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simpleserendipity · 4 years ago

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After Practice | Calum Hood | Mature

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader (friends with benefits)

Warnings: swearing, blowjobs, masturbation, praise kink, degradation

Word count: 1695 words

The door slams shut and echo through the house. The only sounds that can be heard in the house are his footsteps stomping through the house, his grumbling, and Duke’s quiet barks. Calum trudges through the house with his soccer duffle slung over his shoulder, heading to Duke’s crate to let him out. There weren't many drawbacks of being a professional soccer player, he has a nice big house, a great dog, his dream job, and the money to buy anything he ever wanted. However one of the biggest drawbacks is he is perpetually alone. It wasn’t by choice because of course he had girlfriends or others he was interested in but things were always complicated with his job, the schedule, and traveling. He got to the crate where Duke was, whining and wagging his tail.

“Hey, buddy,” Calum coos at the dog as he kneels in front of the crate, “Missed you.” He laughs as he lets the dog out of the crate. Duke runs straight for the dog door making Calum break his scowl for a quick laugh. Calum shakes his head as he turns on his heels heading up the stairs then down the hall. He gets to the master bedroom and opens the door quickly. As soon as he steps into the room, Calum drops the duffle in the corner, a corner he long designated his soccer corner. He was pissed today was a tough practice, the coach had them running harder drills, faster plays and was on Calum about every little mistake today which was bothering him. Calum has always held himself to the highest of standards when it came to soccer, so he didn’t the coaches harping on him bother him outwardly, on the inside he was fuming though. He kicked his trainers off on top of the duffle and went to the bathroom. Calum sets his phone onto the counter beside the sink. Then he looked at himself in the mirror before sighing and running a hand through his hair. He looked beat up, soccer had been taking a lot out of him recently, and being the captain of a professional team was really starting to eat him away. He was barely sleeping or relaxing, all his time was spent training. Calum turned to the shower, one of the best things in this house. It was one of the things that confused him at first was why someone would need such a large space, the shower was bigger than his entire bathroom in his childhood home but now it was easily one of his favorite places in the entire house. The shower was lit by overhead lights and surrounded by black tile and glass walls. He turned on the shower, waiting for it to warm up.

Calum turned back to the mirror to undress. He peeled the team warm-ups off slowly, throwing them into the hamper beside the shower. Next, he took off the practice uniform, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers. Calum stretched upwards, the sports tape on his hip was beginning to peel at the motion. Calum stripped completely and chucked the remaining clothing into the bin, stretching again. His fingers traced down his hip bone, finding the peeled-up edge of the tape, rolling it off his skin, leaving a red mark in its wake before crumpling it, leaving it on the counter, deciding it’s a problem for later. The room was steaming up much more so he decided it was time to hop in. He slides the glass open slowly before stepping in. He was hoping the shower would relieve some tension. He got in and rolled his head around, the curls wetting down to his head as the water rolled down his tanned muscles. He runs his hands through his hair while washing it. Calum’s hands ran over the smooth expanse of his muscles, trying to rub the muscles to relieve any tension he could.

After a few moments some of the tension had disappeared but not all of it, “Fuck…” He groans in irritation as his hand runs down his stomach, coming down to grip his cock. He figured it may be worth a shot to try to relax a little more. He starts to run his hand up and down his cock gripping firmly. He quickened his pace, trying to get this over with. It wasn’t the fact that Calum was embarrassed about jacking off but he just didn’t like to take longer than necessary. His head falls back and the water drops down his face as he continues to go faster. His mind was wandering trying to think of what would help him finish the job. His mind wanders to you, his casual hookup, an arrangement that perfectly suited both of you. You were too busy and so was Calum for a real relationship so you two would hook up occasionally to keep your needs taken care of. Calum stops stroking his cock, letting his hardened member fall out of his hand. None of his ministrations were doing enough to get him to release, only making him more frustrated, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He huffs to himself, trying to muster up any thought that could help him. He tries to think back to the last time you had seen each other, it must have been close to two months since you’ve seen each other. Calum sighs, “How could it have been so long?” He wonders to himself. Calum turns and shuts the water off, walking out of the shower, shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair. He turns the towel rack, picking up a towel to wrap a towel around his waist. He steps over in front of the mirror, picking up his phone, starting to text quickly.

FROM CALUM: How fast can you get over here?

TO CALUM: Hello to you too…

FROM CALUM: I’m serious.

TO CALUM: I’m busy.

FROM CALUM: Well get not busy.

TO CALUM: Fine. 10 minutes.

Calum would normally feel bad about being so demanding with you but after the day he’s had he couldn’t care less. He also knew that you would never say no to him. Something about him was always so hard to say no to. He walks out of the bathroom, setting the phone onto the bedside table before collapsing on the bed, his hair drips a little on his bed. He sighs and lays on the bed waiting. He didn’t have to worry about you getting past the gate of the neighborhood or even into the house. The gate code and a spare key was something he gave you a long time ago so he had no worries about you being able to get into his house. Calum laid on there patiently waiting, wondering what the hell was taking you so long.

“Calum?” You called out.

“Back here.” He called sitting up, leaning back on his palms. He could hear your feet coming up the stairs. You opened the door to the most amazing sight you’ve seen in a while. Calum sat on the edge of the bed and you couldn’t help but stare, “Are you going just fucking stand there?” He snapped.

You came further into the room, still acting shy as you did so. He hated when you acted and so mousy like this because he knew you better than that, “You’re pissy.” You laughed a little.

“Yeah, today sucked.” He huffed, standing up facing you, he towered over you slightly.

“Tough practice?” You questioned, stepping closer so that you’re pressed chest to chest.

Calum nods before he sets a hand on your shoulder. “So down on your knees baby,” He pushes you down to your knees, “Now suck.”

You dropped to your knees without a moment of hesitation. You pulled the towel down to expose his muscular thighs and his prominent cock waiting to be touched. You stared for a moment, “Oh wow.” You eagerly wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and planted kisses around the length.

“You really are such a whore aren’t you?” He laughs, “You drove over here at my request and now you look at you, on your knees so desperate for my cock.”

You nod, “I am, I really am.” You opened your mouth and slowly took the length in, letting your hands leave his cock and rest on the sides of his thighs, as you increase your pace.

Calum’s hand was quick to come down and wrap your hair around his hand, “That’s right baby. You are my little whore, my little plaything. I could call you at any time and you would come, wouldn't you?” You hummed as you worked your mouth up and down the length. You moved down his length until your nose was at his pubic bone and you were gagging around him, “Fuck you always take my dick so well.” Calum’s hand in your hair pulls you back off of him, “So fucking well.” He praises you as you looked up at him before thrusting back into your mouth. Your hands come up and dig your fingers into his thighs as your throat tightens around him again. You quicken your pace as Calum’s moans got louder. You peered up at him through your eyelashes to see his head thrown back in pleasure. You swirl your tongue around the tip as his grip tightened on your hair, “So close baby,” He sighs, “Stop let me paint your face.” His tone was breathless as you pulled off, a string of saliva connecting the tip to your lips. Your left hand came off his thigh, reaching up to grip the base before jerking it aggressively, “Please Calum…” You were begging him to finish at this point, you were so desperate to get him off. You continued to whine and beg, so desperate for him to cum. Only a moment later, white spurts of cum painted your face.

Calum’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, “Good job baby,” He releases your hair, “But how about you bend over the edge of the bed so I can reward you baby.”

#calum #calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #calum hood blurb #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum imagine #5sos imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos fic #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #calum smut #calum hood smut #calum x reader

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viking-raider · 3 years ago

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Seals of the Lost - Chapter I

Summary: You and Henry cross paths, and the truth behind the disc Henry has is revealed.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,080

Warning: PG - RPF, Language, Magic, Stalking, Deception, Death, Light Bullying

Inspiration: This comes from several sources. XD

Author's Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming for her wonderous Beta skills and helping me world build and world out my idea for this story!

Tag List Blog: @viking-raider-taglist

After nearly a week of searching for information on the disc that came in the box his mother sent him, Henry finally found someone in central London, with a doctorate's degree in archaeology, that could potentially shed some light on what it was, and drove out to meet them.

“Mr. Cavill?” The archaeologist asked, coming out of his office.

“Yes.” Henry replied, politely extending his hand.

“I'm Dr. Rick O'Connell II.” He introduced himself, shaking Henry's hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Henry nodded, smiling softly.

“Your message said, you had a strange little artifact in your possession and would like to learn anything you could about it.” Dr. O'Connell said, showing Henry into his spacious and bright office.

“Yes, sir. I do.”

Henry confirmed, his eyes going to the glass cases, picture frames and artifacts hanging around Dr. O'Connell's office. The small spark inside of Henry that had once wanted to be an Egyptologist and Historian, before becoming an actor, flared to life as he approached one of the tall glass display cases, filled with artifacts from Egypt and a few that looked to be from Asia; one of which was a pale stone and gold jar with the head of Anubis.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Dr. O'Connell smiled, seeing Henry had been drawn to it, many people often were. “My grandparents were on the expedition that uncovered them.” He commented, stopping beside Henry.

“Seriously?” Henry replied, shaking his head and blinked at Dr. O'Connell with surprise.

“Yes.” Dr. O'Connell nodded, proudly. “My father, Alex, named me after my grandfather. My grandparents met shortly before the expedition and fell in love during it, married, and had him. They made a life of it and these are some of the artifacts from their expeditions together.”

“The others are from yours?” Henry asked, moving to another case.

“Yes, they are.”

Henry stared at the other objects for a moment longer, before turning towards him. “I'm sorry, I came here to talk to you about my object and I'm busy gawking at yours, like a schoolboy on a field trip.” He chuckled and blushed, quite abashed.

“It's quite all right.” Dr. O'Connell laughed, motioning towards a chair in front of his desk, before taking his own behind it. “So, let's take a look at what you have, Mr. Cavill.” He said, holding his hand out over his desk.

“Yes, right.” Henry nodded, taking the disc out of the protective pouch he had put it in and handed it over to him.

Dr. O'Connell frowned at the disc, turning it over in his hands as he observed it. “Well, I can tell you it's made of granite.” He said, pulling open a drawer in his desk to remove a small tape measure, then set the disc on his desk and took measurements of it. “Thirteen centimeters by thirteen centimeters.” He stood up next and crossed the room and gently laid the disc on a padded scale.

