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ivy-elle · 3 months ago

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Carry The Moon / Part 2

Xiangli Yao x Reader

Part 1 ~~~ Part 2 ~~~ Part 3

Synopsis: From first meetings to searching your voice in every room, how very intriguing you’ve become to him.

As a spirited adventurer, you’re used to a life of action and impulse, having little interest left for the world of data and deduction. But when you stumble upon a rare mineral, you find yourself drawn to the unexpected warm soul that resides within the logic-stricken researcher Xiangli Yao. And as your practical instincts clash with his world of science, sparks fly in more ways than one.

You have been in luck.

More so with the blooming of this strange mineral, despite how short its life span may be.

Yet, your luck has been less generous with the amount of people swarming the halls of the Academy.

It is crowded as hell, with people literally everywhere. Students, scholars, researchers, scientists and who knows who else, all buzzing like bees in a hive. Really makes you miss the TDs you’ve just encountered on your way back.

Good thing of this, people don’t even bother to look at you, too engrossed in their own work or conversations.

Aside from that, finding Xiangli Yao’s work office was still surprisingly easy, conveniently near the archives. And against your presumptions of a typical researcher, you find his workshop to be less… chaotic than you previously imagined.

Perhaps not deserving the label “tidy” quite yet, but enough to discern his care for structure. You guess that’s probably down to his title as the principal investigator.

You step into the room, greeted by the soft hum of various devices and flickering holograms. The man himself is hunched over a stack of books; several loose sheets of paper are scattered across the desk and some even on the floor.

You notice how Yao is standing, rather than sitting on the chair right next to him. Not wanting to startle him, you tap a quick knock on the open door.

At the sound, Yao looks up and you’re caught off guard by how genuine the smile is he greets you with. “Y/N, good afternoon. I hope your trip to the Sea of Flames wasn’t too much trouble.” He places a bookmark between the pages of his book, averting his full attention to you.

You arch an eyebrow, faintly surprised. “So, you found out my name, then.”

“Of course, you’re among the most frequent task-takers of the Pioneer Association.” He nods and tilts his head slightly. “And you’ve handled several commissions and requests for the Academy itself.”

You offer a dry bow. “At your service.”

“Please, come in,” he makes an inviting gesture. “I have some time to spare, before a meeting with some colleagues.”

As you walk further into his super high-tech workshop, you come to realise how surprisingly endearing the décor is, despite the clear cyber-style design.

“So… this is where you tinker away all day then, huh?” You murmur as you catch sight of the several plants and flowers adorning the room and is this… a plushie of a Gulfpuff on the top of that shelf?

Xiangli Yao gives a quick laugh and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Ah, well, yes. It is sort of my second home. Can I offer you some coffee, or we also have juice here if you prefer that?”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.”

While Yao moves to another table and starts preparing two cups of coffee, you slip off your backpack and take out the collected Ardores Lapis. You move some newspaper and strange-looking trinkets aside - carefully of course – before arranging the minerals along the counter.

“You have my greatest gratitude and also my deepest respect for this, y/n.”

You raise your head to meet Yao inspecting the stones before his eyes settle back on you.

The guy is practically glowing with excitement at whatever possibilities these rocks are sparking in his head. “The chances of finding Ardores Lapis in the wild, let alone in full bloom are remarkably low, bordering on the extraordinary.”

“So, what I’m hearing, these rocks are basically my retirement plan?” you quip, tilting your head.

Yao lets out a soft, amused huff and pushes himself off the counter to hand you your cup of coffee. You accept with a quiet, ‘Thanks’.

“Only if your retirement plan isn’t scheduled in the near future. Otherwise, let’s just say my theories still need to be proven before I can guarantee the stones’ effects and potential. But as of now, they’re definitely priceless – at least scientifically speaking.”

“Great.” You reply dryly as you follow him to his desk, with tons and tons of books and loose paper sheets gathered around. “So, in other words, this might end up being some pile of plain ol’ vanilla rocks?”

“The worst-case scenario will be that your retirement might end up a rock garden.”

Yao’s attempt of consolations makes you snort in return. “At least they’re pretty rocks,” you sigh, tracing your finger along the warm mug in your hand.

“Don’t misunderstand. I fully intend to hold onto my word and compensate you adequately. Here, let me show you.” He nods towards a hologram on his desk, adorned by barely legible scribbles and sketches.

He points to one of those sketches. “This shows one of the initial discoveries of Ardores Lapis, such as you’ve encountered. Out of all the essays and data logs I’ve studied, only three other researchers have encountered Ardores Lapis in person. To have these samples here in the academy could revolutionise technology.”

Even though Yao maintains a calm voice while explaining, his inner turmoil and excitement are as clear as the day. You skim over the lines of words projected in the hologram, trying to make sense of the information as well as the significance of it. “Have you informed Mortefi already? See if he’s still in a foul mood because of me?”

“Don’t worry. As soon as he lays eyes on these minerals, all will be long forgotten. I will bring them to him later today.”

“But you’ll keep the ones from yesterday, right?”

He smiles. “I will. Definitely. Mostly because I already started working on them.”

Yao gestures toward the giant cubic on his desk, now glowing as its claw clearly contains the shards of one of the Adores Lapis you’ve brought, along with some other materials you couldn’t name.

“I’ve made you copies of the books, along with my conclusions and comments,” he says, tapping on the hologram. “I’ll send the data to your Pangu Terminal. “

“For Me?” You ask, a bit incredulous, as your terminal pings with the incoming information. “Listen, I respect science but like… from a healthy distance. I’m not much of use for this, trust me.”

He chuckles softly in a way that fills his blue eye with warmth. “Don’t worry. I’ve written it in a way that’s easy to understand, even for non-scientists. I simply want you to be able to determine your own pricing for the minerals. Once word gets out about your find, Mortefi and I won’t be the only ones interested.”

As you open the log file and skim through his summaries, you can’t help but be touched by his thoughtful gesture. He could have easily dismissed your limited knowledge on this topic and offered a low price for the stones or even written them off as worthless. You’ve dealt with enough customers like that in your career to know well how rare this kind of consideration is. Still, you are also aware, not to end up on the loose end of a deal.

So, looking at him, the genuine “Thank you” flows with an uncommon ease from your lips.

After a few moments of silence, you clear your throat, trying to shake the feeling of vulnerability that threatens to rise within you. “You did all that…this morning?”

“I can prioritise my research,” Yao explains matter-of-factly, “especially when it’s such a unique experience, I can indulge myself in.”

“So, you really are a full-on nerd, huh.”

He laughs. “Indeed. I find joy in scientific research. Immersing myself in data and theories, exploring various possibilities… It’s a blissful experience.”

“Alright, Iron Man,” you tease, “I find myself more on the hands-on side of the experience.”

“And thanks to those experience and skills, we’ve uncovered this miracle. Ardores Lapis should not even be able to exist.”

“Isn’t that what all the fuss about science is?” you counter, surprising yourself by how engaged you suddenly feel in the topic. “Pushing the boundaries of what’s possible and knowledge that seemed limited suddenly expands?”

“Science is life's questioning of truth,” Yao replies simply, his voice carrying a touch of melancholy that seems to hold its own story.

It pushes you to treat into dangerous territory as your next words escape you, “Is that why you’ve become one? A scientist, I mean?”

“In a way,” he says with a reflective smile. “I’ve become a researcher to follow my parents’ footsteps, but in a way, I’ve also strayed away somehow.”

“In a bad way?”

“I’m not certain. There is a balance between exceeding people’s expectations of me and meeting the standards I set for myself, based on my parents’ example. Yet there’s also the human side of them I do not want to lose touch with either.”

As you zip up your backpack again, your gaze drifts to the newspaper you’d pushed aside earlier to make room for the stones. The date was several years old, with headlines about scientific breakthroughs. Your focus shifts to the printed pictures of the article.

Oh.

“What kind of humans were they?” you murmur softly.

“They were kind,” Yao replies, a hint of nostalgia in his voice but filled with a warmth that tightens your heart. “The magazines and papers always spoked of them in the highest regard. But most of what I know about my parents comes from reading about them.”

“That must have been lonely.”

At your words, his expression shifts to one of mild surprise. “Please don’t misunderstand. They were wonderful parents; I have an abundance of happy childhood memories.”

You don’t reply. Not wanting to risk upsetting him further, no matter what you think about that topic. Instead, you take a closer look at the picture on the paper. “You have your father’s eyes.”

Yao looks momentarily taken aback, but then his expression softens again. “That’s… oddly comforting. Thank you.”

“Hey, given your parents were top-tier scientists, the resemblance is pretty suspicious. Are you sure you’re not a clone?” You tease, trying to lighten the mood.

And as he genuinely laughs, you feel something stir inside you. How nice it feels to make a science guy actually laugh so freely. Maybe this could turn into your own personal challenge - how many times could you make Xiangli Yao crack up?

It was true what people said about this science prodigy. Despite his young age, Xiangli Yao lived up to his reputation and even exceeded it. You didn’t expect to have enjoyed the time spent here as much as you did. He carried an air of eloquence and poise, yet remained genuinely kind and inviting in a way that makes him impossible to dislike – even for a science guy.

“Well… thanks again,” you say after some comfortable moments of silence and lift your terminal with his papers to demonstrate your point. “I’ll be off then to tackle my homework.”

But Yao shakes his head. “With the amount of sleep you’ve been missing these days, it would not be futile if you tried to digest the information properly. The mind works best when it’s well-rested and nourished. Please, get some rest – you’ve been running around Huanglong the past few days.”

When you leave the academy later that day, you do so with mixed feelings. An unknown surge of curiosity urges you to dive into Yao’s written summaries and learn what he wrote specifically for you, so you would not suffer any potential losses in your job. Commission. Whatever the hell this whole project is turning into right now.

You genuinely want to understand the way he ticks. You want to understand his nature, his story.

Suddenly, you can’t wait to return to the academy, if only to understand more about the world and the impact of small discoveries like yours. And let’s be honest, having a certain light-haired Resonator as a bonus company certainly doesn’t hurt.

Part 1 ~~~Part 2 ~~~ Part 3

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated

#wuthering waves x reader #xiangli yao x reader #x reader #xiangli yao #wuwa imagines #wuthering waves #wuwa #wuwa x reader #wuthering waves xiangli yao #wuwa xiangli yao #wuwa fanfic #wuwa x you #fluff #x y/n #x you #fanfic

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freddie-weaselbee · 4 years ago

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Capture the Flag//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: Language, Cedric hate (but like loving hate)

Summary: The big capture the flag game had commenced, and Fred quickly found himself captured and thrown into the other team’s slammer. Little does he know he has a cellmate who’s willing to do whatever it takes to win, even if that means teaming up with a Gryffindor.

Prompts: Detention/Being Detained with dialogue prompts “oh well fuck me then,” and “half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything”

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Day 6 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge --au where there’s no voldemort so Cedric’s alive and let’s say Umbridge never existed--

Fred had almost gotten away with it. If it weren’t for that meddling Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory and his band of stupid cronies.

“You’ll pay for this, you hear me?” he yelled out, but the handful of boys dragging his body across the grounds just snickered and ignored him.

“Oh shut it, Fred,” said Cedric, walking in front of the group. “You got caught. Rooky mistake. Now, you get to face time.”

Fred groaned, letting his shoes scuff in the dirt in hopes of slowing the boys down, or at least annoying them. It was his own fault he had ended up in this situation. He had gotten too reckless, trying to take on a group of Ravenclaws all by himself. He should’ve known it would’ve been a trap.

The official student Capture the Flag game was a tradition amongst all Seventh Years that took place the spring right before they graduated. It was completely student-run, mostly because if the teachers found out they would shut it all down, but that did mean that the students could be as creative and brutal as they wanted. Fred, pioneer of horrible pranks and traps that attacked the opposing team, was a prime target for capture.

The gang of opponents that had captured Fred was slowing now, having reached their destination. In front of him, Fred saw Hagrid’s hut now painted yellow and blue, the house colors of team one. Hagrid was nowhere to be seen, but Fred figured he probaby would be fine with the vandalism of his hut as long as they cleaned it up once they were done, and with magic that would be fairly easy.

“Into the slammer,” one Hufflepuff boy snickered, opening the door and throwing Fred in. “We have one guard watching the hut. Any attempted escapes in which you’re caught result in a one hour penalty from the game, but if you manage to escape without notice--”

“I know the rules,” Fred muttered. “My older brother bloody made them 10 years ago.”

Cedric, who had been standing outside the door, smiled wryly. “See you soon, Weasley. I’ll make sure you’re the first to see us carrying your flag back to our home base.”

Fred mouthed along to what Cedric was saying with a mocking expression plastered to his face. “This isn’t over yet Diggory!”

The other boy just snickered before slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. Fred raced to one of the windows which had been boarded up for the game. He was able to peak out a hole between two of the boards. Cedric and the other boys were making their way back into the forest, whooping and slapping each other’s backs in celebration. The leader of the group spotted Fred watching them, and before he and his friends disappeared into the trees he cupped his hands over his mouth and called back one more thing.

“Enjoy some one on one time with the other inmate!”

Fred was confused by what Cedric had just said. Other inmate? What could he possibly…

For the first time, Fred actually looked around the small hut and was surprised to see a girl, clothed in black pants and an emerald green top, headband, and facepaint laying down on the couch, feet thrown over the armrest. “Hello.”

He stepped back for a second, hesitant and fearful. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You gave him an ‘are-you-stupid’ look before sitting up. “Same as you.”

Fred mentally smacked himself for being so dumb. When deciding which houses were on which teams, the four names were thrown into a hat and then two were pulled out at a time. This year, against the wishes of every single person in both houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin were on the same team, which meant Fred was staring at one of his teammates dressed head to toe in your signature house color.

Still skeptical, as most Gryffindors were of Slytherins, he sidestepped over to a nearby chair, eyes never leaving you. Your face shone with amusement at his obvious fear, and it only made you all the more confident. Godric how he hated that.

“I’m not gonna bite, Freddie, you can join me on the couch. It’s much more comfortable than Hagrid’s huge chairs.”

Fred’s face tinted red at the nickname. He couldn’t remember the last time you had spoken to him, much less called him Freddie. It made him slightly uneasy, how comfortable and self-assured you were. It always put him on edge.

Eventually, after a few moments of silence and pondering, Fred decided that joining you on the couch would be fine. You were teammates after all, and what was the worst you could do to him? He sat down, stretching as far away from you as possible.

You cocked an eyebrow, scooting closer to him as a test. He flinched away.

“Bloody hell,” you said, moving back to your original position, “you really are afraid of me aren’t you?”

He didn’t say anything. What could he say? You always made him speechless, for reasons he never understood, heart beating faster whenever you were near. He assumed it was out of fear. You were sorted into the evil house after all.

“My friends all called it too,” you continued, smiling a dazed smile. “They always said that you would get weird around me, something you never did with anyone else. Am I really that terrifying? Afraid I’m gonna bite you in your sleep?” Your eyes shone as you teased him, and he couldn’t decide if it made him want to relax and talk to you or get the hell out of there immediately.

You leaned your head toward him again, but this time he didn’t move away. You seemed to study him, looking his face and body up and down as if you were taking mental notes of every part of his person.

“For someone so incredibly loud, you don’t seem to talk much when I’m around.”

“I…” He trailed off, words catching in his throat.

“Well, that’s gonna have to change if we’re gonna get out of here.” You clapped your hands together and stood up, brushing the dirt off your pants and fixing your ponytail. “What’s the plan, prank man?”

He stared at you dumbfounded, even more so than he was before. You reached out your hands to pull him off the couch and he reluctantly took them, brows still furrowed in confusion. “The plan?”

“There we go, I got ya talking!” You cheered loudly, beaming at your teammate. “And yes, the plan. For how we’re gonna, y’know, get out of here and get the flag and beat all these losers.”

Fred’s throat was suddenly dry. A plan? You expected him to have a plan? What kind? He’d been there for no more than 5 minutes and you were already throwing him back into the game.

“I...uh, I don’t h-have a plan.”

You crossed your arms, staring down at him and biting your lip. “Really? You, Fred Weasley, don’t have a plan?”

“Why are you talking to me like we’re friends?” Woah. That came out way harsher than he had wanted it to and he regretted it the moment it left his lips, especially seeing you wince at his blow. You covered it up quickly, face becoming darker with determination.

“We may not be friends, your words, not mine, but we are teammates. And I don’t know about you, but I like to win, and I’ll be damned if I’m stuck just sitting in here for the rest of the game because you don’t want to be partners with the likes of me. Now are you in, or not?”

He hated how quickly your tone had changed, starting as a warm playful banter and now becoming something hard and defensive. For reasons unknown to him, at that moment he would do anything to see that other side of you again, the poised and bold persona you always made sure everyone saw. But it was never a cocky confident, not how he could be sometimes. Rather, it was just assured. You knew what you wanted and what you were worth and you didn’t let anyone give you shit for anything. He envied you for that quality sometimes. The amount of time and energy he’d put into hiding his insecurities, and here you were being more confident than he could ever pretend to be.

He realized that you were still waiting for a response. Forgetting his nerves and the butterflies in his stomach that were always there whenever you spoke to him, he sat up straighter and mustered all the charm and confidence he usually carried. “You really think I’d let you win and take all the credit for yourself?”

A smile grew back on your face, one that Fred thought he would give anything to preserve.

“Alright then Freddie--oh, can I call you Freddie?”

He nodded, shyly at first and then more forceful. “Yeah, but I think this would be more fun with codenames.”

Your eyes grew wide at his suggestion and you started jumping up and down, energy rustling inside you just begging to get out. “Yes!” you almost screamed. “Oh perfect, ok, you can be...Eagle 1. Ooo, I like that. And I’ll be…”

“Why the 1 after it?” Fred asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“Because it sounds cooler,” you replied immediately. You snapped your fingers. “I’ll be Mantis, like a praying mantis. That’s cool. Ok, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect, Mantis,” he said, holding his hand up for a high five. You had to jump to reach his hand, giggling at the use of the new nickname.

“Alright, Eagle 1, any observations?”

Fred scanned the room, mind whirling with ideas. His eyes landed on the corner, a brick structure cemented into the wall. “Actually, I think I do have a plan.”

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“This was a very stupid plan!”

You had to whisper yell so the guard down below, a Ravenclaw girl, couldn’t hear you. You and Fred were currently on the roof of Hagrid’s hut, holding on for dear life and trying not to make a sound. Somehow, against all known laws of physics and magic alike, you had both climbed up the chimney and had failed to be detected so far.

“Shh,” Fred said, looking around for a way down without being discovered.

“What’s the next part of the plan?” you hissed, nearly losing you footing on the steep slant of the rooftop.

Fred looked down sheepishly, glad it was too dark for you to see his ears grow red in embarrassment. “I didn’t think that far yet.”

His admission almost made you fall off the roof. “Oh, well fuck me then! How are we supposed to get down?”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking! Just give me a minute.”

The hut was small, meaning that the girl who was walking circles around the bottom would do a full lap in about 30 seconds, and they would be visible in 15 no matter where they dropped down, if they could even make the drop without breaking a limb. Plus, the noise would no doubt alert her, and no matter how fast they ran she had her wand and would stun them before they got more than 10 metres away. You and Fred had your wands confiscated, which made this whole ordeal much harder, if not impossible. So the ground was out of the running.

Fred turned his head to the sky, wishing he had his broom so he could soar over everyone. Over everyone… That was it!

“Come here.” He grabbed your hand, yanking you away from the chimney and to the edge of the roof.

“Freddie, if you push me off of this I swear to Salazar that I will--”

He clamped a hand over your mouth, effectively cutting you off. You glared at him but stopped trying to talk when you saw what he was looking at. A group of people wearing blue and yellow were not too far off, and they were heading your direction. If they got any closer they would most definitely see the two of you up there and you would be screwed.

“Listen to me,” Fred said, quickly and quietly. “See that big branch over there?” Fred pointed at a thick branch that was extended toward the hut, about a metre away from the edge of the roof. “I’m going to throw you onto that--” your eyes widened in surprise “--and then I’m going to jump onto it as well. From there, we take the high road, climbing from branch to branch to make our escape. Understand?”

Before you could say anything, shouts rained through the air.

“Look, up there!”

“On the roof!”

“Oh fuck, it’s Fred and Y/N, they’re escaping!”

Wasting not a single second, Fred grabbed you under the armpits and tossed you with all of his might, sending you screaming through the air. You landed harshly on the branch and scrambled to keep your balance. Spells were blasting through the air, barely missing you. Fred took a few steps back in order to get a running start, but right as he was about to jump his foot slipped.

He pushed off with all his might, hoping against all hope that he would still make it there. A spell raced by him on his left side. This was it. He was about to get caught, again.

