-blown and jounced-about, young lady trundling in on a village cart, she managed not to show it.

Tom drew his placid old horse to a halt and Nel hopped down onto the gravel outside the manor house and slid her case down before Tom had even turned around to see if she needed help. She tossed him a friendly smile though, and a quick thanks that made the old man’s cheeks warm beneath his grey moustache, before the front door of the elegantly proportioned, stone manor house opened to reveal a tall woman in her late forties, with her hair tucked neatly beneath a ruffled, white cotton cap trimmed with a light blue, silk ribbon.

“Miss Bywater?”

“Indeed,” Nel said, and a frisson of apprehension shot down her throat to her stomach, where it curdled with the churning remnants of her coach journey to make an altogether unsavoury sensation in her gut.

She glanced down at her travel-rumpled redingote, picked out some straw from the bed of the cart that had lodged itself in the embroidery, and smoothed out her skirts. She tried to adopt a more seemly and tidy manner before drawing in a long breath, holding it, and then releasing it with a smile to meet the woman’s eyes.

“I’m Davis,” the woman said. “Housekeeper.”

What her first name was, Eleanor may never learn, given that etiquette demanded she be known by her surname by her employers and their guests. As a hired companion, Eleanor fell somewhere between the two, but even so she was unlikely to be considered on the same social standing as a housekeeper.

“If you’d like to follow me, Miss Bywater.”

She cast one last look back at Tom, who was already gathering his reins to stir his chunky, grey horse back into motion, and she offered him a final smile. He tipped his cap to her and set off, and Nel stepped into the relative dark of the entrance hall.

Chequered marble in a sweeping expanse of black and white tiles stretched away and was met by an elegantly curving staircase. The walls were flanked with dark wood panels and stern portraits of past generations, and from a doorway to one side, a young woman in a pale yellow dress emerged.

She was as blonde as her dress, and her skin had the kind of pallor that suggested she rarely went out. She was slender too, and if Nel had had to make a guess at her health, she might have been bold enough to say that the lady was fragile. If she were being gracious, she might have opted for ‘delicate’, but as it was, she looked shy and wan and fragile.

“Oh, Miss Bywater?” the lady said in a slightly wispy voice, and Nel nodded and made a small curtsy.

Slightly behind her, Davis bobbed a polite and slightly deeper curtsy, and said, “M’lady.”

“Thank you, Davis. See to it that Miss Bywater’s things are taken care of. I will give her a tour of the house myself.”

“As you say, m’lady,” Davis said, briskly taking the travelling case that Nel set down on the marble floor, leaving them to it.

The Lady Winnifred Penrose looked to be in her early thirties, and, Nel discovered as she stepped forwards and took her hands in her own chilly, bird-like fingers to squeeze with only the faintest effort, she was terribly shy and a little awkward.

“You must forgive me for sounding so formal and stiff in my letters,” she said, her blue eyes sliding away briefly as her cheeks warmed a fraction. “I… I don’t know how else to write, and I didn’t know you. You must have thought me some dowdy old matron…”

Nel very carefully did not say that that was exactly what she’d been expecting, and instead masked her surprise by saying, “I’m honestly glad to find we’re closer to the same age.”

Lady Winnifred’s returning smile was genuine, and it didn’t fade as she floated back a step and said, “I must also confess that taking a companion was my mother-in-law’s idea. This, as you know, was my husband’s house, and he left everything to me in his will, which seems to have caused a bit of a stir among society, given that he actually has a younger brother who should have inherited it all.”

She sighed and spoke on in almost a whisper.  

“His parents live here with me, and they try to keep an eye on things, but should I wish it, I could turn them out and we could have the run of the place.”

She looked suddenly shocked by her boldness, and Nel would come to learn that it was uncharacteristic of her in the extreme to say such things aloud. At the time, Nel just offered a private smile, and allowed herself to be shown about the house by a woman who struck her by the end of their tour as painfully, heartbreakingly isolated.

Lady Winnifred slowly but surely came out of her shell in their first few weeks together.

She had bouts of weakness and days when she didn’t feel like stirring much beyond her own rooms in the house, but over afternoon tea a fortnight after Nel’s arrival on that blustery spring morning, she confessed that while she had been a little reticent at first at the idea of taking a stranger into her home, she was now wholeheartedly glad that Eleanor Bywater had been the one to apply for the role.

“I mean, we’re almost the same age,” Winnie said as she dabbed at the last of her scone crumbs on the porcelain plate with a delicate fingertip and savoured the lingering taste of sweet, strawberry jam and thick, clotted cream. “And it has been such a relief to find someone to share in my love of reading…”

For the most part, Nel remained at Heath Top House with Winnie, as she insisted on being called by her friends, among whom Nel was apparently now counted. What few friends Winnie had lived in either Bath or London, and that physical distance seemed to have left Winnie extremely isolated while she ran her late husband’s estates in Cornwall and tried to dodge her interfering father-in-law’s heavy-handed attempts to seize control once again.

Luckily, James Penrose’s last will and testament had been most adamant that Winnie be the one to manage the finances and the mines, and from what Nel had learned by leaning over her shoulder while she wrote letters to the board and shareholders, Winnie was more than competent despite her shyness in person. James had been killed only a year and a half prior, in a tragic tunnel collapse while inspecting one of the mines he owned, and Winnie had turned into something of a social recluse in the aftermath.

Gradually, during Nel’s first month at Heath Top, she managed to get Winnie out and about on walks across the heathland when the wild, Cornish weather permitted, and they grew very acquainted with the stretch of coastal path that hugged the cliffs and played host to a prolific number of soaring seabirds. Sometimes, way offshore, they glimpsed porpoises and dolphins, and once or twice, common and grey seals basking and playing in the shallows, and over a period of a couple of months, Nel watched the young, grief-riddled widow draw a little out of her shell.

Despite the fact that Nel was technically in her employ, Winnie had also insisted that Nel could come and go from Heath Top House whenever she liked, so Nel found herself frequently borrowing a horse from the stables to ride around Winnie’s estate and down towards the coast on a shaggy, black-coated mare named Blackthorn. As the unexpected offspring of an escaped racehorse stud and a pit pony mare, Blackthorn had the stubborn stamina of her mother and the will to run of her thoroughbred sire, and Nel found herself adoring the solid, fifteen-hand horse almost the moment she clapped eyes on her.

“She’s beautiful,” she told the head groom, a quiet-mannered man in his fifties named Joe, when he’d first brought the mare out into the yard for her to try. She stroked Blackthorn’s velvet nose with her knuckles and giggled as the horse’s whiskery lips mouthed harmlessly at her fingers in search of apples. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Late one afternoon in the searing heat of midsummer, when crickets kept up a tireless chorus in the bleached grasses and cows stood about listlessly in the scant shade of the trees and lowed plaintively, Nel took Blackthorn into town before the shops closed. Her intent had been to buy some more thread for an embroidery project that she had recently undertaken at Winnie’s suggestion, but she knew already that it was probably far beyond her limited skills with a needle.

After she’d stabled the mare at the Lantern and seen to it that Blackthorn was given fresh water and a cool place to rest, Nel headed off to walk around the seaside village on foot. With her thread purchased from the surprisingly well-stocked haberdashery on Clifftop Street, she turned and made her way down the steep, cobbled street towards the harbour in the vague hope of some relief from the heat with a passing sea breeze. The light was perfect, casting pearlescent shimmers across the still sea beyond the harbour, and gilding the white wings of the gulls as they wheeled lazily overhead, but the air was thick with the cloying scent of iodine and drying seaweed at low tide, and it didn't get any cooler as she neared the harbour.

For someone who had grown up in the country though, and who had rarely seen the sea, she was surprised at how much she had come to love living there, with its wild, rugged, independent folk and its landscape that fitted them perfectly.

Nel had just gained a glimpse of the muddy harbour at the lowest ebb of the tide, the view of colourful fishing boats listing to the side like beached sea creatures framed by the squat, white cottages of the village when, in the narrow space between two buildings to her right, a sudden movement caught her eye. There in the shadows not ten paces away, she saw a slender young man pressed up against the bare stonework of a house and crowded in by a much larger man.

She had barely had time to mask her gasp of surprise when she recognised the latter as Locryn Trevethan, as much by his sheer, hulking size and his thick ponytail of steel-grey hair as by anything else, but she was far too surprised to register anything else when Locryn put both his hands tenderly on the smaller man’s jawline and kissed him fiercely.

As she took in the skinny frame of the other man beneath him, she realised it was Edmund Nancarrow. She’d seen him around the village a few times in the months since she’d moved into Heath Top House and he worked as the tailor’s assistant near the haberdashery. She’d not had any need of a tailor since arriving at Polgarrack though, and she hadn’t spoken to him since their brief meeting in the doorway of the Lantern.

All thoughts fled her mind as Locryn rutted up against Edmund’s hips, growling and groaning and kissing him without pausing for breath. “Want you,” he hissed, bringing his hand down to palm Edmund’s crotch. “Come to me tonight. On the sands,” he grunted. “It’s been too long. I need you.”

Edmund gasped and tipped his head back, his pale cheeks flushed and his mouth open in a wanton display of lust, and he just barely managed a weak nod and a dazed smile in return.

With a flush of heat in her own face, Nel turned away.

Locryn and Edmund weren’t the first men she’d known to have an attraction towards their own sex — after all, she had been the first that William had told of his own preferences all those years ago — but to see two people so blindly engrossed in each other, so wrapped up in the sheer, honest pleasure of each other’s bodies, sent a rush of yearning and stinging jealousy through her that was so strong she felt almost faint.

At twenty five, it was not quite too late for her to marry, but it was unlikely that any man would want her now.

She had politely refused the few offers made to her by relative strangers back in London, and as a result, her father, for all that he loved her, had called her a flighty fool. It was hardly her fault that the men who had come calling for her after the various balls during the London Season had done nothing but inspire empty dread and, in one case, open revulsion. She would likely never know the kind of passion and desire that Edmund was experiencing, and she scuttled back to the Lantern with her mind in a spin.

Her journey back to Heath Top with Blackthorn passed in a blur, and she barely heard a word Winnie said to her over tea when she got back with the embroidery thread still crumpled up in her small, silk pouch.

The summer progressed in a series of walks with Winnie, afternoon tea, reading, and lonely rides along the clifftop with Blackthorn, but she didn’t see Edmund Nancarrow or Locryn Trevethan again, and she took to avoiding Polgarrack without realising that was what she was doing. The endless days of blasting heat gave way to nights of brilliant lighting storms that sent veins of white fire flashing across the sky and the sea.

On one such wild night, she woke with a start as thunder seemed to rattle the rafters and the roof beams above, and she walked wide-eyed to the window in her nightgown to watch the lighting dance over the distant sea. Great forks of it illuminated both the water and the undulating land between Heath Top and the shore, and in the searing flashes she thought she saw the dark silhouette of a ship coming round the headland.

A while later, while she still stood at the window with a shawl clasped at her collarbones and her eyes locked on the horizon, the door to her room opened with a whispering creak, and she turned to find Winnie slipping inside, wrapped in a delicate dressing gown of her own and moving like a ghost.

“It’s wild out there,” she said, wide-eyed and pale-cheeked. She’d been ill for most of the day with a headache, and looked worse than ever in the harsh light of the incessant lightning.

“Are you alright?” Nel asked.

Winnie nodded. “I hate thunder,” she added as she joined Nel by the casement, trembling. “James died the morning after a storm like this.”

“I understand.” She slid her arm around her new friend’s waist and they stared out at the storm for a long while. “That ship…?” Nel asked, staring at the shape of it out on the silver water.

“Probably a smuggler’s cutter from the Channel Islands or France,” Winnie said, and when Nel looked surprised, she laughed. “What? Half of the tea we drink, and surely all of my father in-law’s spirits come from the smugglers who are brave enough to labour through storms like this one. It’s a part of life round here. We look the other way and the townsfolk sell us the things we need, and all the while London never sees a penny of it in taxes.” ‘We’ in that case was the local gentry.

It should probably have shocked Nel a bit more than it did, but Winnie had informed her that thanks to those hefty taxes from Westminster, the price to buy imported salt for the pilchards was forty times the actual cost of the salt itself, so she couldn't find it within herself to object in the slightest.

“I suppose half the town will be out there on the beach, bringing it all ashore?” Nel asked, and Winnie nodded.

“I just hope the revenue men from Fowey don’t risk the storm,” she murmured. “They sent a captain down here in a cutter of his own to catch them. They’ve already rounded up a good number of men, though no Cornish jury has ever found them guilty.” She said it with amused pride in her tone too, as if that too was a joke played on Westminster.

They stood there a while longer, watching the storm and the ship before Winnie sighed.

“You should sleep,” Nel said. “Is your headache still bad?”

Winnie nodded and her friend scowled.

“Come, watching lightning flash across a dark sky isn’t going to help. Go and curl up,” she said, and Winnie smiled, climbing into Nel’s bed instead of returning to her own.

Nel watched the weather for another few minutes before joining her, and the two fell asleep within five minutes of each other.

Winnie remained in Nel’s bed the next morning, curled on her side like a child under the covers, but Nel felt restless as the still-churning sea after the storm, and took Blackthorn out for a ride without waking the lady of the house.  

The storm had blasted away the cloying, summer heat from the day before to leave a fresh, blustery day and a blue sky.

Just as she crested the clifftop at Rocky Point, where an old stone cottage sat on the headland like another watcher over the waters of the Channel, and joined the path that ran the length of Cornwall from Land’s End to Looe, she happened to glance down into the sandy cove below.

There floating in the water, was the unmistakable shape of a man. He was face-up, and even at that distance, she thought he looked vaguely familiar.

For a long moment, Nel sat stock-still in Blackthorn’s saddle where the mare had halted obediently on the path, and she stared down at the figure bobbing and drifting with the tide like a piece of flotsam.

Was he dead?

At the thought — at the faint hope that he might still be alive — her shock crumbled and gave way to something frantic. She burst into action.

___

Next chapter ->

Dun-dun-duhhhhh! Sorry. We'll see more from the two shifters next time, I promise. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on it, as ever! (I hope there weren't too many typos but if you spot some, feel free to yell at me in the comments or my inbox - I'm quite tired when I'm posting this!!)

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#poly shifter romance #shifter romance #poly romance #historical fantasy #18th century #18th century smuggling romance #cornish folklore #bucca #selkie #selkie x human #bucca x human #polyamory #laces for a lady

[ponds-of-ink]

Some Clue Design Notes Because Why Not

Here’s some notes of all the main player characters and how they could be portrayed if I made a personal game adaptation. Keep in mind that this was pretty much off the top of my head, so apologies for the era mixups.

Miss Scarlet

*Actress in her prime. Very well-versed in playing “Femme Fatale” roles. Whether or not she likes playing them is unfortunately unclear, as she spends more time pleasing her fans than answering questions.

*Has naturally brunette hair, but knows how to use wigs to “change” hair colors. This goes for makeup as well, but she doesn’t play around with it as often as one thinks. Perhaps she’s planning to be a “woman of a thousand hairstyles”?

*Usually has a smug, collected demeanor. There is a way to rattle her, but you’ll have to pry it out of her freshly cold, dead hands.

*Can also be very flirty, but surprisingly restrained in terms of letting something go “too far”. Either she’s waiting for a special someone, or she already has a special someone. Suspicious…

*Potential Weapon of Choice: Revolver

*Signature Color: Red

Mrs. Peacock

*Wife of a Peacock Feather Specialist… Whatever that means. Her surname wasn’t actually Peacock before marriage, so maybe… Ah, forget it. It’s a mystery in it of itself.

*As a result, she uses peacock feathers in her outfits. Sneak some in her hat, weave some into her dress patterns, intertwine it into her jewelry— You get the picture.

*Has grey streaks in her hair even though she’s middle-aged. Unless she’s out-matched Scarlet in terms of hair tomfoolery, something might be putting her under stress.

*Insists she is innocent, but could be misleading everyone. She is very clever for the wife of a Peacock Feather Specialist… If being a bit dumb is a common character trait of such people. What do I know? 

*Personal Weapon of Choice: Rope

*Signature Color: Blue. Preferably Dark Blue. 

Mrs. White

*Mr. Boddy’s house maid of ten years. Her outfits are surprisingly clean, given her duties (like extensive dusting or making sure the secret passages are tidy enough).

*Knows the most about Mr. Boddy, but prefers to keep things are stored away. She does drop hints at times, but only when needed.

*Looks very healthy and spry for a maid in her 50s, prematurely white hair aside. Perhaps all that running around has kept her in better shape than her last job as a… Perhaps I better not say.

*Her ice-cold demeanor about things can make her feel suspicious at first. However, as it is her default mood, I’d personally suggest not to use it as evidence. Rather, consider any fire in her eyes as a clue— literally or metaphorically.

*Potential Weapon of Choice: Candlestick

*Signature Color(s): White and Black

Mr. Green

*A man who almost became a reverend (or a vicar’s assistant, depending on who you ask), but a lust for gold overcame him. He keeps the nickname “Reverend” as a memento of what could have been… At least, that’s how the story goes.

*Shady avoiding of his past aside, he seems to be your usual conniving salesman. Overly combed hair, absurdly-patterned suit, a shifty look in the eye— Why, if it weren’t for his overall jolly behavior, you’d be forgiven for thinking he was the culprit! 

*Mr. Boddy talked with him about many things. Business proposals, stocks and bonds, how to bet properly, etc. Boddy seemed to not really care, due to what his cousin Dr. Black wrote about Green when they met in England. …Did I mention Green used to live in England? 

*Has a keen eye in detection as much as business, but he sometimes has trouble proving his circumstantial evidence. Whether or not this means he follows the rules of “takes one to know one” is hard to say. Let’s see if he’s too big for his britches… Well, in the metaphorical sense. Literally speaking, he is. 

*Potential Weapon of Choice: Lead Pipe… Though no one knows why.

*Signature Color: Green

Colonel Mustard

*A retired explorer from some undocumented journey in a far-off jungle. He seems to have tagged along with Mr. Green, due to both having British accents of some kind.

*Very prompt and matter-of-fact. This seems to have carried over from his traveling days, where he earned the nickname of “Colonel of the Jungle”. He may also be a bit (intellectually) slow, but he makes up for it in other ways. A naturally strong build being one of them.

*Doesn’t actually like the condiment mustard. Something about it bringing up bad memories of foreign cuisine. Still, he accepts the fact that his last name is the same as this “loathsome” food item.