“And just under a kilogram in weight.” He returned to his desk and sat down, pulling out a magnifying glass next. “This symbol is quite strange.” He commented, holding the magnifying glass up to it.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Henry agreed with him, biting his lip as he watched him examine the disc. “It looks like some strange lizard.” He commented on it.

“Yes, a lizard.” Dr. O'Connell agreed, looking up from the magnifying glass and disc, in thought. “A dragon.” He nodded, looking back down at it. “A dragon's head, breathing out fire.”

“Does that mean something?” Henry asked, licking his lips and feeling his heart start to pound.

Dr. O'Connell set the disc and magnifying glass down. “There's this ghost story you hear, if you're in my line of work long enough, especially if you're out in the field digging around. My dad told it to me once, when I was a lad.” He started to explain to Henry, leaning back in his chair and staring out the large wall of windows to their left, with the muffle of traffic coming through from below.

“There used to be this group of people, an ancient civilization, that believed, heavily, in Dragons. It was said they were real-”

“The people or the Dragons?” Henry asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Both.” Dr. O'Connell chuckled at him. “As I was saying, they were real, and these people and Dragons lived together, as one. They supposedly did everything together and held highly sacred bonds to one another, giving the people powers, the ability to do magic, long life and many other things.”

“But, their main task, they kept the world at peace.”

“So, what happened to them?” Henry asked, shaking his head, not completely believing him, but enthralled by the story nonetheless.

“No one knows.” Dr. O'Connell shrugged. “There are theories. But, very few things have ever been found about them. I could fill a shoe box with what's been found on them. Most of what we know has been a story from an odd book or scroll, mythology or lore from some culture all across the world, pieced together. A few dusty unexplained bones that some scholar, archaeologist or theorist thinks belong with them.”

“Do you think this has to do with them?” Henry frowned, his brow pinched in conflict.

Dr. O'Connell rubbed his face, twisting back and forth in his chair, and stared at the disc. “I'm not sure.” He replied, honestly. “But, something in my gut tells me otherwise.” He admitted, letting out a huff of air.

“Is it all right if I take some photos of it, Mr. Cavill?” He asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Of course, anything to help you identify what it is.” Henry nodded, eagerly.

Dr. O'Connell removed his mobile from his pocket and snapped several photos of the disc. “I'll contact some of my colleagues and send them the photos, see what they have to say about the artifact and what we can find out about it.” He said, picking it up and holding it out to Henry. “Once, and if,” He laughed, smiling. “we come to a conclusion on what it is, or isn't, I'll give you a ring and tell you.”

“I would really appreciate it.” Henry replied, taking the disc and tucking it back into its little pouch, before standing up and extending his hand out to Dr. O'Connell again. “Thank you.” He smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Have a good day, Mr. Cavill.” Dr. O'Connell smiled back.

“You as well.” Henry replied, before parting ways with him.

Dr. O'Connell moved over to his windows and watched the street below, chewing on his bottom lip until he saw Henry appear in the crowded sidewalk and turn down the street towards the parking garage he had parked his car in, then turned back towards his desk, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

“Molly, I'm going out.” He called out to his secretary, rushing down the hall towards the elevators.

Riding the lift down to the main floor, O'Connell rushed onto the street and the opposite way Henry had gone, frantically dialing a number on his mobile, before pressing it to his ear. “It's Rick O'Connell.” He said, when the line picked up. “You told me to call you, if I ever found anything that looked Dragonic.”

“Have you?” A raspy, deep voice replied on the other end of the line.

Dr. O'Connell pulled his mobile away from his ear and sent the connected number the photos he took of Henry's disc, then put the phone back to his ear. “I'm pretty sure.” He replied, out of breath.

“Do you have it with you?”

“No. I wasn't sure if it was the real thing or not. So, I let the guy that brought it to me, take it back with him.” He explained, getting a sick feeling in his stomach, stopped in his tracks and turned around, but didn't see anything behind him, but Londoners going about their daily business. “I can contact him and get it back, if you like?”

“That's not necessary, Dr. O'Connell.” The voice replied, their tone never changing. “Just give me their name and I'll take care of the rest.”

“His name is Henry Cavill.” Dr. O'Connell informed the voice, before the line went dead.

The air in the small meadow was cool and shaded by the clustered ring of trees that surrounded it, as a soft breeze stirred the short stemmed wild flowers in the tall grass, before a shimmering blue light glowed softly in the center of it, and a moment later, with a small rush, you stepped through and the glow dissipated.

You sighed, rubbing the glowing mark on your forearm, before pulling your sleeve down to cover it. A bark filled the air, before a massive black and white dog came tearing into the meadow through the trees and right up to you, his long pink tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“Hey, there.” You smiled at him, as he barked several times and ran several circles around you. “You're a playful, little guy.” You chuckled at him, bending over to pet him as he came up to you, but turned sharply and ran off again. “Oh, you faked me out.” You roared, thoroughly amused by the dog's antics.

“Kal!” A deep voice shouted through the trees in the direction the dog had come from.

“Is that your name?” You asked, turning to see the dog busy going number two. “Kal.”

“Oh, hello.”

You looked away from Kal and faced the owner of the voice. “Hi, I'm guessing this is your dog.” You said to him, motioning behind you.

“Yeah. Kal, are you bothering this nice lady.” He asked the pup, a feeling of shy apprehension in his chest as you looked him over, waiting for your brain to click and realize who he was and start freaking out, asking for a photo and autograph from him.

“Oh, not at all.” You replied, chuckling as Kal ran up to you again, actually letting you pat him on the head this time, before dashing over to his owner.

“I'm Henry, by the way.” He introduced himself, with a sweet smile, realizing you either didn't recognize who he was or you were being polite enough not to freak out on him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Henry.” You replied, offering him your own name.

“I don't think I've seen you around before.” Henry commented, tilting his head at you. “Then again, I have just moved in a couple of months ago.” He blushed, biting the corner of his lip.

You chuckled at him, brushing your fingers through your hair. “I live just across the way.” You said, pointing in the opposite direction of the trees. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” You greeted him.

“Thanks.” Henry smiled at you, leaning down to rub Kal's ears. “What are you doing out here?” He asked, motioning around the meadow.

“Oh.” You blinked around the meadow, grasping for a reason. “I went to the little park that's nearby and dropped my house keys.” You grinned, giving off the vibe that you felt like a complete idiot for your mistake. “I've come looking for them, when I ran into your adorable pooch.” You said, looking at Kal.

“Do you need any help looking for them?” Henry offered, politely.

“I would hate to put you out.” You said, shaking your head at him, gulping.

“It's no issue at all.” He replied, shaking his head back at you. “It's not like I'm not going back that way.” He chuckled, tilting his body in that direction.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath, then flexed your fingers at your side, like a wave, and the mark on your forearm warmed. “I suppose an extra pair of eyes would make the task go faster.” You giggled, biting your lip and berating yourself for not being more careful.

“Never hurts.” Henry grinned at you, laughing as Kal jumped up on him, putting Henry's forearm gently in his mouth and tried to pull him down. “Come on now, Bear. Let's help find her keys.” He said to him, wrangling his arm out of Kal's mouth and corralled him through the trees, where there was a small dirt path that edged around the ring of trees and his property.

“So, where did you move here from?” You asked, eyes glued to the ground in your key search.

“London.” Henry replied, his own eyes searching the tall grass at the edges of the path. “So much of my life is busy, fast paced and noisy, I just wanted a nice and quiet place, where I could go, that was relatively secluded, so I could relax and decompress.”

“I can understand that.” You nodded, licking your lips and glancing over at him. “There's something about having your own little world. A place to yourself, so you can be yourself, without the worry of others judging you and disrupting your peace.”

Henry paused and looked over at you, dumbfounded that you had nailed precisely how he felt about why he moved out of London and into the English countryside. “Exactly.” He replied softly, blinking and licking his lips, his heart pounding.

“Ah-ha!” You exclaimed, seeing the glint of sunlight on the silver ring key ring and hooked your finger through it. “Found them.” You grinned at Henry, holding them up for him to see. “Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem.” He smiled back at you, even though it didn't quite meet his blue eyes. “Um,” He bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder. “Would you like a cup of coffee or maybe some tea?” He asked, looking back at you, with a brow lifted in hope.

“I just live right there.” He said, pointing a thumb to the two story house behind him.

You looked between Henry to his house, then glanced down as Kal barked and bumped into your legs, like he was begging you to take his owner's invitation. Letting out a soft chuckle, you reached down and scratched Kal's back, making his back leg go wild.

“Sure, a cup of tea sounds nice.” You replied, looking up at Henry, kindly.

“Cool.” Henry grinned, relieved and excited.

The pair of you crossed his backyard and stepped onto his patio, before Henry politely excused himself and rushed through the sliding glass door into his house, leaving Kal to entertain you for several minutes, while he threw together a cup of coffee for himself and a mug of tea for you. He brought them out, setting down a little thing of sugar and creamer, unsure how you took your tea, before the two of you sat down at the little patio table he had set up out there.

“So, how long have you lived in the neighborhood?” He asked, sipping his coffee and lifted his brows at you.

“Not long.” You replied, holding your warm cup in your hands and giggled as Kal frantically dug a hole a short distance away. “A little more than a year.” You explained, taking a gulp of your tea, turning your eyes back to Henry.

“City life is not for you either?” Henry laughed, setting his coffee cup down on the patio table.

“I try to avoid it as much as possible.” You grinned at him, your eyes guarded.

“You're not from around here, are you?” He asked, tilting his head at you, brow drawn together. “Your accent is nothing I've ever heard before.” He commented, he had been trying to place it since encountering you in the meadow.

“No, I'm not.” You shook your head at him, shyly dropping your eyes to your teacup. “My family are kind of like gypsies. They travel around Europe a lot, living their own life, on their own terms. So, I've picked up bits and pieces growing up and it sorta mashed into an accent that doesn't really belong to a specific place.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“People always try guessing where I'm originally from with it, but never get it right.” You added, amused.

“So, what made you settle in England?”