Then, against all odds, something grabbed him. He looked up to see you, legs wrapped around the branch and struggling to keep your balance, both on your hands grasping onto his with all of your strength. It took him a second to realize that you had caught him, but when he did he swung his other arm up to grab the branch, allowing you to hoist him up.

“Stop them!” He didn’t have time to thank you or celebrate the victory. Still holding his hand, you shuffled toward the trunk of the tree,

“Follow me,” you said, letting go and crawling out on another branch. You hopped from tree to tree, always finding another large place to grab onto or walk across. You both went as fast as you could without putting yourself in any danger of falling. After what felt like an eternity, you both failed to hear any more shouts or voices. You must have lost them in the thick forest.

“I think…” Fred said through panting breaths. “I think it’s ok to go down now.”

You nodded, gesturing for him to descend down the tree first. When your feet finally touched the ground you collapsed in exhaustion, arms and legs sprawled out. Fred soon joined you, his head right next to yours as your breaths slowed and went back to normal.

“That was fucking incredible,” he finally said. You laughed, coughing a bit as you did so, and turned to face him.

“It was, wasn’t it.”

“I’m serious!” he said, turning on his side. “You were amazing. I thought I was a goner. How’d you catch me?”

You shrugged. “I’m fueled by fury and spite, and there’s nothing I hate more than a cocky Cedric Diggory.”

He laughed, reaching out to rub a hand up and down your shoulder. “You and me both, love.”

His eyes widened at the accidental nickname but you didn’t seem to mind. You just continued to smile before sitting up, leaning back on the palms of your hands. “Alright, love, what’s the next step?”

Even though you said the name in a teasing manner, it didn’t stop Fred’s heart from fluttering in his chest. He shook his head, telling his stupid thoughts to leave and never come back. There were more important things to deal with.

“Now, we get the flag. We just need to find out where they hid it.”

He stood up, staring out at the expanse of forest surrounding you both in all directions. If he were Cedric, where would he hide the flag?

“This might take a while. We’ll have to scour the West side, the East has already been checked, but I supposed we’ll have to double check just in case--”

“It’s in the tree by the Black Lake.”

Fred froze in his tracks. You had said it so casually, as if you were just telling him what day of the week it was.

“What?”

“The Black Lake,” you repeated nonchalantly. “I followed Roger Davies as he made his rounds and he kept going back to the lake, like an alarming amount of times. And when we were being attacked at the hut, the group was definitely coming from that direction. And one of them had birch leaves all over her clothes, and the only birch tree is the one that is right by the lake. I say, who would climb that tree if not to hide something? It’s not tall enough to be a lookout tree and it’s not thick enough to hide anything or anyone bigger than, say, a flag. It’s gotta be there.”

He stared at you with his mouth hung open, completely dumbfounded. For the umpteenth time that night, you made him speechless.

“You’re fucking insane,” he finally said, rubbing the back of his neck as he continued to stare at you in surprise. “That’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you said, winking at him. “It’s a gift.”

You reached a hand up to him, asking for him to pull you off the ground. He did so, and you immediately linked both of your arms and started off to your right. He didn’t know how you knew which way the lake was when you were both so deep in the forest, but he decided not to question it.

The two of you walked in silence for a little bit, you deciding to skip alongside Fred in order to keep up with how fast his long legs carried him.

“Y’know,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’re a lot more...chipper than I expected you to be.

Without missing a beat, you rolled your eyes and looked at him. “Why? Cuz I’m an evil Slytherin beant on world domination?” You spoke in an imitation of a dark voice, wiggling your fingers like you would when describing something as spooky.

“Well, yeah,” Fred admitted, suddenly feeling bad that he had always assumed so much about you that was obviously not true. “You guys don’t have the best reputation, that’s all.”

“Oh and all Gryffindors are superheroes that are meant to save the world?”

“That’s not what I--”

“I know,” you interrupted, “I’m just teasing. I hear it enough anyways that it doesn’t bother me anymore. The people who care will get to know the real me, and those who don’t try just don’t matter.” You shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world and Fred wondered how long it must’ve taken for you to be so content with it, how long you must’ve beaten yourself up for something you couldn’t control until you were finally at peace with just being who you were.

“I want to care,” he said without thinking. “I mean, I want to get to know you. You’re a lot more fun than I expected you to be.”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And how come you’ve never tried talking to me before? We have gone to school together for, oh I don’t know, 7 years now!”

Although you were just messing around, your words hit hard. He had had classes with you for 7 bloody years and not once had he reached out to you for anything other than when you were assigned together for a project.

“You kind of called it earlier.” He said, making you furrow your brow in confusion. “I was a little bit afraid of you. Well, maybe afraid isn’t the right word. Intimidated, that’s it. You’re just so...I don’t know how to describe it, but you make me feel funny.”

“Funny?” you asked, now more muddled than ever. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t kow,” he repeated. “My heart starts racing and whenever I say things to you my mouth starts to go dry. Hell, half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything! I don’t know if it’s cuz you’re a Slytherin or because you’re absolutely stunning--”

“True true, continue.”

He laughed, leaning in to you as he did so. “And so incredibly humble, it appears.”

“Ah, yes, a trait we both share,” you replied. “It was you who deemed himself the ‘Prankster King’ as well as started the ‘Hogwarts Biggest Hottie’ competition just so you could convince everyone to vote for you, was it not?”

“Yeah, and bloody George won,” Fred grumbled. “We’re identical for fucks sake!”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you beat out George on the attractiveness levels.”

Fred perked up. “So you voted for me then?”

“Actually,” you said, an evil smirk growing on your face, “I voted for Cedric.”

His jaw dropped and you took off running through the forest, crying with laughter as he chased after you.

“You bloody traitor, I’m the attractive one! Get back here!”

You sprinted through the trees, dodging trunks and ducking beneath branches praying that Fred wouldn’t catch up to you. But before you knew it, you had been tackled to the ground, flipping your body around in the process so you were now pinned beneath Fred, heads facing each other.

Both of you were still laughing, you wiping tears from your eyes at the chase that had just ensued.

“Say you were lying,” he demanded. “Say that I’m the most attractive one.”

When you refused, he had to resort to a kind of torture that he only used in the most extreme circumstances. He started tickling you.

“Ok, ok!” you screamed through your fits of laughter. “You’re the most attractive guy here, I swear it on Salazar himself!”

Finally, his fingers released from your side and you were given a chance to actually breathe. It was then that he realized how close your faces were. Mere centimeters apart. How easy it would be for him to just lean down and capture your lips in his, kissing you with all the breath he had left, letting his hands roam up and down your sides as yours got themselves tangled in his hair. How easy it would be to forget about the whole game and just spend the rest of the night wrapped around each other under the light of the pale moon. He dipped his head down, slowly closing the gap, your voice hitching in your throat as you licked your lips and closed your eyes, their color shining so clearly.

Fred suddenly sat up. Your eyes. He could see them, and he could see them well. The moonlight was shining just enough to allow him to see the color. Which could only mean…

“We’re here.” Sure enough, Fred had tackled you right at the edge of the forest by the clearing, much brighter than it had been in the forest. You both quickly made to get up, dusting yourselves off and avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“Well,” you said, not daring to take your eyes off the birch tree in the distance. “Ready Eagle 1?”

Fred smiled, getting his feet ready to make the fastest sprint of his life. “Ready Mantis. On your mark--”

“No I get to say it! I’m the one who got us here after all,” you argued.

“Ok but who got us out of the hut?”

“I saved your ass from falling off the damn thing!”

“Well I--”

A branch cracking from behind you broke both of you out of your playful argument.

Fred looked at you and raised an eyebrow, offering his hand out to you. “Together?”

You took his hand and nodded. “Together.”

Fred squeezed your fingers tightly in his, staring at the target ahead.

“One..” he said slowly.

“Two…” you followed, catching a glimpse of a blue and yellow flag at the top of the tree.

“THREE!” You both sprinted through the clearing, feet carrying you as fast as they could as you raced to your destination. A loud whistle was being blown off to the right and shouts came from the left but you both just ignored them as you kept running.

A huge body appeared in front of you, almost out of nowhere, wand at the ready. You screamed in surprise and hit the person square in the jaw, sending them stumbling backwards until they tripped and fell back on their ass.

“Shit, sorry Roger!” you yelled back. Fred swore he could’ve kissed you right then and there.

You both made it to the base of the tree, not sturdy enough for the both of you. “Give me a boost,” you told Fred. He cupped your foot in his hands and hoisted you up, jumping out of the way just in time to miss a hex coming his direction. Your hands and feet moved as if you were a monkey swinging through vines. You heard grunts and yells from the ground but were too focused on the flag to care.

With one final push, you grabbed it, yelling triumphantly as you gripped the prize with all your might. All you had to do was get back to your team’s side and victory was yours.

“Y/N!” You looked down to see Fred standing at the bottom of the tree, two more boys laying on the ground and holding their noses. He must’ve taken them on with no wand and still managed to beat them. Fucking legend.

“Jump down!”

You were alarmingly high up, something that hadn’t occurred to you until just then. It panicked you to think about jumping. Maybe you could just climb back down? But even as you thought about that you saw more people coming, ready to capture you both again. This was your only chance.

Clutching the flag with all of your might, you jumped down from the tree, screaming as you free fell through the air. You landed not on the hard ground, but in a pair of strong arms that steadied you and held you bridal style.

“See, now we’re even. We’ve caught each other.”

“Stop flirting and fucking run Fred!”

He did as told, taking off with you still in his arms, the flag in yours. Even though he was carrying your body his adrenaline still gave him enough energy to run like the wind, just as if not faster than many of the others chasing them.

Over rocks, through a stream, past so many others who tried to stop him. But he wouldn’t stop. He just kept running and running and running until--

“Fred!” Angelina Johnson and George saw you both in the distance. They grabbed their wands out and hexed those in your pursuit, stopping a Ravenclaw girl just as she was about to hex Fred’s legs. You could see the line you all had drawn shimmering in the distance. More Gryffindors and Slytherins saw the commotion and raced to help, slowing down as many opponents as they could.

You were 50 metres from the line. 40. 30. 20. 10…

Fred’s legs gave out, a mere 5 metres from the line. Someone had finally hit him with a curse, sending him sprawling out on the ground. You gasped as your body hit the ground, rolling across the grass, closer and closer and--

A firework exploded, then another, and then another. The signifier of victory. You looked up to see what had happened. You were on the ground as well, your right arm laying in front of you with your right wrist and hand over the line. The hand that had been holding the flag.

“We did it!” You didn’t know who screamed, but whoever started it set a trend of wild cries and yells, whoops of victory and laughter filling the air. Your friends were by your side in a matter of seconds, helping you up and to the other side.

You stumbled a bit, the reality of what happened finally hitting you. “We won!” You and your friends jumped up and down, hugging each other and screaming as loud as you could. You were bombarded with questions, everyone wondering what happened and how you managed to pull this off. Ignoring them, you looked around for Fred, who was starting to push himself off the ground.

You dropped the flag and raced over to him, grabbing his arms and putting them on your shoulders to help him balance.

“This is Mantis calling Eagle 1,” you said, barely audible over the celebration. “We did it. I repeat, we did it.”

Fred looked up, face covered in scratches and bruises, but you guessed you didn’t look much better. “As much as I like the name Eagle 1, I think you should go back to calling me Freddie.”

You laughed, leaning your head into his chest. “Roger that Freddie.”

He removed his hands from you shoulders and moved them to your waist, spinning you around in the air before pulling you into a bone crushing hug. “We fucking did it! Suck it Diggory!”

“Suck it Diggory!” you repeated.

A chorus of ‘suck it Diggory’s reined across the grounds, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike chanting it repeatedly.

Fred finally lowered you to the ground and rested his forehead against yours. “Go out with me,” he said. “On a date. Go out with me.”

“What, jumping off roofs and out of trees and running for your life through a dark forest doesn’t count as a date already?”

He laughed and closed his eyes, relishing this moment and thinking about how much had happened in just a few hours. “Fine, a second date then. Will you go out with me on a second date?”

You brought your hands up to his mess of hair, twisting a lock in your finger and sending shivers up and down his spine. “Only if you promise that it’ll be even more exciting than the first. Think you can top this?”

“Oh, love, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Try me,” you replied, pulling his head down to yours and sealing your lips together in a kiss.

All of your friends as well as Fred’s just stared in awe, wondering what the hell happened that suddenly you two were snogging in front of everyone. You’d explain everything in due time, what was the rush? And you’d have to make sure to thank Cedric Diggory for locking the two of you up together. How it had changed everything.

Tag List:

@famdomhideout @amourtentiaa

#theweasleyslut's 2k writing challenge #fredweasley #fred weasley imagine #fred #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #harry potter au #fredweasleyimagine

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a-pretty-nerd · 4 years ago

Text

Self Indulgent Shigaraki Nonsense Part 5

Tomura Shigaraki x pregnant!reader

A/N: Oh wow part 5 and I'm still not done with this.

Warnings: Emotions? Cursing?

You tossed and turned in your sleep, groaning and moaning in frustration. Your joint ached, and fatigue plagued your body. You tried everything you could to get to sleep but nothing was working and on top of your aching body, the nearly fully developed fetus in you thought now was the perfect time for exercise.

Tomura laid beside you, having fallen asleep hours ago. But your movement and sounds of anguish gently woke him up. Groggy and a little frustrated he looked over his shoulder to see your upset form shift back and forth.

"Is it the baby?" He asked in a low, hoarse voice. You huffed.

"Everything hurts and they keep moving around and I'm exhausted but I can't fall asleep!" You cried. You felt silly crying like this to Tomura, you felt like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Weren't you supposed to be the mild mannered, mature and wise mother?

Tomura turned over to face you, his gloved hand reaching out and planting firmly on your enlarged belly. He gently ran circles around it, trying to sooth the mysterious being inside. He had grown used to this routine, grown used to the idea of you being pregnant. But the idea of being father and actually having a baby was still out of his reach. For now, he was content to have you tucked away and all to himself where he knew you would be safe.

"My fucking BONES hurt." You complained as you rubbed circles into your eyes. He chuckled at your declaration for a moment before wrenching himself from the bed and shuffling into the kitchen where you could hear him rustling about. You laid there and closed your eyes, trying to emulate the soothing sensation of rubbing circles across your belly. They clearly liked it better when Tomura did it. You didn't even know how they knew the difference.

"Here." Tomura entered the room with a hot cup of tea in hand. He sat it down on your bedside table as you struggled to sit up properly. You laid against the head board and slowly took the mug. "Careful. It's still hot." He noted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you."

"Mhm." He watched you blow and sip on the tea, running his gloved hand up and down your calf.

"This is new." You scoffed.

"What?"

"You taking care of me." You smiled.

"What are you talking about? I've taken care of you before. Remember Jaku?"

"Ugh, I don't want to." You cringed. A particularly rough battle had left you broken and beaten black and blue. If it wasn't for Tomura, you would have been dead. But that was before you knew he loved you. Before you knew you loved him. "You're right you have taken care of me. But not like this before." Your smiled made him blush.

"This is a different situation." He explained. You chuckled.

"I know." You finished your tea and he took it from you to put the mug in the kitchen sink. But before he left the room you called to him. "Hey...Tomura?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Sure."

"No. Really. Thank you. For everything." He watched you for a moment, engraving that sweet smile of yours into his brain forever. Before nodding and walking back to the kitchen. You adjusted yourself, laying back down and watching him come back in and lay in bed. You watched him, your hand reaching up to gently scratch down his bare back. A comforting gesture he loves but will never out right ask for. It put him to sleep quick, and soon you followed him.

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself alone in bed. You struggled to get up to use the bathroom and wash your face before waddling into the kitchen. A note had been placed over wads of cash on the kitchen counter. The note read:

I'm sorry there was an emergency and I had to leave early this morning. I left money on the counter for breakfast. Take it easy. I'll see you soon. I love you.

- Tomura

Money for breakfast? You looked down at the wads of 20 dollar bills and giggled. Tomura still had very little grasp when it came to money. He just never had to really worry about it. It's not that he wasn't good at budgeting or math, but, this was enough to pay the mortgage and groceries for the rest of the month. Some breakfast you'd be having. You took the cash and put it away where the rest of it went. You were to pay for everything in cash. The mortgage, the car payments, groceries, furniture, absolutely everything. As if that didn't make you look suspicious enough. But Tomura insisted on it because it wouldn't leave a paper trail to your name.

Your new name would have no debt no credit, nothing. It had to be perfect and unremarkable.

You fed, washed, and clothed yourself which took all morning now but finally you made up your mind to take a short walk to the local grocery store and do some shopping. Normal house wife shit, right?

So you waddled your fat ass out the door to take a leisurely stroll all the way to the super market. You looked up and watched grey clouds gently float above, bringing a cool breeze and the faint smell of rain in the air. You made it to the store before it started to sprinkle. The bright and fresh atmosphere of the store made you uneasy. Public spaces still made you feel out of place. Suspicious. Like you still had to hide.

You paused in the middle of an aisle, sudden movement stopping you dead in your tracks. The baby had been moving less, and the false contractions had started. Your midwife had taught you that this was normal, you still weren't due for a while longer, there was no need to worry. But they were a big pain in the ass.

You held your belly and took a deep breath. It soon passed and you went back to searching for your grocery list.

"First one?" A voice asked. You turned and found a young woman standing there pushing a stroller. She gave a friendly smile.

"Oh, yes."

"How exciting. I had a lot of false contractions with my first too. How far along are you?"

"I guess about, eight months. Give or take a week or two."

"You sure look it. I'm kim by the way, nice to meet you." She held out a hand and you shook it. Her bright smile and relaxed attitude bring comfort and warmth. You looked down to the stroller, an infant cradled towards Kim, and an absent-minded toddler glaring at the floor sat in the front. He angrily pouted at the ground, before his gaze slowly came up to you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/-...." fuck! What was your new name again? You almost blew your cover. "Ota." You remembered. Thank God.

"Your the new family down the road aren't you?" Kim nodded in recognition.

"Yeah, yeah. How long have you lived here?" You tried to make conversation.

"Oh I've lived here all my life."

"Wow."

"Yeah my husband and I met in high school here and been together ever since. He travels for work now though, so,"

"My husband travels too." You told her. Shit. Was that the right thing to say? Could you really call Shigaraki your, husband? What would he think about that? He'd probably be irritated you even bothered to socialize at all.

"Oh really? What does he do?" You paused.

"Uh, he works closely with heroes." You croaked.

"Oh like management er' whatever?" She was so nonchalant.

"Yeah, yeah. Real boring stuff." You agreed. 'Er' whatever' what a great way to put it.

"Yeah mine's a lawyer for cities suffering from 'big hero blow-outs' they call em'. He works with cities about destruction of public property and what not. I don't really know the details or anything but hey, maybe our guys have crossed paths a couple times! What did you say his name was?" Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Uh, Ota. Ota Kurai." You lied.

"Kurai...huh..." Kim thought for a moment, taking in a deep breath and sighing. "Well, that doesn't ring any bells. How long have you been together." Was this something you were supposed to lie about?

"Five years now, I think." You pondered.

"You think?" She chuckled at you.

"Yeah, it's hard to remember sometimes. All of a sudden we went from friends to more. Its difficult to explain." She smiled.

"Yeah, I understand. Well, I better be off. The boys need a nap before lunch. It was lovely meeting you, Ota."

"Likewise!" You smiled back.

"See you around."

"See ya." And with you that you went on shopping, a successful venture. You were lucky you were able to purchase an umbrella in the store, it was really coming down now. You waddled along the sidewalk, making your way back to the stretch of suburbs you occupied. As you walked the final stretch to your home, the wind began to pick up. Violently wrenching the umbrella out of your hand and throwing it behind you. You turned, panicked and now vulnerable to the heavy rain. It came down fast and hard, the droplets almost painful on your skin.

You turned around to find your umbrella flying through the air, tumbling over to a distant figure. A young man, no, a teenager. The kid snapped to attention, jogging for the object from under his own umbrella and quickly making his way back to you. You tensed up, the weight of your groceries, the rain, your condition. Clearly you were in distress. You cursed yourself. You were once a feared villain. You fought the greatest heroes Japan had to offer and lived to tell the tale. You were an activist, pioneer, warrior, leader. You had the scars to prove it. And now look at you. A helpless, pregnant house wife.

"Here miss!" The boy called. You sniffed and reached for it as he handed it to you.

"Thanks!" You barked, trying to shuffled off without anymore talk.

"Let me help you with that!" He insisted, taking your groceries from you and shielding you from anymore rain. You were soaked by now. You couldn't argue, he insisted and you had to admit that the help was nice. He walked you home, standing and waiting at your house's gate as you took back your bags from him.

"Thank you for your help." You tried to be polite.

"Sure thing miss. No trouble. Are you sure you got it?"