*The strange thing is: His jungle travel ended years ago, yet no real records have really been uncovered (locked-up journals aside). He’s mentioned things in passing, but Mr. Boddy and Mrs. White seem to know what really happened back there.

*Potential Weapon of Choice: Knife

*Signature Color: Mustard Yellow

Professor Plum

*An English Professor with a love of reading in his spare time. Can be often seen browsing Mr. Boddy’s selection of books in the Library.

*Has knowledge on various topics, thanks to all that studying. Poetry, how to handle tools in violent ways, historical artifacts and where they could be located… It’s a wonder he isn’t a detective himself.

*Very professional-looking, messy ginger hair aside. It does appear, however, that he doesn’t mind getting his hands (or outfit) a little scuffed up. 

*Is very reserved, but can talk your ear off when he’s in a fit of passion over a beloved topic. He did this several times with Mr. Boddy, who listened intently. Could it be that one of these encounters somehow flew off the rails? 

*Potential Weapon of Choice: Wrench

*Signature Color: Plum Purple

#clue board game #design notes #yes I am lifting certain details from certain versions #while adding my own… flair? #anyways #miss scarlet #mr green #colonel mustard #mrs peacock #mrs white #professor plum

[ravenousgf]

It is less than a week to Shadow and Bone's release.

POV: You see me slowly going insane like Bertha Mason from Jane Eyre, except I am locked up by my love for a fictional universe and not, y'know, my cheating husband.

#my first time doing a pov post thing #idk if it's weird af lmao but rolling with it?? #be prepared for the feral insanity of the fangirl when it comes out #don't say I didn't say I didn't warn ya #ts #blank space #shadow and bone #the grisha series #six of crows #inej ghafa #inej supremacy #how is that the first tag suggestion even before her surname #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #alina starkov #alina x darkling #mal oretsev #alina x mal #kaz x inej #actually im not surprised #inej is a queen lol #shadow and bone netflix #s&b show #freddy carter #amita suman #kit young

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part One

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Attempted Suicide and Abuse

Notes: The fic plays a year after Grace’s death. It will be quite dark as Tommy still struggles with PTSD and Grace’s death and the Reader has struggles of her own.

London, 1 August 1924

For the past three years, it has only been you and your father, living in London in a small suburban house.

Whilst you were in your early twenties, your father was very protective of you. You were his only child and you couldn’t stay out of trouble.

You had moved out of his house momentarily when your mother had passed away but soon had no choice but to return when the relationship you had formed with a young man at the time had turned bad.

Ever since your experience with that man, you lost faith and you lost trust. A year of abuse had gone unnoticed until the day your life had changed forever.

It was 1 August 1922 and you remembered that day, every day and every night. The nightmare you had to endure that day would stay with you forever. Every time you glanced into the mirror and saw this big scar across your stomach, you saw a stark reminder of that day. Every night you went to sleep, you were woken up by a nightmare, reliving exactly what happened to you to that day.

The worst of it all was that the man who did this to you and the men who watched walked free. He was the son of a judge who helped to cover it up. The abuse, the shooting, everything.

You were left with the burden of it all and, at one point several months ago, you even considered to leave this world behind, to join your mother wherever she was.

But your father, he saved you that day you tried to take your life and ever since then, he had his eyes on you, ensuring your safety.

Ironically, it was on 1 August 2024 that he made you a promise. A new life and a new home, in Birmingham.

‘Why Birmingham. It’s an industrial town. There is nothing there’ you wondered.

‘I have been assigned a new job, investigating a criminal syndicate in the area. I cannot tell you anything else about it. Its for your safety. But I have requested a house in the outskirts for us to stay at and security. It will be safe’ your father explained and you knew that he was probably right as, currently, he was investigating several killings in London and certainly had become a target.

Birmingham, 1 September 1924

Over the past two weeks, you made your new house a home.

Your father didn’t lie when he said that your new house was in the outskirts of the city. The nearest factory was a twenty-minute drive away and your property was surrounded by fields and bushland.

For days, you had been exploring the area, spent time at the nearby river, hunted and gathered.

‘I sometimes wish that your mother wouldn’t have taught you her customs’ your father chuckled when he finally found you.

You stood in front of him, your boots covered in dirt, leaves stuck in your hair while you prepared dinner outside over the campfire near the river.

‘Bi kashtesko merel i yag’ you said, pointing to the pile of wood besides him. But you knew that he had never learned your mother’s language.

‘You know, we do have an oven my love’ he laughed.

‘Doesn’t taste the same coming out of the oven’ you smiled, offering him a seat on the blanket besides the fire as you did.

‘I suppose you are right’ he said, taking some of the meat and vegetables.

‘When I was walking today, I came across an orphanage. It is on the hill a few miles from here. I was wondering if, perhaps, I could seek employment there’ you suggested to your father and, to your surprise, he was in agreement.

Birmingham, 5 September 1924

Your employment was approved within no time and, whilst the position didn’t pay well, it was satisfying to you to work with children in need.

The orphanage was established through the Grace Shelby Institute and housed over thirty children.

To your surprise, unlike there is with most orphanages you had visited and volunteered at, there was no involvement from the church.

It was well furnished, featured a large library and the children were well dressed.

There were two young children in particular who caught your interest. Their names were Adam and Lenny, two brothers who just loved to explore.

It was on your first day that they had, again, disappeared from the orphanage much to the disapproval of the educators, which the children called ‘aunts’

‘The twins are lost again’ one of the aunts said quickly just as she heard a car pull up in front of the orphanage.

‘They aren’t lost, they are exploring’ you said calmly, but the aunts weren’t calm at all as they watched a well dressed and very handsome man and a very attractive brunette woman step out of their grey Bentley.

‘Listen, I know where they might be. Let me fetch them, alright?’ you offered and the eldest aunt nodded quickly in approval before greeting the two well-dressed strangers.

‘Mr Shelby, Mrs Grey, please common with us’ the woman said and, just as she did, the man’s eyes locked with yours for a moment as he walked past. You couldn’t recall having ever seen eyes that intensively blue before. They were almost hypnotising.

After quickly collecting your thoughts, you made your way to the nearby forest and, just as you had expected, the twins were by the river.

You spent ten minutes with them, exploring and preparing them for the aunts’ disapproval for their behaviour, before winding them up and making them follow you back to the orphanage.

‘Next time, sneak out a little more carefully’ you said to them with gypsy tongue before giving them a wink and shewing them back inside, not expecting to be understood by the handsome stranger smoking besides the door.

‘They need to learn how to cover their tracks, eh?’ the man said in gypsy tongue and you swallowed harshly, embarrassed and concerned for your employment at the same time.

‘I am sorry, they just want to be outside, not cooped up in here. But I shouldn’t have suggested…’ you went on to say, but the stranger interrupted you.

‘There is no need to apologise Love. I am gypsy too, I understand’ the man said with a smile before introducing himself to you.

‘I don’t think we have met. My name is Thomas Shelby’ he said, shaking your hand.

‘Y/N YL/N’ you responded shyly before noticing the familiar surname. ‘Are you involved with the Grace Shelby Institute?’ you asked, looking at the sign displayed behind you.

‘Grace Shelby was my wife. Me and my family established the charity following her death’ the man explained.

‘I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such an intrusive question’ you murmured, but the man assured you that your question wasn’t intrusive at all.

You talked with the handsome stranger for quite some time before, eventually, the dark-haired woman came out of the building, ready to leave.

‘May I see you again Miss YL/N?’ the man then asked shamelessly, causing the woman, known by the name of Polly Grey, roll her eyes.

‘Yes, where?’ you said somewhat nervously. You were surprised when these words left your lips all so eagerly as, until now, you hadn’t built up the courage again to even consider involving yourself with a man.

‘I will find you’ the man said, winking at you as he did, before saying goodbye to you in gypsy tongue.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo​ @vhscillian​ @ysmmsy​ @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  ​@stickyknightflowerbailiff  

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

#tommy shelby smut #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

[fortune-fool02]

Father Figure

Old Joseph Joestar x female reader

Requested by: anonymous

Is it alright I request Old Joseph being a father figure To jotaro’s best friend who tagged along on the trip to Egypt. Maybe they didn’t really know their dad and Jospeh after hearing this from jotaro decides to be father figure to them.

This is my first time writing for Old Joseph so please tell me how I did on it! Thank you and please enjoy. 

With the recent discovery of his daughter’s declining condition and the source of it located in Egypt, Joseph was determined to set off as soon as possible to save his daughter. His worst fears of Stands developing in the family came to light, and it was slowly killing Holly. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing, he couldn’t. 

As he packed some things to be ready to go off, he could hear Jotaro speaking with someone. Muffled voices could be just heard through the walls as he listened closely. The second voice didn’t belong to Kakyoin nor Avdol, and it wasn’t Holly’s, so who was here? Finishing up packing, he left the room and headed to the sources of the voices to see Jotaro speaking with a small young woman. A friend of his? Odd, Jotaro was not the type to really like hanging around with women, especially the ones from his school. 

“So, you’re heading off to Egypt because your mum’s sick?” Her soft voice only confirmed she was the second voice he heard speaking earlier. Jotaro nodded, his expression still cold as a statue’s but his eyes whispered the concern for his mother’s condition; something that didn’t seem to go unnoticed by the [Hair colour] girl as she gently patted his shoulder, sympathy painting her face. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find a way to help her.” We? The two teenagers seemed to finally notice the older man’s presence there and the [Hair colour] girl smiled politely and bowed, 

“Hello sir, you must be Jotaro’s grandfather, am I correct?” He smiled and nodded, 

“Yes, I am. Joseph Joestar, nice to meet you, miss....” 

“[Name] [Surname]. I am a friend of Jotaro’s.” 

Jotaro had told his grandfather that [Name] was more than happy to join them on their little quest, the determination to help her friend’s mother was surprising to Joseph but he was pleased for the aid. It was more surprising for them to learn that she, too, had a Stand. Instead of an “evil spirit” as Jotaro referred to it, [Name] had believed it was a guardian of some kind, and she was more than happy to use it to protect her friends. 

The trip was by no means a short one, resulting in them taking a handful of breaks to rest and recover from any enemy attacks. But they also used this time to bond with one another. 

When [Name] had retired to her hotel room for the night, Joseph and Jotaro continued chatting a bit. Joseph being the man he was and playfully suggesting to Jotaro that [Name] was more than a friend to the teenager, earning a glare from the stoic teenager. Then the question popped up about what [Name]’s parents do for a living. 

“Her mum works down at the shops most of the day, [Name] sees her when she gets home at night.” He answered, taking a small puff of his cigarette before putting it out. 

“Oh, what about her father? What does he do?” Joseph asked, taking a sip of his drink. Jotaro shrugged his shoulders. 

“Dunno. [Name] said he was never around. Apparently, he left when she was only young and didn’t come back.” That stopped Joseph in his tracks, disbelief painted his face at that. Her father left her at a young age? Yet she was so positive, so happy. A sense of sympathy flowed through the older man, all too aware of the pain of not having a father in your life but their situation was slightly different, they had the same outcome. That was when he took it upon himself to be as much of a father figure as he could to [Name] on this little quest of theirs. 

It started with small, simple things. Listening to her when she needed to get something off her chest, supporting her choices and offering comfort when he could. He was treading carefully as he didn’t wish to seem to be taking advantage of the young girl, that was the last thing he ever wanted to do. 

The group huddled around the camp fire, taking as much warmth as they could from it before heading to sleep. [Name] remained awake, seeming to be struggling to sleep. 

“Everything okay, [Name]?” Joseph asked, thin laces of concern lightly resting on his tone that didn’t go unnoticed by the [Hair colour] girl. A soft sigh left her lips and her eyes shifted from the glowing fire to Joseph. 

“Yeah, it’s just....” Her words trailed off as she tried to think of an answer. Joseph sat beside her and gently rubbed her back. 

“It’s alright, take your time.” he smiled softly. [Name] allowed this as she thought then looked at him. 

“It’s just....Why are you being so supportive of me like this?” She asked, motioning to his gesture of comfort, “And when we have been fighting against enemies, you seem always so concerned afterwards about me. Why?” 

Joseph smiled simply at that, “Everyone deserves to have a father figure in their life.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly at that before a smile lifted her lips. Turning around more, she wrapped her arms around the large built man. 

“Thank you, Mr Joestar.” Joseph didn’t even hesitate when he hugged back, smiling as he did. 

“No worries, [Name].” 

#joseph joestar #old joseph joestar #jojo bizarre adventure #joseph joestar x reader #old joseph joestar x reader #jojo bizzare adventure x reader #jojo part 3 #jojo stardust crusaders #stardust crusaders x reader #jojo #jojo x reader

[pencil-down-a-paragraph]

keeping up with the constatines

I’m writing an absolutely ridiculous John Constantine fic that involves him becoming the temporary guardian of two teen superheroes (which is the worst idea ever who decided to let him near children)

here’s the gist;

because Trigon is the worst, Raven is in hiding and is tossed around the Justice League before Giovanni Zatara is made her guardian

after only a few weeks living with the Zatara’s, Giovanni is killed, leaving not only Raven without a place to stay, but also Zatanna

this is obviously a problem

the Justice League have no idea what to do

the only other person they’d deem strong enough (magic wise) to protect them is Doctor Fate, and he straight up refuses

Flash, the absolute idiot, suggests Constantine because ‘he’s really powerful, right?’

its a terrible idea

he makes deals all the time

he’s sold his soul more times than should even be possible

he’s a terrible influence

but they’re desperate and he’s powerful and it just might actually be their only choice

so

they call him

at first he refuses, asks why they can’t get anyone else, if there’s anyone else, why they’re even considering him of all people

eventually he relents on the premise that its temporary until they can find someone better suited for the job

he owed Zatara anyway

the League sets everything up

they stick him and the teens in a three bedroom apartment in Bludhaven

John has absolutely no idea what he’s doing

Raven and Zatanna don’t know either, they’re really just trying to vibe through their grief

things could definitely be better

four weeks in, the Teen Titans are formed

Raven joins and Zatanna declines the offer

she’s still grieving :,)))

John is v uncomfy bc he doesn’t know what to do with a depressed teenage girl

he usually just falls into a pit of self loathing and drinks away his problems but he’s a responsible enough adult to know not to suggest that to a minor

he tells the League

she starts going to therapy with Black Canary

another month in and school is about to start

the League agrees they should attend bc they really do need the education and some since of normalcy might help improve their moods

this may or may not prove to be an issue

bc, ya know

the girls are kinda being hunted and Raven has no real surname

they got that covered tho

John protests, the girls agree

school starts and Rachel and Zorina Constantine are introduced as the new kids in class

John asks when the kids will be placed elsewhere and is told, very firmly, by Dinah that a sudden change might put Zatanna back in a bad mental state

John relents

life goes on

UNTIL

Zatanna walks into the apartment with a dirty street child

John’s not one to ask questions, he didn’t say anything when Raven came home one night with an emotionally wrecked Robin and declared that he was staying the night

any other time, he would have let it be

but not tonight

he definitely said something this time

bc he turned around, choked on his totally not spiked coffee, and exasperatedly yelled something about how ‘we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, bringing the host of Shazam here is not low profile!’

Billy would be more shocked if he weren’t about to pass out from malnourishment and exhaustion

which he promptly does

Zatanna screams

John sighs

he hates his life

which is fair tbh

for some reason i’m still working on, Billy sticks around and accidentally integrates himself into the already weird, little, broken home

life goes on again

until John uncovers a vampire nest, informs the League, and him the kids get relocated to Central City

two weeks later Zatanna meets Superboy (the 90s punk one bc i love him)

the Young Justice is formed a week later

another week and they reach out

Zatanna accepts this time

then life really does go on

there’s really just so many shenanigans going on

they adopt a hellhound puppy

Billy names him Quincy

Zatanna learns to love herself and how to be herself with the help of Raven and through clothes and music and basically what i’m trying to say here is that we stan punk Zatanna in this house

Deadman and Swamp Thing tend to show up, usually unannounced, to visit and terrorize John bc that’s what friends are for

it should be noted that Billy’s twelve and best friends with Cassie Sandsmark (also twelve) in this

also that when i first thought of this i accidentally started shipping Zatanna and punk Superboy

so i’m currently the only person who’s making content for that specific ship

yay

bbrae will also be in this but other than that there probably won’t be any other ships

unless you count a brief mention of John and King Shark’s past relationship lol

it should also be known that i have an entire incorrect quotes file for this fic

i’ll probably start writing chapters soon (unless one of my other equally terrible fic ideas captures my attention [which will probably happen]) but i’m definitely working on character designs and drawings so you’ll get story content regardless!

my eventual beta reader and story idea consultant @sailor-saturns-tea-kettle she’s made character moodboards for the story (found under the keeping up with the constantines tag) and came up with the title

#i'm so excited to write this #get ready it will be terrible #the story not my writing #my writing is EXCEPTIONAL #dc #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #john constantine #zatanna #zatanna zatara #raven #rachel roth #dc raven #justice league #justice league dark #swamp thing #dead man #deadman #hellblazer #superboy #kon el #90s young justice #young justice #teen titans #billy batson #shazam #captain marvel #robin #black canary

[demivampirew]

The Fantasy

August x Reader x Sy one shot

Triggers: smut; threesome; agressive sex; *nal; male dominant. (some fluff too)

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Tag list: @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @mary-ann84 @desperate-and-broken @peakygroupie @summersong69 @ivvitm1109 @madbaddic7ed @iloveyouyen @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @whyyoudothistomecavill​ @thetaoofzoe​​

A/N: It’s almost 3 am but I couldn’t help myself, I needed to write this 🤭

"Your neck is so soft and delicate," the tall handsome man told you as he kissed it and wrapped his hand around it. His tongue explored your smooth skin until it reached your mouth. The taste of liquor on those heavenly lips was intoxicating and the hair of his mustache gave you tingles. You were giggling as he continued to gently kiss your neck when you noticed a man sitting across the bar looking at you. It wasn't strange for a man to look at you after it was normal for men to desire you, but the intriguing thing about that man is that it looked like the man who was tasting your skin at that very moment. There were a few difference between them, though: one had a lot of hair and a mustache, the other had a bushy beard and shaved head. The one sitting on the table had camel coloured cargo pants and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt; the other had suit pants, a shirt and a tie. Even the energy was different. The one kissing you seemed to have more aggressive energy than the other man, who looked more serious. You grabbed the handsome man's chin and made him look at you and then you nodded in direction to the other guy. - I think I just found your doppelgänger.- you laughed playfully, biting your bottom lip. - He's my brother.- he explained without paying to much attention and putting his lips back of your neck. After grabbing his hand and smiling at you kissing partner, you walked towards the table were his twin was sitting. You sat next to him and the other brother sat next to you. - Hi, nice to meet you. I'm y/n- you introduced yourself smiling- And you are? - People call me Sy or Captain Syverson.- he replied. - Captain? Are you in the military?- you questions curiously. - That's right, ma'am.- he confirmed. He had a thick Southern accent. - Why do you have a Southern accent and you don't?- you asked, first pointing at the gentleman you were talking to and then to the one who could no stop kissing your neck. - Because when our parents got divorced, he went to live with my mother in Georgia and I'll stay here with my dear father.- the well-dressed man explained. When he mentioned his dad, he did it sarcastically, it seems like they did not get along, but you felt that it was better not to ask. - But didn't you tell me your last name was Walker?- you questioned confused. - I legally changed my name after I moved. I do not want to keep anything that relates me to that man and he has our mother's surname. - So this is the reunion you planned for me, brother? Am I supposed to spend my night watching you play with the lady? I thought this was a night for us to get some drinks and get acquaintance after a long time of no seeing each other.- the military man reproached his brother. - Relax, Jack. Have a drink, maybe find yourself a lady.- he suggested and his brother rolled his eyes. - Let's go. I'm sure both of you would be better off in your place and I can't spend one more minute listening to this crappy music.- he suggested. It was no surprise; a man who listens to classic rock would not like dancing music.