You shrugged your shoulders at him, then smiled as Kal trotted over to you, dropping a filthy tennis ball into your lap. “I wanted to put down roots.” You replied, taking up the ball and tossed it for Kal.

“Plus, I got a good job here.”

“What do you do?”

“Mainly, I'm a dog walker.” You replied, taking the ball Kal brought back to you. “But, I do some dog sitting on the side as well.” You told Henry, throwing the ball for him again.

“That explains a bit of why Kal likes you so much.” Henry commented, watching Kal's mad dash for the neon yellow ball across the yard. “He usually doesn't bring his favorite ball to people he's just met.” He explained, watching Kal charge back towards you with the dirt and slobber covered ball in his mouth.

“I've always had an affinity with animals.” You smiled, gently wrestling the ball out of his mouth and giving another throw, a bit further this time, then shivered.

“Are you all right?” Henry frowned at you, seeing the soft tremor rock your body. “Are you cold?” He asked, it was a bit brisk outside.

“No, I'm fine.” You chuckled, sitting your almost empty cup down on the table in front of you and stood. “I should really be going. I have some work I need to be doing.”

“Oh.” Henry replied, saddened, and stood with you. “I shouldn't have kept you so long, I'm so sorry.”

“It's quite all right, Henry.” You assured him with a soft smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.” You told him and Kal as he returned. “And, thank you for helping me find my keys.”

“Of course.” He nodded, forcing a smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“See you, Kal.” You smiled at the Akita patting him on the head, then nodded to Henry and started back off towards the meadow.

You were just inside the ring of trees and about to roll up the sleeve of your shirt, when you heard feet on the path behind you, then the sound of Henry calling out your name, and yanked your sleeve down and turned around to see what it was he wanted.

“Are you all right?” You asked, lifting your brows at him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, a little out of breath from running after you. “I was wondering, if you weren't busy and didn't mind, since he seemed to have really taken to you and everything.” He babbled on. “If you could take Kal on a walk for me, tomorrow?” He asked, biting the corner of his lip with shy uncertainty. “I have a bunch of work meetings I have to make and I don't want him to just get stuck around the house or digging even more holes around the property.” He explained to you.

You grinned at him, touched. “Sure, I'd love to.” You agreed, filling him with relief. “Do you have a specific time you would like me to come?”

“Um,” Henry frowned, his brow pinched as he looked at his smartwatch. “The main bulk of them are around noon. So, any time between then and one, if that works for you?” He said, looking back up at you.

“That'll work out fine.” You nodded, smiling.

“Excellent.” Henry grinned, his face lit up with excitement. “Just come round and knock.”

“Will do.” You assured him, amused that you could easily read his face and eyes. “I'll see you tomorrow, Henry.” You chuckled and turned on your heels and continued on into the meadow.

“I can't wait.” Henry replied after you, giddy and nervous.

You continued on through the meadow, unsure if Henry would still be standing in the ring of trees watching you walk in the direction you had told him you lived in. All you needed was for him to see through your ruse. So, you stepped into the furthest set of trees, glancing around to make sure no one was around to witness or stumble upon you leaving. Seeing the coast was clear, you yanked up your sleeve, rubbing the mark on your forearm with the heel of your palm and took a deep breath, closing your eyes.

“Open the way and return me home, Occam.” You called out through an invisible bond that connected you to your true home, like an umbilical cord between a mother and her babe.

The glitter of blue light illuminated the cluster of trees and brush around you, like it had in the middle of the meadow not an hour before, and taking another deep breath, you stepped through it and let it close behind you.

“Did you get it?”

You sighed and rubbed your face. “No, I didn't get it.” You replied, looking at your father. “I ran into an unseen issue.”

“And what issue was that?”

“The guy that has it.” You answered, rubbing the back of your neck.

Your father's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at your words. “He caught you in his home?”

“Thankfully, no.” You chuckled, patting him on the chest and walked by him. “I crossed through the pocket door, where we suggested I make it.” You explained as the both of you walked towards home. “But, no soon after I arrived, so did his dog. He's adorable too.” You quipped, smiling at the image of Kal in your mind. “He looks like a black and white bear, with a long curly tail!”

“Oh, if I could have brought him home with me-”

“Sweetheart.” Your father snorted, amused and patted you gently on the back. “I'd have to build a whole new world for all the animals you keep wanting to bring back with you.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“Tell me what happened.” He gently pressed you back onto the subject.

“Right.” You laughed, shyly. “Well, his dog showed up and he came after him.”

“You're sure it's the same man?”

“I am.” You nodded, heaving a tired sigh. “I saw him outside of that archaeologist's office yesterday morning.”

“Master Simperwill, we've gotten intel on a possible subject.”

Darius looked up from his desk. “A possible subject for what, Vena?” He replied, lifting a brow at her.

“Serpents.” Vena answered him. “An agent in the field, who's been tracking a known Serpent, Tate Forester, followed him to an office in London, England.”

“What kind of office, exactly?” Darius questioned her, his interest peaking.

“From what my agent gathered, he's an archaeologist with a doctorate's degree in the field.” Vena read off a tablet she was holding in her hand. “His knowledge is quite extensive as well, coming from a long line of archaeologists, explorers and historians. It seems he might even know some things about our culture.” She said, glancing up at her boss.

Darius leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Do we know why this Forester went to see the archaeologist?” He asked her, troubled.

“No, he lost track of Forester when he went inside the archaeologist's office.” Vena shook her head.

“What's this archaeologist's name?”

“Um...” Vena flipped through several of the papers clipped to her tablet. “Dr. Richard O'Connell.”

Darius let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his graying hair. “We'll need someone to go and investigate this Dr. O'Connell to find out what it is the Serpents want with him and what he knows about us.”

“I can get one of my agents on it right away, Sir.” Vena nodded at him, turning towards the door.

“No.” Darius replied, shaking his head, having already made up his mind.

“Sir?” She frowned, turning back to him.

“Have my daughter come to my office.” He told her, nodding his head. “Yes, have her come see me.”

“Right away.” Vena nodded back at him, finally leaving his office.

A knock sounded on Darius's door several minutes later. “Come in!”

“You asked for me?” You said, stepping into his office.

“I did.” Darius replied, grinning lovingly at you. “I have something I need you to do.”

“All right.” You nodded and approached his desk, plopping down in a chair in front of it. “What's on your mind?”

“I need you to go into the base world and learn what you can about an archaeologist, Dr. Richard O'Connell. Follow him and learn whatever you can from him.” Darius explained to you.

You blinked at your father, then shook your head at him. “Why?” You asked, frowning.

“Vena thinks he has dealings with the Order of the Serpents.” He replied, biting his lip, worriedly.

“You think a human is in league with the Order of the Serpents?” You echoed, leaning forward in your seat.

“I don't necessarily believe the Doctor is in league with them, but I'm sure they're using humans for their own means.” Darius sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “We need to know what they're using the human for. That's where you come in, daughter.” He explained to you, dropping his hand and looking over at you.

“You're the only one I trust to do it and who knows so much about the Serpents and the base world.”

You rubbed a hand over your face, holding your father's eyes. It was true, you knew a great deal about the Order of the Serpents and the base world, and not from sitting around your people's sanctuary world of Moros reading about them; though you have done your fair share of reading about them. A great deal of your knowledge about your people's enemy came from running into them, while in the human world, or what Morosians called it, the base world. Your job in Moros was keeping them safe, doing recon work in the base world and making sure the Serpents didn't find a way into Moros.

While it was assumed that Alaric had collapsed the world cave on all of Christos's followers the day Darius led the refugees through the door that Marcus, Coda and Ian had opened and closed behind them, before separating, scattering for the safety of the Seals they carried with them.

One man had actually survived, and would go on to create what would become the Order of the Serpents.

Knox Steelmane was ordered to be one of the four to stand by the mouth of the world cave to await Alaric Saintwatcher's arrival. He bounced from foot to foot beside his creature, Kayda, his bladder screaming, as they waited in the brisk air.

“Going to piss yourself, Knox?” One of the other Riders teased him, digging his elbow sharply in Knox's side, with a hearty laugh.

“Go to hell, Jonas.” Knox grumbled back, shoving at the older man away.

“Seems like you're already in it.” One of the other Riders ribbed him, grinning.

“Look!” Jonas yelled out, pointing to the skies overhead.

The group looked to where he was pointing and saw Alaric and Tila making their descent toward them and the mouth of the world cave. They clustered around Alaric and his creature after they landed and approached, closely following them inside.

“Where are the rest of your brats?” Christos's voice echoed over to Alaric.

Knox listened to Christos and Alaric bicker back and forth with each other, still fidgeting and trying to ignore the fact he still had to piss. But, it quickly became clear to him that he couldn't hold it any longer or he would be peeing his britches. So, pretending to look at something behind his creature, Knox sneaked outside, quickly rushing behind the nearest tree, pulling open the strings at the front of his trousers and started relieving himself. He was mid-stream when he felt the first tremor rock the ground, making him stumble and stagger on his feet, urine getting on his boots.

“What the hell was that?” He snapped, fumbling to quickly retie the strings of his pants, as another shock wave rocked the earth beneath his feet.

Abandoning the rest of ties to his pants, Knox tripped and fumbled back towards the world cave his companions and leader were still in. But, as he rounded the corner of a tall rock formation, sprinting down the path to the cave, he heard the screams of his friends and the creatures inside, he was forced to skid to a halt as the entrance collapsed, blocking his only way inside.

“No, no no!” He screamed, rushing up to the dusty rubble, tossing what he could lift out of the way, desperate to get back inside. “Kayda!” He screamed for his creature, feeling her terror and injury through their bond, like it was his own agony. “Jonas! Christos! Kayda!” He wailed, still tearing at the rocks blocking the entrance, cutting and hurting his hands on the jagged granite rocks.

“No.” He whimpered, dropping to his knees and slumping against the landslide, tears streaking through the dirt and dust covering his face, sobbing as he felt the painful flickering of Kayda's life force inside of him. “Don't go.” He begged her dwindling life, clawing at the dirt and rock around him, as if he could keep Kayda alive by sheer will.

“Please, don't go.” He whimpered. “I need you.” He sniveled, but felt the last thread of Kayda's life break and fade.