"Yes. Thank you." You insisted, turning back to disappear into your home. Only to find the front door open. You let out a startled gasp. A familiar figure stood in the doorway, dark eyes glaring at the boy behind you. Your eyes shuffled back and forth between him and the boy. Shigaraki wore a painfully mediocre disguise. A face mask, and a black wig. From far away he easily blended into a crowd. He was always good at hiding himself in a strange way. He was an oddly good actor.

"Sara. You should be more careful." He barked your fake name in a fake tone. Like he was a concerned husband.

"Sorry Kurai, I didn't think the storm would get this bad." You chuckled in a panic. He approached you, averting his gaze from the boy. Hiding his face and taking the bags from you. You turned back to the boy who's eye shifted from Shigaraki then back to you. "Thank you for your help. Here." You shuffled around in your purse before handing him a few hundred yen.

"Oh no Mrs, really it's fine."

"No. I insist." You huffed with a smile.

"Thank you. My names Sato by the way, I live just down the road."

"Nice meeting you Sato." You smiled and closed the gate before waddling back inside. You closed the door behind you, panting as you recovered from your adventure.

You watched Tomura remove his disguise in a frustrated huff before putting the groceries away. You leaned against the wall after shuffling into the kitchen, leaving water to fall from you and pool on the wood floor. Soon he turned to look back at you.

"I thought there was an emergency."

"False alarm." He muttered.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked. He paused and gave a frustrated huff.

"...I told you not to get friendly with people. That puts you in danger." You scoffed. "You're soaking wet, you better shower off before you catch a cold."

"I didn't have a choice, okay? It's not like I sought out his help! He was just there, he insisted he help! And yknow what, I can't say I didn't need it. Because I'm incapable of doing anything apparently!" You shouted. Oh shit. He angered you. You could see it in his eyes. He hates it when you get angry, it makes him uneasy. "And I'm a walking beacon of chit chat too! Everyone wants to talk to the new pregnant lady. Last week, I had fend off like four old ladies from touching my belly. And the week before that, the clerk at the bookstore kept trying to sell me these weirdly religious parenting books. And- And today even! Today some other mom stopped me to talk about my false contractions at the store and I almost forgot our names and I- I-" You're crying now. He hates seeing you crying more than he hates seeing you angry. He slowly approached you, watching as you sniffled and sobbed and wipped away your tears.

"Come on, let's get you comfortable." He guided you to the bathroom to help bathe you in a warm bath to calm your nerves and ease your aching body. You shuffled out into the living room, the warmth of your pajamas easing your tense feelings.

"She wasn't that bad." You mumbled.

"Hm?"

"The other mom at the grocery store today. She was actually nice. She has two boys. She was really chill."

"Mh."

"I told her you worked in management with heroes and you travel a lot." You chuckled to yourself. "Her husband works as a lawyer for cities regarding damage from heroes. She said you might have crossed paths." Tomura pause and flashed a goofy smile.

"You never know. Maybe we have." He joked. You laughed for a moment before finishing your bath and getting changed.

"How come you came back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well usually you stay away. But you've been here so long I figured you'd have left by now so you don't take any chances getting caught. Why'd you come back?" Tomura starred at your stomach and placed his gloved hand over it before looking up at you.

"I'm just finishing a few preparations. But I've made plans so that I'll be able to stay longer than I usually do." He didn't answer your question.

"Plans? Like what?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me you put Dabi in charge." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Toga? No!... Spinner!?"

"Y/N. Please." He begged.

"Sorry. But you never leave someone else in charge."

"Well now I have a reason. I'm...I'm taking a few months."

"What? But what about your work?"

"I'm not quiting. I'm still the true ruler. It's just a small...vacation. I can go back at any time if an emergency occurs. But for now, I'm staying here."

"You really miss me, don't you?" He pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes one more time before strolling away.

"Of course I miss you." He said it like it was a well known fact. "I miss you every second. I miss working with you. It's so frustrating without you. You understand, you got it. You always knew what needed to be done, what I was trying to do. Now it's like herding cats to get the simplest of tasks done sometimes. I mean you- you were always one step ahead. Half the time I didn't even need to ask you to do something you were already there. You were so smart and cunning and strong."

"And now I'm just a housewife..." He slowly turned to look at you. "I'm just the knocked up mistress you gotta hide."

"No. You know that's not what I meant."

"It's how you make me feel."

"Y/N..."

"I miss it too, y'know. Working with you, with everyone. I miss doing something that actually matters. I miss the planning, and the training, and the fighting. I miss it all. And now look at me. I couldn't even fucking walk home from the grocery store without needing to be rescued. It sucks, it really sucks. I know I chose this life. I know I chose...." Your hand hovered over you belly. "But I just...I just..." You're crying again.

Tomura places a hand on your back and hold you close and the other to stroke your hair in an attempt to calm you again. You clung to him, rocking the two of you back and forth.

"I know. I know." He whispered.

"I just wanted...wanted to be happy. Like how- normal people are happy." You cried.

"I know."

"And I am- I am happy I just... I miss working so much. And I miss seeing everyone and seeing you and fighting heroes and just...I even miss negotiations!" You sobbed. Tomura couldn't help but flash a smile.

"I know. I'm sorry." Your crying started to subside for a moment. Giving him the opportunity to plant a kiss on your cheek.

"Tomura?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you." He nodded and placed his hand on your belly once more.

"So you'll be here for it?"

"Yes I'll be here." You smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's the bare minimum."

#tomura shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #mha #bnha #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura shiragaki #shigaraki x pregnant reader

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years ago

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 20: Second Assist

Characters: Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson, Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters

Summary: Shane reunites with friends and family, hashes out some feelings, and gets real with Sy. Can their relationship survive her trauma? And the threat that still looms above them?

Romance and Smut Abound HERE!

Word Count: 4500

Warnings: Mention of rape, alcoholic beverages, violent imagery…feels out the butt.

Author’s Note: You guys are so splendid and beautiful! I can’t thank you enough for your support and encouragement to finish this piece. First, welcome to new readers! I know poor Henry’s injury and subsequent physiotherapy has driven some of you here, and while I’m sorry for him, I’m glad I can consider myself something of a pioneer in this particular genre and provide you some help for your newfound thirst. To my OG readers, it is to you I owe this entire work, parts written and incomplete, and I hope an eventual book deal. I mean to mention you in my acknowledgements, should this ever reach a willing publisher. You’ve inspired me so supremely that I cannot quantify it, even with the words I hold so dear.

Since my last chapter was posted, we’ve said a relieved goodbye to 2020 and a tentative hello to 2021. To be honest, this year has started out worse than last year. Lots of bad weather in my area this winter, my sister is currently on her way to a new life in another state, and my grandmother, the last grandparent I had, passed away in February. Those last two things have been especially difficult to shake off and recover from, both coming to fruition pretty suddenly. Amongst all that, I’ve been pretty distracted by my other fandoms, especially Marvel, and I’ve been reading a killer book series that I’m utterly in love with. (The Throne of Glass novels by Sarah J. Maas. 10/10 recommend.) But I knew I needed to get back into Shane and Sy’s story, especially given the new and rekindled interest in the subject matter. In all honesty, I’ve had most of it written for months. It’s just been a matter of finishing it off to set up the rest of the story.

I really hope you all enjoy Chapter 20, Second Assist, and would love your feedback and notes. You are all so important to this story, and your notes, reblogs, and comments are cherished. Thank you so much for reading! Love from Hannah!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. This is an original work by me, Hannah. Please reblog if you wish to share. Please do not repost either in whole or part, as the work of anyone but myself. Thanks so much for reading!

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira@oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka @thisismysecretthirstblog @speakerforthedead0 @tumblnewby @suavechops @radkesgirl83 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @heartfelt-pen @auds24 @geekycanuck @lunarstarknight @wilma-g @coldmuffinbanditshoe @feralrunaway @sugarpenchant @bichibibi @mzchievous-blog @shesakillerkween @madbadidc7ed @foodieforthoughts @toomanyfandomsshreya @oqueequesentes-borboletas @kebabgirl67 @indigosaurus (some of you new readers didn’t ask, but I took the liberty. If you want me to remove you, I totally will without hard feelings.)

If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Shane woke in her warm bed, late morning sun streaming in through her sheer curtains, the heavier drapes parted to let in the light. She wished she'd remembered to close them before now. She really was not ready to be awake.

She was sore. Achy. Her sleep had been fitful and full of shadowy nightmares and muffled screams. Beyond that, she didn't try to remember images or events. She knew the general premise of the dreams. It would take a lot of time, effort, or a miracle to make her forget those traumas she'd been through in the last week. Not even forget. She knew she never would. But move on from them. Accept them. And heal from them…even that seemed a mighty obstacle. One she was not sure she could surmount.

Through the open bedroom door, she could hear Lynyrd Skynyrd and the clanging and sizzling of pans, and she could smell bacon and freshly brewed coffee. Sy had left the room, but had not, it seemed, gone far. She gingerly sat up, stood from the bed, and donned her robe as she walked out into the hall and down the corridor to the kitchen.

The sight before her warmed her heart. There was Sy. In only his boxers, daringly frying the notoriously dangerous breakfast meat. Upon her entry to the kitchen, she could also smell pancakes, and she thought syrup, as well. He seemed to be warming a bottle of the maple unction in a pot of hot water. He turned as she stepped on a squeaky floorboard, and grinned widely at her.

"Mornin' sunshine." And she was struck by the irony of someone with such a radiant smile calling her sunshine. Especially when she didn't feel much like beaming. But she couldn't help return the expression, even through her pain.

"Mornin' bear. Did you go to the store?" She knew she couldn't have any bacon in her fridge, and she doubted her eggs and milk were still good at this point. But she also couldn't think that he would leave her for any reason.

"Nah, some of the guys brought over some provisions. Matt worked on your car all night, too, and filled up the tank. It's as good as new. He and Nate brought ‘er over as well as the groceries. I just had ‘em get stuff I knew your family wouldn't be bringing later. They've had tons of food given to them this week, and they're ready to share. You should have seen your mom loading me down with sandwiches and chips and whatnot when I visited them."

"I still can't believe you met them. I really wanted to introduce you personally." Shane's face fell. She would never be able to get that back. She wanted to cry. Sy had poured her a cup of coffee and sat it in front of her with her favorite creamer.

"Darlin' I’m so sorry. I had to talk to them."

"I know." she sniffed. "I'm not mad. Not at you. Just…"she didn't want to say Elliott's name. "I'm disappointed that the experience was stolen from me." That so many things had been stolen from her. By that monster. There was no other way to describe him. Sy growled. As if he could read her mind. He really just knew her well enough and shared her thoughts.

"Well, don't worry, we'll have a nice dinner with them one of these days, and we can pretend. Sound good?"

"Yeah, and I can feign nervousness." she laughed.

"And I'll pretend too. That I'm scared to meet your dad." he chuckled. "What if he threatens me with his shotgun?"

"I'll pull the ol' 'Daddy, no, I loooooove him!' line, as I throw myself between you!"

"That oughta work." he laughed and kissed her on the forehead as he stepped toward the stove and flipped a pancake.

As they sat eating their late breakfast, Shane's mind wandered. Nothing had changed on the surface, but everything was different now. This cozily mundane breakfast with her boyfriend felt like an out of body experience. As delicious as it was, as wonderful and comforting as it should feel, her guard was up. Even through her amiable façade. She was not the person she was two weeks ago. She was not the same woman who said goodbye to Sy at the base. Maybe that was the real transformation. Maybe that was why nothing felt normal. It wasn't the world, but her own self coming back into it.

"Shane?" Sy asked, gently, but it felt like he was speaking through a megaphone directly into her ear. She was so startled, she nearly dropped the half full mug of coffee that was paused midway to her lips. A bit sloshed out onto the table and splashed her shirt.

"Shit!" she chided herself. It wasn't a big deal, but she felt stupid jumping at the sound of her own name.

Sy reached for the closest towel, hanging from the oven handle, grabbed it and started for her clothes with it. She stopped him. But she couldn't think about why the intimate act made her uncomfortable.

"No, don't, it's fine. These clothes have seen better days, anyway." She pulled the towel from him and began to mop up the small puddles of coffee around her plate.

Sy seemed to note the stains already present on the shirt, as if trying to divine their history. She was something of a messy eater, so the battle wounds of many a barbecue, spaghetti dinner, and hurried breakfast peppered the now off-white SATB club tee she'd gotten her second or third year in college choir. She thought back to a huge room with high ceilings. White, cinder block walls, flecked tile floors, a beautiful, glossy, black baby grand in front of a long whiteboard with black lines to resemble sheet music. She thought about the mnemonic device she'd learned to help her remember what notes appeared on each line, and in the spaces between them. She pondered the deeper meanings and implications of these devices. EGBDF…every good boy does fine. She thought about the "good boys" in her life. She knew many. Her dad, her brother Ethan, Sy, obviously, her many male coworkers and friends…and honestly they did far better than "fine." They were wonderful. But she was letting the "bad boys" she'd encountered dictate her mood. Permeate her psyche. Tear her down. She didn't want to be like this. Then FACE came to mind, and above their purpose of indicating the notes between the lines on the staff, they called her to action. To face these newly minted demons with all the strength she knew she possessed, and she too would "do fine." But as with almost all actions, this was easier said than done.

She felt a warm presence on her left hand which had paused it's torture of the now coffee-infused kitchen towel. Sy's hand was squeezing hers gently.

"Shane." he uttered, barely above a whisper this time. She looked at him through tears that she had not realized had formed. He continued.

"Shane, what can I do, darlin'? I'll do anything."

"Babe, you're doing everything you can, and more. This…this is all going to have to come from me. I…don't know when I'll be myself again…" she paused, tears streaming now. "I'm…I'm different."

"You're not though." he reached for her face, but she pulled away.

"I am, damn it! Sy, I was…" Words had power. And the one she was thinking of had more power than she thought was warranted. She knew that uttering it would take away it's power…and yet mustering the courage and strength to actually do so…seemed impossible. She took a deep breath, and disassociated herself from the statement, even though it was about her own past.

"I was raped." She refused to cry. She felt it all again. She had never said the words. She had never thought it necessary. Everyone understood. Sy, his friends, and she was sure her own loved ones had made the connection. But she knew she needed to say it now to drive home the points she was about to make.

Sy, looked at the table, nodding, not needing to be told in so many words something he already had surmised from the clear evidence. He remained silent. She went on.

"I love you, Sy. I have since the day we met, on one level or another, and I believe that I always will. But I…right now I can't be a proper girlfriend to you. I can't…be with you, touch you, be touched by you, in the way we used to be. In the way you deserve…and I don't know when…or even if…I ever will. Not that I don't want to. That's ALL I want in the world. To go back. To be the woman who fell in love with this…incredible man. To make love with you, but…I can't."

Sy's eyes were full of tears, their predecessors already descending his round cheeks and disappearing into his thick, dark beard.

"Sy, I don't want to lead you on and keep you tied to a relationship with no life in it. You deserve someone who's whole. Someone who can be a fully invested partner for you, and not this broken, damaged--"

"You stop that, Shane. I won't hear no more of this kinda talk. Y'hear? You're my girl. My woman. My person. No matter what. You gotta know I'd never leave ya just cuz you aren't ready for sex again. You don't think that I would, do ya?"

"Well, you went to Virginia…you took that job…knowing the distance it would put between us. Literally and figuratively."

"Biggest mistake of my life." Shane raised her eyebrows in surprise as Sy elaborated. "I couldn't focus on my classes without wishing you were there. Wishing I could team up with you for discussions and hand to hand combat training…that thought got me a little too excited, if you catch my drift." He smirked, pulling a sheepish smile from Shane. "Then in that forest. I dreamt about you every night. I thought of you constantly. I could barely breath sometimes, I missed ya so damned much. I was an idiot. I was insane to think that I needed anything other than you. Any MORE. There IS no more. You're it. You're the MOST! The most important thing in my life."

The declaration hung like vapors in the air, more felt than seen. Tangible yet ethereal.

"And when I found out that you were missing…I was…well, I think I looked like death…and not warmed over. You can ask the program director I met with after I got the news. She could tell I was just sick over it. And as I thought about it on the way home, pieced things together, started thinking about who'd taken you, I got murderous. Shane, I have been in dozens of battles, skirmishes, firefights, you name it. War. But…the sheer bloodlust I felt thinking about what you could be going through…I've never experienced anything like it. Everything was red. Everything. For days. Until I saw you, alive. And then it went red again when I saw the fear and damage on your face." she could tell he was doing his best not to talk about the farmhouse and that basement, but she still flashed back to the moments before and after his appearance there. The moments when she simultaneously prayed to live and hoped to die.

"You don't owe me anything, Shane. I just want you in my life, and I don't care what your presence looks like. Romantic, platonic, or somewhere in between. I'm here for you. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Shane felt the urge to wrap her arms around her boyfriend, but could not seem to move more than one arm to place her other hand on top of his. She hoped the gratitude and love behind the small, but heartfelt gesture landed. It was all she had in that moment, no matter how abundant her affection.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shane's family's arrival was a complete blur to her. It was joyous, tearful, and the happiest she'd been in a long time. The moment she opened the front door for them, she was surrounded, engulfed with hugs from her parents and siblings. They stood in their affectionate huddle for several moments before Peg waved Sy over with marked insistence. He'd been standing by, observing happily, but not wanting to intrude on the familial reunion.

When they finally dispersed, John asked the two younger men to help him bring in groceries. The women headed into Shane's bedroom for a more private setting in which to talk. Shane filled her mother and sister in the best she could given the rawness of the wounds left on her mind by the events.

She leaned against the headboard cuddling with Gabby while her mom rubbed her feet. She had insisted on doing this thing that had always comforted her children, and made them feel much better when they were younger.

"Well, I'm very proud of you, pumpkin." The girls both looked at their mother, who rather uncharacteristically hadn't spoken in some time. Shane was nonplussed. Peg elaborated.

"You survived something that many women don't. You're talking about it now, which even more women don't. You may think you're broken, but you're just a tree damaged by a storm, but standing stronger than ever." Trust her mom to lay such wisdom on her. When she felt like giving up. When she just wanted pity. When she could only see defeat. Her mother had always found a way to encourage and buoy her and show her the victory.

"Mom's right." Gabby affirmed, and it was Peg's turn to be nonplussed, as the two women, though similar in so many ways, never seemed to see eye to eye. "It's true. Shane I've seen a lot of women come into the clinic in shoes very much like yours. And trust me…some of them…they don't make it to this point. You've got a long way to go before you're fully recovered, don't get me wrong, but you'll get there. You have us. And you have Sy."

"And then there's Sy." She diverted. "How am I supposed to plan any sort of future with him when…" She looked at her mom, and hesitated. Peg rolled her eyes.

"Shane, I know what the two of you get up to when you're alone. You don't have to be shy with me."

"Still…" she took a breath and spoke. "When I can't bring myself to…sleep with him?"

"Look at him, you're kidding, right?" Gabby chided, insensitively, but recanted at the pained expression on Shane's face. "Sorry, sis. Trying to lighten the mood a touch. Too soon. But seriously, I don't think this reluctance you feel will be permanent."

"And even if it is," Peg took over, "that man is out-of-his-mind in love with you, Shaney." She kissed Shane's toe before putting a sock on her foot. "He almost seems to worship you. Now, you know how I feel about using that term outside of religious context, but that is exactly the kind of love I want for you. Devout, and unconditional."

"But, mom, I can't--"

"Did you hear me? I said 'unconditional,' sweetie." Peg interrupted. "No matter what. No matter the obstacle. No matter the distance. No matter the circumstances. Love unwavering. That's what Sy has for you. I've seen it in him. Trust the momma."

The insistence her mother placed on trust had always ruffled Shane's feathers. Gabby's too, who she could feel stiffen slightly beside her. But Shane, for once, really wanted to trust her mother, hoping against hope that she was right. And that she, herself wouldn't screw up the best relationship she had ever been in or was likely to ever be in again.

The girls had begun talking about some of the coworkers who'd brought food in the past week, and Peg couldn't resist remarking on the character of her favorites and judging the ones she didn't care for…oddly enough, getting more or less, the correct measure of them, as Shane saw it.

After what must have been an hour from the time they'd arrived, they heard a knock on the slightly ajar bedroom door. John poked his head in.

"Ladies, we've put a casserole in the oven, and completed various manly projects around the house--"

"Oh, daddy, what projects?" She cringed. She hated that the men had felt the need to "fix" things.

"Babe, your guest bathroom had not one, but two leaky faucets, your kitchen table seemed to be more of a teeter-totter, and half the light bulbs in the living room were out. Among other tiny things. You're welcome." he smirked his crooked smirk so similar to her own, and she returned it as if he was looking in a mirror.

"Thanks, dad."

"Anyway, lunch is almost ready. So, when you've finished your confab, let's eat."