Since your home was the closer one, you offered them to go there. You had an empty room with a comfortable bed for Sy to sleep in if he wanted to. He shrugged and accepted the offer.

After getting to your place, the Captain went straight to the spare room and his brother waited for you to change inside your room. You came back from the bathroom wearing a black mini skirt - it was no much longer than a thick belt, with a thong underneath and a matching bra and high heels sandals. You walked towards Walker and he grabbed you by your ass, pressing his huge hands and grabbing it. He was sitting at the edge of the bed and made you sit on his thighs facing him. He exposed your breasts without taking away the bra and started to suck your nipples. He was no delicate but that was even more appealing. You felt his erection pressing your pussy and you were already wet. To be honest, you weren't just aroused by the attention that man was giving you, but because you kept imaging what it would be like to be with his brother too. He was extremely handsome as well and his attitude excited you. - May I ask you a question?- you asked. - Sure.- he said without much care, concentrated on sucking and bitting your breasts. - Would you be offended... Do you think your brot...- you said but stopped yourself at the thought of how weird it could be for him to hear that you had the fantasy of being with both of them.- You know what, forget about it.- you dismissed the question but he stopped what he was doing and looked at you raising an eyebrow. He seemed amused. - If you want to fuck my brother too, I don't mind. But you'll have to ask him and he's not that freaky.- he explained as he laid back, putting both elbows on the bed and smirking.

- Come in.- Syverson said after hearing a knock on the door. - Hi, I just wanted to see if you needed something.- you said entering the room. You covered yourself with a satin robe. - Everything is great, thank you.- he replied. - Were you trying to sleep?- you questioned. - That was the plan. Unfortunately, I don't sleep much. Too many years on service...I've seen too much shit that takes my sleep away.-he sighed.- Sorry, I don't want to spoil your night.- he apologized. - It's ok, don't worry.- you assured him. You walked slowly and then sat on the side of the bed. He looked at you confused but captivated. You slowly put your hand on his face and delicately started to stroke it. His eyes were fixed on you. You could feel the goosebumps your touch provoked on him. You got closer and kissed his lips. - Maybe I can help you forget about the horrible things for one night.- you whispered and he froze. You unzipped his pants, peaking at his face to make sure he was ok with that. He didn't speak but there was no need for words; his eyes said everything: he wanted you. You slide his briefs and grabbed his cock and let a big amount of saliva to fall on his member so it would hurt him as you moved your hand up and down, slowly at first and the fast. After a few minutes, you let him feel your mouth. Your beautiful soft lips caressed the skin of his manhood as your tongue circled it. He got desperate to taste you. He grabbed you by your hips, making you sit on top of him as he kissed you as if that was his last day on earth. He couldn't wait to be inside you, to please you.  As he was trying to take off your underwear, you cupped his face and gently looked at him. - I want you. I'm with your brother, though.- you said.- I...he said...he said he'd be ok with you joining us, but you don't have to if you don't want to.- you explained- but I want you, be sure of that. Although, I'll completely understand if it isn't something you are comfortable with. You pressed your forehead against him and then got up from the bed and walked to the door and before leaving you turned around to face him and said "think about it" and left. -I thought that you were never coming back.- Walker said amused. You took off the robe and went back to your previous position. He tasted your breasts and pussy. August liked it rough. He fucked your throat until he saw tears coming from your eyes and doggy style was his favourite position. He would grab both of your arms and put them on you back and he pounded you hard. After his first round, he continued sucking your nipples when someone knocked on the door. You walked to open it and Sy was at the other end, looking at you, speechless by looking at your naked breasts and the rest of your body. - Would you look at that... I didn't know that you had it in you, brother.- August said smirking devilishly at his brother as he lied naked on the bed, looking at his brother with amusement on his face. - I knew this was a mistake.- he said after looking at his sibling and turned around and was about to walk away when you stopped him. - Sy wait! You stopped it! - you gave August a warning look and he rolled his eyes and stood up and walked into the bedroom's bathroom.

The military man looked at you as your eyes fixed on his and you grabbed his face and kissed him sweetly. He pulled you closer to him, embracing you and then picked you up by your thighs and walked inside the room, placing you on the bed. Out of the two brothers, there was no doubt Syverson took the price for the best at pleasing a woman with his mouth. He hit the right spot with every movement of his tongue. He got on top of you and you felt him inside of you. The brothers could be so similar yet so different. August was the kinky one, the aggressive lover, the one who expected tears from the woman. Sy, on the other hand, was the passionate one. He made love, he wanted to feel the connection. You were interrupted by August clearing his throat. "I saw her first, brother. I have no problem sharing her, but I have to be there too, that's the deal" the tall man with the mustache reminded you. Caressing his face, you whispered to him "Just concentrate on me, and close your eyes if you want". He laid on the mattress and you got on top of him. You started to ride him and made him close his eyes while you took August on your mouth. You tried hard no to make too many sounds as he fucked your throat so Sy wouldn't lose his arousal by remembering that his brother was on there too. It was indescribable the pain you felt to have them both inside of you at the same time. Both of them were much bigger than average and them fucking you at the same time was something unimaginable. August was the one fucking your ass so he ruthless pounding style had you on the edge. But to say that you were in pain it didn't mean that you weren't having the time of your life. That was, without any doubt, the best sex you've ever had. After fishing, August left you to entertain his brother for a little longer and went into the other room to catch some sleep. Now, having you all to himself, Sy put quite a show. He showed off his talents at oral again and fuck you again and again until sunrise. He wasn't quite imaginative or dominant as his brother, but he brought another thing to the table: he was a true lover. He would make you feel like the most unique woman on earth. You woke up at noon and your body laid almost entirely over Syverson's. He had woke up earlier -or maybe didn't sleep at all. He kissed your forehead and caressed your face with his thumb.

- Good morning...or afternoon.- you greeted him, chucking. - Good afternoon.- he confirmed. - Were you able to sleep? -you questioned moving slightly to be able to look at his face. - Yes. My brother woke me up when I heard him left.- he explained and you remembered the crazy night. You looked at each other and laughed. - I'm sorry if I made you do something you weren't comfortable with.-you apologized. - That's ok, you didn't force me. I stay because I wanted to.-he assured you.- You know, my brother thinks I'm vanilla when it comes to sex. I'm not, though. It's not because I felt weird about being in a threesome with my brother that I doubted for a moment ...it's because I liked you too much and I didn't want to share you, but he was right, he saw you first. - He might have seen me first and had me before you as well... but you're the one I would like to keep seeing if you want to.- you said. - Absolutely.- he agreed.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #smut #smut fiction #august walker #august walker x reader #august walker fanfic #august walker fanfiction #august walker smut #cap sy #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson smut #demivampirew

[amane-by-together]

Hanafuda || Amane Yugi

(Part 1 of 10)

genre: fluff, school, slice of life, modern au (where all wonders live)

summary: amane yugi spends his school days skipping classes until he meets [name] [surname], a student from the other class, who was also skipping classes and eventually the two of them formed a platonic friendship. cutting classes and playing hanafuda together strengthens their friendship but soon unexpected feelings blossom between the two.

“Amane-kun.” [name] was shuffling the hanafuda cards together for them to play, she glanced over to the choppy haired boy who was sitting crossed legged against the rooftop's railings. “You going to the next class?”

“Nah.” Amane answers while fiddling with his locks of hair. “We probably skipped three classes this day, wanna skip classes in fourth period?” he smirked playfully.

“What class do you have in fourth period?” [name] asked, giving Amane some seven hanafuda cards. “Math?”

“Literature.” He received the cards and scooted in front of her. [name] flashed him a quick grin, her competitive side is showing all of a sudden when it comes to hanafuda. Amane stared at his cards and groaned. “Ugh, why do I get the worse cards?”

“I dunno, I wasn't looking when I was shuffling them.” [name] purses her lips together as she analyzes her cards. Her [eye color] colored eyes met with Amane's amber eyes. “Hm. Let's start!”

“You go ahead, [name]-san.”

“Hm~? Alrighty then~” [name] stretched her arms and let out a satisfying sound from her lips. She placed a sakura card with the tag to its match and took another card from the stack and placed it along with the cards on the center since it has no match. “Winner gets to sleep in the loser's lap.” she added.

“[name]-san, you know so damn well I'm not good with these things.” he murmured with a blush while putting a matsu card on the center.

Amane met [name] by chance. He often skip classes alone week by week, no one seemed to notice his absence which was fine by him. One day, he decided to stay on the rooftop and saw a girl sitting by herself with her phone. It must be fate or a coincidence, he thought.

The thing is, he has never seen this girl from the classes he attended to so he assumed that she's from the different class where Tsukasa, his twin brother, is. “Tsukasa-kun?!” she exclaimed at their first encounter. “What the frickety frack are you doing here?!”

Amane scratches his cheek and sweat dropped. He spoke. “I'm not Tsukasa though, I'm his older twin.”

[name] blinked she stood up from the bench and went over to Amane. The choppy haired boy slightly backed away from her. “Your tone is lowered down a bit, your eyes shaped like the crescent moon, yeah you're not Tsukasa-kun.” she muttered.

“I'm Amane Yugi, first year highschool, from class A.” he introduced himself while twiddling his fingers. “I'm Tsukasa's older brother though.” he chuckled.

“[name] [surname], same year as you but I'm from class B. Nice to meet you, Amane-kun.” [name] sat back down to the bench, she patted the extra space next to her. “Come, sit next to me.”

Amane hesitated a bit but shrugged and sat next to [name]. The female grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess you're skipping classes like me.”

“I've been skipping multiple times, no one noticed it yet, how about you?” Amane scooted closer till their shoulders touched, his bangs became parted from the side due to the slight wind that passed by.

“I started skipping on the beginning of first year.” [name] pulls out a packet of melon bread and gave it to Amane which he gratefully accepts it. Amane and [name] ate in pure silence, munching on to the bread that [name] bought recently which was originally for herself.

During those days of skipping classes, they would play hanafuda together on the rooftop. [name] would frequently win during their matches, guess luck really isn't compatible with Amane. The two of them quickly became close due to their meet ups when they're skipping classes together.

“Amane-kun, I know you have the full moon bright card.” [name] eyed him suspiciously but a shadow casted over to her face with a funny glint in her eyes. She placed an ume card with a red tag on it. “Red Poetry Tags, I win again~!”

“I couldn't even get a lot of yaku combinations.” Amane helped [name] to clean up the cards. “I knew I should give up the plain cards.”

Amane blushed at the thought of [name] laying down on his lap, he doesn't even know what to do when that happens, maybe he should play with her hair or massage her cheek?

[name] happily laid down on his lap, Amane grabbed his hoodie and placed it on top of her skirt. “Ne, [name]…” his hands reached over to caress her hair with his fingers. “Let's have lunch together.”

“Sure, I don't really have someone to share my lunch with,” Amane looked down on her laying on his lap and gave her a soft smile. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and started to pet her head, he reminded her of a cat. [name] would often keep her distance from others makes her cat-like according to him.

Though there's a part of [name] that doesn't want to open up to people, Amane was pretty much the same as her. “I got tired from work, yesterday.” he mentions with a small chuckle.

“Wait, you have a part time job?” [name] asked as her eyes piqued in interest, wanting to know what he does for work. “Where?”

Amane's cheeks grew warm, he slightly drooped his eyes and said. “I'm not telling you.”

“Why though?”

“You'd probably show up if I did.”

[name] turned her head to face his embarrassed look. She smiled playfully while wiping a dramatic tear from her eye. “You know me so well.” she faked a sniff.

“It's embarrassing...” Amane grumbled. [name] reached her hand out and placed it on to his cheek. He leans against her touch, the feeling of warmth and serenity made him smile a bit.

“But it's not. The fact that you're working is admirable.” [name] assured him with a smile unbeknownst to her that Amane's heart definitely skipped a beat on that act. “Pinch~” she cheekily grins while pinching his cheek.

“Owsh—” Amane tried to say while his cheek is being pulled by [name] and by that she releases her cheek. “That hurts...” he pouted.

“Have this for payback.” Amane returned the favor by pinching her cheek. Her cheeks were like mochi, which he likes to point it out just to tease her. “Mochiii~”

[name] deadpans. “You're treating me like some kind of mochi instead of a person.”

“Exactly.” The bell suddenly rang interrupting the two teens. Amane grabbed his bag that was on the bench. [name] punched a hole on the juice box using a straw and took a sip.

Amane leaned back against the railings, unboxing his lunch and ate. [name] didn't feel like eating, a juice box can satisfy her stomach after all. “[name]-san, don't you have lunch?”

“I forgot it at home.” she replied nonchalantly, she kept on having a stoic face until her stomach betrayed her by letting out a small growl. Amane stop eating halfway at the sound. “That’s nothing~” she denied that she was hungry.

“Here, I’ll give you some of my lunch.” Amane picked up a piece of egg roll using his chopsticks and raised it in front of [name]. “Say ahh~”

“O-Oi!” [name] flinched as she backed away from him. Amane’s brow creases in pure confusion. “Y-You don’t have to...”

“I can’t let you skip lunch, [name]-san.” The choppy haired boy smiled while putting the egg roll near her mouth, then his smile turned into a painful one. “Just take a bite, my hand is getting tired.”

[name] sighed in defeat, she was very hungry and was wrong about the juice box making her full. She tucked a hair behind her ear and ate the egg roll that Amane offered for her, his heart skipped a beat whilst she pulled away. “I guess, sharing lunch is not a bad idea...”

“Also, your lunch tastes good.” [name] scooted next to Amane to see his boxed lunch, she pointed at the ghost-shaped sausages, the bunny shaped rice balls and egg rolls. “You made that?”

Amane nodded with a slight blush on his face but the smile on his face didn't falter. “Well yeah, at the first time I made one of these they were all sloppy but practice makes perfect so I'm able to make one. If you'd like, I'll make you one or we can be matching too~!”

“Let's have matching lunches, duh.” [name] opens her mouth and ate another piece of egg roll that Amane was offering her. “But before that, I'll make us some lunch for us to share.”

“[name]-san, here have a sausage.” Amane feeds her the ghost-shaped sausages which the latter hummed contently. Amane took a bite on one of the sausages, he pulled out his phone and swallowed his food. “Hey, [name]-san,”

[name] stopped chewing her food. “Hm?”

“Wanna go home early?” Amane said with a mischievous grin, he's mostly the bad influence when it comes to reckless things like skipping classes. [name] had no idea why he has a lot of plans regarding this. “This is getting boring, don't cha think so?”

“And how do we plan to sneak out from school?” [name] asked, quirking a brow whilst waiting for an answer.

“We can jump off the roof.” Amane suggests.

“No. We'll freaking die if we did or even break our bones.” [name] shuddered. “If we did, they'll think it's just some lovers' su—”

“Nevermind that then.” Amane flailed his hands in front of her. “I guess we should wait till dismissal then...”

“Wanna play again?” [name] asked as she showed him the small box containing the cards.

Amane smiled. “Sure.”

Amane sat alone on a concrete bench, listening to the soft pitter patter of the rain surrounding him. Holding the clear umbrella from his right hand, he sighed as if he's gonna make a monologue or something.

He has friends from his class but none of them made him feel real. The only person who can make him feel like himself was no other than [name].

[name], to Amane, was everything to him. Meeting her was fate as if they were meant to meet in the first place. Back then, Amane admired some girls yet only because they're pretty. None of them were ever even close to him, he only felt shallow for them.

“Sorry for making you wait—” [name]'s voice cuts him off from his inner monologue. She held up her school bag on top of her head to prevent her from the rain. She grins blithely. “You don't have to be sitting the exact same way.”

“My uniform is a bit soaked.” [name] added with a wince. Amane licked the side of his lip and stood up to put the umbrella above her. “It was literally sunny recently.”

“Hm, I'll be taking you home.” Amane hands her the umbrella to [name], went over to his bike and puts his school bag in the basket. “Which way is your house?”

“That's like a novel way to put it but I guess that works.” [name] pointed out. “Sounds like a romance cliche, not gonna lie, lmao.”

Amane stepped on to his bike, [name] held on to his shoulders from behind. He was thankful that she didn't get to see his blushing face, because that's lowkey what every guy felt when there's a girl behind them on a bike.

Amane started pedalling. [name] closes the umbrella and sits down instead. “It stopped raining, by the way.” she declared.

[name] wrapped her arms around his torso and that's how Amane's face erupt in a huge blush. “[name]-san?!” he stammered at the sudden action.

“...Don't say a word about this.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

[name]'s face flushes, she buried her face on his back and that's where his heart started to beat faster. Out of all the girls he admired throughout the years, his feelings for [name] is different.

How so you may ask? When Amane is around [name] it's like he's sitting on a fluffy pink cotton candy or maybe standing on water that reflects a pastel pink sky with soft looking clouds with her. “You know, with you hugging me from behind isn't that kinda...” Amane turned his head towards [name] and smirked playfully. “Bold for you~?”

[name] tightens the hold in irritation. “Ack—” Amane's hold on the handle became wobbly but managed to maintain his balance. [name] elicits a small giggle in return.

“Hm, wanna skip again tomorrow?”

“If its with you, why not?”