Knox dropped his head back and let out an agonizing, heart wrenching howl, his eyes glowing the moss green of Kayda's scales. Taking a few moments, Knox dragged himself onto his feet, his arms limp at his sides, but his shoulders were stiff with grief and anger, as was his dusty and tear-stained face.

A dark hatred encrusted Knox's heart that day, he vowed to make those that had followed Alaric and opposed Christos pay for killing them, turning Christos into a martyr and championed his cause. He drudged through the roads to the sanctuary Alaric and the others had stayed in, while the two sides battled. But, when he reached the gates, he found no guards, no one alerted to his presence and reacting to it.

Suspicious and careful, in case it was another ambush, Knox moved around the tall, stone wall of the building; he didn't see a single living soul, not a single Rider or Creature in sight. He made it to the south gate and found it ajar, his suspicion growing as he approached. Closing his hand around the pummel of his sword and slipping through the open gap, Knox pulled his sword, gripping it tight, as his eyes scanned the stone and wooden structures, the worn leather soles of boots squelching as he moved slowly through the ankle deep muddy pathways, but the only things that stirred were things blown by the wind. Lowering his sword, Knox let out a roar of anger, kicking a wooden crate and sending it flying across the street, then staked his sword in the mud.

“Where could they have all gone?” He huffed, pacing in his agitation.

Yanking his sword out of the ground and sheathing it on his hip again, he began picking his way through the buildings, looking for any clues to the group's whereabouts, when he found the war room Alaric, Darius and Marcus had been using during the conflicts, finding the maps and open books they had been referencing and studying before they put their plan into motion to stop Christos and take everyone to safety through the door into the new world.

Leaning over the table, Knox picked up one of the books and lifted a brow at the page it had been left on.

“Edward William's Theory.” He read at the top of the page, blindly pulling out a chair and sitting down as he read the material. “They can't possibly think this could work.” He huffed, tossing the book back onto the table, leaning forward to look at the maps, drumming his fingers on the table as he studied them. “But, where could they have gone, without people noticing that many Riders and creatures were on the move.” He reasoned with himself, reaching out to take up the book again, tapping his finger against the page.

Hell bent on finding out where the others went, Knox gathered every scrap of material that was on the table, every book, map and sheet of paper, whether they had connection to their plans or not. He studied them in and out and became convinced they had managed to replicate the theory. So sure of it, Knox created his own group of followers, the Order of the Serpents, to keep Christos plan alive to grant rightful control over the Riders and creatures, to rule over the world, as they felt they should.

But, first, Knox and his group of Serpents needed to discover where Marcus, Ian and Coda had vanished to with the three Seals that would open the door to Moros, and they had spent the last few centuries trying to track them down.

To no avail, until, a fated phone call from a certain archaeologist.

“All right, I'll leave right away, then.” You sighed, nodding your head at your father.

“Excellent.” Darius nodded back at you. “Try to stay out of trouble, hm?” He grinned at you, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“Who, me?” You grinned back at him, a similar sparkle in your own eyes. “Always.” You chuckled, standing. “I'm as troublesome as a church mouse.”

“Of course you are.” He echoed, huffing with amusement. “Now, I want you to go and see Vena, she has a majority of the details on the subject and she can suggest a place for you to pocket into.” He instructed you.

“Will do, papa.” You nodded, heading for the door.

“I want you back, as soon as you find out anything!” He added, calling out after you.

You made a motion with your hand, signaling to him that you heard what he said, before finding your way to Vena's office down the way. “My father said you have the details for my mission into the base world.” You said, lifting a brow at her.

“Yes.” Vena nodded, looking up from a map. “I was just looking for a place you could pocket into.” She explained, looking back down at the map, which you recognized as a map of London. “The archaeologist's office is just here.” She said, sticking a pin near the central part of London.

“I've been to several places around that area.” You commented, leaning over the map and narrowing your eyes at it. “I've created a pocket door into an establishment that's just here, more than once.” You explained, taking up a pin and poking it into the map several streets down from Dr. O'Connell's office.

“It's a big box store of theirs, they never notice me coming in and out of it.”

“Great.” Vena smiled up at you. “Then, that can be your point of entry and exit.”

“Is there anything else I need to know about this guy?” You asked, studying her.

“The archaeologist or the Serpent?” She asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Either? Both?” You replied, shaking your head.

“Well, the Archaeologist is one Richard O'Connell, he's quite distinguished in his occupation, as are several in his family. He doesn't seem to have any criminal or nefarious deeds and background that I or my agents could find.” Vena answered, shuffling papers around. “As for Tate Forester, the Serpent, his record is extensive. He has several arrests, some for theft, breaking and entering and assault. He's even done time.”

“So, he's a nasty one.”

“I've dealt with worse.” You commented, offhandedly, then glanced at one of the two clocks on Vena's wall. “It's almost seven am in the base world, I should get going.” You said, making a few calculations in your head.

“Yes, you should.” Vena nodded, biting her lip.

“Right.” You nodded back at her, smiling softly. “I'll see you later, Vena.” You chuckled, seeing yourself out of her office, then went to the house you lived in and changed into an outfit that would allow you to blend in with the humans, and a small backpack of items you might need. “Hey, Occam.” You smiled, stepping outside and happily greeting your creature as he landed before you.

“I've got some business to do in the base world.” You told him, stroking his snout. “I shouldn't be gone for too long.” You said, opening the bond between the pair of you. “You behave and don't go bullying Mundu, while I'm gone either.” You added, smirking at his huff and the rattle of his scales as he shook his mighty head at you.

“All right, Occam, let's open a portal.”

You pulled up the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing and pressed your palm to his head, both your and Occam's eyes closing, feeling the warm tingle of your shared magic undulating between you. A gentle breeze stirred around the two of you, the mark on your forearm grew warm and glowed as the bright blue pocket door opened beside you. Patting Occam, you turned and stepped through the portal, then with a rush and a pop in your ears, you found yourself in a cramped dressing cubicle with mounted full-length mirrors on three sides and discarded clothes and hangers strewn about.

Turning, you opened the latch to the door and stepped out of the changing room, pausing for a moment to watch the oblivious shoppers, pushing their carts, stopping at racks of clothing or purchasing their items. Sighing, you slipped into the flow of the crowd and out the front doors to the street, taking a moment to orient yourself and headed in the direction of O'Connell's office.

You looked up at the tall office building and headed inside, checking the nameplates for what floor the archaeologist was on, then bypassed the lifts, having no trust in them, and took the several flights of stairs to the third floor. Coming out on the floor, you glance around, finding a young blonde woman sitting behind a desk, flipping through a magazine, seemingly unaware of your presence, as you approach her, forcing you to clear your throat twice to get her attention.

“Can I help you?” She asked, sticking her nose up at you with extreme distaste.

“Is Mr. O'Connell in?” You asked, narrowing your eyes back at her.

“No, he is not.” She huffed, picking her magazine back up. “He won't be in for at least three hours. He's teaching a two-hour class in Oxford's School of Archaeology this morning at six am, then it's an almost hour and a half train ride back here to London for him.”

You looked up at the clock on the wall above her head, it was just past seven, meaning you had hours before O'Connell showed back up at his office for regular work. “Thanks.” You sighed, but she was already absorbed in her magazine again.

Making your way back downstairs, you popped back out onto the street and turned left, following the flow of foot traffic and shops down to the local Starbucks, to order yourself a tall, blended Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino with whip cream, paying for it with the money you made from a few business dealings you had done, using your skill for tracking and finding people to your advantage in the base world, since Moros didn't have any money or currency. They shared, grew or created what they needed to survive and thrive. It enabled you to have real human money in your pocket, so you could buy things, like coffee from the famous Starbucks, you had seen countless humans carrying around with them, or to buy something to eat, even bring things back to Moros, even different clothes and books. Many types of technology from the base world didn't work in Moros, so you never bothered buying a mobile phone or a laptop.

Though, you had always yearned for one.

Having your coffee in hand, you went back to O'Connell's office building, opting to sit in the building's lobby to wait for his return. Putting your backpack on the floor between your feet and pulling out the novel you had been reading, you slowly sipped on your drink as you thumbed through it; killing the time until Dr. O'Connell arrived from Oxford to his office.

Your coffee was gone and your leg and butt-cheek were starting to fall asleep by the time the door to the building opened, admitting a group of four people, two men and two women. You lifted a brow at them, but kept your eyes on your book, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.

“Your lecture was amazing, Dr. O'Connell.” One of the women commented as the group approached the lifts.

You lifted your eyes, watching the two males, to see which of them answered.

“Thank you, Kimmy.” The taller of the two men, with graying blond hair and a pudgy middle replied, smiling at her and pressing the button for the third floor.

You shifted in your seat, watching the group pile into the lift and ride it up. Now that you knew what the good archaeologist looked like, it made your job of tracking him a lot easier. A few minutes later the two girls and the guy came back down in the lift, chatting and holding a copy of a book with O'Connell's face on the back of it; no doubt something written on his career and life. Watching them go out the door, you got up and used the bathroom that was in the lobby, before coming back out and took your seat again, intent on waiting there until O'Connell left for either his lunch break or to go home.

An hour later, the ding for the lift doors echoed through the lobby, catching your attention, as a tall, dark and curly haired man stepped out of them. He was handsome, for sure, but that wasn't the tingle that drew you to him as he walked by you, towards the front doors. There was something about him that called out to you, that made you want to stand up and follow him out of the building, to wherever it was he was going; and you didn't understand why. But, as soon as he was out of the building and you could no longer see him, the tingle flowing in your spine vanished, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded.

It wasn't five minutes later that Dr. O'Connell came flying through the lobby, his long coat billowing behind him as he yanked his mobile out of his pocket, frantically dialing a number on it. You waited a moment for him to get out onto the street, before stuffing your book back into your backpack and got up, swinging it onto your back, slipping your arms through the straps, and looking left and right, before catching sight of him and dashing in that direction.

You kept at a reasonable distance from Dr. O'Connell, but still close enough to hear him speaking to whoever it was he called.

“It's Rick O'Connell.” He was saying, walking quickly in his agitation. “You told me to call you, if I ever found anything that looked like Dragonic.”