Dinner passed amiably, Shane found a reserve within herself to allow some quasi-normal behavior, as long as you didn’t look too closely. She was talking animatedly with her siblings, making their parents and Sy laugh riotously. Shane noticed some odd looks passing between Sy and her father, but chalked it up to paranoia. She wished at least Gabby and Ethan could stay, but Heather would be over soon, and she deserved her own dedicated time. Shane wanted to give that to her.

She said her farewells to her family with promises to visit them the next day, and at least one more time before her siblings went back home, if she could work it out.

Sy was so wonderful the whole time. Standing by her, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder as they waved goodbye to the departing vehicle. He made her feel so safe. They went into the kitchen and cleaned up from lunch. Well, Sy cleaned. Shane was texting Heather about when she'd be over.

"Heather says she'll be here in about a half hour. She's picking up wine and pizza." Shane told Sy without looking up from her phone. She could see out of the corner of her eye, though, that he had just closed the dishwasher and was selecting a cycle.

"Sounds great. Do you want me to get out of here? Give you guys some time, one on one?" He asked as he dried his hands, wet from preparing dishes for the machine.

She thought about it, and shuddered. She played a scene in her head that startled her. In her mind's eye, she saw Sy leave and then moments later heard a knock on the door. Presuming it was Heather, she opened the door with abandon, only to see Elliott standing there under a flickering porch light, smirking maliciously at her and ready to overpower and abduct her again. She shook the thought from her head, but remained uneasy as she answered his question.

"Uh, no. Thanks. I'm sure she'll want to talk to both of us. She likes you." Shane grinned softly at Sy in an attempt to mask her trepidation over the thought of him leaving her alone for any period of time. She thought it had worked.

"Okay, well, whatever you think, sunshine. I don't wanna get in the way." He was wiping down the countertops. She felt so impossibly full of love for him, she was starting to wonder how she hadn't yet burst with it. She couldn't bear the thought of holding him back from a fulfilling relationship. He deserved everything she couldn't give him right now. And she knew she should make him leave her. Cut him loose. But she was, as she'd been since she'd met him, a weak woman. She couldn't stand the thought of being without him. Of him no longer being hers. And somehow worse, of not being his, herself. She would always need him for so many reasons, not least of which being her love for him. Maybe one day, she'd recover from this trauma, and be able to be who he deserved. To give him what he needed.

"You're never in the way, bear." She walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed him as tight as she could. He placed a loving hand over hers, sighing and smiling, though she had no visual proof of the latter. It was just a feeling.

Heather's greeting was no less exuberant than that of Shane's family, but it was more joyful and less emotional, even though she was immensely relieved to see her best friend after so long. They talked as if no time had passed, and Shane mustered up the dregs of her former self to have one more interaction for the day. Thank God it was Heather and not someone who would require more. She wouldn't have it to give.

"I am so glad you're okay, Shane! Things around the clinic have been bleak as fuck. Susan is loosing her mind, Anita is beside herself with concern, and the rest of us just plain ol' miss the hell out of you. And not just because of all of the overtime everyone has been pulling to get your patients seen."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize…wow, I'm awful. I didn't even think---"

"That you'd be missed? Think again, sister. The place would fall apart if you ever really left. But don't feel guilty. It's the least everyone can do, and they've all said it themselves. We all love you, and know that you'd do the same for any of us if you could at all. Hopefully you won't have to, though!"

Shane nodded, eyes wide in agreement. She wouldn't wish the last week of her life on her worst enemy. On the worst person in the world. Except maybe the people responsible. Tit for tat.

"Well, I'm sorry my absence has caused extra work for all of you." Shane looked into the deep glass of Chardonnay Sy had poured her from the bottle Heather had brought. She felt about as small as the air bubble making it's way up the sloping curve of the stemless vessel. She felt a guilt that she knew was fully void of logic. It made no sense for her to feel guilt for being kidnapped. But she had always had this notion, this nagging voice in her head that told her that her misfortunes were a direct result of her decisions. That she'd inadvertently stepped on the butterfly that resulted in the monsoon she was currently experiencing, and whatever cataclysmic events she would face next.

"Why in God's name are you apologizing for this, Shay?" Heather's tone was kind, but still mildly scolding.

"If I'd never been with Elliott, none of this would have--"

"Bitch, are you a fortune teller?"

"No, but--"

"Soothsayer?"

"No."

"Time traveler?"

"I wish!" Shane chuckled. But she really did wish.

"Have you any real and proven success at consistently predicting the future?"

"I don't, but--"

"No. No buts. No howevers. You had no idea what becoming involved with Elliott could have done. Were there signs, sure. But you can't look on the past as a rubric to judge the quality of your decisions. You know that. You can only learn from your mistakes. And you have."

"Heather's right, sunshine. You really have learned. You look for Elliott's behaviors in mine and shut me down quick if you see 'em. You're not going to let yourself go down that road again. And I'm proud of you for it."

Shane silently worried her wine glass. It was hard to argue with such truth. But it was hard to agree when her own feelings were in such stark opposition. So she did neither.

"Well, I've preached my sermon for the day." she laughed. "I've taken up enough of your time. Oh, your phone. It's in my purse. I think it's fully charged, but I turned it off."

Shane thanked her friend, then Heather hugged them both and took her leave.

"Y'okay, bug?" Sy asked her after what she surmised was several minutes of silence. Minutes she didn't notice as they passed.

"Mmm…" she trailed off.

"Can I do something for ya?" And she really thought about the question. He could probably do a lot of things for her. He could make love to her until she felt whole again, even if it hurt her at first. Not an ideal option. He could probably get them both some new identities and enough money to spirit her away to somewhere her past wouldn't follow. If she became someone new, literally, would she have to bring that old baggage, those old scars, with her? Again, suboptimal. But he could definitely take the source of all grief and turmoil in her life far into the Missouri back country, somewhere not even the hunters would venture, some fallow field or forgotten cistern, and end him. Snuff out his spark of life like a candle caught in a tornado. Spill a fatal amount of his monstrous blood onto the unforgiving earth and send him to the Hell to which he was undoubtedly destined. But did she want that? Did she want another soul as a scar on that of the man she so deeply cherished? He'd say it was worth it. He'd say he'd take a thousand more for her. A million. That was Sy.

"Nothing comes to mind." She lied. And he knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. She was so grateful that he respected her, not for the lie itself, but for the reason she wasn't giving him the whole truth just now.

His phone went off and he picked it up as he stood from his seat at the table. She could only hear that it was Matt, the guy she thought she understood had the car place, before she heard tension in Sy's voice. Even from the next room, she could tell something was wrong, though he was talking too quietly for her to make out words.

She heard him suddenly shout a stream of profanities that he rarely said at all around her, at least, let alone together. There was a bang, and the walls of her kitchen quaked like the tectonic plates beneath them were shifting.

Sy walked back in, his face was red, as were his knuckles. He was shaking an injury out of his hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked, deep concern at his appearance and demeanor, suddenly ominous.

"I need to fix your wall in there." he grumbled, evading, without success. She'd be doing therapy on his hand, next.

"What's really wrong?" she repeated, sternly.

"That was Matt. Elliott's…escaped, somehow. He's in the wind."

Shane's heart became so heavy, she could almost feel it smashing through the kitchen floor and burying itself deep in the cement floor of her basement.

"Oh, God! No! What if he goes to the police!?"

"Fuck that, I'm more concerned about him coming after you!"

The two stared, faces full of equal measures of concern for the other.

Up Next: Chapter 21-Patient Education

#netflix #netflix sand castle #captain syverson #Captain Syverson x OFC #captain syverson fanfic #sigh for sy #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader

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yandere-wishes · 5 years ago

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🐚Smooth Criminal //Yandere! Gangster! Floyd Leech X Reader//🐚

My first Gangster AU! This is most likely going to end up being a series for each of the different boys! SO please tell me what you thought!

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So, Annie are you ok, are you ok Annie?

the bar bristled with the loud shouts of its patrons. Each table housing at least a dozen members from the same group, all glaring at those from rival gangs. Guns sat, leaned against their master's legs, like school backs at a highschool cafeteria. maybe it was the dim, cheap lights, or the distracted rivalry stares. But by some freak miracle, no one noticed you enter the Jackson. This wasn't a place for a dame such as yourself, a pretty girl who lacked status, a weapon, and even a comrade to have their back. Just a doll-like face and a very obvious briefcase.

Even you were conscious of the fact that you stuck out like a rose in the middle of a field filled with weeds. At any moment one of these goons could turn around and grab you, slam your head on one of the wooden tables till your brains spilled out than claim the loot for themselves, no consciences faced.

Naturally, you wouldn't be here had it not been for your dear uncle Crowley, who had very recently gambled away the equivalent of a small fortune in the underground casino of the infamous Mostro Lounge. Well technically the cousin was only partly owned by the Octavinelle gang, most of the games and funds went to their brother gang of Ignihyde. But for some reason it had been one of the Octavinelle members to come after your uncle, breaking down the door to his house and threatening him with punches and verbal insults. Your "poor" uncle had promised to get him the money, it took about two loans on his house, a few hundred borrowed from his close friends and a lot of support from your own father until he was able to gather the needed amount. But that had left one tiny problem, your sweet uncle had been so shaken up from his last encounter that he had all but begged his only niece to deliver the money for him.

"It's very simple, sweetheart, you just go to the Jackson and give this briefcase to the man with teal hair and anisocoria eyes. I would never make you do something difficult dear, I'm too kind"

Yeah right "too kind" was an exaggeration, heck nice wasn't any better. Your uncle was a useless old fool. Then again where you any better? You'd just marched into the most mobster ridden bar in all of this godforsaken city. With nothing more than a white circular dress and a briefcase with your uncle's initials engraved in it. You took a shaky breath before scanning the room, trying to find the man your uncle had described. Teal hair and anisocoria eyes, wearing the signature black and purple of the Octavinelle gang.

A glance around confirmed that there where members from each of the Twisted Seven here. The twisted seven where the infamous gangs of New NightRaven City. Each gang was started sometime before even their current leaders where born. The original leaders had gone down as the pioneers of turning New NightRaven City into a gangsters paradise. Somehow the leadership roles had trickled down to the current seven, mostly through heritage. The history of the Twisted Seven was thought in schools all over the city more vigorously than actual world history. Up to this day, you weren't quite sure how or why the first world war had started but you could name every leader for each group in chronological order.

In the far back of the bustling room, you noticed an abnormality. One guy was sitting by himself at a four-person booth. A half-empty coke rocks glaring back at him. Your eyes widened, that was him! It had to be! Turquoise locks peaked out from under his black hat. For a split second his head turned, his eyes looking about unseeingly. That's when you noticed his eyes. One was vibrant gold, while the other borders on an olive-like green, both orbs, however, seemed to shine with a sort of mischievous glow.

Swallowing down a sense of foreboding deep in your soul, you gradually strolled over to the man. He didn't seem to notice you until you had rearranged into the seat before him. When his eyes met yours, his lips maneuvered into an open-mouth grin showing heaps of razor-sharp teeth. "OoO~ Who might you be little shrimp-chan?" His voice didn't seem able to hold a steady tone, vocals switching between high and low better every word, making the man appear all the more deranged. You sucked in a nervous breath. Under the table you squeezed your knees together, focusing on how the kneecaps pressured each other.

"Um..I'm (y/n), my uncle owed the Octavinelle some money and..."

"Oh so your here to pay off his debt?" He leaned in closer, tongue flickering out to run across his lips. His mismatched eyes scanned you up and down, lingering just a little too long on your chest. Quickly you made slung your arm over your over breasts, trying to muster up a glare to shoot at the audacious male.

"N-not like that" You pulled up the briefcase, pummeling it down on the table with a noisy "thud". "He has the money, he owned you. All ten thousand dollars."

Around the two of you, people became to stare, all pulling out their cells, no undoubtedly to inform their superiors about the transaction going down in plain view. The gangster in front of you, slowly trailed his gaze around the room, shooting challenged to meet his eyes. "Are you sure you aren't the payment? You're pretty, could round up a bunch of customers for the Lounge~ Oh maybe we could even loan you out to customers that way it would only take seven months to repay your uncle's debt--"

It was pure impulse on your part, rage had taken over your body. Your hand moved on its own, stretching out for the halve empty coke glass, carrying your body with itself. Your fingers wrapped sufficiently tight around the cup. Tugging it towards yourself, before tilting it and spilling its liquid contents in the face of the man in front of you. It took a moment for the events to fully process in either of your heads. Angry breaths left your mouth before you stood up and marched over to the door. Shouting one last cruse at the mobster before slamming the door behind you.

Back at the booth, Floyd had finally realized what had happened. His shoulders began to vibrate uncontrollably. A sadistic bloodthirsty laugh falling from his lips. His eyes lifted to where you had been moments priory a sort of childlike greed shining inside his orbs. "Shrimp-chan~" he cooed to the empty space.

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Sam pulled the yellow tape over his head, contracting his back so he could duke under it. In front of the building, he noticed a man with a red trench coat surrounded by five other police officers. The man must have been in his late 40's maybe even mid 50's. Sam let out a haughty breathy laugh. This was his new partner? The younger man jogged up to the small group. "Detective Trein I presume?" Sam was met by a harsh glare from the older man. "you're the rookie?" disapproval clear in every word. Ouch.

"You bet I am sir," Sam made a gesture akin to tilting a top hat as he bowed slightly. "Sam, reporting for duty". "What no last name?" "No Sir, just my mother given name, a nice one too I might add." Sam kept his eyes lowered but he could practically feel the way his new partner rolled his grey eyes. "Fine than Sam, follow me I trust you shouldn't find this case too hard. It's a simple kidnapping case. Nothing too elaborate for your young mind." Man, this guy really was a prick.

For as far as Sam could see this really was just an everyday kidnapping. All signs pointed towards just that. "If you would direct your attention to the window." Sam jumped from his thoughts. He quickly jogged up to where Trein was standing by a broken window. "The invader came in from here, most likely he climbed up the fire escape. Where guessing he had a knife on him or some other sharp object." Sam smiled, how had the old man gotten all that from an open window?

The second you left the bar, you had run all the way back to your apartment. The second you had gotten home you locked the doors and made a quick call to your uncle. As usual, he was "busy" doing whatever it was he did. Leaving a fast paced voicemail explaining that you had given the mobster his money and that you were home now. Leaving out the section you had caused. It was over finally the whole nightmare was over. your eyes darted to the old clock on your wall 9:15 pm late enough for dinner. Making your way to the kitchen, you forgot to notice that you had in fact left the window closest to the fire escape wide open.

"Bang!"

The noise reverberated across the cramped apartment. Causing you to jump out of your thoughts. Anxiously you snatched a kitchen blade as you gradually strolled again into the front room. Your brain continued replaying the occasions of that night. It must be the Octavinelle, they had sought you out! All things considered, you had embarrassed one of their members. When you finally made it to the living room, you were both surprised and relieved. There weren't a hundred armed goons flooding your apartment with guns ready to shoot you on sight. Instead, it had been the man from earlier, casually standing by the window, whistling some tune that was eerie familiar.

It took a moment before the man noticed you. His whistling stopped and was instead replaced with a shark-like smile. "HI~ little shrimp! I forgot to introduce myself earlier~ Name's Floyd what's yours darling?" Nervously you stepped back, knife clenched tightly to your chest.

"G-Get away from me!"

"How do you know the man was armed? Heck, how do you know he was a guy?" Sam asked. Trein let out an annoyed huff. "Seriously do you know nothing? Well, I guess you are rather new to this." The grey-haired man turned to his younger partner. Sam swear for a moment he caught a glimpse of what may have been considered a "father instinct" although never having had a father, he could have been completely wrong. "When you've been in this profession as long as I have, you pick up on. There are small differences that become obvious once you've cracked your first ten cases. Notice the blood on the carpet, and realize how 40 mm away there is a smaller bloodstain, only this one has been pressured into the carpet, due to its crescent-like scape we can confidently deduce that it was made by a heel. And look closely at the carpet starts, look at how they seem to be red from the roots and middle, not just the tips. All that point to our invader having stepped in the first blood pool than having made the second engraving with the heel of his shoe as he chased the victim." Sam's eyes widen, maybe the old man wasn't just a jerk, after all, maybe he knew a thing or two.

"Is that any way to treat a guest little shrimp?~" His eyes locked with yours, freezing you in your spot like a dear in headlights. Noticing your dumbfounded form he ran forward prying the knife from your weak grip. A scream filled the air, it took you a second to realize it had come from you. When your eyes went back to your offenders face you could see how his lips were pointed downwards a deathly glare coating his eyes.

The next moment his fingers made contact with your cheek, you swore you could hear a crescendo, your body felt heavy your head started spinning, for some reason the ground was getting closer and closer until you felt your body crash into the carpet. Your left cheek stung, as well as feeling like it was on fire. as you laid on the floor you watched as something red slipped onto the carpet. Something thick and red. "Oh, shrimpy you look so pretty when you bleed."

Trein made his way to the kitchen, flicking a switch the moment he passed the threshold. A single light overhead flickered to life. "Kinda cramped for a kitchen ain't it?" Sam asked as he peeked over Trein shoulder. The older man ignored his partner's comment, wordlessly he pointed to the table in at the far left-hand side. Sam's red eyes followed the man's finger, Dead center there was a large kitchen knife ended in the old-looking wooden table. "Usually women are more calculating when they performed a kidnapping. Men are the ones that go ramped like wild beasts." Sam nodded his head absentmindedly. The young investigator made a mental note to never be as obvious if he ever did decide to kidnap someone.

"Oh~ that's so pretty." You had only known "Floyd" for a little over an hour, that including your rather unpleasant meaning back at the Jackson. But already you could tell just how short the man's attention span was. Slowly you shimmed your body from the ground, the mobster didn't seem to have noticed. The second your legs passed the kitchen's threshold you flicked the light, engulfing the tiny cooking space in total darkness. You made a swift sprint for the table, crunching under it. Your breath refused to leave your mouth, heart pounded with such force you were certain it would break the bones of your rib cage. In the distance, his loud footsteps could be heard. Closer and closer and closer. You didn't dare open your eyes, but you kept your ears open, trying to pick up any lose noises he might make.

1 heartbeat

2 heartbeats

3 heartbeats

Nothing. There was no more noise to be heard, slowly your eyes cracked open, a tiny fragile breath escaped your mouth, right before a sharp noise echoed above head. Floyd's twisted head came into view that damned smirk still on his lips. Another scream, this time you knew it was coming from you. The teal haired man reached to grab the collar of your shirt, pulling you forward. You kicked and thrashed about as the gangster such laughter. Really how sick was this man? Finally, with one last kick, you freed yourself, Floyd fell backward clutching his stomach mutter some profanity you'd never heard before. Quickly you made a dash for your room. Locking the door behind you.

"And this is the last destination of our tour," Trein said as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Sam was almost certain he heard a hint of humor in the old man's tone. "What happened here?" The rookie asked. "Why Sam! I thought you where a detective, can't you deduce this simple problem?" Definitely humor. Sam quickly scanned the room. 'Um, he dragged her into the room, locking the door behind them. Then broke the window preparing to escape. But then a third party broke the door down, trying to save the girl. Before the third party could intervene it's likely that the man pulled her through the window and killed her behind some ally." Trein only nodded, following along with the boy's story. "Well Sam you sure have an active imagination, but it's most likely that this is what happened..."

You could hear the pounding on your door, slowly you backed away heading for your nightstand, aimlessly you tried to locate your phone. Until you remembered that you had left it on the couch. "Dang it" Your eyes scanned the room nervously trying to find something helpful, anything!

BANG

pieces of wood flew around the room, you brought your hands up to shield your face, only to have them pulled downwards. Your eyes looked upwards, instantly locking with Floyd's "Found you~" he sang. In the midst of the chaos, Floyd smashed his lips yo yours, they were unpleasant, chapped, and salty. You tried pushing him away but to no avail. Gradually he broke the kiss, pushing his forehead to yours. Before slinging you over his shoulder and ramming full force into the window in your room. Crashing the glass and escaping into the night with you. It was at that moment that you knew that this was your doom!

"That's the more likely explanation for what happened," Trein explained as he made is way back to the front door. "Well even if it isn't it's more then convincing for a field report and a good enough explanation to give the press". A confused look twisted over Sam's face "How do you know he didn't kill her?" The black-haired boy asked. Trein just laughed and waved a wrinkled hand dismissively. "Call it a hunch" He yelled behind his shoulder.

And what a hunch! Just as the old detective predicted you were very much alive. Just now awaking and opening your (e/c) eyes to gaze into the mismatched ones of Floyd Leech's.

You’ve been hit by a smooth criminal

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unaccomplishedwriter · 4 years ago

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THE HERO YOU NEED

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Prologue here

Chapter One

Decisively locking herself into her compartment alone, (y/n) sunk down into her seat with a loud plop. Clutching her wand, she rolled the violet amethyst handle between her fingers, a habit she’d adopted ever since her first year at Ilvermorny. She could feel the tears starting to cloud her vision as she stared out the window to her parents standing on the platform. Though she wanted to cry, she refused to let them fall. Her parents wouldn’t care anyway. This was the most determined they’d been to have her do something in her entire life.