“You're so cheesy.” [name] slightly smacked his shoulder. Amane turned ahead, a smile forming from his lips.

‘Nonetheless, I don't really mind skipping with you even if it means being with you...’

“Hold on tight, we're going downhill!” Amane gripped on the handles of his bike. [name]'s eyes widened when she saw that that they were about to go down on a slope.

“Cheers to us delinquents!” [name] cheered before they go down to the road.

Definition and terms:

hanafuda - flower cards that can be played in a variety of games such as koi koi (the type of game that [name] and amane are playing with the cards)

sakura - cherry blossom

matsu - pine tree

ume - plum blossom

-end of part 1-

thank you for reading, make sure to like and reblog if you love this post~

taglist: @closetwaffle @closetweebsmh

#tbhk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #amane yugi #amane yugi x reader #anime #hanako x reader #fluff #yugi amane #yugi amane x reader #amane #hanako kun #jshk hanako #toilet bound hanako kun #hanako

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XX — masterlist

concept: you run into chris again when you return to collect the rest of your things. part twenty-one of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: angst, kissing, profanity

author's note: i'm a hoe. also, this one is for @efferuse cause i miss her

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Yes," you brushed her concern away with what you hoped was an easy smile. Judging by the furrow of her brow, it was decidedly not. "I'll be fine. I'm just picking up the rest of my stuff and giving him back the keys."

"And what if he's there?"

"I'll ignore him."

"I don't like it. It's been two weeks, you're doing much better now. Just let me go in and..." she gestured her hands in the motion of packing.

You laughed off the exaggerated movements. "I don't think Dodger or Chris will like a stranger in their house."

"He doesn't seem to have a problem if that stranger is playing tonsil hockey with him..." She grumbled. The look you shot her was lethal. "Too soon, sorry."

You'd been living on her couch for too long now, and it was taking a toll on you. There was only so much of her you could really take. Don't get you wrong, you adored your friend. But you two were simply too... different. But you had nowhere else to go, and she'd been a major help. With everything. Getting over Chris especially.

"I'm a grown woman," you sighed, already growing tired of the interaction. "I'm sure I can handle it."

———————

For the most part, you handled it quite well.

Without Chris and Dodger being there, it was almost easy. You could slip in and out, like a motherfucking ghost, and they'd never even know, aside from a cleared room and the set of keys on the table. The house felt haunted enough. Luck was on your side.

And then it wasn't.

You'd been looking for your journal when they had gotten back. Just the sound of the door had your heart in your throat, the scamper of Dodger's paws on the tile and wood, and sheer panic overcame you.

You had avoided seeing his face again easily enough. Chris was not a problematic or publicly wild person, so likelihood of him turning up in the tabloids were slim to none in just those two weeks. And your friend had made a big show of dumping all of the old DVDs she had that even hinted to Chris – surname was irrelevant, and she pulled Hemsworth, Pratt, and Pine from the shelf too – in a box and kicked it under her bed the moment you got there.

You didn't know how you would react. You hadn't laid eyes on even a picture of him, and you'd never felt like this before. About anyone. Your mood was unpredictable, and that scared you – you couldn't give yourself away now.

Your search for that stupid book with all your stupid fucking feelings was newly energized, and you were practically ripping open your drawers, flinging cabinet doors to the point their hinges whined.

You didn't care about the noise you were making. The Evans' would find you anyways, especially while you were on your way out. And if that happy bark at the door was any indication, Dodger had caught your scent long before your search began.

You wracked your brain as you heard Dodger paw at the door. Where was it? Where could it have been? It never left your room. Hardly ever, of that you were certain. Too much room for error.

But that night... The last night you'd been there. You had been writing in the lounge – passing time – waiting for Chris to get home so you could leave. Dodger – although able to handle himself on his own – more often than not preferred company.

A wave of nausea hit you. The world spun, white spots dancing in your vision. No. Nonononono.

Not willing to let yourself believe that inevitable catastrophe, you reinvigorated the search in your room. It had to be there, it couldn't–

"Looking for this?"

You had accidentally left it out in a very public area and fuck you were kicking yourself for it now.

He was leaning against your doorframe, non-chalant, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded... And in one hand, a very distinct leather bound book that you had currently been searching for.

The ice in your veins turned to molten lava – anger – but you refused to look him in the face. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

You didn't respond, your hands curling into fists, nails cutting crescent moons into your palms.

"You know, you maybe shouldn't leave it out like that," he said softly. "Open. Someone might stumble upon it, catch a few words before they realise what it is."

Your voice was strained, whispery. "Give it back."

"Look at me," he responded gently. He sounded so earnest. And you knew it was because he wanted that confirmation, the one your eyes would give him. The confirmation for what he had read, what you had actively tried to dissuade him of.

You reached for it, eyes still looking at his shoes, solely focused and not willing to cave.

He grinned in your peripheral vision and held it out of your reach. "You lied to me."

"Chris," you ground out. It was the first time you'd even let yourself say his name, and it felt strange on your tongue – like you were made to say it, but you had only just discovered that. It tasted foreign and familiar all at once. "I'm not fucking around. Give it back. Right fucking now."

"Come and get it."

He purposefully moved away from you to elude your snatching hands. You followed him, obviously.

But Chris was quick, continuing to evade you.

Always just a little out of reach, Chris easily slid between boxes, vaulting over the bed to keep the distance. You clambered after him, clumsy, sheets twisting around your legs.

He was laughing with the exhilaration, and still, he kept the book out of your desperate hands.

"Give it to me," you hissed, trying to grab at his shirt to keep him still.

He easily manoeuvred away, and you were grasping at air.

You ended up chasing him down – embarrassingly late – and damn near tackled him for ownership of the book. You landed on him, ripping the book out of his hand, triumphant.

And then you realised the position you were in.

The moment was charged with something electric, something intangible yet palpable. Your faces were close – too close for comfort, yet you didn't find yourself withdrawing – and your breaths mingled, and your chests are pressed together, able to feel every beat of his heart synchronising with your own. You were caught in a half straddle, low on his hips, your one leg slotted between his in a way that definitely didn't suggest innocence.

And he was laughing breathlessly and you somehow ended up laughing too. A genuine laugh, the first in weeks.

And you were both just laughing and breathless and then quietly – when both your laughter had subsided, but you're both wearing warm smiles – he asked you so softly: "Did you really mean that? What you wrote?"

You sat up, attempting to extricate your limbs from his, debating lying or coming clean. It was too late for either.

But he must've seen, in your eyes, the truth – because suddenly, he bolted upright to press his warm body against yours, trapping you in his arms and pulling you to him to meet his lips in a gentle and chaste kiss: the choice being yours on whether or not to deepen it.

A choice you made as you responded in kind, mouth moving urgently and feverishly against his.

He moaned, a choked noise in his throat, pleasantly surprised at your response, and his tongue swiped a quick, hot stripe against the seam of your lips, begging for entrance.

You hand slipped between the two of you, under the hem of his shirt. They raked down his musclebound torso, and your hand idly traced over the growing bulge in his jeans.

"Stop," he strangled out. He pulled himself away, keeping you at arms length, catching his breath.

"I-I'm sorry," you managed to stutter out. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks.

It wasn't your fault. And Chris let you know as much, with a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Chris knew that he had broken your trust, and he wanted to earn it back before anything happened. No matter how bad he wanted you.

The romantic in him wouldn't have it any other way. And there was something supremely unromantic about taking you on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by the boxes you'd packed in the full intent of leaving him.

"I've been thinking of this for too long, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right."

———————

tags:

all: @fangirlovestuff @rebthom89

ocean eyes: @agnesk @myakai13 @ilovetheeagles

chris evans: @thatoneperson5000

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans/you #dina writes #chris evans fluff #ocean eyes

[lovelucybradford]

I Pretend You’re Mine-2

Chapter Two: We Learn to Live with the Pain (Mosaic Broken Hearts)

Masterlist

A/N: Thanks so much for all of your support on Chapter One. I’m so excited that you love it as much as I do! Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this story. Also, not sure how I feel about this one. Be warned: I hate Jennifer Blake.

Derek and Rose’s ‘engagement’ was supposed to stay a secret between the four of them. So, naturally, all of her friends knew about it. Even if she tried (and she really, really wanted to) Rosalie couldn’t push the thought of the upcoming ruse to the back of her mind. Her friends wouldn’t let her.

It started out innocently enough. A ‘Hey Rosie, Derek looks hot, don’t you think’ here or a ‘Friends to lovers is the best, right Rosalie’ there. Rosalie was used to it. Ever since she returned to Beacon Hills and became close with all of Lydia’s friends, who had somehow become Derek’s in the span of years, they’d been relentless with their teasing of Derek and her.

The joking she could handle.

It was when they used Rosalie’s feelings for Derek for their own amusement that it really started to bug her.

Wednesday had been the day from hell. It all started in Rosalie’s first period class. One of her more bold students, captain of the lacrosse team, had greeted her not with his normal, ‘What up, Miss H?’. No, the boy strutted right in, stopped at her desk, and said, ‘How’s it going, Mrs. Hale?’ with a shit-eating grin. Alex Layhue was normally the last to arrive to class, right before the late bell rang, so, of course, all of Rose’s other students had heard him. And began to refer to her as Mrs. Hale. Which had spread like wildfire, and then all of the kids called Rosalie by Derek’s surname.

 It only stopped once she’d threatened detention. By the time eighth period was over, Rosalie was fuming and ready to stomp right out onto the lacrosse field to give her good friend, Assistant Lacrosse Coach Scott McCall, a piece of her mind. Instead, Rosalie raced out the door as soon as she was allowed to leave, forgoing her normal after-school visit to Derek’s classroom.

Rosalie’d reached her apartment, eternally thankful that the shitshow was over, when she had spotted it: a poorly taped rose on the front door, with a sign next to it. A rather crude sign.

Congrats on the D(erek). Love, Isaac. The words were bad enough. Isaac had to go and include a rather accurate drawing of Derek as a, um, d.

She had ripped the sign off the front door, threw it into the wastebasket under the kitchen sink, then punched the damned thing a few more times for good measure.

Then, Rose had called and screamed at Isaac. She couldn’t remember what was said in her anger, but Rosalie knew that a few choice words were thrown in, along with ‘obscene’, ‘tasteless’ and ‘terrible friend’.

Isaac showed up at the woman’s front door an hour after the ‘conversation’ holding a bottle of wine in one hand and takeout in another, a guilty smile on his face. Rosalie forgave him. Eventually.

That night, she’d had a very vivid dream about Derek’s dick. Rosalie woke up the next morning, covered in sweat, and knew that if she saw Derek she would spontaneously combust, and, well, other things that she didn’t want to even ponder.

So, Rosalie spent the rest of the week eating lunch in her car, leaving right after the final bell, and basically avoiding her best friend at all costs.

Until today. Rosalie had been waiting all week to watch this movie, and she would be damned if the deafening bang of construction across the street from her apartment building would keep her from Peter Kavinsky.

The door to the loft slid open, and Derek sauntered in, hands full with grocery bags. He paused at the sight of Rosalie, his face contorted in disgust.

“Get that shit off my TV!” he grumbled.

Rosalie paused the movie, looking up at him with a sharp glare. “It is not shit, Derek Sebastian Hale. It is romance. You wouldn’t know romance if it bit you in the ass.”

Derek scoffed. “Oh yeah? Remember, my senior year, when I showed up in front of my ex’s house all John Hughes-like and quoted Shakespeare at her like a total douche?”

“Mmm, yeah. And that went over swimmingly, didn’t it, Romeo? I specifically remember having to clean the cut on your forehead from the rock that she threw at you.” Rosalie snorted.

 Derek ignored her, hauling the bags into the kitchen and shoving items into cabinets. Rose joined him, grabbing a bag of refrigerated foods. As she pulled out the milk, a slip of paper flittered to the ground. She reached down to grab it, stopping short when she found that a phone number was written on the back of the receipt.

“Elena Soto gave you her phone number?” Rosalie asked Derek.

Damn. Rosalie suspected that Elena was after Derek since the day that the new Spanish teacher started at BHHS. Two weeks ago. Girl had game, Rosalie gave her that.

Derek put down the box of noodles in his hand and scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at his friend. Rosalie could see a hint of pink on his cheekbones and wondered if the man had actually gotten a sunburn after years of making fun of her for her lobster-tone skin in the summertime.

“Yeah. She, uh, asked me out to dinner next Saturday night.”

Rosalie straightened herself back up and busied with putting food in the fridge. She feigned nonchalance, asking, “And what did you say?”

“I told her thank you, but I’ll be in Hawaii… with you.”

The woman hid her smug smile in the inside of the refrigerator. Serves Elena right. “I thought you’d forgotten. Since you haven’t, you know, even brought it up since Disneyland.”

“I didn’t forget. And it’s not like you brought it up, either.”

True. Rosalie was avoiding that discussion like the plague. She knew that she’d be able to pull of fake fiancée. She’d had feelings for Derek that were successfully repressed since she was sixteen. But Derek… he’d made it very clear that he felt nothing more than familial love towards Rosalie. How could he convincingly play madly in love with her?

“I’m sorry I cockblocked your hot date with Senorita Soto,” Rose confessed, tone sounding more harsh than intended.

“Rosalie.”

She pulled her head out of the fridge and shut the door. The BB-8 magnet her  niece bought him at Disney was displayed proudly towards the top. Rosalie studied it as an excuse to not look at Derek, lest he catch onto her jealousy.

She was losing her touch. Rosalie had built an excellent poker face over the years, and she let her friends’ suggestions and one bold woman break it. Rose had to up her game.

“Rosalie, you know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s why I didn’t bring Elena up. You’re my best friend. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Rosalie smiled deviously up at him, all thoughts of Elena Soto gone and replaced again with Peter Kavinsky. “Does that include watching my romcom?”

Derek rolled his eyes with a playful smile. He eventually gave in after Rose told him she would buy them a pizza.

___________

 Rosalie tried to enjoy the movie, but one thought plagued her mind like some annoyingly catchy song.

 Fake dating contract. It was so cringey she didn’t want to bring it up. But she did anyways.

 “Hey Derek? This sounds so stupid, but since you and I are two adults playing pretend, don’t you think you and I should, you know, come up with rules for our charade?” Rosalie shoved pizza in her face to distract herself from any comment that would come next.

Derek laughed. “Yeah, ok, Lara Jean Comey.”

“It’s Covey, not Comey… and I’m serious, Der. You and I have both been shit on by our significant others. Don’t you think it would be good for us to come up with some kind of guidelines, so this doesn’t get out of hand and neither of us get hurt?”

Derek sighed, putting his plate down on the coffee table and giving Rosalie his full attention. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Rosalie bit her lip, thinking. When she came up with nothing, she asked, “Do you have any dealbreakers?”

“I’m not making Drew jealous,” he swiftly announced.

Rosalie’s eyes shot up to his. “I’m not in love with Drew anymore, so there’s no need to make him jealous.”

“Thank God. What about you?”

She ignored the former comment. Rose did have a dealbreaker. She knew it would sound totally prudish on her end, but Rosalie knew her limits.

“No… No kissing.”

“What do you mean no kissing? Like, I can’t kiss you at all, or no tongue? Because I sure as hell know that we won’t be believable if I can’t kiss you.”

“And how would you know that?”

Derek pursed his lips. “I remember having an in-depth conversation with your brother about how gross you and Drew were together.”

Rosalie gaped at him. “And you didn’t stick your tongue down Jennifer’s throat at your engagement party?! It was like witnessing some messed-up porno. And, in my defense, Drew initiated every public—”

“I did not have my tongue down Jen’s throat!”

“Then why did Laura tell you two to get a room?”

Derek scowled. “Moving on…”

“Ok, rule 1: yes, to kissing. No tongue.” Rose ticked on her finger. “Two, no checking out other women. Like, at all.”

“You think I would do that when I’m engaged? I’m not a total dick.”

“I know that Derek. I’m just saying, when you were younger—”

“When I was younger. I’ve matured a lot since I was eighteen.”

She smacked his shoulder playfully. “You sure about that, Mr. I-throw-a-tantrum-every-time-I-lose-to-Scott-at-pool?”

“Shut up.”

“You can’t deny it, Hale. I know you too well… anything else to add?”

“No sex,” Derek said so suddenly that Rosalie about fell out of her spot on the couch.

“I…” She started, but couldn’t formulate a sentence, so she just nodded her agreement.

They sat in silence for a while, Rosalie processing what the hell happened.

“Let me warn you now. I don’t know how to be a good fiancé,” Derek added so softly that Rosalie might have missed it if she wasn’t so in tune with him.

“Derek…” She looked up to meet his green eyes, full of turmoil, of ghosts of past hurts. A haunted look that Rosalie knew too well. Only because she wore it too, late at night when she was alone with her demons.

Rosalie’s heart broke for him, and she pulled him into a hug. Derek was rarely vulnerable, preferring to keep those emotions locked tight. Rosalie was thankful that he opened himself up enough to let her see that side of him.

“You were a good fiancé, Der. It wasn’t your fault, that it ended. Jennifer was a bitch… I knew she wasn’t good for you,” Rosalie whispered into his shoulder, squeezing him tight so he knew that she meant every word.

Derek’s hot breath fanned over Rose’s neck as he spoke. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

She pulled away from him, leaving her hands on his shoulders. Rosalie set him with an unimpressed look. “Would you have listened?”

Derek shook his head, a small smile overtaking the once hard line of his lips. “Nah, probably not.”

___________________________________________________________

Tags: @wolfarrowepz​

#derek hale #derek hale fluff #tyler hoechlin #derek hale x reader #teen wolf

[queenbirbs]

in plain sight | Ch. 3 | Ethan x MC

Book/Pairing: Open Heart / Ethan Ramsey x female MC

Word count: 4.4k

Rating: T

Category: AU series

Warnings: language, some violence, alcohol mention

Start at the beginning or continue on

Read on AO3

Wednesday, January 14, 4:53 p.m.

For the umpteenth time that evening, Sloane wonders what a former hotel employee is doing working on a fishing boat. She can’t judge, though -- she worked plenty of odd jobs to get by before landing the network gig. It was no matter how J. Horner came to be hauling in thousands of pounds of mackerel, because the real mystery was the person themselves. There were six people in the greater Boston area with the same first initial and surname. Of the ones who had their jobs listed, one was a professor, another a funeral home assistant, and the last a retired Marine. None of them had the Edenbrook listed as a previous workplace.

So, she isn’t sure who exactly she’s meeting.