“Dragonic.” You mumbled to yourself, frowning.

“I'm pretty sure.” Dr. O'Connell was explaining to his caller. “No. I wasn't sure if it was the real thing or not. So, I let the guy that brought it to me, take it back with him.” He said, suddenly stopping and turning around, but you casually walked by him, as if nothing was amiss. “I can contact him and get it back, if you like?” He said, frowning to himself and started walking again.

“It was a disc shaped object, with a dragon on it.” He described the object he had called them about. “A man brought it to me, his name is Henry Cavill.”

Your ears perked up at the name and the description of the object. Biting your lip, you picked your pace and headed back towards the department store you had used to enter the base world, sneaking back into the same dressing room and opened a pocket door back to Moros.

“Father!” You shouted, rushing into his office.

“I'm here, I'm here, daughter!” He called back, appearing. “What is it? What's happened? Are you all right?” He asked, looking you over, urgently.

“I'm well.” You assured him, out of breath. “I come with news.”

“Well, sit and catch your breath first, child.” He told you, ushering you to a seat and bringing you a warm cup of tea, with a splash of something stronger in it. “Now, tell me. What is it you've learned?” He asked, leaning back against his desk in front of you.

“I found the archaeologist in his office building, it was easy enough.” You told him, slowly sipping your tea and taking slow, deep breaths. “I had to wait some time for him to show up, he was doing work for one of the base world's schools. But, once he did arrive, it didn't take long for something to happen.” You explained to him.

“And, what did you find?”

“The man, a Henry Cavill, he said his name was...”

“You talked to these men?”

“No.” You shook your head at him. “I talked to only his secretary, to see if he was in. That's how I found out he was not in, at the time. But, Dr. O'Connell wasn't back in his office long after his teaching engagement, when he apparently had a client bring him something. I didn't see the meeting or the object. But, when I saw the man leaving, I felt oddly attracted to him and not because he was handsome either.” You chuckled, hiding your shy smirk in the rim of your cup.

Darius rolled his eyes at you. “The object, did they describe it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning forward.

“Dr. O'Connell left his office soon after the man, Mr. Cavill, left. He made a phone call to someone. Apparently, he's meant to call them, if he encounters anything, Dragonic, and described the object Mr. Cavill brought to him.”

“It was a round disc with a dragon on one side of it.”

Your father's face fell, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “Dragons.” He whispered, pushing off his desk and began pacing his office.

“It's what they call our creatures.” You said, watching him. “Dragons.”

“Yes.” He nodded, stroking his bearded chin and pinched his bottom lip, as he brooded. “Did the archaeologist have the disc on him?”

“No.” You shook your head. “He said, Cavill still had it with him, because he wasn't sure if the object was the real thing or not.”

Darius turned back to you. “You said, when this Cavill was leaving, you were drawn to him, and not just because of his looks.”

“Yes, I wanted to follow him, to go with him. There was a tingle up my spine, like the feeling I get when I use my magic with Occam.” You explained to him, frowning and tilting your head at him.

“By the Order,” Your father gasped. “He's in possession of one of the Seals.”

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emperor-palpaminty · 3 years ago

Text

Killing Time

Because nothing can kill a relationship like lies.

A modern AU where crosshair is a hitman and you're his loyal girlfriend who happens to be in the bodyguard business, but neither one of you know the other's careers

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, making oit and allusions to smut, also this is in no way accurate to real life and it's just dramatic, please don't hurt me lol

children you have full permission to run away and not come here, in fact please run away

Very few things phased you. The only things that brought you to your precipice of agitation was burning pasta, your phone charger not working, and showing up to your shift only to realize someone had been killing all your clients.

Who said keeping people alive was easy? No one, that was who, and if anyone said it they were wrong or had no experience working with others whatsoever. Making sure others lived to see their next day was deadly business, for the people that were trying to live, at least.

“Charles!” You barked, feet hitting the floor of the bull pen. “What the hell happened?” You slammed your files on your desk, face warm, head just about collapsing with pressure. Your fingers pressed to your temples, hoping that they would grip it, hold it together. “Burke was alive when I left last night.”

“Doesn't matter now." Your coworker dropped his sandwich onto his desk. "Burke is fucking dead now. As dead as a doorknob." He swallowed his bite. "Luckily, you weren't on shift when it happened, so you aren't gonna catch any fire for it."

"Shit, Charles, a man is dead." You collapsed in your chair, a gentle "oomph" escaping your mouth. Your lips pressed together in agitation and you moaned to yourself. "This is the third one in two months. Sure, I'll get a couple cold bodies, but-"

"But this is a lot." Charles sunk into his own chair, grabbing for his sandwich again.

You stared at him, disbelief coating your gaze. "One is a lot, Charles," You snarled, grabbing at the folder on your desk. "Any leads?"

"Oh, yeah. But they're all at Burke's mansion." Charles tossed the crust of his lunch into the trash can. "I can drive ya."

"No, I'll take my car," You grumbled. You swiped the keys from your desk and stood, stalking back towards the elevator, anger eating away at you.

If one more of your clients- YOUR own clients- got killed, you would have to start pulling full shifts again.

___

Your shoes, practical, did little more than tap against the marble floor as you ducked under the Police tape. You skimmed the scene, frowning, eyes gracing past a particularly nasty chunk of gore on the wall. "Shot from above," You mumbled, glancing at the shattered window.

The mansion was huge. You'd been coming here for nearly a year now to keep an eye on Burke, and it still shocked you when you saw the absolute volume of the home. How much house would one man need, exactly?

In your years as a bodyguard you'd watched out for a lot of people- spoiled celebrities, prideful and arrogant politicians, and a particularly interesting Chef who had an unusual desire to cook everything with some kind of caffeine in it. That was probably your favorite client.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke the mumble in the next room, probably of detectives or cops sweeping the house for evidence. "You shouldn't-"

"I was Burke's bodyguard." You tugged your badge out or your pocket, allowing the interrupting police officer to take it and examine it. “You can verify with my assistant, Charles. Make sure you tell him he’s my assistant and not the other way around, though, he can be a dick.”

The cop hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “Well, we’re still cleaning up the scene.” His hands offered your badge back, and you slid it into your back pocket, satisfaction deflating. “You can come by later after it’s clean. Ballistics is running comparisons right now.” He paused and glanced at the shattered window. “Looks like the shot came from the garage. It’s the only side with no motion sensors or alarms.” The cop’s brows raised in interest. “Know why?”

“No.” You said, calmly, turning towards the front door. “I assume I can go there?” You heard no objection as you stepped outside, tugging your sunglasses back on over your eyes. The sun was unforgiving and you gave an involuntary hiss as the bright rays hit your eyes just right to temporarily give your vision black spots. You blinked strongly and hurried towards the garage.

In truth, Burke had alarms everywhere except the garage because he had so many people and cars coming and going. For any new technology the billionaire was releasing, the man had drugs and other forms of entertainment coming in and out, and it was all stuff that would probably bring him down. That nondisclosure form was still somewhere in the house in some obscure filing cabinet and you really, really, really didn’t feel like having a lawsuit lurking over your shoulders. Life was too good- well, everything outside of people you were being paid to keep alive was good.

Death really killed the whole “survival” business.

You clamored your way to the roof of the garage, noting the ladder was the same one that the gardener used around the several acres Burke owned. The police had to have put it here- the gardener only came in the mornings.

So who the hell climbed up here without a ladder? Most people didn’t want to put in the effort to scale this freehand or wedge between the wall of the garage and the fence to shimmy up. That someone had to be either very determined to kill Burke, for personal motive or financial motive.

You brushed off you pants and glanced around, looking down at the surface of the roof. Nothing- not even a bullet casing- had been left behind. You frowned and raked a hand through your hair, skimming your scalp as you examined the roof, walking to the edge closest to the window.

You stared in, at the shattered glass, pondering. Burke was heading to bed when he'd been shot, you assumed, so the assassian would have had to know his routine. Your mind ran through possibilities again, but you could come up with none that were motivated personally enough or fit enough to climb without much assistance. You trailed along the surface, frowning, unable to find anything, but paused at a smudge of black paint, small, on the corner of the roof.

____

You turned your car down the street, exhaling softly as you pulled into your driveway.

99. That was what the marks said. Very subtle, meant nothing, unless it was a birth year or graduating class. The cops had come back, irritated, snapped a couple of pictures, and told you off about your wild theories of a fiscally motivated assassian. Apparently, you watched too many scret agent movies, or something like that.

You opened the door of the car and climbed out, frustration making you slam it shut. You inhaled the scent of the yard- clean, fresh cut, and perhaps it could help soothe your anger before you went inside.

After fumbling on your Keychain, you unlocked the door and hurried in, locking it behind you. "Cross?"

A savory aroma wafted from the kitchen, and your mouth watered. Your toes found their way out of your shoes and you hurried to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the doorway.

Cross's lanky figure was leaning over the skillet, stirring something, pale hands moving in expertise across the stove top. "Darling, you're late." He drawled.

You sighed, fully entering the kitchen. "Yeah. Sorry." You leaned up and wrapped your arms around his waist, face pressing against his back. You sighed. The day felt a little less bad now- filled with him. "Work kept me."

"How was work?"

You grunted. "A killer. An absolute killer." The irony was not lost on you, but it was lost to your boyfriend. He thought you were an editor for some book publishing company, because cover was the most important thing. You were one of those people trying to stay alive, after all.

Lies hurt, but it was one of the necessary ones. A little lie.

"Yikes." His hands drew plates to himself. "Mine wasn't much better. Got a few new clients, a few new cases." He sighed. "The Baliff forgot to submit evidence."

You mumbled against his shirt. "Law school really paid off, huh?"

"I'll say." He turned around, adjusting your arms, slowly taking your chin and leaning down to peck you. You always melted at his kisses, knees weak and brain numb, and he seemed to know it every time. You hummed, running your hands up his chest, the irritation for the day pooling to your midsection as your fingers gripped his shirt, your lips pulling in on his.

Cross tugged away gently, and you whined, fingers stubbornly clasped. "Wow, really frustrated today."

"Yes," You mumbled.

His lips pressed towards one of their corners in a half smile, and he picked your head. "Go shower. Then we can eat and I'll take care of you."