To (y/n)‘ s bitter frustration, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to her friends and beloved professors. Her parents sprung the frightful news merely a few days before she was due for the new school year in America; gave her a few days to get come to terms with starting a new life elsewhere. She’d never resented their job more, even when it had them disappearing for months on end.

And even more frustratingly, they refused to tell her why. But the cold conviction in her father’s eyes and the shadows of something darker and more uncertain — in her mother’s, (y/n) couldn’t find it in herself to disobey them either.

So yet here she sat, on some godforsaken train in some godforsaken robes making sure not to spill these godforsaken tears.

Life couldn’t be worse for her right now.

And as if to mock her, the loud sound of the door handle rattling startled her from her melancholy staring contest with her parents. To top it off, the train had finally jerked into motion, her heart along with it. Shaking from sheer surprise, the blood rushed to her ears, nearly drowning out the arrogant alohamora from the other side of the door.

A tall blonde boy sauntered into the compartment, a sneer on his face.

“How dare you take my compartment, you filthy—,”

The words died in his throat as his eyes landed on the girl in the corner. Her eyes were glassy and her nose was red, giving her (s/c) skin a flushed glow. Normally he’d take the opportunity to mock them further, but his jaw refused to move. Not liking being gawked at, (y/n)’s voice filled the silence.

“You were saying?” She snapped.

Whatever it was, it was going to be rude. A glare made its way to her face as she angrily blinked her tears away. Using this time to take in the boy’s features, (y/n) couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised. He was rather handsome, with fine blonde strands of hair falling into his face. He had clear grey eyes that reminded her of her overcast skies, which she rather liked. The green and silver Slytherin crest was proudly displayed on his chest, and her preconceived notions about Hogwarts’ houses set in just a bit more.

“I—I—Um, are you new?” He stuttered dumbly. The stupid look on his face was enough to wash some of her irritation away, and she relaxed her shoulders a bit. Furrowing her brows, she stared at the door until the boy got the hint and closed it behind him. It wasn’t until he was sat across from her and their eyes were locked again before she bothered to answer his question.

“I’m not a little first year, if that’s what you’re asking. But... yes, I am new. I’m a fourth year.”

He nodded his head, continuing to stare at her. She started to feel a bit put off before he opened his mouth again.

“Not from here, either. You an American? What’s your name?”

“I am American. I’m (F/n) Hightower.”

His eyes bugged out of his head, and (Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle. He was rather entertaining...and cute, if she’d had to admit.

“Hightower as in one of the oldest American Wizarding families? Your family practically helped pioneer the entire setup of the American Wizarding World,”

He exclaimed. A throb of annoyance fell upon her, but (y/n) brushed it off. Her family name meant she had a fuckton of expectations placed on her shoulders, and she didn’t particularly want them to carry over to her new life at Hogwarts.

“And your name?” She asked. He sat back proudly, a smug smile gracing his face. A smirk soon mirrored it on (y/n)‘s; she’d always liked seeing self-assurance on others.

It made her wish she had some for herself.

“I’m a Malfoy, of course. Draco Malfoy,” he reached out with his hand, before freezing and pulling it back quickly. The embarrassed laugh that followed made (y/n) laugh as well. She’d heard of the Malfoys, and so far this Draco boy aligned with most of what she’d learned. Perhaps a bit more charm, though.

They talked animatedly about their families for a while, finding familiarity in the pressure of a high-profile background.

“So which house do you recommend?”

Perhaps it was a stupid question, but she enjoyed the way his eyes lit up following it regardless.

“Slytherin, obviously! We’re the best at everything and have the most house cups under our belt,” he bragged. “The other houses are full of losers, but if there were a house I’d definitely stay away from it would be Gryffindor. They’re a bunch of self-righteous freaks,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. His childish comment and posture eliciting an eye roll.

“Forget I asked,” she joked. (Y/n) explained a bit of how Ilvermorny’s sorting process went about, hers in particular. The subject seemed very interesting to the blonde haired boy and she found herself gradually reddening from the attention.

But she’s (Y/n) freaking Hightower, and she does not get flustered by boys.

“I knew the moment I saw you that you were different,” he boasted. “I’d have remembered seeing a girl like you around before—,”

“A girl like me?” She cut in, making him falter. As if just realizing what he’d said, Draco’s face turned red, and he recoiled back into his seat.

“I meant— you— you’re from a good family, is all.” He stammered. With a raised brow, (y/n) leaned forward, invading some of his space.

“Family isn’t everything you know. You’re only what you make of yourself... not to mention, outside of the Wizarding World, we’re not much. The muggles have accomplished loads without magic, I’d say that’s something to applaud on its own.”

He gaped at her for a moment, jaw hanging. Feeling self-conscious, she drew back a bit. She suddenly remembered the clear division between muggles and wizards here in Europe, and felt stupid for bringing it up.

“Who cares about muggles? They’re even worse than the mudbloods — at least they can do magic, no matter how poorly,” he sniggered, a glimpse of the initial nastiness she saw when he’d first entered her compartment.

A scowl now adorning her face, (y/n) stood up abruptly.

“I grew up alongside muggles, you know. Their technology can make life very convenient,” she hissed. Muggles were a sore subject for (y/n) amongst her magical friends; though not as bad as Europe, the American Wizarding world still practiced some degree of separation from muggles, which fostered some less-than-kind mentalities amongst some of her peers back in America. She assumed it would be worse here, but coming face to face with it from a boy who’s company she otherwise enjoyed was decidedly unpleasant.

Draco stared up at her, taken aback. “Well, they—they just don’t belong with us,” he exclaimed, standing up as well.

Her face officially hot, (y/n) marched past him and threw open the doors of the compartment.

“If that’s what you think,” she hissed, “you can leave.”

For what seemed like the thousandth time since they met, Draco once again gaped at her. Face twisting, he strode past her.

“Didn’t take a Hightower for a blood traitor,” he spat, slamming the door behind him.

Furious, (y/n) slammed herself back into her seat before promptly shutting the blinds in her window, darkness encasing her cabinet.

Welcome to Hogwarts, she moaned.

As she gazed glumly at the gaggle of first-years in front of her, (y/n) couldn’t help but curse her parents to the high heavens for the millionth time that day. Going through the bated torture of just one house sorting three years ago was quite enough, thank you. She never thought she’d be here again, experiencing this again. Hogwarts and Ilvermorny unfortunately did not have some sort of house equivalency, thus her recent move meant she was forced to be sorted once again like some sort of anxiety-ridden eleven year old.

Well, she wasn’t. She was an anxiety-ridden fourth year, and for Merlin’s sake, this stupid hat was by far the most tedious being she’d ever bore witness to existing!

It spent a good twenty minutes on some students, and heavens knows how long this event would actually last. She didn’t even want to be here anyway.

But as another child was sorted, the thunderous applause of Ravenclaw house deafened her ears yet again and she couldn’t resist the small smile that crept along her face. At the very least, Ilvermorny and Hogwarts had one thing in common: comraderie. She’d heard gossip about how intense the house rivalry of Hogwarts was, but for now, it was nice to see a bit of community shown in order to drown out her lonely anxieties.

It was another thirty minutes before her name was called, and the Great Hall descending into a suffocating silence. A good two heads taller than the first-years, she stood out like a sore thumb. But if (y/n) was to be deemed as anything, she wanted it to be confident, so she sauntered up to the platform without delay. Her face was the picture of calm, but she couldn’t resist tightening her grip on her wand as she felt the inumerable amount of eyes on her. She’d thought about which house she’d prefer to get sorted into beforehand, but had doubts.

(Y/n) was 100% sure her personality aligned best with Slytherin, but the house’s propensity for dark magic and prejudice didn’t bode well with the kind of wizard she wished to be. Gryffindor seemed the next best choice, but the tact and levelheadedness of Ravenclaw house was something she’d surely advantage from.

She considered all of these options, but when the hat descended on her head, there was only one house actually in her mind.

“Oh-ho-ho! A Pukwudgie! A special one at that! Looks like we have future Wizarding royalty in our presence. Though, you lot’s preferred way of sorting is quite boring though, innit? Well, I’d say at least. Of course, a Pukwudgie there makes for anything you’d like here, special or not. You’d do particularly well in Slytherin, it seems... but it looks like you’ve made up your mind? Careful love, it isn’t too good to believe everything you hear. You’d be proud to be in any of our houses, I’d reckon! But, still? Are you sure? Well, okay —

Hufflepuff for the yankee!”

Maybe it was because she was clearly not a first-year and therefore more interesting, but (y/n) could have sworn Hufflepuff’s cheers were a bit louder than for those before her. Either way, she couldn’t help the wide smile that bloomed on her face as she rose from her seat. As she stood, her gaze landed squarely on two piercing grey eyes staring directly at her. Across from her was the Slytherin house, the house that she’d might have been part of in another life. Time seemed to have stood still in this split second, and she felt something stir in her chest. A small twang of regret? Or, guilt even?

But that was impossible, what would she be guilty of? And as her gaze landed on the lips underneath those eyes, which were now twisted into a familiar sneer, (y/n) promptly turned away and pranced over to her new home away from home.

Even if Slytherin had that handsome, rude boy, she was sure Hufflepuff had better in store for her.

Author’s Note: Leave a comment or an ask in order to be added to the tag list ☺️

#Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy x Reader #Draco x reader #Harry Potter x reader #hp x reader #HP #Slytherin #Gryffindor #Hufflepuff #Ravenclaw #x reader #fanfiction #romance #angst

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gamingbugs542 · 4 years ago

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What is a non gaming license

50 Ideal Gaming Web-sites To Stop by In 2017

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years ago

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 56: Breaking the Fast(Over Someone’s Head)

Chapters: 56/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Vision Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Bitches Gonna Bitch, When Shall We Three Meet Again, Here Have Some Foreshadowing

You woke in incredible comfort, tucked into Loki's arms. You'd never been in a more comfortable bed; the pillows and blankets were like clouds, and the company even better. Loki lay silent and still, his hair mussed, his pale face serene. You'd spent so much time kissing, and caressing, and cuddling that you had just eventually fallen asleep holding each other.

You stared into his sleeping face, absorbing everything that had happened. The way he had cupped your face and kissed you with such sweet ardor. How he'd held you in his lap and let his hands roam over your body, enthusiastically praising you, telling you about how he had been falling for you over all this time. You couldn't help but to babble about how you felt about him, in between kisses.

What it all boiled down to was that Loki Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard, Scourge of New York, royalty, alien, and god...was totally into you. Somehow. And it sounded like he had been for some time.

In hindsight, it was really kind of obvious.

You smooched his nose, and he yawned, his eyes opening into an expression of delight.

“It wasn't a dream.” He whispered, and held you even tighter. “We're going to stay right here all day.”

You giggled. “As much as I'd love that, you know we can't. There's stuff to do, and royal guests to see...”

Loki mock-frowned. “You just had to bring them up, didn't you? And it was such a perfect morning. Speaking of, did you sleep well, my darling?”

“Um, yeah. Really well, actually.”

“Good, that's good. I want nothing but pleasure and comfort for you, when you are in my arms.”

He began kissing you again, heedless of any pointless little concerns like morning breath, but you knew from how he'd acted last night that you really would be here all day if you didn't do something.

You let it go on for a few more minutes-he really was intoxicating, after all-then pushed at his chest.

“Is something wrong?” He asked as he pulled away.

“We've gotta get up. Get some breakfast. Bathe.”

A sly smile broke across his face. “If you insist...”

“Not like that!” You slapped his chest. He released you, and you rolled out of bed. Your had slept in your dress, and it was badly rumpled now, the metal clasps cutting into your skin. Loki was up and out of his tunic in one motion.

“You know, it's okay to bathe together.” He said. “We do it all the time. I won't try anything.”

“Yeah, but...” But today was not the same as yesterday, and there wasn't any reason not to, was there? And Loki's hunger for intimacy was still clear and present. “Well...okay. But no funny business!”

“Yes, my Seidkona.” He breathed. His voice sent a shiver spiraling down your spine. You might be the one needing to keep a rein on yourself. You had seen Loki naked before, and it was a sight to behold.

You both changed separately, and Loki turned his back so that you could get into the bathtub. He was very gentlemanly, and you allowed him to scrub your back, which he did reverently, kissing the little marks the metal in your dress had left on your skin.

Watching Loki wash his hair was very distracting; the soap and water trickled down his body in the most alluring way.

This was so much like a fairy tale. The handsome prince, the steamy bath, the myth, the magic. Were you sure this was real?

“Is something wrong, dear?” He asked, soaping your arms. “Are you...rethinking?” The nervousness was palpable in his voice.

“No, no, nothing like that! It's just...What are we now? How will we make this work? Do we have to keep it secret? Will this cause a huge scandal?”

“Of course it will cause a scandal!” Loki laughed. “Why, when Thor brought his mortal home to Asgard, I was in solitary confinement in the dungeons, and even I heard about it! Such a thing had never happened! But once people got past the initial shock and outrage, they were mostly fine with it. Not entirely, of course, but he didn't have the whole of Asgard against him. This is where we have an advantage; we aren't the first to do this. For once, I'm not the lead in a scandal. And we are here, on Earth, surrounded by humans. Mixed relationships won't be uncommon. We shall be pioneers, you and I.”

You took the soap from him and shyly rubbed the suds over his chest and shoulders.

“So...does that mean you're my boyfriend now?” It was a strange word to apply to someone like Loki.

“You're my inamorata, yes, if you would like to be. I would like you to be.”

“And is this, um, is this an exclusive thing? I'd prefer that personally, but I get it if you want to keep your options ope-”

Loki snatched you into his arms with fierce speed, squishing your body against his slippery torso.

“I would have no one but you.” He nearly hissed. “I will not split my affections. I couldn't even think of it.”

“Oh. Well that's very reassuring.” You said, heart pounding. He had said he wouldn't try anything. “I just kinda want to know where we stand, what we are, you know, all that.”

“What we are is glorious.” Your skin slid against his, the muscles rippling under the soap, bringing a pink heat to his face. “And very slippery. Please pardon me, I got a little carried away.” He released you, stepping away. “I just wanted to assure you that I take this seriously. I am not toying with you; I would have this relationship grow, if you also would.”

You nodded, satisfied for the moment. This was real, not a fluke, not a seduction, not a dream.

The dress that awaited you was a soft and luxurious thing of green, orange, gold, and red, snake and floral embroidery trimming the hem. All of the warm layers had been taken in for you; you could tell from the brand new stitching.

Your book of sagas had illustrations in it as well as stories and, true to Saldis' explanation, all the women dressed like you now did, all the way down to the big, oval brooches that fastened to your shoulder straps, and the beads strung between them.

You still found it rather sweet that the tailors here were trying so hard to put you in what they thought would be 'familiar' clothing, and to dress you like what they felt was a fine, high class human lady.

High class American ladies didn't dress like this. In fact, nowadays, classy clothing was almost indistinguishable from everybody elses' clothes, just better tailored. It was less about the garment itself, and more about the name on the label. And the jewelry too, but the jewelry you wore with these lovely clothes was also very different from the classy ladies back home. A simple, minimalist approach was the preferred method for displaying wealth and importance back home. A diamond tennis bracelet, pure gold studs, a delicate chain with a single diamond drop.

Your jewelry, though no lesser in quality, definitely reflected an older approach. The oval strap brooches were large to you, the size of an egg-though the illustrations in you book showed that such brooches had one been much larger-and delicately engraved with elegantly knotted horned serpents, green stones winking from their eyes. Three strands of beads were strung across your chest between them; one of gold and silver, one of amber, and one of pearls. These were different than your usual strands of glass beads, or brightly colored yarn braids. In fact, everything was top of the line today: there were charms hanging from your beads, little moon-shaped crescents with intricate granulation, multi-looped clasps shaped like swans that you were meant to hang your chatelaine from. That consisted of your tiny, cylindrical emergency sewing kit, made of bone and silver, a silver, scallop-shaped hand mirror, a silver and shell compact containing tweezers, nail clippers, a file, tiny scissors, and a weird little spoon shaped object that you didn't yet know the function of, and the key to Loki's quarters.

Your apron was decorated with many strips of woven ribbon; red, orange, and yellow in geometric patterns, and the seams of your sleeves were trimmed with thick, clearly visible contrasting stitching, your belt embroidered with birds, their long necks and long tails interlocking, flower-shaped silver buttons tacked on along its length, the ends clasped in decorative metal tips.

It was very cold this morning, so a warm, woolen cap, and a pair of gloves had also come along with the ensemble, just as finely made as the rest of it. The cap had shimmering beads embroidered all around the rim, looking to you like a crown.

Everybody in this whole palace complex knew what you had gotten up to last night, didn't they? And now they were pulling out all the stops, or at least, as many as they were allowed to. They had sent you earrings, matching the little crescent moon charms on your bead strands, and an entire separate necklace, made of amber beads, and yet more crescent charms. Your slippers were embroidered velvet, and the stockings underneath were so soft and smooth that you almost couldn't stop touching them. Even the little phone holster that clipped onto your belt was touched with small details, the leather embossed with the image of a tree.

You wondered if the clothiers had beads and brooches and charms just sitting around in piles, or stashed in boxes. If, every day, they strung beads and charms onto strings and paired them up with whichever dress they had chosen for you that day. These brooches, with their green-eyed, horned snakes, seemed awfully specific for them to have had already made, and you wondered if Loki had had them commissioned. And if so, when?

Loki met you at the door, almost as decorated as you were. Asgardian men did not tend towards jewelry, beyond the occasional bead in their hair or beard, or the coronets that you assumed only Thor and Loki had the privilege of wearing. Instead, most of their precious metal and jewels were embedded into their clothes, in the form of armor or strap embellishments. Loki himself seemed to prefer asymmetrical hems and diagonal elements, and he was properly decked out in both. In fact, the cut of his black overcoat made it look like some kind of odd, tailed tuxedo, trimmed in silver and covered in embroidery, also black, that was only visible when the light struck it in a certain way.

“Ready for breakfast, precious?” He asked with a smile.

“We're laying it on a bit thick just for some oatmeal, aren't we?” You laughed, and he offered you his arm.

The banquet hall was full, for the first time since you had been there, full of Aesir and Avengers, Icelandic officials and Asgardian nobles. They all stopped talking, turning to look at the two of you, Loki standing tall and proud, his expression bright, you hanging off his arm, wearing something that evoked the image of a crown, and you were suddenly very aware of how all this must look.

Today was very different than yesterday.

“Good morning friends.” Loki said. “I hope the day finds you well.”

“Not as well as it finds you, evidently.” Tony grumbled. Pepper elbowed him in the side.

Nobody else said anything about it, going back to their conversations, but the sly looks, knowing grins, and glares followed you to your seat at Loki's side.

Breakfast was an elaborate affair that morning; to reflect the importance of the guests, you thought. Fruit carved like flowers, the fluffiest eggs and pancakes, plump sausage links, lingonberry preserves, and hot, sweet coffee. There was oatmeal and toast for those who wanted it, milk and juice as well.

Thor and Brunnhilde had seated Dr. Banner next to them, and were chatting amiably away. Banner looked a bit rougher than you expected him to, but you assumed that makeup and hair gel were a regular part of the photoshoots. Dr. Banner was notorious for not making live appearances, interviews, or PR tours, and you supposed you couldn't blame him. If anyone prized their alone time, it would be him.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton had been seated next to you, though Clint seemed less pleased by the proximity to Loki. He kept shooting wary glances at the prince, who made no indication that he noticed. But as Natasha chatted with you about daily life in Asgard, Loki pressed his leg against yours under the table, gently nudging your foot with his.

He would become shameless, if you let him.

It was tempting.

After breakfast was a time of mingling, Aesir, Avenger and officials. Many of the nobles left, but those that stayed were drawn to the Avengers; new faces, reputed to have been strong and resourceful enough to pose a challenge to their prince. The language barrier posed a problem, but there were enough of them who could speak English to provide translation to their fellows.

Several of the officials approached you for various reasons; to inquire about your health and safety, to ask about the human encampments and the recent fight, and even to compliment you on your dress. You weren't sure how much information you were meant to give, and kept your answers short and polite. You didn't want to cause any trouble by being too loose-lipped.

The dour, somewhat scruffy fellow you recognized as being the Winter Soldier-but not anymore?-approached you on Steves behalf. “He wants to say he likes your dress, and that he's sorry for causing you problems last night. He didn't know you were involved.”

“None of that is his fault.” You pointed out. “I asked him to dance, and Loki wasn't communicating as effectively as he could have. Neither was I, I guess. I'm pretty sure it's safe for Captain Rogers to talk to me himself. Sorry you've gotten tangled up in this, but I'm putting an end to it now, Mr....?”