Ramsey had been less than thrilled when she told him about the location. And the timing. And the subject. As if she were somehow unaware that it wasn’t her best idea. It’s not the first time it’s happened and, as dimly-lit as the harbor is, it’s still not the worst place she’s ever been for a story. She told him just as much during their ride back downtown to her car. If it weren’t for the meeting he needed to attend with his boss, she’s sure he would have insisted on tagging along.

Above the dark slab of the water, the sky is a canvas of blue and purple, smeared here and there with deep red. Logan is bustling across the harbor; jetliners rocket off into the sunset, climbing steadily until they melt into the cloud cover. Down the pier, people are packing up their coolers and tackle boxes. They move in a slow shuffle to their cars, loudly bitching about being cold and getting skunked. From the comfort of her own car, Sloane watches them go. Other than the music she’s kept on low, the only other entertainment is fielding questions from Sienna. Her friend’s latest suggestion is for her to ask Ramsey on a coffee date. The thought of sitting across from him at some kitschy cafe and discussing gory case details over lattes is laughable.

It also just makes her wish she would have grabbed a coffee before this. She’s back to scanning the dark row of buildings when her phone rattles in the cupholder.

Bryce: yooo did you know about Farrugia’s aide?

Sloane frowns and sends back a question mark.

Bryce: they just arrested him

Bryce: like dragging him out in handcuffs from his apartment right now

Heat flares up through her cheeks at the texts. Her fingers fly across the screen to respond with who made the arrest?? Locals or feds?

Bryce: looks like feds

Bryce: weren’t you trying to get an interview with him?

Yeah but no dice, she sends back. I got shot down by his lawyer every time

Bryce: well looks like there was a reason for that I guess

As she’s switching between their conversation and the browser to google for more information, an email notification from [email protected] drops down onto the screen. She reads the first line; her fingers clench so hard around the phone that the case creaks in protest. Swallowing back a shout of frustration, she sends a thank you to Bryce for the information.

Bryce: sorry your boy didn’t come through ☹️

Bryce: I’d offer to tell him off but he’d probably throw me in some secret prison under the old state house

At the mention of Ramsey, she grits her teeth and turns the engine over. She makes her way into downtown, passing by the floating tourist trap that is the Boston Tea Party Museum before she feels composed enough to try calling.

“Finished with your interview already?” he asks as soon as he picks up, forgoing any greeting.

Well, two can play at that game.

“What was Perry arrested for?” she demands to know.

“For being a suspect in the murder of Senator Ed Fa--”

“Really? Now? Right now? You want to be cute now?”

The laugh feels sour in her mouth; Ramsey heaves out a sigh. Sloane wishes she knew where he was just so she could go punch him. “What evidence do you have? Why didn’t you inform me you were going to make an arrest?”

She tries to keep the whine out of her voice. This isn’t about some gossip she missed out on -- it’s her work, her story. And she wouldn’t be wasting time out on the docks chasing deadends if he understood the concept of sharing.

“Unless you’ve changed careers in the past three hours since we’ve seen each other,” he starts in that smarmy tone of his, “I don’t believe I report to you.”

She’s this close to hanging up the phone. Her finger is hovering over the button on the steering wheel. Somehow, he must be able to sense it because he clears his throat and tries again.

“It was a recent development. Baz got access to his phone records after we received a tip from a fellow staffer. Perry’s texts show him talking about getting revenge. Apparently, Perry’s brother suffered third degree burns from a house fire back in 2004. He’s had fourteen surgeries since then for skin grafts. Then-mayor Farrugia had cut the department’s budget and left them spread thin, so it took firefighters over thirty minutes to respond because they were already on a call. From what we can piece together, it looks like Perry was the one who tipped off the press to Farrugia’s mistress.”

Sloane takes the next left and merges onto the Pike, only to find it at a complete standstill. As she’s beginning to regret driving and not taking the T, that swift wave of anger at Ramsey’s reticence ebbs away, replaced with curiosity. It should piss her off with how easily he’s able to draw her back in, just like that -- but it doesn’t. It’s pretty obvious why, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet.

“Ratting out your boss isn’t the same thing as pushing him off a roof. Did you get him to talk, or did he lawyer up?”

An amused snort sounds through the car speakers.

“I’m not sure that kid knows how to say anything other than ‘I want my lawyer.’ But at least he complied. I’m on my way now to observe the interrogation.”

“Wait, you didn’t make the arrest?” she asks.

“No, Baz and another agent brought him into custody. Special Agent Hirata, our criminal psychologist, is going to take a crack at him first before Turner arrives. Like you said, though, it’s quite a leap to go from public shaming to murder. I’m still inclined to believe that Farrugia and the other string of murders are related. If they are, then I’m not sure why Perry would bother with killing hotel employees. Either way, my SAC has more than hinted that we need something concrete to continue pursuing the case. But you never answered my question: how did the interview go?”

As far as conversation segues go, it’s pretty terrible. Sloane pushes aside the idea to point it out and offer a few tips. Jumping off the interstate at the next available exit, she notices that the car behind her has the same idea. As intimidating as Boston’s streets are, she’ll take them over the nauseating chorus of horns in standstill traffic.

“Well,” she drags out the word, “after waiting for forty-five minutes, they finally sent me an email that they weren’t able to leave work. Something about being kept over because the third shift didn’t show up.”

“You don’t believe them.” It’s not so much of a question as it is an assumption based on the annoyance coloring her words.

“No, not really. But then again, I don’t know a thing about them, so who knows.”

Maybe the Dodge Ram behind her is trying to get to Mission Hill, too. Having made all the same turns she did to bypass the bigger intersections, the truck has stuck with her for the last three miles. It would normally be something she would brush off -- but the way they race to keep up with her has her second-guessing.

“Hey, can you run a license plate for me?”

The sudden question interrupts Ramsey and his round-about complaints about her clandestine meetings with people she barely knows.

“I’m not your personal Google, you know.” There’s a pause, and then: “Alright, let’s have them.”

“Massachusetts tag reading Papa Tango Alpha seven one two.”

The tell-tale clacking of a keyboard sounds on the other end. She blinks away the spots in her vision from the high-beams searing into her retinas. In the rearview, the Dodge blows through a red light to stay behind her.

“Car belongs to a Nigel Platt of Platt and Sons Plumbing. Home address is listed in Medford,” he reads off. “Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately yes,” she grumbles.

Bypassing the police headquarters, she makes the next right onto a side street. If he wants to overtake her and run her off the road, then at least the cars here are parked and not full of innocent people. The only way to keep him from such a stunt is to stop, though. Spotting the gas station up ahead, she brakes hard and swings into the lot. The Dodge speeds in and screeches to a stop, blocking her car in and laying on the horn.

“What’s going on?” Ramsey demands to know, alarmed at the noises coming over the line.

“I’m about to have a chat.”

Sloane throws open her door and gets out, ignoring Ramsey’s loud disagreement. Country music blares from the truck; trash clutters the dash and passenger side. Platt trips over his own running board and stumbles onto the pavement. Several beer cans come spilling out with him.

“Goddamn right you finally pulled over!”

“Mr. Platt, hello,” she greets, standing her ground when he lurches to a stop in front of her. Spittle flies from his mouth as he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, yeah, here you go again with that bullshit.” Platt shoves a thick finger in her face and shakes it. This close, she can smell the sour stench of alcohol on him. “It’s time you showed me some respect.”

“Then I would ask the same of you,” she counters as she crosses her arms.

Customers inside the gas station are craning their necks to see what all the fuss is about. Above the lottery sign plastered to the window, the attendant peeks her head up to keep an eye on them. Ramsey is still talking -- ordering her to get back in her car and lock the doors, probably, but she doesn’t have the time to placate him right now.

“I’m not the one making up garbage about innocent, hard-working people. You ran that bullshit about my company and it ran me into the ground! All ‘cause people these days’ll believe anything you say on the internet!”

The bullshit in question was the story she partnered with the Globe on in September. His company was found guilty of reusing lead pipes in new, low-income housing in Southie. He claimed innocence and accused the supplier of being at fault -- as if someone with thirty years of plumbing experience wouldn’t know the difference between lead and steel. Sloane’s investigation uncovered that he paid hush money to the supplier. Both were currently being sued by the state for criminal negligence and violating consumer protection laws.

“I wouldn’t call lead poisoning ‘bullshit,’ Mr. Platt.”

Down by his side, his hands tighten into fists. Sloane tilts her chin up to meet his bloodshot eyes. “I wonder what would happen if the city tested all the other water lines you’ve installed over the years.”

He roars out something unintelligible and shoves her against the car. The edge of her door digs into her back as she stumbles; he grabs hold of her shoulder and shakes her like a ragdoll.

“Hey!” someone shouts. “Get your fuckin’ hands offa her!”

Platt turns his head to the noise. Sloane uses the momentary distraction to yank free and slams her elbow into his stomach. His growled threats are lost under wracking coughs. Grabbing him by both shoulders, she shoves off her car and drives her knee up between his legs. His ruddy face pales as he collapses to his knees and gags.

From a gas pump nearby, a man comes jogging over to check on her. The door chime sounds and then the attendant is there, bat in hand.

“I called the cops,” she tells Sloane. “They should be here soon.”

“Wish I’d brought my gun,” Platt hisses through clenched teeth, now reduced to rocking back and forth on the pavement. “I’d show you, you bitch.”

Sloane pays him no mind. Not when there’s the screech of tires and the roar of an engine as a familiar black SUV careens into the lot.

Ramsey strides over to her, barely glancing at Platt at her feet. His gaze darts across her, sparking with a different kind of anger when it lands on her exposed shoulder. At Sloane’s reassurances, the bystander returns to his car and the attendant back to her counter. The customers inside the store continue to stare, holding their chips and six packs. Resisting the urge to cover the bruise that must be forming, she reaches out and guides Ramsey back a few feet to give herself the illusion of privacy.

“What the hell happened?”

“I reported on some shady, backroom deals he--”

“I don’t care about that. I meant this stunt -- you being reckless and pulling over like you did and letting him--”

“What, you’d rather me drive all the way home so he knows where I live?” she scoffs. “I knew what I was doing. I chose a well-lit location where I knew there would be at least one person and a working phone. I’ve been a woman for twenty-seven years now, Ramsey. I think I know how to behave when some crazy guy is following me.”

“Fine.” Though he’s conceding to her point, she can tell there’s something else. “Then why didn’t you stay in the damn car?”

“Because the drunk bastard probably would’ve slashed my tires and getting towed across town is a nightmare.”

Although her explanation is laden with sarcasm, it’s as close to the truth as she’s willing to get. She certainly can’t tell him that she’s hotheaded and prone to making rash decisions -- if he figures that out, then he’ll probably second-guess her being on the case.

Ramsey rests his fingers against his brow and then glides them down to pinch the bridge of his nose. All the air in his chest empties out when he sighs. The fire in his gaze cools by a few degrees. Whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by two police cruisers pulling up. From there, the next half-hour is spent giving her statement and doubling down on her refusal to press charges. Besides, because Platt is an absolute moron, he tries driving off -- which ends with him getting booked for a DUI and hauled to jail anyway.

After pulling out of the gas station, it takes Sloane three blocks before she notices the black SUV keeping pace behind her. She considers calling and assuring him that she can make it home fine. Her apartment isn’t much farther, anyway. The look on his face when he crossed the parking lot to get to her, though, makes her abandon the idea of teasing him.

She whips into the only available space outside her building, which leaves him to idle in the middle of the street with his hazards flashing. Crossing in front of the SUV, Sloane leans her crossed arms on the open window and grins.

“Not exactly living up to the covert part of your job, huh?”

The unimpressed look on his face is ruined by the quick eye-roll she catches.

“If anyone harrasses me about being here, I’ll flash my badge at them.”

“Oh, no, I was talking about earlier. See, I’m pretty good at connecting the dots. That you happened to be on this side of town when I called you to run a plate and showed up before the cops? That’s pretty suspicious behavior.”

His eyes widen a fraction, but that’s the most she gets out of him. So she digs a little deeper. “I wonder what kept you that you weren’t able to make the first crucial arrest in the case.”

“If I recall, you called to yell at me about not giving you classified information on said arrest.”

“Avoidance is a lame tactic.”

“Ah.” Conceding to her words with a nod of his head, a smug grin spreads across his face. “But it’s the only one I have.”

Having made a career out of interviewing people for a living, Sloane knows when she’s getting stonewalled. When he doesn’t opt to say any more, she moves on.

“Fine, then. You get to keep your sexy, mysterious agent persona for another day. What I really wanted to know is what time you plan on going to the Edenbrook’s charity gala.”

Ramsey hikes an eyebrow up at the query, then sighs.

“Baz.”

“He texted me about it while we were playing Clue at Keller’s. Said your boss managed to secure your team invites under the guise of the feds paying their respects. They must’ve started planning this before he was scraped off that car. Doesn’t it feel a little too soon for them to be throwing a ‘sorry you jumped off our building, so here’s a fundraiser in your name for a charity you only donated to to secure the poor vote’?”

“I don’t think that would fit on a banner.”

The dry tone of his delivery makes her laugh, the sound echoing across the empty street. She’s glad she kept her eyes on him, because she gets to watch him brighten at the sound.

“Being media, I’ve got my own invitation. If you want, we could go together.”

It’s impossible to miss the way his jaw tightens.

“I’m flattered, but no.” After a long moment, he glances away. His expression falls into a concerned frown. “I don’t mean to sound like I don’t want…. What I did tonight, that’s not me. I’ve never done something like that before.”

“Like what?” Sloane asks, curious.

“Ignored a direct order to return to the office. Instead, I went to the harbor to make sure you were safe.”

Despite the cold, her cheeks warm at the admission. She tilts her head and assesses the man before her. His fingers tighten and release along the steering wheel under his hands. Ramsey appears to be amazed that he told her as much, given the guilty look on his face. It really isn’t fair that he’s so good-looking and dedicated, yet so emotionally-stunted.

“You’re a-- at, you’re at risk,” he stumbles to correct himself. “You need to exercise more caution, and that certainly includes your… late-night rendezvous.”

“I’m going to do us both a favor and look past the overbearing, macho-man act.” She props up a hand to stop his protest. “It’s nice of you to be worried, but if I played it safe at the first sign of danger, then I wouldn’t be in this field. I feel like that’s something you can understand.”

Though his expression suggests he’d rather not, he hums an agreement. “Is that why you joined the FBI?” she asks. “For the danger?”

“That’s not how I would describe stacks of disposition reports.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“You really want to profile me?” he asks in that haughty tone of his. “Here, in the middle of the street.”

“Oh, come on,” she teases. “I don’t have the access you do. It would take me at least a day or two to dig up what you can in thirty seconds with your super secret database. Besides, you already know everything there is to know about me.”

He lifts an eyebrow at the obvious challenge in her voice.

“Born in Baltimore, you were raised by your grandparents, both of whom were Ukrainian immigrants that fled when the Soviet Union fell. One younger brother in Atlanta. You graduated summa cum laude from Boston University. Your first car was a 1999 Ford Escort--”

“Alright, now you’re just showing off,” she cuts him off. “Really, why the FBI?”

Hesitation draws up his features once more. For a moment, Sloane thinks she’ll have to pry the information out of him, when he wets his lips to speak.

“Everyone throws a curtain over their lives, to try and smooth out all the rough edges and hide what’s beneath. I happen to enjoy figuring out what’s underneath that veil, so to speak. Some agents are in it for the glory, the prestige -- I’m not one of them. Energy I could use socializing or pandering to the higher-ups, I put towards my cases. That’s who I’m here for: the victims.”

He shifts his gaze from the steering wheel and back to her. She can practically see the haughty twinkle return to his eyes when he asks, “How was that?”

“Decent, I suppose,” she says with a shrug.

“How about a little quid pro quo, then? Tell me something I won’t find in some ‘super secret database.’”

Sloane bites at her lip, suddenly hesitant to express the one consistent thought that’s plagued her since their first meeting. Sure, there are a hundred good reasons why she should keep the thought to herself -- most of those being that he’s the only source she has to getting information on Farrugia. But she’s always liked being blunt. There are a hundred ways to dance around it, but she’s found those take too much time.

“I would like to kiss you sometime.”

The streetlights make his blue eyes spark in the dark interior of his car. He glances down to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. The shiver that prickles along her spine has nothing to do with the cold evening.

“There’s no time like the present,” he says, gravelled with desire.

She leans a little closer; he grips her hand and squeezes once, then twice. If his kiss is as potent as his eyes, then she’s done for. It’s too bad, then, that she doesn’t get to test her theory -- not when the sudden buzz of a subwoofer snaps them both to attention. They separate to watch a red sedan cut around them and then accelerate up the street, its door panels rattling from the bass. When Sloane turns back to him, his attention has unfortunately strayed elsewhere.

“You should get inside. You’re cold,” Ramsey murmurs with concern and some amount of surprise, as if he had also forgotten the temperature in lieu of other thoughts. He rubs at her chilled skin and frowns some more. “Does your living room face the street?”

Confusion floods her; she tilts her head as she tries to suss out his motive.

“It does, yeah.”

“Then blink your lights when you get inside.”

“Platt is on his way to being booked right now.”

His level expression doesn’t change at her defense. “And if I don’t?” she teases. “Are you going to sit out here all night?”

“I won’t have to as long as you do as I ask. I do have an interrogation to get to.”

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, Agent Ramsey -- you know that, right?”

That familiar smirk of his spreads across his face as he shrugs.

“I’ve been called worse things. And you should--” he hesitates for a moment, then tries again: “You can call me Ethan.”

“Okay then, Ethan. But we aren’t finished with this… conversation, just so you know.”

“I look forward to continuing it another time,” he says, his smirk still firmly in place.

With that, Sloane bids him goodnight before crossing back over to her building. Once inside her apartment, she flips the light switch a few times and then moves over to the window. It’s too dark to see inside his SUV, but she waves to him anyway. His hazard lights blink off and he pulls away, his tail lights disappearing down the street.

Moving through her living room, Sloane drops her bag onto the sofa and wanders into the kitchen. She doesn’t notice the object on the bar until she sets the jar of olives down beside it. For a moment, she stares, as if waiting for the book to explain its presence. It was a gift from a Ukrainian journalist she met, slept with, and then dated while working abroad. Gently lifting the cover, the knot of apprehension tightens to panic. The post-it note from Amalia wishing her well on her return to the states is crumpled. Below the title is a new note, scribbled across the yellowed page:

If you don’t want to play with the big boys, get off the field slut

The knife is in her hand before she registers reaching for it. She shoves off the counter and rounds the corner into the hallway. Light spills across the open doorways of her bathroom and bedroom. She slaps on the switches in both rooms, yanking the shower curtain and closet doors aside, knife at the ready. Paranoia eating away at her common sense, she drops to the floor and searches under the bed, too -- where only a thin coating of dust is visible within the six inches of space.