You hummed, fingers reluctantly releasing him, and you hurried away to the bathroom. You paused at the dresser, rummaging through, grabbing an especially large t-shirt and hipster underwear. Comfort was more important at the moment.

You climbed into the shower, turning the water to as hot as you could and scrubbing yourself off, humming in pleasure as the day came off you and went down the drain. The floral scent of the soap remained, the purple bad working diligently to rid you of your grime and frustration. Lavender really is a natural relaxant. You sighed and leaned back briefly on the tile, feeling every muscle in you ease at the same time.

After toweling off and getting dressed, your padded to the kitchen where Cross was pouring a your favorite wine. You sighed happily, accepting the glass as he skimmed your fresh-showered body. "Thanks."

"Of course." Cross picked up his own glass, taking a sip, eyes still diligently stripping you on their own. You shivered slightly, setting down your glass and looking up at him. "Dinner's ready," He mumbled, leaning in, pressing a hand to the counter of either side of you, leaving your back to the counter. "But I would much rather start with dessert."

You drew in a breath as he pressed his lips to your neck, drawing out a sigh with his teeth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming in agreement, and he scooped you up. Your groaned as he drew your legs around his lips, shifting, the agitating heat pooling back between your legs. "That's a good idea." You mumbled, whimpering as he bucked his hips slightly. "I just showered, though."

"Then we can take another one," He hissed, lips covering yours. "You're so damn intoxicating."

You mumbled something against his lips, unable to get a coherent response out as he dropped you on the bed. You bounced briefly, giggling, and he yanked off his shirt and joined you, climbing over you and hovering. "Come here, sweetheart," His finger traced over your shirt between your breasts, running down to the hem. "Let's end the day on a good note."

You whimpered, neck straining as you leaned up for his kiss, and you felt Cross snarl against you, tugging your surrendered form up closer to him. Your body relaxed again, neck loosening and head back against the pillow as he tugged your own shirt up, eyes gleaming with a primal eagerness that made you swoon, ready to work out the agitation for the day you both had.

#crosshair x reader #bad batch crosshair x reader #bad batch au #hitman crosshair #bad batch reader insert #clone force 99 reader insert #crosshair #crosshair x you #minty writes

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years ago

Text

"...So I Married A Monster" *Chapter 6*

Note I was going to put a 'rough sex' gif under the cut for Lewis's shot, but I don't know if people want that. So here's a scared Rafael for your...pleasure?

Chapter 5

Chapter 7

Alright SO I posted a warning post earlier, but obviously I'm gonna put one here too.

This is probably the most graphic, dark chapter I've ever written for any story. With rape.

Please read at your own discretion.

Also it's a pretty short chapter, but trust me-- you wouldn't want it any longer. But I wrote another sweet short fluffy chapter after this one to make up for it.

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@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

@word-scribbless

@storiesofsvu

@believinghurts

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You did your best to keep calm and keep Billy happy as he aggressively groped at you with his hands, ripping off your shirt and then your bra before tossing you on the bed. Before all of this, you would have been super excited about the events transpiring. If there was one thing you and Billy were great at, it was sex. But somehow, this time it felt...different.

You didn’t know why, it didn’t make any sense to you. This was the same man, it was the same situation, he knew all your special places and you knew his. There were so many nights after he left you and the girls that you would dream about this moment, wishing for it so badly. But now that it was here, it almost felt...wrong.

“What’s wrong sweetie, you look like you’re somewhere else,” Billy stopped hungrily nibbling your neck to look into your eyes.

You used to look into those eyes and see such warmth and comfort, such lust and wanting. You had even told Rafael that you were still in love with Billy, so why didn’t you feel like it? Had they just been words? Words to hurt him because he hurt you by choosing Olivia?

Right now, that’s sure what it felt like. It felt like you were...cheating, on Rafael. Which was stupid, because you had literally just broken up with him. Didn't you? That’s what ‘done’ meant, right? Surely you had meant it in that moment; surely you meant it.

But now you weren’t sure.

“Hello, earth to Y/N!” Billy’s voice grew more agitated as he flicked you across the temple. He had never been so quick to anger before, you didn’t like this one bit.

“S-Sorry, baby,” You quickly put on a smile as your hand travelled down to his jeans, unhooking his belt. “It’s just been a day,”

“Oh, I know sweetheart,” He quickly changed his tune as soon as he felt you fondling with his belt. He helped you undo it and pulled off his jeans. You could feel his throbbing erection against your thigh.

“But daddy’s about to make it all better, I promise,” He gave you a sly grin.

You felt one hand wrap around your head and pulled it into his face even more aggressively than before. He began tugging at your hair as he attacked your neck and shoulders with hard, assertive bites. You remembered the sex between you two being rough, but you didn’t seem to recall it ever being this rough.

"Don't you like that, babe?" He asked as his mouth moved down your torso, pulling off your jeans this time.

"Mmmhmm…." You tried faking it as well as you could, feeling more and more uncomfortable the lower his mouth moved.

"Y'know, you used to be a LOT louder than this when we'd get down and dirty, baby girl," he observed while he moved to the end of the bed, ready to plunge inside you.

"Well Billy, the kids are in the next room," you thought of a plausible excuse as to why you weren't your "usual" self.

"Oh, makes sense," He nodded with a smile as he started chowing down on you like a sloppy dog.

You wanted to enjoy it, you tried to enjoy it, but you were accustomed to Rafael's sweet love making, he was so gentle with his tongue along your folds, taking time to enjoy every little moan and pleasure noise you made.You could often feel him smiling inside you while he gently lapped you up. You wished so badly you were with him right now. How had you fucked this up so badly?

Why didn't you listen to Rafael when he told you about Billy? Why had you not trusted him more? Why did you just react erratically just because you were mad at him? You should have thought it through, you should have heard him out. You should have--

"Alright now you're not even reacting Y/N, where the fuck are you?" Billy demanded.

"O-Oh I'm sorry Billy its just been--"

"A day. I know. You know I had a stressful fucking day too Y/N, having to deal with that prick ADA--- Wait," His eyes suddenly narrowed, he moved his face away from near your opening and looked you in the eyes, his glare in full effect.

Shit.

"Is that who you're thinking of right now? That fucking beaner?" He asked in an accusatory tone.

"He's Cuban not Mexican…." You muttered with a roll of your eyes.

"You really wanna get fucking cute with me right now, bitch?" He acted as if he was going to back hand you, but stopped himself.

"Billy!" You gasped. He had never been vulgar to you before.

"No, no Billy," He growled, pulling your naked body towards him.

"You're gonna stop thinking about that asshole right FUCKING now. I'm your goddamn husband, NOT him. I get to have you whenever I want and I want ALL of you. All of your attention, all of your fucking body. Do you understand me?" He snarled, practically drooling with rage.

"Y-Yes Billy," you tried not to start crying, now fully scared out your mind

"Good. Now flip over, I can't fucking look at you right now," He ordered you.

You flipped over to let him do doggie style but he started going in the wrong hole.

"Billy! What the fuck?" You tried not to yell.

"Well if you're gonna act like a whore thinking about other men than your husband, then I'm gonna fucking treat you like one. I'm gonna do what I want, and you're gonna shut up and take it. Got it?"

"B-Billy, please…." You pleaded with him. "Y-You know the last time we tried…"

"I don't give a FUCK, Y/N," He barked angrily. "I stopped last time because I didn't want to hurt you, because I loved you and you loved me. But now you've hurt me, so you're gonna hurt. REAL BAD," He barely rubbed some spit on his dick before he rammed it up your asshole.

You grabbed a pillow and screamed in pain, howling and trying to wriggle free from him. But he kept his hands wrapped tight around your stomach as he pumped rough and hard as fast as he could, getting off on the pain he was causing you, both mental and physical.

You tried to think of anything other than the pain, but it was so bad you could only cry and continue to scream into the pillow. It was worse than both times you went through labor, and that was saying something.

You prayed to God it would stop soon, he seemed to go on forever and ever. He was cackling softly as he felt you vibrating from the pain.

"Yeah, bet your fucking ADA didn't do you like this did he? What would he do if he saw you now? Hmmm….maybe we should find out,"

Your head snapped from out under the pillow at his threat. You saw him reaching for your phone that he had dropped next to your bed as he carried you into the bedroom.

"Oh God" You practically choked out, unable to speak from the pain. "N-n-no, Billy d-d-don't…"

"Oops would ya look at that I already did," Lewis shrugged with an evil smile.

----

Rafael was busy helping Olivia plan a rescue mission/battle plan when his phone went off. A FaceTime call request from you. He was absolutely terrified to answer it, but he had to answer it. He had to. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn't.

"Hey there Barba'' Lewis panted, a maniacal smile on his face. "You're missing all the fun!"

He could see Lewis had you pinned to the bed, shoving in and out of you forcefully. Your head was shoved into a pillow, to keep from screaming he imagined. He didn't know if he wanted you to look at him or not. He was watching you get raped, and he wanted to vomit.

Olivia noticed the horrified look on his face and stopped talking with the squad.

"Rafa are you-- ohmygod!" She instantly saw the revolting scene on his phone and immediately started pushing him into an interrogation room.

"Nobody needs to see this," Olivia started to shut the door but not before Lewis got to shout "NICE TO SEE YOU TOO DETECTIVE!!" At her.

Rafael was trying his best not to start sobbing; he didn't want to give Lewis the satisfaction. But the more he heard your muffled whimpers and screams of pain, the more he couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Lewis let her go," he begged. "Please I'll do anything you want, just let her go…."

"Well see Barba that's the problem," Lewis smirked. "I want Y/N to--" he suddenly stopped pumping you, feeling your body go limp. He angled the phone downward to reveal blood coming out of your anus and starting to cover the bed. You had passed out from the pain.

"Sorry Barba I'm gonna have to call you back, I have a situation," Lewis half laughed while wiping your blood off his dick.

"What the fuck-- LEWIS!!!" He screamed. "You better be calling a FUCKING ambulance!"

"Chill Barba, I'm sure she's fine. Just a little boo boo. I'll shove some toilet paper up there and she'll be good as new!" Lewis dismissed it, taking a pillow and putting it under your legs so the blood would at least attempt to stay in.