He paused, wearing an expression somewhat like a confused dog. He must have expected you to know his name already, but you only knew him by his former moniker.

“...Barnes.” He said, after along pause.

“Mr. Barnes. I don't want anyone playing this silly 'telephone' game. People are allowed to talk to me face to face, Loki doesn't actually control that. If he wants to get jealous about it, I'll just remind him why he shouldn't be.”

One corner of his mouth ticked upward, giving his sleepy eyes a rakish look. If he really was the same age as Steve, then he was probably a charmer, in his day.

“Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, I'm sure.” He said, then threw a look over his shoulder, to Steve. “Hey!” He called. “Talk to her yourself!”

You snorted in held-back laughter as Steve put his face in his hand, and Loki perked up like a cat who had just heard the scratching of a mouse. This was so much like something Tara would do.

Speaking of which...

“Excuse me for a moment.” You said, finding an unused corner of the hall and snapping a selfie, which you sent to Tara and your father, with a morning greeting. The phone was a godsend of the most literal kind, allowing you contact back home, so you didn't have to worry about how everyone was doing, and they could know how you fared as well.

The bakery at the grocery store you used to work at was apparently famous now. They sold baked goods themed after you and Loki, Thor and Asgard. It was ridiculous and goofy, and you were utterly charmed by the pictures Tara sent you; of cupcakes with sparkly icing to represent your magic-the cat was out of the bag on that-of croissants in Loki-themed packaging.

You were profoundly relieved that the people back home had decided to celebrate all this, rather than condemning and hating you, and you hoped the bakery would be wildly successful. You had to show Loki those croissants, though. He would love them.

You noticed Loki, the wizard Strange, and one of the Avengers you hadn't been formally introduced to-a tall, but relatively average looking man-all slipped into one of the banquet halls' many smaller side rooms, and wondered if you were supposed to be with them. But no, if you had, Loki would have come to collect you. They were probably just discussing something about magic. Maybe that unknown fellow was another mage? It seemed like there was always someone new on the team, however temporary.

“My mistress says that you are even more a fool than she first thought.” Said a barely familiar voice. You turned away from Mr. Barnes to the unwelcome sight of Gloa, and her maidservant.

“Oh, it's you guys again. Were you at the table? I hadn't noticed.”

Gloa spoke; her servant translated.

“She had believed that humankind was without manners or decorum, but you have proved it this morning by flaunting yourself so shamelessly. Who do you think you are?”

You heard Barnes shifting uncomfortably behind you. An Asgardian catfight was probably beyond his experience.

“I am Loki's Seidkona.” You said simply.

The servant sighed at her mistress's words. “You are Loki's harlot. You think it gives you importance, but you are nothing more than a powerless, decorative, and above all, temporary creature.”

“You know, the last person who called me something like that ended up in jail. So, what does she hope to get out of this? Is she jealous or something?” You were tired of this already, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

Gloa went red in the face.

“She says she would never have a creature so low and debased as Loki, that, prince or king, he will always be beneath her, and that only mortal slime would accept such as him. She says that he should start preparing your funerary boat early, and learn what it really means to mourn.”

You drew yourself up as tall as you could-still shorter than both Gloa and the maid-suddenly aware that you had at least as much jewelry and at least as fine clothing as Gloa did. She was probably stinging at your status being elevated to hers, as if she had done anything other than being born to earn hers. You were also aware that Mr. Barnes was no longer behind you, and was, in fact, nowhere to be seen.

You were alone in this.

“Your threats are pointless, and you are wasting my time, you useless, catty bi-”

*****

“We need to keep in touch.” Strange said.

“I disagree.” Loki answered.

“Let me guess; it's because you hate me.”

“Very astute! I did not think you had it in you.”

“There are things we must discuss.” Vision interrupted, calm in the face of the other's ire. “About the stones.” In this private room, he had abandoned his human appearance, the yellow gem sparkling brightly in his scarlet forehead.

“Well, I've got mine, and he's got his, and you clearly have yours. What is it that we need to discuss?”

“Do you have yours?” Strange asked. “It's obvious that Vision has his, and quite clear that mine is still in my keeping.” He gestured to the pendant resting against his robes. “But all we have to assure us that you still have yours is your word, which, you understand, holds about as much water as a sieve here on Earth.”

Loki glared, holding out his hand. A ball of blue ice glowed in his palm, which also slowly turned blue.

“Just because I do not flaunt it like you fools, does not mean I don't have it.” He dropped his hand, the icy orb gone. “So are we done? You showed me yours, I showed you mine, are we a secret society now?”

Stephan grimaced at the innuendo, but Vision just tilted his head, not comprehending.

“There have been some odd fluctuations that I cannot quite explain.” He said. “I can sense when they are happening, but not what is causing them, nor whom.”

Loki took a seat, brow furrowing. “Fluctuations in the stones? What can you tell us about it?” That was indeed something worth discussing. Four of the stones were on Earth right now-something Loki thought very dangerous, but it couldn't be helped. The stones had chosen their own guardians, finally settling into balance. Loki didn't have any say in it.

“As near as I can describe it, since the stones are all at least somewhat sentient, the Mind Stone can sense them, perhaps even communicate with them. I cannot; I believe the higher functions of the Mind Stone work at a higher frequency than my matter-based body can reach. But I can feel it sometimes, and I believe what I am sensing is someone utilizing the power of at least one of the stones.”

Strange and Loki stared at him.

“That is very concerning.” Loki said. “Well. It's not me. I have not used the Stone for most of a year. I will use it again, but only to help better our Bifrost, and only when our engineers have worked out more of the stabilization problems.”

“Haven't used it at all.” Strange said. “No need for it.”

“And I use this only inasmuch as it allows me to exist.” Vision stated.

“The space pirates?” Strange ventured.

“Impossible.” Loki said. “It took all of them together just to contain the Power Stone, and they can no longer safely wield it without the flora colossus at full strength.”

“And our...ally on Vormir has not contacted us.” Vision pointed out. “He is not very loquacious, even with the technology we left him, but I am certain that if someone made an attempt at the soul stone, he would tell us.”

“Damn.” Loki said. “My brother is going to kill me.”

“As entertaining as that would be...why?” Strange asked.

“Because I believe we are going to need to contact Dr. Foster.”

“Ah, the sting of lost love.”

“Do they not get along?” Vision asked.

“Well, no...it's not that. It's a little complicated. But my brother has been extravagant in his vows never to bother her again.” Loki explained.

“You however, have taken no such vows.” Stephen pointed out.

“I have not.” Loki confirmed.

“So what is it with Asgardian royalty, and human women?” Strange asked. “Is it a fetish, or...”

“That's none of your-”

The door popped open, and Bucky peeked in. “Hey, Merlins. I think your girl's gonna get in a fistfight with some other lady. Tall dame, acting like a real pill. Doesn't speak a word of English, had someone other lady translating for her.”

“Gloa...” Loki said darkly. “Excuse me gentlemen... and Stephen. I have to go head off an incident.”

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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selfdulgent-selfinsert · 5 years ago

Note

Can I request a Ruben/SO(reader) “hate-fuck” with light aftercare? >3

((AH! I’m sorry this took so long!))

He hated the sound his fist made as he knocked on youroffice door. He hated having to ask for help. There was no way you couldunderstand the scope of his intellect, however, you were a leadingneurosurgeon. Pioneering microsurgery with countless papers under your ownname; they garnered you immense respect internationally. He could neverpinpoint why he hated you. Maybe it was because you held a formal doctorate,maybe it was because your work was always your own to publish? Maybe it was theway you smiled at him when he stepped in, your sweet voice welcoming him intoyour warm but cluttered room.“Good morning Dr. Ruvik! Can I help you with something?”He sneered at you but it didn’t seem to faze you. Expression unwavering as youwent back to organizing your papers, thumbing through the wad of pages in yourhand. Your next cases needing to be sorted but not wanting to take attentionaway from your colleague. To you, Dr. Ruvik had always been your equal, a tadeccentric and secluded, but it did sometimes come with the trade. You neverreally knew what he did at Beacon but it was never really anything thatconcerned you. Working closely with the hospital, you had somewhat of your ownclinic within the building. You worked with people who required any of thecomplex surgeries you’d performed a thousand times. It wasn’t an ideal locationbut the hospital had a wealthy supply of patients who required your services;and truthfully you were happy to assist.“Unfortunately.” He took a seat in one of the plush chairs which faced you. “Myresearch has lead me to an unfortunate roadblock and I require yourassistance.”He crossed his legs, resting his arms on the fabric. Glaring at you from hisbandages. You set your papers aside, placing your hands in front of you. “Ofcourse Dr. Ruvik, what sort of research can I help you with?” He huffed, wereyou patronizing him? Of course, you were, you always were with that unshakablesmile and being all too willing to lend a hand. Surely you thought less of him.“Well.” He started with a bitter tone. “My subjects have not been respondingthe way I want them too. They behave much too individually then I would likeand regardless which part of their brain I probe, they are left like that.”“Well, Dr. Ruvik I can’t quite say there is an area of an animal’s brain whereyou could force such a reaction. Are you working with mice? Surely they reactto psychological studies but I can’t imagine there’s a part of the brainphysically that could aid you.”What exactly was he doing in that lab anyway? You stood and walked around tosit in the front of your desk, your heels clicking against the floor as youwent. Hands folded together as you milled about in your mind searching for ananswer. Meanwhile giving the good Doctor a look at you, your lab coat open toreveal a ruffled blouse and your favorite pencil skirt. Were you trying todistract him? Tapping his foot impatiently as he tried in vain to remove hisgaze from the hem of your skirt. It had ridden up when you sat on the heavy wood.You had the audacity to present yourself in such a manner in an effort to sabotagehis work. How was he expected to focus when you could distract him like this?“Perhaps you’d be better speaking with one of the Psychologists upstairs? Idon’t think I can help. I’m sorry.”Your shrug was perfectly timed with his breaking point. Standing quickly andmoving directly in front of you. His eyes dark with something you’d never seenhim look at you with before.Stepping forwards he grabbed your jaw, pulling you forward to meet his lips.It was sudden but you couldn’t say you were opposed, he was a very attractiveman. When he separated you could feel his breath coast over your skin and hewhispered darkly. “Do not distract me.”His free hand coming to settle on your thighs; the digits gripping into yourflesh. His lips connecting again with yours; it was angry and rough but youcouldn’t bring yourself to pull away. His hand parted your legs as he forcedhimself between them. Your hands gripping onto his button-up and pulling himcloser to your chest.“Why you are so intent on filling my mind; distracting me at every opportunityand preventing my work is a mystery to me but I must put an end to this game ofyours.”You really didn’t know what the hell he was walking about, this wasn’t a gameyou were purposely playing. But the way he held you with such anger was like hehad never experienced infatuation before. His hand left your chin only to pullyour skirt up to your hips; fingers gripping into the junction between your ass andthighs roughly. Pulling him in for another angry kiss put him off guard,stopping his assault on your flesh for only briefly. Pulling your hips forwardsinto his, grinding you against him. Your hands latching onto his back to pullhim flush against your chest, and in turn, pull him onto the desk somewhat.“I don’t know what game you think I’m playing Doctor, but I assume I’ve won?”Your snide comment pushing his head away but your body keeping him trappedagainst you. Staring at you darkly before attacking your neck, biting andsucking at your soft flesh; a hand coming to pull your hair back and exposemore of you to him. He kept mumbling into your skin about how much he despisedyou, how you thought you were better than him. The dark and heavy tone which hespoke with sent shivers down your spine and into your pelvis. Your clothingbecoming more of a hindrance you moved to unbutton your blouse. Exposing yourupper chest and simple bra. “Look at you; all this for my attention? Such apathetic woman you are. How anyone could see you as superior is beyond me.” Youwhined at his comments, no idea where this was coming from, especially as Ruvikhad never made such a pass before but you wouldn’t lie that it was reallyturning you on. He bit onto your earlobe only to drag his teeth over it. “Howam I supposed to focus on my work when you insist on disrespecting anddistracting me?” He slapped your thigh suddenly, pulling a squeal from your lips.“I will indulge you if only to satiate myself.” His hands traveling to yourchest and grip into your flesh extremely hard. As fast at the pain came, it wasgone as his hands traveled once more to your hip bones. Holding you still as heground into you; the cloth between you creating a wonderful friction. Nevermind the potential fabric burns your poor thighs could receive from such anact.You wanted more; you needed this Doctor inside you STAT. Reaching for his beltand fumbling with each thrust to loosen the confounded contraption.Ruvik was elated, he was getting what he wanted. To him, it was proving he wasultimately superior. The way you all but tore his pants open inflated his ego;he would make you feel everything you had done to him. It was his turn todistract you and he wanted to ruin you, so nothing could be on your mind buthim. The moment your soft hands came into contact with his penis, it took allhis willpower to keep himself together. It had been so sudden but had felt sogood, his lips parting for a long, gravely moan. He had to maintain composure,he didn’t want to let you have control. He leaned into you, his head resting inthe crook of your neck as he gave in to your touch.

Your hand seemed to dance over his skin, sending sparks over his damaged nerveswhich for once was pleasure. His will seemed to crumble as he leaned into you, asmirk finding its way onto your lips. His hands weakly separated you and pushedyou back until you were lying upon the solid wood of your desk. His breathingwas heavy as he eyed you like a predator. Lurking above you; his gaze made youfeel incredibly hot, despite your state of dress.“I am in control now.”His voice thick with lust as his hands moved to your thighs and pulling themfurther up causing your skirt to bunch at your hips. The gauze coating hishands was rough on your skin.“You will submit to me.”You nodded as much as you could in such a position. Watching him as he pulledaside your underwear, pulling your skin wide so he could see each delicate foldof your vulva and study the hot flesh. Whining underneath him, your legswiggling in an effort to pull his pelvis closer. The hand exploring your labialeft, drawing away from where you wanted him most only to deliver a hard smackthe crux between your thigh and ass cheek. “Ah!” your voice high. “Don’t dothat!”He scowled at you, his hand rearing to deliver another smack to the same spot. “You are to submit to me.”“No, don’t stop, just not there. Either go higher on my leg or smack my ass…”He nearly keeled over from your words. You could see him bite his lower liprather hard. He rubbed gently over his previous target, the gauge dragging overthe inflamed flesh. Laying a delicious succession of smacks against your ass;with each smack you gripped the edge of your desk tighter and tighter.Straining from the sting of your flesh, you took in air through your teeth. Itmade a hissing noise with every exhale. “Thank you, Doctor…” Your strained moanwas music to his ears. Nothing he could ever imagine would compare to thatsound.

Taking his phallic appendage within his own hand, he tentatively tapped thehead against your vulva. Both of you relishing in the contact. The skinscorching from the heat of each other. “Beg for me. Want for me as I have wanted for you; I need to hear you cry forme.” Your hands gripping into his shirt to pull him closer, wailing in impatienceand desire. Your words forming sentences you prayed were acceptable. Tearswelling in your eyes as he slid inside you slowly. Having a hard timesupporting his own weight, Ruvik leaned down over you; his arms the only thingkeeping him up as his spine contorted painfully. Your hands moved to cup hisgauzy cheeks and cooing blindly into his skin. The soft words scattered as youcoaxed him to get comfortable by propping one of his knees on the desk. Theextra support of an unbendable bone seemed to help as he was able to returnupright and oh boy, he looked like a damn snack like that. His tattered skinblushed read under the stark white medical bandage made his eyes look evendarker than before. You felt like an animal under his gaze; hot and needy.He grunted as he pulled himself from you, it burnt slightly as it felt as ifyour organs were being pulled out. However, it disappeared as he pushed backinto you. When he continues each pull was less and less pain as your vaginalcanal relaxed even more and pleasure kissed your nerves. Straining your ears,you could just hear the tiny, sweet mewls Ruvik was trying to hide. When hedrew out, you took it upon yourself to lift on of your legs up to his shoulder;the surprise pulling the cutest, strained and high pitched “Fuck.” from yourpartner and it really took everything in your being to keep your laughterinside. As a result, your face was red, and scrunched up, trying to hold the airin your cheeks.

“D- Don’t laugh at me!”

Doing your best to sit up you pulled him against you with your arms around hisneck.

“Oh, but that was just so cuuuute!” You couldn’t contain your giggles as yourleg slipped back to the floor. Laying kisses over his cheeks and nose andcooing over the sweet noises he made. You’d been such an emotional wild cardRuvik felt as if he’d break his neck from whiplash but the way you smiled andlaughed was oddly endearing. His fingers digging into your ass, diving backinto your vagina and reaching that spongey spot you called heaven and justkissing it ever so roughly. Thank god you were holding onto him as the suddenjolt almost sent you to the floor. Unrelenting was a word you couldn’t think ofto describe the pace; you curled against him uncomfortably in an effort to keepyour pelvis angled and open while your face buried into his heaving chest. Itwas your turn to mewl and moan into his chest. Your hands grasping blindly athis shirt in an effort to find anything that could ground you.

Ruvik lay a kiss atop your forehead while he continued to plow into you. Hishead drooping to be as close to your ear as he could. His panting seeping deepinto your core.

“I want to consume you…” Ruviks voice heavily strained. You could tell he wasgetting close as you tiled your head the best you could against his chest tosee him; mouth agape.

“I want to be everything you think about. I – I want to be the only one youcrave…”

You could only answer with a broken moan of his name.

“You invade me. Night and – day all I want is you!”

With his statement, he burst with one final strong push he came within you; itsent you over the edge in turn as you felt the hot liquid fill your core. Thetwo of you clinging to each other as you came down. He slid out of you,reaching for a tissue to catch what seeped out from his absence. Stretchingyour back out after such an uncomfortable position, it popped loudly. Ruviklooks up at you quickly. “A-Are you okay?” You reached to pull your underwearback into position. “Oh yeah. I’m fine; is your back okay? I can rub it if it’sbad.” He stood from you, the standoffish behavior back as if he’s come out of atrace.

“I – it’s fine. I don’t need your help.”

You stood from the desk and pulled your skirt back down, approaching him withthe same smug demeanor from earlier. “Ruvik, you’re not better than me.” Theshocked and angry look on his face was adorable with his still flushed cheeks.“I’m not better than you.” Planting your fingertips upon his chest. “We’reequals, colleagues but… it’s okay to say you love me.”

He jumped visibly at that. You moved closer, standing with your chest justgrazing the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Youlaughed and pulled him into a gentle kiss. It was soft, he didn’t pull awayfrom you. “Next time you want to ‘consume’ me Ruvik, have it not be in myoffice… Now come here, I’ll rub your back.”

#Anonymous #The Evil Within #the evil within fanfiction #ruvik x reader #ruben victoriano x reader #Ruvik Victoriano #ruben victoriano #ruben x reader

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katehuntington · 6 years ago

Text

Title: As I Live And Breathe Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Dean Winchester, Y/N, Sam Winchester (mentioned) Pairing: Dean x female reader Words: ±3100 words Description: Y/N and Dean go out after a case in need of unwinding. But when they arrive at the motel after a night full of beer and shots, they decide to unwind some more. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only! Language, alcohol intoxication. Smut, slightly dom!Reader, striptease, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, begging, fluffy end. Author’s note: Served up, drunk smut topped off with fluff. Thank you, @littlegreenplasticsoldier and @hannahindie for being awesome betas! Hope you all enjoy!

The brisk air hits Y/N like a wall, as she stumbles out of a local bar in Fort Benton. Autumn has opened the door to the first cold nights of the season in the state of Montana, where the Winchesters and herself just rounded up a Wendigo hunt. She needed to be among people after having spent three days in the woods off the grid, but now that she’s struggled through the suffocating crowd inside the apparent place-to-be in this small town, it’s liberating to be alone and out in the open again.

Carefree, she spreads her arms and stretches her back, the alcohol coursing through her veins a perfect pain reliever. Thin air mattresses, uneven ground and restless nights have taken their toll, but right now, she feels peaceful. Content, she closes her eyes and turns her face skyward, enjoying the cool night air.

“Hey, wait up!” Dean’s voice interrupts her moment of bliss and she turns towards him, her body two beats behind on her vision. God, she really shouldn’t have downed that eighth shot just to prove to the oldest Winchester that she is not a lightweight.

The hunter slows his pace when he’s next to her, carrying a shit-eating grin as he attempts to stay on the sidewalk, despite the sway in his step. Seems like Y/N isn’t the only one who had a little too much to drink.

“If it isn’t our damsel,” he challenges. “I’m not your damsel. I could have had that guy with ease,” she sneers at him, referring to the big bloke that made a move on her at the bar. “The guy was taller than Sam!” “So? I didn’t need savin’ by you,” she mutters, her speech lazy. “I was fine. If he had touched me, I would’ve given him hell.” Dean chuckles. “Really?”