Making her way back to the living room, Sloane checks the peephole before edging the door open. Her brief inspection of the casing and lock shows nothing amiss. She secures the deadbolt and slides the chain home before crossing the room. Her books and papers are exactly how she left them, spread across her coffee table and couch. Tucked between a stack of artwork against the far wall is her evidence board. After inspecting it for missing notes or photos, she drags in a breath -- what feels like her first since reading the note. The tight clutch of panic begins to release, replaced with a hot rush of anger.

“Son of a bitch,” she hisses. “You think you can steal my stuff and break into my home and write your stupid little notes, huh? Think again, asshole.”

The knife shakes as she slides it back into the block. She pushes aside the desire to call Ethan -- he’ll turn her apartment into a crime scene and insist on police protection, not to mention pull her off the case. The proof that she’s close to something is sitting right there on her counter, though. She can’t back down now.

Taglist: @writinghereandthere @choiceskatie @maurine07 @lsvdw-blog @togetherwearerapture @openheartfanfics

Author's notes and what-have-yous:

Had myself a little back-and-forth on whether or not Platt would have the old "green plate" that MA phased out in 1987, but then he would only have the one rear tag, which would make figuring out his tag number near-impossible during the scene. Yes, I do overthink things when writing, thanks.

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #Kaila writes things #f: in plain sight

[queenshelby]

THE ARRANGEMENT – SEALING THE DEAL

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 3522

Warning: Sugar Daddy, Submission, Smut, BDSM

Notes: I will use this headline to write more smutty encounters between Tommy and the Reader. But they will get a bit heavier in the BDSM department. So if this is not your thing, don’t keep reading.

Requested: Yes

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal  @chrisevanshoeee  @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse  @captivatedbycillianmurphy  @fookingshelby  @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  

………

The Proposal

Today marks the day you’ve been working for at the Garrison exactly one year. A job you found by sheer accident when you moved to Birmingham.

You had no money when you fled Northern Ireland and were in need of employment. Your parents were involved with the IRA and with a well-known surname like yours, it was difficult for you to find employment.

You always tried hard to disassociate yourself from your parents with whom you did not agree on political matters. They were terrorists and you stood elsewhere on the Irish question.

When you arrived in Birmingham, you were offered a job at the local whorehouse. You declined. The last thing you wanted was to lose your virginity to some filthy married patron who paid you as little as 2 shillings for your services.

When you saw a job advertised in the paper at the local pub, you applied. This is when you met Grace Shelby who hired you.

Grace was there by sheer accident herself, arranging the new fit-out for the pub. She was Thomas Shelby’s wife and no longer worked herself.

She was a kind hearted woman and had been in your shoes many years ago. No one other than Grace believed that you would last in a job like this. But here you were, still working behind the bar and serving alcohol to drunk men.

To your disappointment, Grace had passed away six months ago and your husband Tommy has never been the same since.

For the first four months following her death, he got himself and his family into lot of trouble. The majority of his family members were serving prison time for a robbery. But not Tommy. He was working on their release while continuing to build his family’s wealth.

Ever since their arrest, he attended the Garrison frequently, most often late at night after he had visited one of the up market brothels owned by him.

Of course, he didn’t tell you that, but it was obvious to you. It was his way of coping with life and to stay focused.

You talked a lot. He would often be the last patron at the Garrison and ask you to drink with him. You didn’t drink much, but would allow yourself a glass of whiskey on occasion.

Tonight, was one of these nights where Tommy and you were alone, just talking and drinking.

He walked into the Garrison at 11 o’clock, greeted you and ordered a whiskey.

‘You are early tonight Mr Shelby’ you said.

‘Well, Y/N, things have not been going my way today’ he responded.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ you asked.

‘I rather not’ he responded.

‘Alright, no talking then’ you said with a smile.

‘Do you have a man in your life Y/N?’ he then asked all of a sudden. His question took you by surprise.

‘I do not. Never had. Why are you asking?’ you wondered.

‘No reason. Just curious why a woman like you works in a place like this’ he said bluntly.

‘It pays well, I get good tips. I had a job offer from one of the mistresses at one of your brothels. I declined. I rather serve 50 drunk men a night than fuck ten of them’ you laughed.

‘This seems like a reasonable choice’ Tommy chuckled.

‘So, you ever get bored of them? Knowing that sex is no more than a transaction to them and you are no more than a client must be frustrating’ you asked.

‘How much whiskey did you have to drink tonight Y/N, eh?’ Tommy asked sheepishly, being surprised by the directness of your question.

‘More than a little. It’s my birthday’ you laughed.

‘That’s what I thought. Happy Birthday Y/N’ Tommy said.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby, but you didn’t answer my question’ you smirked.

‘The good thing about prostitutes is that they do exactly what you pay them to do. They fuck. They don’t expect feelings from you, just money. You are right, it is a simple transaction’ Tommy said.

‘Sounds boring and repetitive. Wouldn’t you rather have someone consistent? The same skilled woman every time, someone who gets to learn exactly how to please you, always around right at your disposal and with no strings attached?’ you asked.

‘I’ve read that, in France, rich businessmen and politicians keep themselves mistresses rather than going to brothels. It’s discrete and it’s safe. The men provide their mistresses with accommodation and visit them for sex whenever they please’ you added.

‘A mistress, eh?’ Where do you think I would find such a woman Y/N? Tommy joked.

‘Well Mr Shelby, I know of someone who would be very interested to come to some sort of arrangement’ you smirked.

‘You realise that I am about twice your age?’ Tommy asked sheepishly, knowing exactly that you were talking about yourself becoming his mistress.

‘I do and this makes it even more interesting’ you suggested.

‘You are quite young Y/N. How many men have you been with?’ Tommy asked

‘None’ you said, causing Tommy to choke on his whiskey.

‘No’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t do virgins Y/N. It’s not my thing’ Tommy added.

‘Think about it, I am like a clean canvas. You can teach me exactly how you want to be pleased’ you smirked.

‘You are clearly drunk Y/N. I shall drive you home’ Tommy said.

And so he did. After you closed up the pub, he drove you to your apartment which was located in one of the worst areas of Birmingham.

As he drove you home, you brought up your proposal again and Tommy appeared more open to consider it at this point. But not tonight, not with you having been influenced by alcohol.

You were an attractive woman, clean and easy to talk to. You worked in the Garrison for a year and he knew you would be discrete and he could trust you.

‘Come to my office tomorrow at noon if you decide that this is what you want and then we talk, eh’ Tommy said as he pulled up in front of your apartment.

You nodded before saying goodnight to him.

The Arrangement

The next day, you attended Tommy’s office as instructed.

‘Y/N, I am surprised to see you’ Tommy smirked as you walked inside his office.

‘You thought I wasn’t serious, didn’t you?’ you smirked as you sat down in front of his desk.

‘Let’s just say, you surprised me’ he said with a grin.

Tommy then went on to ask you what you expect from your arrangement if he was going ahead and agree with it.

You didn’t have many demands other than being looked after financially.

Tommy then advised you that you might change your mind if you know what his desires were.

Thomas Shelby was no ordinary man and he didn’t enjoy ordinary sex, which is one of the reasons he was getting bored with the prostitutes.

He was looking for what some might call a submissive. He enjoyed authority, even in the bedroom.

He wanted to be in charge, always.

With that in mind, you agreed. You were ready to be his and sealed the deal with a passionate kiss.

‘Alright, it’s a deal Y/N. But, to ensure that you understand, you belong to me. You are my property and you are not to fuck anyone else, understood?’ Tommy said as he pulled his lips away from yours, his hand holding onto your hair tightly.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you said, biting your lip.

‘You will be available when I need you to be available and you will submit. Is that understood?’ Tommy then said.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you answered before his lips met yours again in a hasty kiss.

‘Good. Now, since you are a virgin, the first time, I will take it easy on you’ Tommy said as he kissed your neck, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume.

‘Here are the keys to your apartment. 15 Watery Lane. I will visit you tonight at 8 o’clock and this is what I expect you to wear. Nothing else’ Tommy said as he handed you a small bag.

‘Before I come over, I want you to think of a safe word which you can use at any time’ he added, causing you to nod. He had explained the premise of a safe word to you earlier when you discussed what he would expect from you.

Sealing the Deal

Later that evening, after you settled into your new apartment, you were waiting for Tommy in nothing but the black lace panties he gave you.

He was right on time, letting himself into your apartment at 8 o’clock.

‘Do you like what you see Mr Shelby?’ you asked as he walked through the door.

‘I do, very much so’ Tommy said before he kissed you and ran his hands over your breasts and down to your stomach, making you moan.

He continued the gentle gestures for approximately five minutes, kissing you gently and exploring every inch of your body.

‘What have you decided on for a safe word Y/N?’ Tommy asked after he broke the last kiss.

‘Red’ you said.

‘Red. Very well.’ Tommy said before taking off his jacket, waistcoat and gun holster and placing them all onto one of the armchairs.

He then walked back over to you and gave you one more quick kiss.

‘Now be a good girl and get on your knees. And Y/N... eye contact. I want you looking at me’ Tommy said as he pulled your hair downward to bring you to kneel in front of him.

He kept his hand wrapped in your hair behind your head but clutched onto your skull tightly. You were about to be Tommy’s, in complete submission.

With his other hand he unzipped his pants and slowly pulled out his impressive length. You gasped. This is the first time you saw a man’s most intimate parts right in front of you.

‘Open your mouth’ Tommy instructed as you looked up into his blue eyes.

You obliged and Tommy pulled your head forward and forced your lips around the head of his erect cock.

Your hands shot up to his thighs to try to hold him back but he charged forward, making you take the first few inches of his length into your mouth.

You closed your eyes, trying instantly to focus and control your gag reflexes. There you thought that he was going to take it easy on you. If this was him taking it easy, what would he otherwise be like you wondered.

‘Look at me’ he instructed as he began to notice your eyes fall close.

Your lips were completely stretched around the girth of his shaft as he pushed his cock deeper into your mouth.

Your ravishing eyes opened and looked up at him, his face full of want and desire for you.

As you looked at him you started growing more comfortable as the minutes passed.

You relaxed your grip on his legs and began opening your throat a little for his intrusion.

You kept eye contact whenever you weren’t suppressing a gag reflex. Your mouth soon began to move with his rhythm while your tongue was stimulating him.  

After about five minutes Tommy released his hold on your hair and reached down to your breasts, playing with your already hard nipples. You moaned around his cook as he stimulated your breasts and the wetness began to grow in between your legs.

You bopped your head up and down his length, trying to take as much of it into your mouth as you could.

Your hands soon joined your mouth, and stimulated the end of his shaft which didn’t make into your mouth.

‘Is this what you wanted, Mr Shelby?’ you asked.

Tommy nodded politely in between moans, running his fingers through your hair again.

He pushed you down on his cock a few more times, making you take him deeper than before, while he looked down, admiring the view.

‘Good girl, that’s it, take it all in’ he groaned as he guided your head.

You struggled, finding it difficult to breath, but you obliged.

The sight of you taking him like this drove him crazy and, after several more strokes, he pulled your head back up and, without warning, re-entered your mouth with vigor and dominance.

You squirmed below him and your hands moved back to his upper thighs, attempting to press him back.

But Tommy had other ideas and swatted your hands away from his legs.

‘Cross your wrists behind your back Y/N’ Tommy ordered.

‘Tommy’ you pleaded.

‘I make the rules Y/N. You don't get to resist. If you want me to stop, use your safe word’ he said.

With reluctance, you placed your wrists behind your back. Some twisted part within yourself enjoyed this, him taking you like this. In your mind, you were nowhere near at your limits.

Just like this, Tommy took hold of your hair again and thrusted forward into your open mouth, deeper and deeper until he bottomed out in your throat.

You could no longer retain eye contact and he didn’t seem to care as he continued to thrust into your mouth a few more times until he decided to relent.

He soon released the grip on your hair and made you look up at him.

‘Come up, you’ve done well’ he said as he pulled you up towards him and pulled you in for a kiss.

His hands moved in between your legs.

‘So fucking wet eh’ he said as he ran his hand over your soaked panties.

‘Take them off’ he instructed and you didn’t resist and pulled them off in a haste.

‘Now Love, I think it’s time for us to sort out this little issue for yours, eh?’ Tommy said with a smirk.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you said nervously, knowing that he was about to take your virginity.

While you always thought about this moment to be romantic, you were at the point where you just wanted it to be over with. You were soaking for him and you wanted him to fuck you just the way he wanted. You wanted to be taken by him, right then and there, regardless of the pain.

‘Shall we go to the bedroom?’ you asked.

‘No Love, right here will do just fine’ Tommy said as he turned your ass on to the edge of the kitchen room table, and gently pushed your back down on to it.

His eyes gazed over your perfect body, taking in the view of your breasts and your soaking wet mound.

‘Open your legs’ he instructed just as he lowered himself in between them.

You weren’t sure what he was doing and watched him nervously as, all of a sudden, he dipped his tongue into your wet slit.

You squealed in surprise, but it was already too late to plead for him not to, his tongue was already murdering your senses.

He sucked and licked over your clit just as you could feel two fingers enter you.

You expected pain, but it was nothing but please when he began to slowly thrust them in and of you.

‘Oh god yes’ you moaned as Tommy worked his magic on you.

You weren’t sure why he was doing this. Wasn’t it all about his pleasure and his pleasure alone? But, when you looked at him, he seemed to be enjoying this. You squirmed helplessly beneath him.

As he circled his tongue over your clit over and over again and carefully pushed two of his fingers in and out of you, you could feel an unfamiliar sensation build up in your stomach.

Soon you we trembling to your own unbidden orgasm. You were already aroused beyond your own redemption.

The intensity or your climax was so all encompassing, that your muscles from your stomach to your knees, spasmed and contracted. Your legs slammed together trapping Tommy’s head in a wrestlers type grip, and his eyes bulged until you relaxed a little.

As your orgasm washed over you, you could feel Tommy grin against your mound.

‘I think you are ready to take my cock now Love’ he said after you came down from your high and he positioned himself in between your spread legs.

Within seconds, Tommy hooked his hands under your calves and lifted them to rest on his shoulders. Now he was ready, you were flat out on your new kitchen room table, and in no position to refuse him.

He held your knees apart. and maneuvered his cock to your bright wet slit. He rubbed it up and down a couple of times before commencing his intrusion.

‘Don’t worry Love, I will be gentle since it’s your first time’ Tommy said as he pressed forward slightly and pushed his cock into your small, warm, and unbelievably tight pussy.

Despite his best efforts, you moaned and screamed at the same time at the intrusion but there was nothing you could do, not now.

‘You can take it Love. I know you can. If you want me stop, use your safe word’ Tommy said as he pushed into you further.

You moaned loudly has his length invaded you and pushed past your barrier, causing you to let out another moan and scream until, finally, he was completely inside of you. Tommy had just about split you in two and you had never felt like this before, you were full and he could feel your body trying to get out of the way

Tommy let you adjust to his size and then began pulling on your hips, before thrusting into you gently.

‘God you are so fucking tight Y/N’ he moaned as, slowly, you began to relax completely.

After several gentle thrusts to, Tommy pressed your knees back together and then he pulled out and rammed it back in again.

You cried out once more, but this time not in pain but, instead, in pure pleasure. You felt him running up and down your love channel and it felt better than anything else you had experienced before. There had been no event in your life that could have prepared you for this.

‘Oh my god Tommy, please make me cum again’ you begged him.

Tommy grinned and didn’t care to correct you on your language.

He began to fuck you mercilessly and rode you past your pain into a world of pleasure.

The unassailable flush of desire and the insane delight of him being inside of you overcame everything you were, or ever had been. As he thrusted in and you over and over again, harder with each stroke, you got lost in the grip of irrepressible lust, a powerful inarticulate lust.

It wasn’t long until he fucked you just the way he wanted, hard and fast. You were ready for it and you took it, every single bit of it.

And, just like that, you could feel another even more intense orgasm wash over you.

‘Good girl, cum around my cock’ he moaned as he picked up his speed and pounded into you.

With one loud moan, your walls contracted and your quivered beneath him. You were a shaking mess and screamed his name as you rode out your orgasm.

Just as you came down from your high, he pulled out of you. He was not done with you yet.

Without letting you recover, he pushed you back onto your knees in front of him.

‘You know what to do’ he said just as he pushed his cock back into your mouth firmly while grabbing onto your hair.

This time, he held your head in place while he began thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth.

Your eyes shut again instantly and unintentionally in order to deal with the gag reflex.

‘Look at me’ he instructed and you obliged, opening your eyes and looking towards his face.

‘I'm going to cum in your mouth’ he said, causing you to nod.

‘I hope this was understood, but I expect you to swallow’ he added and, just like this, with several more thrusts, his warm cum spurted into the back of your throat.

You gagged again, trying hard to allow his warm seed to run down your throat as he thrusted into you until, finally, he came to a hold.

You licked the last of his cum from his hard cock, making sure to swallow every single drop.

‘You did well Y/N’ Tommy said with still laboured breathing.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby’ you said as you stood up and had a drink from his glass of whiskey.

‘I will see you on Friday, same time’ Tommy said as he zipped up his pants and buckled up his belt.

‘Friday it is’ you grinned with excitement before he gave you a passionate kiss.

‘We will try something new then and I won’t be as gentle with you then’ he said.

‘I am looking forward to it’ you winked as you said goodbye to him.

#tommy shelby smut #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 5

I’ve officially ran out of prewritten chapters QuQ

Day 5 of @biodad-bruce-month event

Chapter 5: Overprotection

-

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95

-

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

-

“I’m sending you to Paris.” Amira heard her father say out of the blue.

“Wha-what?” Amira sputtered out, rising from her seat, cushions tumbled to the floor.

“I’ll have all the necessary arrangements done by the end of this month, no, week.” Bruce said, searching his desk for some papers. 

“Dad, what are-”

“You’ll be living with Tom and his wife-”

“What do you-”

“I’ll also have to do the necessary paperwork for you to attend a school in Paris-”

“But I don't need to move to be safe. I’m perfectly-” Amira argued, standing in front of his desk, the Batman plushie in her hand.

“If I thought you were safe here, I wouldn’t have you-”

“I don’t want to-” Amira cut off again, trying to get her feelings across to her father.