“Good ol’ RICE,” Lewis smirked, thinking of the old term they used in gym class back in the day. ‘Rest Immobilize Cold Elevate’.

“Now if I can get an ice pack from the freezer and tape it there…” Lewis thought out loud.

"Fuck you if you don't call one I will send one, I know exactly where you are" Rafael was losing his patience with him.

"NO, you're not," Lewis warned. "I'm not about to scare my girls by having cops and ambulances showing up here with all the bells and whistles,"

"She's going to DIE, asshole!!!" Rafael continued to scream. "You think your daughters won't notice THAT?"

"Look if she doesn't wake up in a few minutes I'll take her to an Urgent Care, tell 'em she liked it a little TOO rough, Kay?" He said flippantly.

"The fuck you will--" Rafael started to tell again but Lewis put the phone up to his face real nice and close.

"If you send ANYONE here Barba, she'll bleed out before you can touch her," He warned.

"Lewis…" Rafael was shaking. "Don't you love her? You told her you did, don't you care about her at all?"

"Of course I love her!" He snapped. "I'll always love her, she's the mother of my children. That creates a bond, greater than the two of you will ever have,"

"So why are you---"

"Because she needed to be reminded of that bond." Lewis explained. "She was thinking about you while WE were being intimate. I can't let shit like that slide, Barba," Lewis explained while gesturing to your unconscious body. He removed the pillow from your head so Rafael could the tear stained splotches on your face from screaming and crying so hard. Your face was almost white, he wasn’t even sure you were breathing.

"No…." Rafael's voice fell soft.

You had been thinking of him? Wishing you were with him? While Lewis was...having his way with you? He had caused this, he had caused your pain. You were being punished for simply loving him, and that broke his heart even more than it already was.

"You have a nice night there, counselor, ta!" Lewis's evil chuckle came through the screen before it went black.

The image of your body laying there unconscious and bleeding was going to be forever burned into Rafael's mind. He had to do something. SOMETHING.

He bursted out of the interrogation room where the team was still discussing strategy. Olivia immediately went to his side, knowing what he had just been through.

"Liv we--" he tried to stop from crying and compose himself. "We have to go there. We have to get her. We HAVE to,"

"Okay, Okay Rafa," Olivia tried to calm him down while the rest of the squad looked on in shock. They had zero idea what was happening.

"We'll go get her, it'll be okay," She assured him while trying to get him to calm down.

He hoped they wouldn't be too late.

#tw rape #rafael barba angst #rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fanfiction #william lewis #william lewis angst #william lewis fanfiction #william lewis x reader #william lewis x you #william lewis imagine #william lewis x you smut

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ad1thi · 4 years ago

Text

Bruised, Not Broken - CHP 1

i just realised that i never posted this here?? so here’s my kinda weird Assassin!Bucky x Toni modern AU that came to me in the shower and im still figuring out as a i go along. the first two chapters are done (and out on ao3) so i’ll be posting chapter 2 in like a day or two, but after that - updates will sync up here and on ao3

chapter 1/? || also on ao3

James is just about to fall asleep, can feel his eyelids getting heavier and his body slowing down, when his phone starts ringing on his chest, startling him back to wakefulness. He fumbles for it a couple of times, swiping his thumb over the half-shattered screen and bringing it to his ear.

“Barnes,” he grunts through the phone, and the voice he hears trinkle through the static makes him sit upright. He wasn’t ever accepting to hear from him again.

“James,” the man on the other end of the line says, “I need you to do something for me, and I need you to not ask any questions.”

“I wasn’t aware we were on speaking terms,” James replies carefully, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice, “This must be a pretty big favour.”

“This one isn’t for me,” the man says shortly, “There’s a truck parked in the alley on the corner of 5th and Main. There’s precious cargo inside. I need you to get to the truck and drive it the hell out of town. Don’t look back, and don’t stop for anything.”

“You expect me to uproot my life, and I’m not even allowed to ask what’s going on?” James demands, even though he already knows he’s going to say yes. He wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important, if there wasn’t anybody else who could do this except for James.

“You trusted me once,” the man says, after a pregnant silence, “There was a time when I would tell you to jump, and you would say ‘how high?’. Someone’s life is at stake, so can I count on you or not?”

James surveys his apartment. He doesn’t have a lot of clothes, they could probably all be stuffed in a large duffel bag if he tries hard enough. His plates are all plastic, and there’s some leftover take out in the fridge.

Rent’s due in a couple of days, but somehow, James doesn’t think his landlord will be all that upset if he sees an empty apartment. Or that surprised.

“I can be there in 30 minutes,” James concedes, “I just need to get some stuff together.”

“Bring your guns,” the man says, “and don’t be late.” He ends the call before James can come up with something smart to say in response. He manfully resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall, if only because there are people who still need to be able to contact him; and pushes himself to his feet.

The duffel bag is stuffed under his bed, right next to where the guns are taped, and it’s quick work to get them both out. James takes a couple of seconds to check the magazine in the handgun before stuffing it in the crook of the back of his jeans; and then feels around for the extra clips he knows he has stashed somewhere.

His clothes are strewn all over the one-bedroom apartment, and while James would love to just stuff them into the duffel bag and call it a day - he takes the time to fold each other, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he can. He’s not particularly vain, not anymore anyway - but his Ma drilled into him the need to keep decent clothes, and the Army hammered it home.

Before he steps out of the apartment, he takes a second to look at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing an absent hand over the beard that’s grown over the past couple of months. He debates taking the time to shave but decides against it. He’s going to an alley; appearances don’t matter.

He grabs his toothbrush and places it on top of his clothes, before zipping up the duffel bag and swinging it over his shoulders. He taps on his phone screen to check the time, and he’s got about 15 minutes before he’ll be late. If he walks quickly, he can be there in 10.

James is at the threshold when he takes one last look at his apartment. It’s easily one of the most decrepit places he’s ever lived, even counting his days in the barracks in Afghanistan; but it’s been home for the past four months and he’s oddly loath to leave it.

With a sigh, he pulls the door and jimmies the key into the lock; clicking it shut. He slips the key into the fake plant pot poised outside that Natasha gave him as a housewarming gift, because she thought it would make the apartment homely; and then swings over the railings, bracing himself with his hands when he hits the ground.

His apartment was only two floors from the ground floor, and it’s late enough that there’s nobody around to watch his stunts. Besides, he’s on a clock.

He sees the truck the minute he turns into the alley, but there doesn’t appear to be anybody waiting for him next to it. On instinct, James’ hand rests on his gun, while the other fishes out his phone to make sure he isn’t late.

It’s dark, almost impossibly so, but James’ eyes are used to darker, and they adjust quickly. A quick sweep of the alley confirms his suspicions - that he’s the only one here, and he resists swearing out loud, if only because it will draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Letting go of his gun, he makes his way over to the truck, peering at the back to see if he can make out what the precious cargo is. There’s a bundled-up duvet stuffed into the back of the truck, placed in a way that you wouldn’t even notice it was there unless you were looking for it.

James braces his hands onto the edge of the truck and hauls himself up so that he can get a closer look, walking softly so as to not jostle the cargo. He crouches down when he’s close enough; and with the steady fingers, pulls at the duvet to reveal whatever’s inside.

There’s a girl, no, a woman, who can’t be older than 20, covered in bruises and contorted in an impossible position. James is going to kill him the next time they run into each other; their past relationship be damned. Hesitantly, James brings his fingers to her neck, relaxing slightly when he feels a weak pulse. He checks her eyes next, finger catching on the underside and pulling it down to reveal glazed pupils; almost vacant.

There’s a distinct possibility that if James looks closer at her neck; he’s going to find a tiny puncture wound that resembles a needle. He’s definitely going to kill him the next time he sees him. James might even hunt him down just for the pleasure of the kill.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and redials the last incoming number, shoving it between his shoulder and crooking his neck - leaving his hands free to peel back more of the duvet while he assesses the woman’s injuries.

He picks up after two rings.

“I don’t do this stuff anymore,” James barks, not even giving him a chance to get a word in edgewise, “I don’t take people out. What the fuck have you gotten me into? She looks like she was the punching bag for an overly enthusiastic MMA fighter. You’re going to tell me what’s going on right now, or I promise you, I will hunt you down.”

“So, you opened the cargo,” the man says in a calm tone, so calm that it infuriates James.

“Yeah, I fucking opened the cargo, and I’m telling you right now - I’m not killing this woman. I don’t care who she is, or what she’s done, I’m done with that life. You’ve got some nerve giving me this kind of job.”

“James,” his voice doesn’t waver in the slightest, “James you’re not there to kill her. You’re there to save her.”

James pauses at that, hands stilling from where they were inspecting the cuts around her thighs, “What do you mean, save her?”

“Look I can’t tell you much, because it’s classified; but we’ve had her and her husband on surveillance for months. You have to believe me when I say if I knew what he was doing to her, that he was beating her; that I would’ve put an end to the op. I only found out two weeks ago though, because she’s good at hiding it. Almost too good.”

“So why is she drugged and in the back of a truck instead of at the police station giving her statement?”

The man sighs, the only indication that he is bothered by this, “I was told that the op was too deep, and she was collateral damage. If he killed her, I was allowed to call the police - but anything short of that, I was just supposed to look the other way; and file it for when he was officially charged. They said that if they started him now, that the rest of the case would fall apart, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Not when we were so close.”

“So, you smuggled her out instead,” James surmised.

“If it makes you feel any better, she asked to be drugged. I explained who you are to her as best I could, but she said that she was in a shit-load of pain, and it was more than likely that she would lash out at you on instinct alone; so, drugging her was the best option.”

“Why didn’t she go to the police?” James asks, even though he already knows the answer, “Why do it like this?”

“She said that he had all the local police in his pocket, and if she went - they’d probably just send her back home with a couple of new bruises.’

‘I need her alive,’ he’d said, ‘I need her alive, and well enough to testify when we finally bring down the hammer on her piece of shit husband. Whatever you need to do to keep her alive James, do it.’

He’s been driving for close to six hours now. New York is long gone, and there’s a fair chance that James has crossed state lines. New Jersey was a distinct possibility for a half mile, because nobody worth their salt from New York considers New Jersey a place; but James has more connections in Massachusetts; more people to count on if things go south.