A glare at the sarcasm comes his way, then she lingers, taking her partner in. His spiked hair is tousled, Jack Daniels hazing his eyes. She cannot help but to notice the strong line of his jaw, nor the three day stubble. If it wasn’t for the scar tissue on the edge of his brow and his chin, he could have tried a career in modeling for a brand like PME, or Levi’s. Yes, Dean is a handsome man, and he knows it.

“You know staring is impolite, right?” Dean catches her in the act, as he fiddles with the keys to room 110 of the Pioneer Lodge Motel. Y/N shrugs, not flustered at all. With a personal best when it comes to her blood alcohol level, confidence is not something she lacks right now. “I’ve never been a girl of etiquette. I can admire the view whenever I want, Dean.”

Struggling to fit the key in the lock, he laughs, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat. It triggers something inside her, a knot forming in her lower abdomen, but she suppresses the signals received by her brain. “Just admiring?” he tests, finally pushing open the door.

With a scoff she shakes her head. Boy, he really doesn’t know boundaries, does he? But before she can throw back a witty comment to let him know that it’s not going to happen, Dean closes the door behind them with his hands flat on the wood, trapping her between his strong arms. “Because you can have a taste if you like,” he challenges, his voice even lower than usual.

Stunned, she stares at him, her eyes bouncing between his. All of a sudden, Dean seems less drunk than he did a moment ago in the streets. He’s waiting in suspense, a speck of nervousness seeping through the arrogance.

Every ounce of self respect yells at her to push him off, get herself a tall glass of water and sober up. It’s Dean, for fuck’s sake, the one person she butts heads with most, the one guy she can’t get a grip on and surely will drive her insane one day. Of course she’s not going to take his offer. Right?

But her body responds differently. That knot that she only slightly felt earlier, grows larger, tighter. It needs unwinding. Now.

Dean expects her to have a counter ready. Yet this counter isn’t one Dean predicted. More smart talk, more sass; absolutely. An assault on his lips? Not in his wildest dreams. And yet it’s exactly what she does and before he can blink, he feels her mouth on his. Despite the surprise, he responds in an instant, kissing her back fiercely. His stretched out arms that cage her buckle, allowing her to fold hers around his neck, her fingers carding the hair on the back of his head. All brakes are off, because she opens her mouth for him and allows his hungry tongue to dance with hers.

The two colleagues are about to take a side road they have never dared to explore, but both are desperate for some kind of release after months of monster hunting and no personal space. Cramped motel rooms, Dean’s provoking comments and Y/N’s sassy remarks. The tension, always the tension.

Dean’s never kept it a secret that he finds her attractive. If it wasn’t for their clashing egos, they would have reached this moment a long time ago. Maybe it’s exactly because of their contradicting characters that this feels so electrifying.

His hands move down her waist, following the curvy lines to the small of her back, until he can fully palm her ass. He steps back without ever removing his mouth from hers, almost stumbling from intoxication. Y/N, however, is able to multitask despite her alcohol consumption. Lasciviously, she pushes the plaid flannel off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the ground, as they shuffle across the room.

The kitchen counter hits his lower back hard as she shoves him, but Dean doesn’t even wince, too busy releasing the woman before him from her shirt. Breaking their kiss, he pulls it over her head, immediately picking up where he left off the moment the top is discarded. They pause when his T-shirt ends up on the floor too, the reveal covering the hunter with as many goosebumps as he has freckles. They gaze at each other for a few seconds, curiously taking each other in. Dean’s eyes roam over her body, from her denim clad legs up to the scars on the skin now revealed - without a doubt a result from years on the hunting - to a pair of gorgeous breasts cupped by her black laced bra. Nothing can prepare what he is about to witness in her eyes. Lust in its purest form has darkened them so wholly, that he’s about to yell ‘Christo’ at her, but Dean knows it’s arousal that causes her pupils to dilate almost fully.

Y/N watches the hunter, who is apparently unable to focus on anything else but her. Dean stares at her in a way no man has ever looked at her before, but she cannot help wonder; This must be an act, right? He’s like this with all the women he spends his nights with. Could he actually be this turned on by her? The woman he challenges, insults, argues with all the fucking time? Her gaze lowers down to his crotch, where his hard member stretches the fabric of his jeans. Oh my, she’s certainly doing things to him. Wonderful, wonderful things. Then she realizes that all this friction, all the frustration and the high voltage, it needs an outlet. Being each other’s antipode is creating a pull that is impossible to deny, nor resist.

Her eyes meet Dean’s again, a devilish smirk adorning her face. Slowly she steps back. Calculated, she takes off one boot, then the other, and continues to unbutton her jeans, running down the zipper tortuously slow. Her hands move behind her back, unclipping the black laced bra she wore just in case she would get lucky tonight, and she slides it off her arms, revealing her breasts and hard nipples. Last but not least, she hooks her thumbs inside the waistband of her jeans and pushes them down together with her matching underwear, stepping out of the puddle of clothes at her ankles. The private show she gives her partner is much appreciated. She doesn’t have to be a psychologist to determine that much.

Dean’s jaw had dropped during the striptease, his dick still growing at the sight of her. Unable to hold back any longer, he pushes himself from the counter, dashes over and crashes his lips to hers. He needs to feel her, taste her, run his fingers down every inch of her body.

As they maneuver towards the bed, she runs her palm over the bulge in his denim, pulling an grunt from deep within him. Grinning almost sadistically, she does it again, forcing him to break the kiss and close his eyes. Needing to keep her mouth busy, she presses half a bite, half a kiss behind his ear, dragging her teeth down Dean’s neck. “Fuck, Y/N…” he breathes.

With a skillful flick of his fingers, he unbuttons his jeans one-handed, offering enough space for Y/N to press her hand flat on his lower abdomen and slide it into his boxers. The skin-on-skin contact makes his head spin and the woman that is working him over like she has done so her entire life, muffles another one of his groans with her soft lips. Jesus Christ, the things she’s doing to him.

She kneads, grinds, then drags her hand up and down his rock hard shaft, first slow, then faster. When he shudders and moans louder, clearly worked up by her attention, she slips her hand out and kneels to pull his jeans down. What springs free causes her eyes to grow big at the sight, and Dean grins mischievously at the surprised expression on her face. Blessed with being bigger than average has its perks, especially combined with the set of skills he’s picked up along the years. Dean’s sure this is going to be a great night.

Seductively, Y/N glances up from her position, meeting his eyes, and Dean smiles down in awe. Having the huntress on her knees in front of him is something he never expected to experience, but here she is and it humbles him. Waiting for her to make a move, he cups her face, swiping messy strands from her cheek. There they are again; those mesmerizing, captivating eyes as if he’s looking into those of Medusa herself. One certain part of him has definitely turned to stone with not much more than a look.

She keeps a hold of his gaze, inching closer. Then she places a gentle kiss on his base, right where the vein runs up, her tongue peeking past her lips. He stiffens and cannot help but to buckle forward slightly when she takes him into her mouth. He fights to stay upright, his core is so tight that it hurts. Just bearing witness to how comfortably Y/N pleasures him, an act so intimate, it overwhelms fast. Shit, he can’t take much more of this.

His fingers get stuck in her hair and he squeezes it tight into a fist, trapping the locks between his digits. Dean then tugs gently, requesting her to stand. “C’mere,” Dean murmurs, his free hand slipping to her neck, guiding her lips to his again.

The action is genuine, tender and almost lovingly, and it catches Y/N by surprise. Not sure what to think of his affectionate ways, she allows him to guide her towards the bed, the two of them almost slow dancing. His calloused hands explore her shapes and curves, the trailing touches feather light. Then her calves hit the bedside and she topples back, pulling him with her as she squeals. Dean braces himself to prevent crushing her under his weight. Still influenced by the alcohol, she giggles unstoppable, drawing a wide grin from her partner as well.

Look at her, just look.

The know-it-all tough chick that screams ‘don’t mess with me’, sprawled underneath him in her perfect, naked form, all giddy and smiling eyes. Dean wishes he could stay here with her forever.

The curve formed by Y/N’s arched lips evens out as she drowns in his green irises. A flutter in her chest erupts, one that she has felt before. She knows that the path she’s following is a doomed one, but she refuses to dwell on that thought. And so she leans up, drawing him close and taking him down with her, kissing him deeply. She feels his arousal twitch against her inner thigh while his fingers trace her breasts, massaging them. Dean grinds into her, eager for friction, desperate to get inside.

Without moving her lips from his, Y/N reaches between their bodies, guiding him towards her entrance. Slick with arousal, she clenches around his length as he slowly pushes in, his groan of relief hanging in the air of the motel room. Dean filling her completely triggers his bed-partner to lay her head back, sighing with pleasure. Her bare throat invites him, and as he rolls his hips, he buries his face in the junction between her neck and shoulder. Kissing her burning skin, he picks up the pace, bottoming out completely.

“Oh, God…” she moans as he runs into her sweet spot again and again, like a beating drum. “You may call me Dean,” he teases. “Shut up and keep going,” she gasps, getting lost in the build up.

He doesn’t have to be told twice and drives into her again. The friction is almost too much to handle, the heat close to unbearable. The little spark that she felt the moment he offered a taste of him, has grown into a firestorm and it will not take long for her to explode.

Somewhere far in the back of her mind, she knows she’s baring her soul to her colleague. Hunting is a terminal profession. Most hunters don’t make it to thirty-five, the ones who do, die alone. To compensate for a short life full of terror and pain, she decides to make every moment count. She needs to live, Dean and her both do. And if they aren’t living right now, they never will.

Dean’s fingers press in the hollow between her shoulder blades as she arches into him. Bucking up to meet his thrusts, she folds her legs around his waist, changing the angle slightly. Eyes closed, he manages to pull in sporadic breaths, trying to last as long as he possibly can, but Y/N’s intensifying moans don’t exactly help, neither do her walls, which tighten around him.

“I - I’m right there,” he breathes. “Talk to me,” she whispers, the request coming out more like an order. “You feel so good… Fuck, I’m gonna...” he pants, shuddering. “Please… I need to c--”

His plea is cut off by a satisfied, long groan, louder than all the others, when Dean comes hard, filling her up with a few more thrusts. Y/N isn’t far behind. Despite his own high, Dean slips his fingers in between their bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it rapidly. It triggers a series of moans to leave her plumped lips, each one a little higher, sounds of pleasure filling the room as a mind-blowing orgasm rips through her.

He slowly works her through it, aware how sensitive she is right now. As he does he watches her, sprawled out under him, bare breasts heaving as her chest rises and falls, her eyes closed in bliss. “Holy... Fucking… Shit…” she utters, out of breath. He chuckles as his fingers leave her heat. “No argument there.”

Dean pulls out reluctantly, laying his drowsy head on the pillow as he waits for the pumping muscle in his chest to calm. It takes longer than usual, and he knows in the back of his mind it has nothing to do with endurance, nor with the alcohol. It’s her. She’s the reason why his heart continues to race. Because deep down, he wants so much more than this.

She glances his way, aching to have him inside again. Seeking some sort of physical connection, she turns towards the hunter. Propped on her elbow, with her chin resting in the palm of her hand, she lays her other hand on his chest. His heart is still beating fast, but it gradually steadies. Eyes closed, he reminisces over what just happened, the corners of his mouth drawn in a small smile. Y/N huffs, amused, watching the handsome man, because he’s not wrong. God, that felt amazing.

“Dean?” “Hmm?” She moves closer, drawing circles on his skin. “That guy who made a move on me back in the bar… Did he make you jealous?” He opens his eyes and glances at her from under his long lashes. “Why would you think that?” “Because you came to the rescue,” she elaborates. “Even though I could have handled him with ease.” “Then why didn’t you?” Dean wonders. “I dunno…” she answers, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s nice to be a damsel.”

He smiles at that, lifting his arm to fold it around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. She tucks her head in the crook of his neck, snuggling into him as she kisses his pulse point. Suddenly she becomes aware of how intimate this is, and how she wants to stay in this new favorite place. It scares the hell out of her. Nervous, she contemplates, allowing a silence to become evident between them. What if their actions caused a shift?

“Tonight doesn’t change anything, right?” she checks with him. “It doesn’t?” he mocks. “I quite like the sound of you calling me God.” She punches him in the stomach and Dean lets out a ‘hmpf’, laughing at her fiery counter attack. The sound warms Y/N’s tired muscles and sobers her up as it sheds light on her clouded soul. That’s when she begins to grasp what Dean does to her, what this could become, and for a short second, she’s brave.

“Do you feel it too?”

It remains quiet for a few dreadful long seconds and her courage seeps away. As she thinks of an attempt to cover the misstep, Dean places his curled index finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. He doesn’t say anything, just gazes into her eyes with an adoration she hasn’t seen in them before. Unable to believe the message in his evergreens, she excuses his behavior.

Remember that he drank a lot, Y/N. He might not even remember this in the morning. This is the alcohol talking, not Dean.

Not wanting to get her hopes up, she keeps repeating the mantra in her head, but he cuts her off. A tender kiss brings every thought that was swarming in her head to a screeching halt and all she can feel is him.

Dean wouldn’t flat out admit he loves someone. He doesn’t know how, never having learned how to express himself in that way. But the hunter doesn’t need to tell her with words, actions speaking for him. His nose nuzzled against hers, the brush of his lashes on her soft cheeks as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His thumb tracing her soft skin, the look he gives her when they part again, full of hope, endearment and warmth.

She knows what he can’t voice. Dean feels it too.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

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jmarksthespots · 8 years ago

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[#MUSIC #FILM #ART] #FirstSaturday: Future Feminisms feat. Charlotte dos Santos, The Linda Grasso, Forward March NY, Buscabulla, Suha Araj, “Brown Girls” and Natasha Diggs Saturday, March 4 | 5-10pm Brooklyn Museum | 200 Eastern Parkway Brooklyn, NY Admission: FREE

MUSIC: CHARLOTTE DOS SANTOS | 5pm Vocalist and songwriter Charlotte Dos Santos starts the evening with music from her upcoming debut Cleo, sampling soul, jazz, and Afro-Latin through vintage drum machines.

BLUES LOUNGE BAR | 6–10pm Grab a drink and enjoy a full evening of blues music in anticipation of April’s Target First Saturday, which will celebrate our exhibition Infinite Blue.

FILM: THE TRANS LIST | 6pm In this documentary (Timothy Greenfield-Sanders, 2016, 57 min.), transgender Americans share their experiences in their own words. Sylvia Rivera Law Project facilitates a post-screening conversation in honor of Women’s History Month, with writer Kate Bornstein and DJ and philanthropist Lina Bradford, both subjects from Greenfield-Sanders’s portrait project. Film introduced by Greenfield-Sanders. 330 free tickets at the Admissions Desk at 5 pm.

HANDS-ON ART | 6–8pm Georgia O’Keeffe is well known both for her paintings of flowers and for crafting a distinct personal aesthetic through her dress and art. Take inspiration from her by creating wearable, handmade paper flowers. 330 free tickets at the Admissions Desk at 5 pm.

FORWARD MARCH NY: POSTCARD WRITE-IN | 6–8pm Join the dialogue about human and civil rights, then write postcards to your legislators. Hosted by Forward March NY (formerly the NYC Chapter of Women’s March on Washington).

SCHOLAR TALK: LINDA GRASSO | 6pm Linda Grasso previews her forthcoming book Equal Under the Sky: Georgia O’Keeffe and Twentieth-Century Feminism. Drawing from paintings, photographs, correspondence, press, fan mail, and archival documents, Grasso explores how O’Keeffe and feminism have been linked in popular culture and the public imagination. 25 free tickets at the Admissions Desk at 5 pm.

MUSIC: BUSCABULLA | 7:00 p.m. Experimental dream pop duo Buscabulla's mix of funk, soul, and electric pays homage to their Puerto Rican roots.

POP-UP GALLERY TALKS | 7:00–8:00 p.m. Teen Apprentices host ten-minute discussions about works of art in Marilyn Minter: Pretty/Dirty.

CURATOR TOUR: GEORGIA O'KEEFFE | 7:30 p.m. Guest curator Wanda Corn gives an inside look at Georgia O'Keeffe’s iconic approach to self-fashioning. Discounted tickets for Georgia O'Keeffe: Living Modern are available for $12 during Target First Saturdays (only available on-site).

FILM: THE CUP READER AND PIONEER HIGH | 7:30 p.m. Brooklyn-based filmmaker Suha Araj shares two short films about resilient Palestinian women. A fortune-teller named Warde translates as multiple generations rhapsodize about love in The Cup Reader (2013, 12 min.), and Pioneer High (2014, 10 min.) follows a student who starts a revolution by disobeying a dress code she doesn’t understand. 25 free tickets at the Admissions Desk at 6:30 pm.

SCREENING: BROWN GIRLS | 8:00 p.m. Catch the Brooklyn premiere of the anticipated new web series Brown Girls (Fatimah Asghar and Sam Bailey, 2016). The series follows two women from completely different backgrounds—Leila, a South Asian–American writer, and Patricia, a black American musician—and their powerful friendship. Followed by a talkback with the cast and crew moderated by multimedia artist Lindsay Catherine Harris, Astor Teen Programs Coordinator. 330 free tickets at the Admissions Desk at 7 pm.

MUSIC: NATASHA DIGGS WITH #SOULINTHEHORN | 8:15–10:00 p.m. Natasha Diggs is a force to be reckoned with on vinyl. Join us for an all-female-fronted edition of her popular #SoulInTheHorn party, a horn-infused, genre-bending evening of disco, Latin, Afrobeat, reggae, hip-hop, house, and rare grooves that pays tribute to women changemakers and trailblazers. Featuring Lakecia Benjamin on saxophone.

#music #art #Future Feminisms #brooklyn museum #Charlotte dos Santos #jazz #BLUES LOUNGE BAR #THE TRANS LIST #Forward March NY #human rights #civil rights #BUSCABULLA #Wanda Corn #Suha Araj #THE CUP READER AND PIONEER HIGH #BROWN GIRLS #Natasha Diggs #Soul in the Horn

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honeybunchesofposts-blog · 6 years ago

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Solace Part 3: Interogattion: Rafael Barba x Author!Reader

Warnings: Rafael being a boss ass bitch, like a couple cuss-words? The f-bomb maybe? I don’t really remember. Honestly I write the warnings before I write the actual story. Maybe a little bit of angst if you squint.

Summary: This wasn’t how you were expecting to spend your day after yoga. Instead of sitting in a coffee shop online shopping, you were sitting in an interrogation cell for 5 hours until Rafael dropped in from visiting his mother. @miamorbarba might love this chapter

Walking out of your local yoga studio that wasn’t ravished with hipsters, or hot moms, you didn’t expect to be picked up by Rafael’s SVU team. The winter air nipped at your bare shoulders as Fin and Sonny stood questioning you, a coffee shaking in the younger officers hand.

“Maybe we should take this to the station, clear things up a bit, and it won’t be so cold there,” Fin placed his hand lightly on your shoulder and you were complacent enough to follow him to the back of the squad car, noticing how Sonny’s left hand hovered around his pistol.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

“I’m not going to talk without my lawyer present, and he won’t be back for a couple of hours. He’s out of town right now,” Folding your arms across your chest and leaning back in the metal chair, you were thankful Rollins had brought you a sweater, a shiver still running down your spine from the temperature of the slate grey room.

“Darling that sucks for you, I can do this all day, I grew up in Staten Island, I have superb perseverance and I don’t give up too easily,”

“That’s fantastic,” you leaned forward and placed your cuffed hands on the table, “But once you’ve survived what I have, you don’t know the definition of perseverance,” leaning back, Sonny glared at you before Fin walked in, patting him on the shoulder.“Can you tell us where you were last night?”

“I was at my apartment, watching Christmas movies on Hallmark and pigging out on Chinese food,” once you’d seen the two detectives raise their eyebrows you shrugged and bit your lip, “yesterday was my cheat day. I tend to go a little wild on my cheat days, that’s why I went through three rounds of yoga today and two rounds of pilates,” you cracked your neck and stared straight ahead.

“Your apartment security system says that no one has entered in the past month,”

“Yeah? And?”

Sonny looked at you and sighed, “You just said you were at your apartment watching Christmas movies,”

“Well, it’s not my apartment, it’s my boyfriend’s. I always keep an apartment in my name in case anything happens between my boyfriend and I or if anything ever happens to the apartment or apartment building,”

“You really need to clarify these things, they count on your statement,” Sonny glanced over at you and your cheeks turned a bright pink.

“Can I ask what you guys are charging me with? I really still don’t know why I’m here?”

“We think you’re linked to a series of murders that have been happening to wealthy socialites in the Upper West Side,” Fin looked up from the folder in his hands, casually glancing over to read your facial expression.

“Wait what? What makes you think that?!” All color drained from your face and you had to push the urge to vomit down. Murder? They honestly couldn’t think that you were capable of that kind of crime. Stabbing someone for taking your food? Yes. Hitting Rafael for putting himself in danger? Hell yeah. But murder? That was impossible.