“You’re going to go to Paris where it’s safe. Where no villain nor enemy will find you.” Bruce stated, almost glaring at Amira. 

“I. Don’t. Want. To.” Amira gritted, feeling her hand tightly squeeze the plushie in her hand. She just started to do well again. She finally had someone to talk to at school, even if Babs was years older than her. 

“This isn’t up for discussion Amira.” Bruce glared, his eyes narrowed. “You’re going to Paris where it’s safe, whether you like it or not. Am I clear?”

Amira felt herself shake, hating that she held no power to go against her own father. Amira looked at the Batman in her hand, scowling as she looked at it. Without a second thought, Amira ripped it in half and threw it to the floor. “Why the hell did I ever idolize you?” Amira growled, marching out of the study, ignoring her father’s yells for her to come back.

She almost slammed the doors into Dick’s face, but even when he asked her what happened, she simply glared at him with unshed tears before picking up her pace.

She shut her room door closed as she walked to her bed, or at least attempted to. Just two steps away from it, she collapsed to the floor, grasping the rug underneath her as she let her tears escape. 

She let herself scream into the void that was her room.

-

Amira looked at the boxes surrounding her and then at the empty room before her, feeling her panic rising as she started at the brightly lit attic. 

She couldn’t say goodbye to Dick...nor Wally...or Barbara. 

Even as she kept locked within her room that week, her mode of communicating with Dick was also cut off. 

She was made to leave the manor without a word that Friday morning, to board the jet without a word and be sent off without anything more than a hug from Alfred. 

Her father had told her that she would keep doing her class work remotely, seeing as it was the last semester of the school year and there was no point in making her completely withdraw. 

But come the next school year, she would be a student at College Francoise Dupont, the school across the street from where she and the Dupain-Chengs would reside. 

She knew her father was hurting, but this? This was too much. 

She headed up the skylight, thinking fresh air would help to calm her down, but was proved wrong when she saw the blue sky. 

How the hell was this supposed to feel like home when it felt nothing like Gotham?

Where were the gray skies? The arcs and cobblestone that hid malicious secrets? Where were the gargoyles that followed her every move? Her home?

Amira went back down, looking at the place she had to call her room. The tall ceiling loomed over her, as if laughing at her.

“How are you doing, Amira?” Tom asked her in French, Amira turning ever so slightly to look at the baker. Right, how did she forget? This was Tom’s hometown. Of course he would feel at home here in Paris while she didn’t.

“Doing alright?” Sabine asked, holding their daughter in her arms. She really forgot about her too, didn’t she?

Amira looked at the couple, letting a smile form on her lips. 

“I’m doing alright, Papa, Maman. If anything, just taking in the view.” Amira lied through her teeth. 

That’s right. She couldn’t make any trouble for her host parents. While she knew Tom since she was a toddler, she was still figuring out Sabine. 

Tom met the woman years ago and married her just two years ago. A year into their marriage, they had Bridgette. Of course, the Dupain-Chengs knew that Amira would once again use their surname while in Paris. It will be a bit confusing, but they knew it would be fine as long as the name was used for school purposes only. 

Documents for school were easier to forge than for those for the government, or so Bruce once told them. 

“Well, if you need anything,” Tom started. 

“We will be right downstairs.” Sabine finished. 

With that, the two went down the stairs, leaving Amira to unpack her things. 

So this was her new life. 

As she unpacked her things, she found Jason’s old journal with a worn out bookmark in her hands. She watched as her tears hit the surface of the journal.

“Jason...just what am I supposed to do?”

-

Dick couldn’t take it anymore, hell, he wanted to do this when he first heard about Amira leaving the country against her will. Of course, he couldn’t do anything when Alfred practically threatened him if Dick ever did what he was currently doing.

Barging into Bruce’s study, Dick didn’t care if Bruce was in the middle of a phone call. Ending the call, Dick made Bruce look at him.

“What the hell made you think sending Amira by herself to Paris was a good idea?” Dick growled, hating that Bruce remained indifferent. 

With a sigh, Bruce set down the phone.

“She’s not alone. She’s with Tom and his wife. They’ll take good care of her.”

“That isn’t the point here Bruce! You’ve literally sent Amira across the Atlantic, away from all the people she knew as family, just because it would give you a peace of mind?”

“It was necessary.”

“It was extreme, even for you!” Dick gritted. “Amira needs us to be by her side, not across an ocean, all by herself!” 

“If that's what you came here to talk about, I suggest you leave. I have an important call to-”

“Fine! Be that way! Dick yelled, slamming the door behind as he left the study.

He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t.

Sending Amira to a place she didn’t know, a place where she would have trouble with adjusting to all on her own? 

How could Bruce do this to her?

Once in his room, Dick huffed, pacing around his room in attempts to calm himself down. As he kept pacing around, he noticed his suitcase peering from under his bed.

That’s right. He was 17, almost 18 in a few months.

Who needed Bruce anyways?

-

Amira needed a break from unpacking, so taking her keys and her phone (that she managed to buy without her father knowing), Amira went off to explore. Of course, she told her ’parents’ before going off, thanking that they at least understood her, unlike her own father.

Amira sighed as she looked out towards the Seine, wondering why many tourists believed that this river lived up to its fame, the river making her remember one of her father’s stories about her mother.

Her mother and father had come here before, a year before she was born. Talia. That was her mother’s name. While Amira hated the fact that she learned her mother’s name 12 years too late, she was glad to finally have the name of the woman who brought her into this world. 

Even if the world was against her. 

The two were just two love birds, even if they only knew each other for a year. In that year, they came to the Seine together and placed a lock on that very bridge, thinking they too would end up together. Seems like the universe had other plans for the two. 

Amira kept walking around town, getting a feel for it, remembering landmarks in case she ever got lost and didn’t have her phone. 

As she passed by a park, she couldn’t help but notice the mob of girls looking at something...or rather, someone.

As she approached the mob, she finally saw what they were all desperately trying to get to see.

“Adrien!” A girl shouted, said boy turning to greet them, causing the girls to let out a deathly squeal, causing Amira to cover her ears.

Damn fangirls and their screams. Just when she thought she got used to them, she was always proven wrong. Then again, Dick’s fanclub wasn’t as rowdy as these girls. They at least respected Dick and his wishes of them not causing trouble for him.

Amira left the mob, wondering why the boy looked so familiar only to look up and see why. His damned face was all over the place.

A model...he was a model...

A decent looking model to be quite honest. But despite being a model, he had nothing compared to-

Amira caught herself mid sentence, wondering why she thought that...

Did she really miss him that much?

Not thinking much of it, she kept walking.

-

“What do you mean he isn’t home?” Bruce asked, looking up from his documents. He watched as Alfred remained unfazed by Bruce’s raise in tone.

“Master Dick told me to give you this if you should ever ask about his whereabouts.” Alfred handed over an envelope to Bruce. But Bruce simply let it hang, getting up to search for his missing son. “Master Bruce, I suggest you don’t-”

“We have patrol tonight and he should have been here by now, prepping for it. He should be-”

“-in Bludhaven by now.” Alfred completes, making Bruce stop.

“What?”

“Master Dick wanted to tell you that he was heading to Bludhaven.” Alfred said, laying down the envelope Dick had wanted to give to Bruce. “‘Crime never rests’ he said before leaving with nothing but a small suitcase. Although if you ask me, it seems like he’s taken the next step in his life. But what about you, Master Bruce?

Are you ready to take the next step?”

Bruce’s mouth formed a thin line, eyeing the envelope on the desk.

“I guess I better get used to doing patrols by myself then.”

-

Amira couldn’t believe her eyes. Who the hell would  just push an elderly old man as they’re crossing the street? Not even Gothamites did that (unless there was some type of crime going around).

“Are you alright sir?” She asked the elderly man, helping him up and handing him his cane. 

Yes, she was the daughter of a billionaire, but that didn’t stop Grandpere Alfred from making sure she was shaped into a decent human being. 

“Thank you, young lady.” The elderly man replied, shakily getting up. “I’m terribly sorry for making you-“

“No problem at all sir.” Amira told him with a small smile. “If anything, it gave me a slight feel of home.” Amira bid the old man goodbye, not realizing the perplexed look on his face. 

-

Bruce let out a long sigh as he rubbed his temples, trying to figure out why the universe was against him so much lately.

First, Dick leaves for Bludhaven without a single word. Then he wouldn’t pick up his phone whenever Bruce called, although he did at least read the messages Bruce would leave him.

Second, Amira also stopped picking up the phone as well. Whenever Bruce would call the bakery, Amira would pick up before hanging up promptly. Unlike Dick, Amira didn’t have a phone, so he couldn’t just leave her a message directly for her. He would have to relay it, something he didn’t want to do. 

And when he thought his week couldn’t get any worse, it did. 

He was at another charity event, when Killer Croc decided to attack. Stuck between a stone and a wall, Bruce was about to resort to possibly exposing himself when a girl crashed in, wearing a bat logo across her chest. 

While she was knocked out the minute she came to the scene, it gave Bruce a decent window to change into Batman.

And here he was, standing in an alley with a girl who’s red hair made him think he knew her behind the yellow mask and black cowl.

“What were you thinking?” Batman hissed, looking at the girl in front of him. “What made you think that wearing that outfit would-”

“This was the only way to get your attention.” The girl spoke, unfazed by his furrowed brows. “You need a partner and don’t say you don’t, because your recent fights tend to prove otherwise. The girl cut to the chase, placing her hand on top of her yellow utility belt. “Your attacks are sloppy and you’re biting off more than you can chew to make up for Nightwing’s sudden change of patrol.”

Batman frowned, wondering how much this girl knew about him and his activities.

“It wasn’t sudden. He was going to-”

“Because that clearly explains why Nightwing is only seen patrolling Bludhaven as of five days ago.” The girl says, waiting for Batman’s next excuse. When there was none, the girl continued. “I know why he moved. I know why you’re lagging behind. It’s what happened to Robin...isn’t it?”

The girl knew that it was a touchy subject, she knew and yet she still needed to voice it. She needed Batman to come back to his senses. Gotham needed him to come back.

“Robin-”

“Robin died in your last mission involving Joker.  It didn’t take long to connect the dots when all of the evidence was there. No Robin sighting in the past month, no Nightwing seen with you for the past two weeks and Nightwing suddenly appearing in Bludhaven this week? Not exactly being the most discreet here, B.”

“Listen here-” Batman started, only then realizing who this young woman was. How did he not notice her before? After all, she used to follow her father like a chick would follow its mother. “Barbara.” He didn’t miss the way she flinched, her eyes growing wide. “Vigilantism isn't a game.”

“How-”

“If your father found out-”

“He won’t.” Barbara declared. “He may be a detective, but he is my father. It shouldn’t be too hard to make him-”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, although I’m sure he would quickly find out about you doing this.” Batman said, starting the Batmobile. “I’m worried about how it will affect your relationship with your father. What would he say when you finally decide to tell him your…” Batman realising he never heard her alias. 

“Batgirl.” Barbara provided.

“What will he say when you finally tell him your Batgirl? That you’re working with Batman, a man he despises?”

“He doesn’t really despise you.” Barbara said, looking down at her feet. “If anything, he’s grateful that you're doing what you’re doing: keeping Gotham safe.” Batman looked at Barbara with calculating eyes before he stepped into the Batmobile.

“Get in. I’m taking you home.”

-

After dropping Barbara home, Bruce wasn’t expecting to find yet another unwanted visitor in the Cave.

“Hey, um..hi.” The boy said, Batman wondering why the Drakes’ kid was doing in his Cave. 

Sure, the two families have never talked to each other, but Bruce made it his business to investigate them thoroughly. “My name’s Tim. Tim Drake. I...I know you’re Bruce Wayne and I knew who Robin was too, but that’s not why I’m here!” Tim quickly added when he noticed Batman approach him with narrowed eyes. “I..I wanted to ask you something else.”

“Then speak.” Bruce growled, towering over the boy, but Tim didn’t back down from his glare.

“Where’s Amira, your daughter?”

-

Amira looked at the picture on her phone, not realizing how much she was squeezing it until her hand started to ache. Scowling, Amira threw her phone against her wall, yelling as she began to thrash her room. Thankfully, half of her things were still in boxes and the Dupain-Chengs were out for the day. 

It hasn’t even been two months since Amira arrived in Paris, not even one year since Jason’s death and yet...and yet! He dared to replace him! 

Amira recalled the headline on the Gotham Gazette’s latest issue.

FINALLY BACK! : ROBIN’S FIRST APPEARANCE AFTER TWO MONTHS OF SILENCE

As if that wasn’t enough, when she scrolled further down the article, she was met with another revelation. Batgirl.

She remembered the years of pleading with her father to let her join him, to let her help keep Gotham safe and each time she asked, her father dismissed her out of hand.

She knew how to operate the Batcomputer, she knew she could have worked perfectly with Jason, she knew how he operated, she knew she was ready...but he always shut her down.

And yet when this girl comes around, he quickly accepts her? Just like that?

This girl who came out of nowhere... This girl who probably knows next to nothing on how he operates? On what it meant to wear the infamous bat emblem on her person?

He lets her join him?

Amira stopped throwing her things, quickly going to pick them up and putting them back into place. 

Maybe this is why her father sent her to Paris, using his ‘concern for her safety’ as an excuse to kick her out of Gotham. To make her leave so he can replace her with someone else. If that was the case...then fine…

Let him keep replacing them. 

Let him do what he wants, because guess what?

She too is going to do what she wants, whether he likes it or not.

-

Months passed by, it finally being September, Amira finally having adapted to her new home. But just as she started to adapt to her new life, another thing was hurdled her way.

College Françoise Dupont. 

Her father insisted she attend this school, one of the few reminders that he had control over every aspect of her life.

Sighing, Amira made her way to school. She stared at the stairs that lead to the school, scoffing at the size of it. 

To be honest it looked like the size of her old school’s library. That or perhaps Amira just forgot how Gotham Academy’s library truly was in size. 

Knowing that she had no other choice, Amira walked into the school and hunted for her class, looking at her timetable and at the numbers of the doors within the school. 

Something she quickly realized was that she was right. This school was small. Too small for her liking.

She managed to find her class, located on the second floor of the building, a bit too close to the stairs if you asked her. 

Stepping into her classroom, she was met with several pairs of eyes. Ignoring them, Amira headed to the teacher, remembering everything she had researched before transferring to this school.

Caline Bustier - her main teacher and her teacher for French, literature, and poetry.

From what Amira could remember, Bustier is a supposed passionate teacher, eager to protect and nurture her students, hence why she has had the same class for the past several years. Apparently she begged the principal to let her keep teaching the same class year after year.

While yes, it did show her love for her students, Amira took it as a sign of fear. Fear of not being able to teach another group of students that weren’t the ones she had already taught before. Students that she knew how to control, not having to start from scratch to learn about their weaknesses and strengths. She feared failure, perhaps change.

“Hello, Miss Bustier. My name is Marinette-”

“So you’re Marinette!” Miss Bustier interrupted, causing Marinette to narrow her eyes and scrunch her nose in annoyance. “I’m so glad to have you in our class! Please take a seat!”

Marinette simply stood there, looking at her class and then at Miss Bustier. “I can sit anywhere?”

“Pardon?” Miss Bustier asked, tilting her head a bit. That’s when it hit her. “Oh! That’s right! You’ve recently transferred from-”

“Can I or can I not?” Marinette asked impatiently. 

“Y-Yes. You can sit anywhere you want.” Miss Bustier stammered, watching Marinette choose the seat in the front towards her left. 

Marinette proceeded to take out her notebook and go over her classes, taking mental notes on what supplies to buy and which she didn’t. 

Everything was going swell, the class slowly filling in until a certain brat entered the class. 

“Move aside! Your Queen is coming through.” Chloé announces as Sabrina made sure that her path was clear. 

Chloé Bourgeois, the daughter of Paris’ mayor. Nothing but a spoiled brat from Marinette’s research. As long as she steered away from Chloe, she was fine. 

With Chloé being the last person to enter, Miss Bustier started the class. 

-

Hell. It was utter hell. 

Marinette held the urge to drag her hands down her face at how boring French was. 

Despite already being 13 year olds, they were going over material that Marinette knew they covered during Ecole Primaire. Why was Miss Bustier still teaching this material?

With the sound of the bell, her class started to move around when Miss Bustier called out Ivan. 

Turning around, Marinette watched as Ivan was about to punch Kim. Within seconds, Marinette put herself between Ivan and Kim, staring at Ivan. 

“What is going on?” Marinette asked, hating herself that she still managed to get into anti-bullying mode thanks to being in the role for five straight years. 

“It's Kim.” Ivan growled, Marinette noticing Kim shift in his place. “I’m going to-“

“Punching him won’t do anything.” Marinette cut off, noticing that Miss Bustier still hadn’t bothered to come up to the two boys to see what was wrong. “If anything, it might prove you guilty rather than innocent.” 

Marinette watched as Ivan lowered his arm, only then Marinette noticing the paper in his hand. “Kim. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Kim cried out. “Ivan just suddenly wanted to hit me!“

Marinette glared at him as she took the info, gesturing Ivan to hand over the paper in his hand. Hesitantly, he did. 

Reading the paper, Marinette knew who started it. Turning to her teacher, she frowned. “Miss Bustier, I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with my old school, correct?”

“Yes.” Miss Bustier replied. “Gotham Academy, if I remember correctly.” Marinette ignored the waves of gasps that rippled through the class. 

Was her school that known? Or simply because Gotham was in the name?

“As you know, Gotham Academy is well known for its anti-bullying program, for I was the head student of that program for 5 years straight. So my question is, what haven’t you moved?”

“Pardon?”

“I said: why haven’t you moved? Instead of rushing here to see what actually happened here or to even dismantle the fight, you decided to just stand there and watch. You called out Kim. While I understand that you were worried about Kim, what about Ivan?”

“Ivan?” Miss Bustier repeated, wondering where exactly Marinette was going with this. “Ivan was going to hit Kim, so of course I was going to worry about Kim! As a teacher-“

“But what about Ivan?” Marinette asked again. How she hated when people didn’t answer her questions properly. “What were you planning to tell him? Or rather, what were you thinking when you saw Ivan raise his hand against Kim?”

“I...I was going to send him to the prin-“

“Then you failed him as a teacher.” Marinette cut off, walking up to Miss Bustier. “As a teacher, you’re supposed to be there for the students, meaning remaining neutral during arguments. As a neutral party, you have to look at both sides of the story.” Marinette slammed the crumbled piece of paper against her desk. “You were just about to make the situation worse by sending the victim to the principal rather than the person who started the problem.” 