“We have photos of you ar galas with everyone who was murdered, just hours before they were found. We can only assume you were the last person with them,” Fin laid photos out of the crime scenes out in front of you.

You were searching the faces of the victims, all of them bringing back what were now melancholy memories. Your hand scanned over a well-built young woman the same age as you, hair tied back, dressed in an elegant emerald gown.

“There’s no way I could have done this. Not now, not ever.” Your hand was placed over the woman in the emerald dress, “I could have never brought myself to hurt another human, especially Noah,”

“You know this woman?” Sonny looked at you skeptically, knowing you were an author, he always assumed you surrounded yourself with these people at parties to promote yourself and your works.

“Yeah, Noah and I met in high school, but we didn’t become close until college. She wanted Wall-Street, and I wanted a quiet life. To settle down after a bit well-off, not having to worry about constantly being beat out by co-workers or prove that I was still better than everyone,”

You smiled and shrugged at them, “we moved to New York together, found apartments a couple blocks from each other and proceeded on with our lives. Coffee on Monday, Pilates on Tuesday, Book Club on Wednesday, Yoga on Thursday, and Bars on Friday.” Moving uncomfortably in your chair, you wanted out of the room that seemed to get smaller by the second.

“So, you’re admitting you knew one of the victim’s routines,” Fin looked from Sonny toward you and folded his hand on the table.

“I refuse to say anything further until my attorney has arrived,”

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Rafael turned from his mother’s house with dishes stacked in his hands, knowing how happy you were going to be tonight with some of his mami’s homemade cooking, his bliss and daydreaming were soon interrupted by his cellphone ringing. It was Olivia. “Hello?”

“We’ve caught a suspect. I know you’re at your mother’s but it’s urgent. They aren’t speaking anymore and maybe you could ease them into some sort of deal.”

“I’m on my way, get all detectives out of the room until I arrive, it might help sweat the suspect out.” Rafael pulled away from his mother’s house and hung up his cellphone, trying to get to the team as soon as possible, while staying within the boundaries of the law.

Arriving in the bullpen, Carmen was waiting with a cup of coffee, Olivia must have notified her and everyone was preparing themselves for Rafael’s own form of interrogation, “What has been said and what do we know?”

“We know that she was last seen with the victims hours before they were found.” Olivia started.

“She also knew one of the victims by name and had a personal routine with them, making them a perfect target,” Fin stood and paced around his desk a bit.

“She said she was at her apartment last night, but after we mentioned security, she quickly changed her story to her boyfriend’s apartment,” Sonny had to lightly jog to keep up with Rafael as he made he way toward the interrogation room.

Staring through the window, Rafael saw you pacing back and forth, biting on your thumb nail, and chest heaving, he willed you to calm down so he could sort this all out, knowing how any innocent person would be stuck in an interrogation room.

“She said she was at her boyfriend’s? She’s clearly innocent. Let her go,” Rafael turned away from the window and waved his hand in the air.

“Rafael you can’t do that, she doesn’t have a lawyer and she doesn’t have an alibi for her story. Sonny protested with Rollins nodding her head along, crossing her arms over her shoulders.

Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose, he knew one day the team would know the intense relationship between you two, he just didn’t want it to be like this, “She’s not acting like a guilty person.”

“And she’s not actin’ quite innocent either Barba!” Rollins raised her voice, her hand dramatically falling from the air slapping her thigh, which pioneered everyone else to start bickering to Rafael.

“Oh Dios Mío, dejarás de pelear! Her lawyer is standing right in front of you! She’s innocent because her boyfriend’s apartment is my apartment! I’m her alibi!” Rafael slightly raised his voice, tugging at the pink and grey striped tie he wore.

“Wait, that’s your girlfriend?” Sonny stopped mid-step away from everyone and pivoted on his heel.

“Barba has a girlfriend? I didn’t know you could get them tiger!” Fin went to slap him on the back before stopping and stepping away, “We better go get our big lawyer man’s girl outta shiny bracelets then.”

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Sitting down to dinner that night, Rafael had opted for the couch instead of the dining room table, moving his leg so you could sit, you placed a kiss on his cheek before taking your place on his lap.

“What did my big bad ADA tell the SVU detectives?” Leaning down to munch on the delicious food Lucia had made earlier that day.

“

Only that I was your alibi. Now Olivia wants us to come over for dinner,” before you could open your mouth Rafael continued, “it’s not going to happen. I’m not ready to share you yet.”

The movie Rafael missed last night played in the background as you stared at him in amazement, moving further into his chest than seemed possible. This was definitely not how you planned your day to go.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #law and order svu #law and order: special victims unit #law and order imagine

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wardholtermann-blog · 5 years ago

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Basics Of Pop Music

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Musicians making the move from songs to cinema is a dodgy one which hasn't gone properly for some of her predecessors (Rihanna, I love you, but literally your entire films suck), but Gaga's funding in her debut lead efficiency is so sturdy that she's practically unrecognisable beneath it. That's not a gimmicky tackle her much-discussed ‘stripped again' look, it is a testimony to her skill as a sincere actor. She switches up all the pieces, from her conversational mannerisms to her distinct fashion of performing, to take us away from her personal pop narrative - even when Ally's story bares some glaring resemblances to her personal. Streaming companies are a beast that needs constant feeding. Youthful hip-hop artists, already accustomed to offering sites like SoundCloud with a relentless stream of mixtapes and features, have adjusted to its demands more quickly than artists from other genres, and have thrived accordingly. At the coronary heart of rap's streaming dominance is something extra ephemeral: Some songs simply stream better than others, for reasons that no one can really clarify but. Hip-hop streams higher than other forms of mainstream music, and trap music streams better than different varieties of hip-hop. However radio is certainly sputtering out. I myself only hearken to high-40 radio when I'm in a Lyft, and I am fascinated by how related every little thing sounds: same tinny manufacturing, same rap breaks, identical millennial whoop. Plus, playlists are narrower than ever, so the thought of radio as a discovery system is long gone. I assume children are discovering new issues through Spotify or Apple Music, whose algorithms and daily discovery playlists are scarily good at predicting what I am going to get pleasure from. Nonetheless, these things only collect information, and only reply with knowledge: more songs in the key of the songs you do not skip via, with the identical modulations and vocal model. We're all getting pushed deeper into our personal little corners. What you see before you is a list that I hope might be learn as an intervention. Almost 50 girls who play a task in NPR compiled and voted on this listing. It options albums by artists who determine as female — together with some by mixed-gender bands, like Fleetwood Mac and X, that, modern Pop Music in our view, relied on ladies's creativity for their spark. These albums have been released between 1964, the year The Beatles invaded America and set in motion what can be called the "classic album era," and 2016, when Beyoncé arguably ushered in a brand new period with her "visual album" Lemonade. The purpose is to offer a view of widespread music history with women's work on the center. The record does not represent an "alternate historical past." It stands for music historical past, touching upon every significant trend, social situation, set of sonic innovations, and new avenue for self-expression that in style music has intersected in the past fifty years. Though Schlager music is a part of the pop tradition, it occupies a special, considerably devisive area of interest; people are likely to either adore it or hate it. But then there's straightfoward pop music, usually viewed as more palatable and widely liked. A classic instance of this is singer Herbert Grönemeyer. Although many outside of Germany know him only from his function in the film Das Boot," he is also essentially the most successful artist in Germany, with a career that, to date, spans 44 years. It typically takes us the longest to stop punishing the merely good artists for not being geniuses, but ultimately we do — Hall & Oates just received into the Rock Hall of Fame , as an illustration, however a decade in the past folks were nonetheless snickering at their Nineteen Eighties blue-eyed soul-pop, little question in shame over having favored it for some time. I wonder if we will study to skip that center step? I've admired you for having the maturity to attend to the communal virtues of Mumford and Sons and other neo-folks bands I discover icky, for example. I think I dislike them partly as a result of I grew up with Nineteen Seventies Catholic folks-guitar lots, so such jangly uplift choral music strikes me as oppressively naïve. I am interested on this article not a lot for the specifics of the gear and the plugins, however fairly just out of sheer awe on the complexity and nuance of the monitor's soundscape. My cadre of pop-oriented music lecturers likes to say that the creativity in recordings lies not in their melodies and the chords essentially, but in their timbre and area. Call Me Perhaps" is an excellent working example. Its melody and chords are enjoyable, however not exactly groundbreaking. But the monitor leaps out of the audio system at you, demanding your consideration, managing both to pound you with sonic drive and intrigue you with quiet element. Whether you need your attention grabbed in this method is a matter of style. I occur to love the song, however even when it isn't your cup of tea, the craft behind it bears some desirous about.

The historical past of Popular Music hardly qualifies as a precise science. It is a retrospective analysis of events that focuses on the underlying forces or common signs in the overwhelming manufacturing of music data, ignoring nuances and aspect-effects to grasp a understandable construction. It is because (standard) music is much from a static phenomenon: it is a consistently evolving, reworking, large organism. Almost by no means has a music style suddenly emerged as a surprising revolution without any trace or evolution in the past. All of them have naturally developed, mutated, merged, or turn out to be (theoretically) extinct. Solely the previous could be examined of this pure, organic network.

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burstspain67-blog · 5 years ago

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The keto diet was accidentally discovered in 1862 by a funeral director who lost 52 pounds on a diet of cordial and meat - Business Insider

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The keto diet is a popular weight-loss strategy, but many people don't know that the high-fat plan has been around since at least the late 1800s.

A Victorian-era funeral director named William Banting said he lost over 50 pounds in the 1860s on a diet remarkably similar to the eating plan we now know as keto.

Banting said that after eliminating starches and sugars from his diet, he felt more comfortable and happier than he had in decades. So he wrote a booklet describing his daily meal plan, hoping others might follow his lead.

But even Banting acknowledged that a keto diet probably isn't right for everyone.

In the late 1800s, William Banting, a wealthy Londoner, knew that many people were battling the same "insidious creeping enemy" as he was: fat.

Banting, a former funeral director, wanted to help. And finally, after three decades of failed attempts at losing weight, he'd found a promising way to shed pounds: a regimen remarkably similar to today's trendy keto diet.

The keto diet is designed to force the body into a state of ketosis, in which it burns fat instead of carbohydrates for energy. Carbs are our default energy source, but when you don't consume any, the body goes into a fat-burning state to stay alive.

Banting didn't know his new diet was a ketogenic routine, but that was the effect — he strictly limited how much bread, sugar, beer, and potatoes he ate, subsisting instead on small quantities of meat, fish, vegetables, and, of course, the occasional "large cup of tea."

Banting's weight-loss success led him to believe that neither the public nor the medical community properly understood obesity. He knew that a non-expert like himself couldn't get his own case study published in a top medical journal, but he wanted to call attention to his method. So Banting wrote a free booklet in 1863 called "Letter on Corpulence, Addressed to the Public," in which he described what he'd been eating and how the diet made him feel.

The novel strategy "might almost be termed miraculous," Banting wrote, "had it not been accomplished by the most simple common-sense means."

Banting changed his eating completely but didn't starve himself

For most of his life, Banting had followed a fairly traditional British diet heavy on bread, sugar, beer, milk, butter, and potatoes. Then, in his sixth decade of life, Banting said, he "found the right man" in Dr. William Harvey, who "prescribed a certain diet" that didn't include many of those foods. They were all too starchy and sweet, Harvey cautioned.

"At the first blush it seemed to me that I had little left to live upon," Banting wrote. But he soon found the diet to be "luxurious and liberal." In total, he said, the regimen helped him lose 52 pounds.

Here's the sample daily menu Banting offered his readers:

Archive.org

The Victorian-era regimen Harvey suggested started with a morning tablespoon of cordial mixed into a glass of water, something Banting called the "balm of life." He endorsed the occasional nightcap as well — a glass of gin, whiskey, sherry or brandy.

The diet wasn't perfectly keto. While a shot of alcohol or a glass of red wine is generally considered a fine once-in-a-while habit for people on keto diets, drinking too much can throw them out of their fat-burning state, especially if cocktails have mixers or juices. A bit of toast could also push them out of ketosis and back into carb-burning mode.

Banting also nixed butter, a fat source that modern-day keto dieters adore. What's more, his plan may have relied more on red meat and protein than is healthy.

Read more: A cancer researcher who's been on the keto diet for 6 years explains how he does it

Still, the no-sugar principle of Banting's diet was the same as today's keto technique, which is used therapeutically to treat epileptic seizures and holds some promise for managing Type 2 diabetes. Some cancer researchers and doctors treating people who are obese also suggest it.

A high-fat-diet pioneer

Harvey's advice was hundreds of years ahead of its time, as other nutrition experts have only recently embraced sugar as a major contributor to the obesity epidemic. The idea that a low-carb, high-fat diet might benefit certain people was largely brushed aside by the medical community until ketogenic diets began being used clinically in the 1920s.

Banting was so dedicated to his cause, however, that he made the first two printings of his "Letter on Corpulence" free to readers. By the time the third printing rolled around a few months later, Banting said he could no longer cover the costs, so he sold that edition at cost, asking his readers for the six pence it cost to print the slim volume.

Banting's book became a bestseller — over 63,000 copies were sold in the UK alone in the 1860s.

He hoped, he said, "to confer a benefit on my fellow creatures ... the same comfort and happiness I now feel."

Today, some people who follow a low-carb diet are still said to be "banting." Tim Noakes, the acclaimed South African exercise scientist and low-carb guru — and a self-proclaimed "banting proponent" — has even developed a foundation that aims to educate people "about the dangers of excessive sugar and carbohydrate consumption."

Banting managed to shed 50 pounds in his mid-60s

Banting's pamphlet described a torturous cycle of failed weight-loss attempts that may still sound familiar to many people. Even though Banting had led a fairly active life, he said, exercise hadn't decreased the size of his waistline.

He recounted how once, on the advice of a surgeon friend, he'd started rowing a few hours every morning to lose weight. He said that plan didn't help because it only made him hungrier.

He also tried Turkish baths when those became popular, but he dropped only 6 pounds that way.

"I could not stoop to tie my shoe," he wrote.

Banting described how he'd felt pained by the "remarks and sneers, frequently painful in society" that he'd endured as a fat man. These difficulties led him to sometimes avoid crowded places, he added.

He offered his new diet as a solution.

"I am now nearly 66 years of age, about 5 feet 5 inches in stature, and, in August last (1862), weighed 202 lbs.," Banting wrote in the first edition of the pamphlet. "I now weigh 167 lbs., showing a diminution of something like 1 lb. per week."

Wikimedia Commons

In the second edition, Banting announced that his weight loss had continued: He was down 46 pounds and was 12.25 inches skinnier around his waist. When the third edition was published in 1864, Banting proclaimed he weighed 150 pounds.

He also suggested that the diet improved his hearing, sight, and fitness level. "I have not felt so well as now for the last twenty years," he wrote.

But despite his success, Banting discouraged anyone from trying the diet without "full consultation with a physician." That jibes with modern advice that no single diet strategy is right for everyone. (The keto diet is especially risky for people with kidney or liver issues and those who've had gout. Pregnant people shouldn't try it either.)

Banting died in 1878, 14 years after the third edition of his booklet was published. He remained a keto evangelist (though he didn't yet have that term), believing that the diet was, "in a certain sense, a medicine."

As he wrote in the closing lines of his book: "I feel quite convinced [the diet] sweetens life, if it does not prolong it."

Source: https://www.businessinsider.de/keto-diet-william-banting-discovery-origin-1862-2019-1?r=US&IR=T

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faucetdouble51-blog · 5 years ago

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Grilled Oysters with Tarragon Butter

I never had a grilled oyster until I moved to the Pacific Northwest. It seemed almost heretical to take such a delicate, luxurious food and unceremoniously slap it on the barbecue. But, owing to the northwest’s expansive coastline and cold, clean waters, oysters are abundant and they’re served every which way: on the half-shell, in chowders, baked, smoked, fried and, new to me, grilled.

When an oyster is grilled, it retains its delicacy, and yet, is also fortified by fire and smoke which gives the oyster an ethereal richness that tends toward meatiness. Grilled oysters partner with tarragon particularly well, as tarragon’s fresh, green licorice-like flavor is delicate enough to balance oysters without overpowering them.

Why I Serve Oysters and Other Seafood Throughout the Week (and you should too)

I try to serve seafoods throughout the week, maybe five or six times and sometimes more often. They’re particularly nutrient-dense, and even my toddler enjoys a filet of baked salmon, clams steamed with fresh herbs and chorizo, spot shrimp risotto and these grilled oysters. There’s a great oyster chowder recipe in my first cookbook.

Oysters and seafood are particularly nutrient-dense. Just one medium oyster contains all the zinc your body needs in a day, and then some. Zinc is particularly valuable in supporting the immune system as well as supporting fertility, endocrine health and optimal reproductive health.

How to Grill Oysters

The most popular way to grill oysters is to set them, cup-side down, on a grill and allow them to cook until they open up just slightly before you pry away the top shell and add a pat of butter. This method allows the oysters to steam a bit in their own juices.

Ever the contrarians, my husband and I prefer a different approach. First, we shuck the oysters, and then set them on a grill, cup-side down, dropping a spoonful of seasoned butter onto each oyster. Their juices will warm and begin to bubble, the butter will melt and baste the oysters as they cook and the smoke perfumes the delicate shellfish just enough to give them a wonderfully rich, meaty flavor.

3.5.3239

Grilled Oysters with Tarragon Butter

Recipe type: Appetizer

Cuisine: American

Author: Jenny

Prep time: 15 mins

Cook time: 10 mins

Total time: 25 mins

Serves: 1 dozen

Tarragon's sweet, licorice-like notes pairs well with briny oysters left just slightly smoky from the grill. Grilling oysters leaves them wonderfully meaty, and further enriched with butter. Choose large oysters, if you can, as they'll shrink, slightly, while they cook. For people concerned about eating shellfish raw, grilled oysters make a nice alternative.

Ingredients

8 ounces softened butter

1 medium shallot, diced

¼ cup loosely packed tarragon leaves

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

⅛ teaspoon finely ground sea salt

12 large oysters (order them here)

Instructions

Toss the butter, shallot, tarragon, vinegar and sea salt into food processor, and process on high speed until uniformly combined.

Preheat the grill to medium.

Shuck the oysters, reserving as much juice as you can. Top each oyster with about 2 teaspoons prepared tarragon butter.

Place the oysters cup-side down on the grill. Cover the grill and allow the oysters to cook until the butter melts, and their juices begin to bubble - about 10 minutes. Remove from the grill and serve warm.

3.5.3239

Where to Find Sustainably-Farmed Oysters

Oysters are particularly nutrient-dense, rich in vitamins B12 and D as well as the minerals zinc and selenium while also being very low in mercury.

They are also sustainably farmed, taking relatively little space to produce large volumes of oysters, providing safety and shelter for other sea creatures, and they require no supplementary feed, only clean water. Seafood Watch, a program of the Monterrey Bay Aquarium that ranks seafood choices based upon overall sustainability including ecological, bycatch and species impact, consistently ranks oysters as a “best choice.”

If you live along the coasts, you might be able to find oysters locally; however, if you do not, you can order them online here and have them delivered from the farm, fresh to your door.

Cooking with Oysters and Nutrient-Dense Seafood

Seafoods are particularly nutrient-dense foods, and they also feature prominently among the diets of long-lived peoples (source) as well as the traditional diets of some of the healthiest peoples studied by nutrition pioneer and researcher, Weston Price (source). They tend to be high in protein, rich in B vitamins, vitamin D and minerals like iodine, zinc, iron and selenium as well as omega-3 fatty acids, depending on the variety.

And while there’s inevitably concern about oceanic pollution and its effects on the nutritive quality of seafoods, it’s important to remember that you are still better off eating seafood than avoiding it (source), particularly when you make choices that are low in mercury, high in nutrients and wild-caught or sustainably produced, like oysters.

Here are some of our favorite ways to cook and serve nutrient-dense seafoods.

Salmon with Honey Chipotle Bourbon Butter is marvelously easy to prepare. Salmon is one of the few fish rich enough to stand up to the heat and intensity of chipotle chiles, and it’s worth it.

Salmon Baked in Cream and Herbs is another favorite of Nourished Kitchen readers. Salmon bakes in herb-infused cream which yields a thick, savory sauce.

Clam Chowder with Basil Drizzle is also lovely, and unlike heavy chowders thickened with a floury roux, this chowder is lighter, thinner and, owing to the basil drizzle, brighter, too.

Korean-Style Seafood Stew is positively brimming with fresh fish, prawns and nutrient-dense seafoods, partnered with the vibrant flavor of chiles, ginger, garlic, scallions and fresh vegetables.</h2)

Love it? Share it.

Source: https://nourishedkitchen.com/grilled-oysters-tarragon-butter/

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