Marinette went to grab her bag and stared at Miss Bustier. “If you were a teacher at my old school and someone reported this incident the way it almost happened, you would’ve had your teaching license suspended and sent to several anti bullying workshops. You would then be re-evaluated to see if you can teach again. If not, you would be fired then and there. So word of advice Miss Bustier, don’t let the spark turn into a flame when you have the chance to snuff it out.”

Marinette left the classroom, heading to her next class. Hopefully she would be able to convince her gym teacher to get her into the fencing club. She needed to blow off some steam. 

-

There went her chance at asking the teacher to join the fencing team. 

As soon as Marinette got to persuade the coach to teach her how to fence, a villain appeared, wrecking havoc with her...whatever it was she was using. 

Thanks to the attack, the students were sent home early, Marinette now in her room. She frowned as she paced around in her room, hating her situation. 

There was a villain. In Paris. Where her father couldn’t reach her. The irony. 

Marinette let out a dry chuckle, not believing this all. 

“Father is across the ocean, there’s a villain running loose in the streets and here I am! Missing the opportunity of a lifetime!”

She would have proven herself to her father. That she was up for crime fighting. 

But the universe just had to be against her...or so she thought. 

As she slumped into her computer chair, she noticed the black box with an ever so familiar red emblem on the top of the hexagon shaped lid. 

Something screamed at her to leave it alone while a piece of her whispered to open it. 

Prying the box open, Marinette watched as a red orb manifested in front of her, her eyes following it as it morphed into an odd creature. Making sure the creature was what emerged from the box, Marinette looked back down to the box, noticing a pair of earrings.

Ladybug themed earrings...o...okay…

“Hello!” The being spoke, Marinette quickly snapping from her trance. “I know this is all weird to you, but I can explain. My name is Tikki and I am a Kwami. To be more precise, the Kwami of creation.” 

Kwami of creation...that implies that there are others like this creature out there.

“Tikki...although I want to say that it’s a pleasure to meet you, I know there’s a reason behind you gracing me with your presence.” Tikki nodded, handing Marinette over the earrings.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I need you to take down Remediator.”

-

After Tikki laid down the groundwork on how her miraculous worked, Marinette got to work.

She managed to track down Remediator, surveying her action before deciding on a plan to take down the...akuma?

No, that was the name of the thing that possessed her teacher. Villain would be the better term. 

As she watched Remediator ‘fix’ people’s problems, Marinette couldn’t help but notice the heart located on Remediator’s chest fill up, almost as if it fed off - no.

It did feed off of the problems Remediator supposedly fixed. Now, how exactly was she-

“Get away from them!” someone shouted, Marinette looking to the direction of which the voice came from that was about to attack Remediator.

A blond boy cladded in black -black leather to be more precise- extended his bo staff to try and fling the ‘villain’ away from her new set of prey.

Sighing, Marinette sprung from her hiding spot and prevented the boy from hitting the ‘villain,’ earning a glare and a ‘hey’ from the boy.

“What were you thinking?” Marinette growled, crossing her arms. 

“Well hello to you too.” The boy said, eyeing Marinette’s odd choice of wearing a black slit miniskirt and short black cape over her red skin tight bodysuit. “To think such a bossy-” the boy promptly shut up when Marinette glared at him.

“I’m going to forget what you just said if you answer my previous question. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of defeating the villain. Isn’t that our job?” The boy asked in response. 

“Yes, it’s our job to-”

“Then let’s go! The people-”

“The people are alright.” Marinette spoke, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If anything, the akumatized person isn’t really doing much.” Marinette filled in, watching the boy tilt his head. How did he not notice the victim actually helping solve people’s problem despite being dubbed a villain? “Are you being serious right now?” Marinette dragged her hands over her face. “Are you telling me you haven’t been trying to investigate the victim to see if they’re truly hurting anyone?”

When she saw the boy slowly shake his head, Marinette let out a heavy sigh. 

“What? I see a villain, I quickly head over and fight them off. It’s our job after all.”

“Our job is to protect the people, but that doesn’t mean we have to ruthlessly attack the victim or villain. Since we don’t know the full capacity of their powers, we have to proceed cautiously. We also have to make sure they destroy as little property as possible.” Marinette warned, the boy arching a brow. Just how much did he not realize? “We don’t know if the damage they cause is permanent or not...we don’t want innocent people to die, or do we?”

She watched as the boy’s eyes widened, only then his role finally sinking in. Marinette watched as the boy looked down at his hands, trembling more as he kept staring at them.

“So what are we supposed to do?” The boy asked Marinette, looking at her with fear in his eyes.

“De-escalate the situation.” Marinette said, only then realizing something. “What’s your name?”

“Adri-”

“Not your actual name you idiot. We mustn’t know each other's identities under any circumstance!” Marinette warned. “So, what’s your alias?” The boy hummed before he smiled.

“Chat. Chat Noir. What about you?”

“Ladybird.” Ladybird provided quickly, raising a brow when Chat Noir looked at her in...admiration? “What?”

“Not only did you already have your outfit down, but also your name. Have you been Ladybird for a while?”

“Nope. Been Ladybird for a few hours.” The two were snapped from their conversation when they heard a scream nearby. “Come on Chat, we have a victim to help.”

-

After an hour of trying to calm the victim down, but coming to no avail (since Ladybird couldn’t exactly bring her Marinette to her), the duo resorted to fighting the victim, finding her akuma to be trapped in a piece of paper tucked in her skirt pocket.

Ordering Chat to take Miss Bustier back to the school, Ladybird stood below the Eiffel Tower. 

“De-evilize.” Ladybird said as she captured the akuma, purifying it with her yo-yo and then releasing it. “Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybird shouted as she then threw her yo-yo in the air as Tikki had told her, watching as millions of ladybugs erupted from her tiny yo-yo and spread throughout Paris, fixing any damage and reversing the victim’s effects on any person inflicted by the victim’s power.

“That was amazing!” A girl shouted from across the police tape, Ladybird turning to see her classmate...or rather her seat ‘buddy’. Alya is her name...if Marinette remembered correctly. “Say, can we know the name of the hero who just finished saving Paris?” Alya asked, smiling as she watched Ladybird approach her.

“The name’s Ladybird, but I am no hero. I’m just doing what I must to keep Paris safe.” With those words, Ladybird ran off, using her yo-yo to lift herself onto a building and disappear into the distance.

-

Stepping into her room, Amira finally let herself relax.

“Tikki, spots off.” Amira recited, watching her transformation wear off. Just as she was about to ask Tikki for her end of the deal, a voice spoke up.

“What is the meaning of this?” Amira whipped her head around, her eyes wide before narrowing upon seeing her father.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find a way to keep knowing of your activities outside of Gotham?” Bruce asked, looking at her monitors at her desk. It was only then that Amira understood what he meant by that.

“You hacked into my devices from across the ocean?” Amira gritted. “Was isolating me not enough for you, so you had to resort towards invading my privacy too?” She didn’t get a response.

“When I heard that there was a villain in Paris-” Bruce continued, walking to her small window that was across from where he stood.

“Don’t-” a whine. “She wasn’t a villain! The true mastermind manipulated her emotions and took advantage of it to turn her-”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce stated. “She was still putting you in danger, whether directly or indirectly. But judging from your entrance and outfit, I’m going to guess that it was directly.”

“I was able to defend myself. I was able to defeat her.” Amira pointed out, not bringing up that thanks to her suit being magical, all of her injuries were healed once dropping her transformation. She didn’t want to give him any more flaws to tear apart. “Some random stranger had more confidence in me being able to take down a villain than you ever-”

“They were lucky that you knew what you were doing. That you had experience in martial arts and weaponry. Or did you forget who trained you?” Bruce reminded, making Amira shrink into herself, because...he had a point.

“But-”

“Not to mention how much of a deadweight your partner was.”

“He-”

“He relied on you to keep catching him, to keep directing him. All he did was follow your orders, never once thinking for himself or trying to guess your next step. What good is a partner if all they do is create more work for you?” Bruce asked, watching Amira shut up. “Did you really think this situation-”

“Yes.” Amira answered. “And I wasn’t wrong. I-” 

Amira was cut off by a video appearing on her main monitor’s screen. A video addressed to her...or rather Ladybird.

He introduced himself as Hawkmoth, declaring himself as Ladybird’s and Chat Noir’s enemy. Declaring that he was after their miraculous and wouldn’t stop until he had them. Once the video ended, Amira felt her father’s shadow loom over her.

“Hand them over.” 

“What?” Amira squeaked out, making sure to keep looking at her father. She couldn’t afford to hand them over. So to prevent that, she had to avoid looking at the box at her desk and try to not shield the earrings she was wearing. “No! I’m not going to hand them over just because you said so!”

“Amira, hand them over. If that man is after these miraculouses, then I need you to hand them over. I won’t allow him-”

“I vowed to protect them! To keep them away from the enemy that is Hawkmoth and he will not get his hands on them! Nor will I allow you to have them either.” Amira promised, taking a stance. “If you want them from me, you’ll have to-“ Amira called back her transformation, watching her father stare at her with wide eyes. “You will have to take them from my cold dead body! After all, you don’t need me, just like you didn’t need Jason! We are so easily replaceable after all.”

“Amira, what are you-”

At that moment, her ceiling began to rumble, causing the two of them to go on alert. Soon, someone crashed through her small skylight, cement falling into her room while dust filled in the remaining space. 

With the dust making her lose sight of her father, Amira kept her guard up when she quickly turned around to avoid being hit from behind.

“Amira! Where are you?” She heard her father ask, but she didn’t respond. Who knew if this was part of his plan. Who knew if this was his way of telling her he would get his way no matter what.

Amira dodged another attack to her side, Amira crouching to avoid it while also sweeping her leg under her opponent, only to find out he was able to fly. Looking up to the person before her, she froze. 

He was glowing green, also wearing a domino mask across his face.

“Sorry kid. But we were left with no choice but to take you by force.” 

“Wha-” Amira’s words were cut short when she felt someone else behind her.

The last thing Amira remembered was a beautiful woman giving her an apologetic look as Amira fell to the ground. Had she remained conscious for a while longer, she would’ve heard her father crying out her name, agony coating his voice.

NEXT

#maribat #b!dbwm2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #amira wayne

[empatheticagent]

A small step?

//quick note for mentions of mental illnesses (depression, ptsd, anxiety). Death and abuse are mentioned but not detailed. Please let me know if particular tags are still needed beyond what is already applied.

Date: February 4th

Patient name: RAYMOND ARNOLD HARTELL

Level 2 clearance, under guidance of Special ops Field agent, MARCO ELLIS.

Notes:

-Previously diagnosed with ptsd, anxiety and catatonic depression.

Goes through periods of non-verbalism. He was diagnosed following his first recorded catatonic episode where a SHIELD medical team was sent to the address of Intelligence Analysis agent GERMAINE SHEPHERD, where he had currently been staying (the reverse is now recorded on file). I spent a long time with HARTELL following the episode, observing, testing and questioning before making the diagnosis of ptsd and catatonic depression myself. HARTELL remained in medical care for at least 2 months following the diagnosis under careful observation while we tested out different medications. He has changed prescriptions a few times since.

-HARTELL is classed as a Psychic Empath with Inhuman DNA markers. His powers are volatile, especially when his own moods are so unstable. His true limits are yet undetermined, though his previous mentor tried reaching them using abusive practices. He has previously used his abilities to assist with tracking agents and with interrogations before his mental health and control of his powers slipped [see attached files].

-HARTELL’s previous mentor has been noted as being the major trigger for the conditions to develop, subjecting HARTELL to harsh training, emotional abuse and later on the capture and murder of Internal Affairs agent CLAYTON WEISS, who HARTELL had been in a formal relationship with [see attached paperwork from HR dept].

-Currently living with a co-worker and has acquired a service dog to help manage symptoms. Regular counseling has not taken place since approximately April/May the previous year following an incident where HARTELL was held captive by his previous mentor and SHIELD traitor, ELIJAH LAWRENCE BANCROFT. [see attached report on the incident]

-HARTELL is attending regular, monthly medical check-ups via SHIELD medical department, mandated by agent Ellis as a condition of his training. It has been noted HARTELL has had an ongoing struggle with eating regularly and often borders on underweight [see attached medical file]. There has been some recent progress to correcting this, however extra stresses seem to have thrown off any progress in the past so a careful watch is needed.

-It is noted on his file from his previous psych [Dr ZACHARIAH LAWRENCE] that a year ago, to this day, HARTELL was put on a mandatory leave after an incident in one of the base’s break rooms. [report attached]

Dr Rosalyn Salvi was a SHIELD psych; the one who had previously diagnosed Ray while he had remained in the medical department for a couple of months, only for Ray to shut her out and start having appointments with Dr Lawrence instead. That was fine, Dr Salvi had thought at the time. She had recommended her old colleague when Ray had brought up wanting to try a psych that was independent of SHIELD. The problem there had been all the sensitive information and the issue with Ray’s powers, so he and Dr Salvi had compromised with him going to her former colleague instead. Unfortunately, from what she had heard, Dr Lawrence turned out to actually be a descendant of Bancroft himself.

Now here they were, Ray and Dr Salvi, sitting opposite each other in her office once again to try and pick up the pieces. This time even the appointment was Hartell’s own suggestion, rather than one recommended by colleagues or supervisors.

“It’s a nice surprise to see you back here,” the doctor said, smiling gently. “How would you prefer I address you? Title, surname…?”

“…Ray is fine,” he replied quietly.

“Alright, Ray. I noticed you changed your living situation again recently. It said you had nearly a year where your cousin was staying with you?”

Ray let out a small sigh and nodded. “We… ran into some difficulties.”

“Such as?”

He hesitated, shifting in his seat. “She- I was… rude to her. We ended up arguing and she grabbed my arm when I went to leave instead of working things out… as usual.”

“And how are things between you now?”

“Uh… they’re improving. We did talk about the issue, but… I dunno, it’ll take time for me to get past that. I mean… We do talk now, but- but it’s just not like it used to be. She gets along real well with Hailey though.”

“Hailey?”

“Oh, sorry. My daughter-“

“The one you only recently added on file with SHIELD?” Dr Salvi asked with a slight frown of disapproval.

“Well I wasn’t aware I had a daughter, until like, Thanksgiving last year. I added her only when she came to stay with me, because uh, that was when I first heard about her,” Ray explained with a huff.

The doctor frowned and nodded, making a note. That did explain the sudden inclusion. “And there was recently an incident involving her that SHIELD was alerted to?”

Ray tensed, hands curling into fists as he recalled the event. “Yeah. She was targeted. That was the whole reason apparently she was sent to stay with me. Her- her mother and grandfather have uh…” Wait, should he be bringing it up? Too late now. “They have previously been involved in criminal activity. I’m not sure if they still are.”

“Hold on, is this the same family from the Riggs incident?”

Both Ray and Dr Salvi turned to look. Ray had already forgotten that the Legal Investigator was even sitting in on the session, in a chair off to the side behind Ray. She had hoped he would be able to respond more freely if he couldn’t see her.

Ray slowly nodded. “Yeah… That’s them. You’ve read that file?”

“Of course,” Janine replied. “I was curious about your history while I was researching the… other case.”

“Bancroft,” Ray mumbled.

Even though he was the one who had brought up the name, his whole behaviour changed at the mention of the name. He drew his feet up onto the chair and wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest. He lowered his gaze away from both the psych and the legal investigator, focusing instead on the carpet between his chair and Dr Salvi’s.

“Which we still haven’t really touched on,” The doctor pointed out, carefully noting the behaviour change.

“I have only parts of the story myself, I believe,” Janine quietly said to the doctor. It wasn’t phrased as a criticism of Ray, she was simply letting the doctor know she could help fill in some of the gaps later on.

“Yeah, well… no offense,” Ray said, looking up at Dr Salvi. “But last time I opened up to a therapist about him and… and Clay… it turned out the doctor was related to Bancroft and-“

The doctor nodded slowly.

“Understandable that there’d be some hesitancy afterwards. I can assure you though, I am not related to him in any way.” She didn’t expect that to suddenly fix his hesitancy, but still felt it worth saying. Her father had spent years researching both sides of their family and not a single ‘Lawrence’ or ‘Bancroft’ existed there. Not even an ‘Elijah’.

She was about to ask Ray a question, but he looked like he was on the edge of recalling something, so she sat back and waited patiently, pen in hand to note down whatever it was.

“I… don’t think he was actually helping,” Ray muttered, frowning when he realised he hadn’t given any context. “I mean… Za- Dr Lawrence. Uh- I don’t… I don’t remember him helping his father? Who… I only learned was his father when I was there… He wasn’t helping him. They… argued actually.”

“Do you recall what they argued about?”

Ray sighed, hands running through his hair. Think Ray, think.

“They…” It was still pretty fuzzy. He’d barely been conscious at the time. “He was mad because his father messed up his plan? And… and he and the others kept their distance from Bancroft.”

“Others?” The psychologist asked.

“These were the others you named while in recovery, yes?” Agent Hadley asked. “One of them, anyway.”

Ray nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Him. I… Not sure I ever got the other one’s name. But… I could maybe draw…?”

“That would help, if you can give a rough appearance, yes. Then if we find Ward at all, we’ll know who to question him about.”

“Ward?” Dr Salvi questioned, looking concerned. “As in-?”

“Yes,” The legal investigator confirmed. “Grant Ward. The sketch Hartell gave me shortly after Canada matched his appearance on file too. It was definitely him.” How that was the case though, Hadley had no idea, but that could wait for another time.

Their current focus was on Weiss and Bancroft and the effect the whole situation had on Ray. It took a bit of gentle prodding afterwards, but eventually Ray opened up. Not completely, but it was a start. It was more than Janine had heard previously from Hartell and it looked like Dr Salvi was getting new information out of it too.

It wasn’t easy though and they had to pause a few times to wait for Ray to either calm down or stop crying. A few things were broken when he turned his anger on the coffee table in the room and eventually Dr Salvi decided it was better to call up Marco and ask to have ACE brought in, Ray having been hesitant to bring the large dog into the small office despite knowing that the session would be difficult. The rest of the session was done with Ray sitting on the floor with ACE, one hand either absentmindedly petting him or with his fingers tangled in ACE’s fur.

Of course they didn’t get through everything the doctor and the investigator would have liked, but it was still progress; which Ray had been putting off for over a year already. A small step, but a much needed one in the right direction.

#//been working on this since late January and it’s finally done! #mental illness cw #depression cw #death mention cw #abuse mention cw