On his lap, the woman stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. Her head is pillowed on one of his thighs; the duvet covering her up till her shoulders, and she sniffles and moves closer to him; as if chasing his body warmth. Almost on instinct, James reaches out and soothes a hand through her hair, running his fingers against her scalp ever so gently.

She leans into the movement, imperceptibly, and after a couple of minutes of movement; stills again, going limp. Whatever sedatives she’s on must be strong, but it’s clear that if they don’t stop soon; she’s going to wake up and that’s not good for her, or for him.

They’re about an hour out from a motel that James trusts; with an owner who looks the other way for the right kind of money, but he’s worried that she won’t make it that long. When he was moving her from the back of the van, he jostled the duvet, and he knows that she’s got nothing more than a threadbare shirt and her undergarments on. Whatever her situation was, clearly it was bad enough that trousers were too much of a waste; and sedated or not - her body is feeling the effects of the frigid winter air.

“Fuck,” James murmers into the open air, and pulls up on the side of the road. As gentle as possible, he cups his hands under the woman’s arms and brings up to a sitting position; her back resting against his chest. He shifts slightly in the tight spot, shrugging off his jacket and slipping it onto her shoulders.

It isn’t easy tucking her hands into the arms of the jacket without jostling her wounds, but James manages; even though every new bruise makes him want to break something in frustration. His earlier assessment that she was a punching bag isn’t inaccurate, and just from touching her hands, James can estimate multiple fractures around her wrist all the way up to her elbow.

She’s startling beautiful; long brown hair that flows past her shoulders and curls ever so slightly at the end, eyelashes that frame her cheeks and chapped lips with slight teeth indentations; like she bites them a lot. James can’t imagine even raising his voice at her; let alone marking her up the way her husband has - and not for the first time, he curses the fact that he can’t take her to a hospital, or to the proper authorities; who’ll do right by her.

But he can’t, because his job isn’t to get her to the authorities, it’s to keep her alive - and James is going to do it even if it kills him.

tbc

#my writing #buckytony #bucky barnes x tony stark #bucky x tony #bucky/tony #bucky barnes/tony stark #female tony stark #assassin bucky barnes #Bruised not Broken

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thewordreaper · 5 years ago

Text

Not Some Ordinary Name

My 2nd story for @short-story-slam

(This story is an independent story that falls into my supervillain universe. You don’t need to read my first story to understand this but you should because it’s great.)

Moira was convinced that Grahitha was going to break her phone. “What’s happening?” She asked as Grahitha typed furiously at her screen.

“So apparently,” She said, not looking up but raising her voice too much. “Zeher went and got himself a girlfriend and he’s too busy trying to book a restaurant for her, so he’s ditching us again.”

“We are never inviting him on-” Moira was cut off as a lumbering figure draped himself over Grahitha.

“Seriously? Is she on Insta?” He asked, removing his obnoxiously large phone.

“Well probably,” She said, holding her hand up so that he could see the screen. “But he follows so many accounts it’s hard to tell which one is hers.”

“Stop.” Said Moira, waving her hands between them. “That’s a mission for a different day. KC get out. What are you doing here anyway?”

He grinned. “I have a gig here tonight. The Downtown Ostrich is going to pull off his slickest heist yet.”

“Please don’t ever say the word slick again.” Muttered Moira.

“So what are you planning?” Asked Grahitha her voice rising in excitement.

“I thought I’d keep it simple and just send them all to sleep. Although I have a Sonic Disc jus in case.”

“Can you stop!” Said Moira waving her hands between them again. “Please stop discussing your villainous plans in the middle of a mall where we have also planned a heist!”

“You’re the one shouting now grumbled Grahitha. "Anyway, I can’t see why we can’t do this with just two people.”

“The smoke machines! The smoke machines Grahitha! Who’s going to operate the smoke machines?”

“It can’t be that hard…”

“It’s a special one I ordered from Paracelsus. You know, Revanth.” Said Moira. “There is one person I could ask though.”

“Who.. began Grahitha before her eyes widened in realisation. "No.” She said, taking several steps back. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“Too late.” Said Moira, as she typed out a quick message. There was an immediate response. “Oh, nice. He’s in the mall already. I’ll just forward the instructions to him”

“It had to be him didn’t it.”

“Who’s this mystery person then?” Asked KC.

“Get out!” They screamed in unison.

Then they waited in awkwardly for their third party member.

“Soooo.” Began Moira, “Your villain name, how’s that coming along?”

“She sighed. "I’ve been thinking of the Monstrous Maiden, but I don’t think it’s really me you know?”

She frowned. “What about you, any luck with Raat ki Raani?”

“I wish! I even added the flowers to my mask. How hard is it for the media to get it. The closest I got was a tabloid saying I had hair as black as the night. Well, they’re going to get it right today. That’s what today’s all about.” She stated.

Grahitha looked stunned. “Wait’ seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Why did you think we were doing this?”

“To hang out, have a good time. You haven’t given me a holiday in ages.”

Moira glared at her. “This is serious business.” She pointed forcefully at the floor. After a beat of outraged silence, she spoke again. “Everything is in place, isn’t it?”

Grahitha rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t touch any of the settings.”

“HI!” Exclaimed a loud voice, nearly causing them to jump in fright. Waving enthusiastically at them was Adi, six foot four, with unevenly cropped hair and limbs that looked in danger of falling off his body.

“Grahitha! It’s so wonderful that I’m working with you.”

“Hey, dude.” She said, sounding tired, “Still an intern I hope ?”

“Not for long.” He said dramatically, placing his hand over his chest.

“I will be the terror of this city someday and you will be proud. And oh!” He broke from his pose to rummage through the pockets of his jacket. “How do you feel about poetry?” He said triumphantly, holding up a couple of yellow post-it notes.

Moira and Grahitha gaped at him, all rational thought having completely given up on this scene. He cleared his throat before starting. “For green is a colour,

Found on leaves, found on trees,

Which are often found to sway’

In the breezy breeze. Oh, wait.” He shuffled the yellow patches of paper in his hands. “That’s the fifth verse.”

“No!” Yelled Moira, as rational thought returned and smacked her in the face. A baby in a nearby stroller started crying.

“No no no no no no no no no no no. No.” She jumped in between them and shifted her gaze between the two of them.

“No. No.” She stood on her toes to look straight into his face. “No!” She barked. He took a hasty step back.

“Moira, are you okay?” Asked Grahitha. “Are you stuck on ‘no’ for today?”

Moira closed her eyes, clenched her fists and took several deep breaths, imagining a pile of gold falling into her lap every time she inhaled. “In the next ten minutes,” She said, every word strained, “We will have entered that store, emptied it an disappeared from her. Standard issue stuff and if you can’t pull it off I’m going to gist wrap you in police tape and place you at the nearest hero’s doorstep.”

Grahitha flashed her a thumbs up. Adi slipped around her to kneel in front of Grahitha and placed his hand over his heart again.

“I will not let the deep affection and admiration I have for you to interfere with this mission even if every time I see you the world aligns itself to showcase your splendour.”

“I’m going to gift wrap myself.”

“I’m not going to pay for the tape.” Warned Moira.

“I will.” Said Adi, earnestly, getting down on both knees, “Once I can organise a heist of my own, I shall rob every stationery shop in the city of its stock.”

“I want to be paid double.” Yelled Grahitha after Moira’s already retreating form.

Within the next two minutes, they were all in position. Moira was pretending to wander aimlessly through the shop as her shoes left a trail of nearly invisible dust. Adi was pretending to examine a row of earrings. He had a single post-it stuck to his shirt. Grahitha was in the vents above, hopefully with a mask this time.

The doors closed with a bang and a split second later there was a second bang from above. Moira whistled once, low and long before snapping her fingers and plunging the store into darkness. Smoke began to rise from below, and she hoped desperately that Adi had configured it right. She snapped her fingers again and the lights flickered slowly. She hadn’t found much use for her powers yet, but it made one hell of an entrance.

She pulled on her mask, black with small, white jasmine flowers cascading of one side. It was clasped behind her head with magnets. She slipped a small device into her mouth and climbed onto the table. Another snap and she was illuminated by a single light. She really wished she had a mike, the long ones you could curl your body around. Maybe next time. “If you were attracted here by the Diwali sale, you will not believe my prices.” She said her voice low and dusky, completely transformed.

“If you’re wondering how,” She said, snapping her fingers again, and the light shifted focus to the now-empty racks behind her. At least they worked fas. “I’ll leave behind my name, a calling card of sorts. Just start asking around and your most coveted piece will find its way into your hands.” She stalked across the counter until her hand closed around the rope hanging from the ceiling.

“The smoke will immobilize you until all the jewels are mine. Please take this time to decide what you’d like to buy. It will be a pleasure doing business with you.”

A final snap plunged the store into darkness once again, and they were gone.

Well, almost.

“We actually have a little more time than we need.” Said a nervous voice accompanied by thinking as he climbed the counter in the dark. “I was hoping some of you would be nice enough to give me some feedback on this poem I wrote for a truly spectacular girl.”

A day later:

Moira handed the still folded paper to Grahitha.

“You can read it out.” She said. “If they can’t get it right even after I spelt it out for them I give up. Do you know how many people I’ve had to pay to act as runners? Oh, you just need to say her name to contact her. It’s the most expensive way to sell stuff. It better be worth it.”

“Jewel thief strikes again.” Read out Grahitha. “Are we witnessing the greatest robberies of the century or the greatest love story?” Grahitha looked up at her. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

“What is Adi doing at the moment?”

“Someone insulted his poetry, so he’s hatching out a convoluted plan to get revenge on them. He might make a villain yet.” She added thoughtfully.

“Good. Because he’s not getting paid.”

“Are you sure you want me to continue? Like absolutely sure ?”

“Do you also want to not get paid?”

Grahitha gave up and continued. “Who is Ram and who is his queen ? And to what lengths is he willing to go for her?”

Moira stared at her in confusion. Grahitha handed the newspaper over. “Er, I think the love story is about you.” She said apologetically.

Spread across the front page of the paper was a picture of the barren jewellery shelf. The smoke formed clearly defined words in front of it. 'Ram ki Raani’.

“He spelt it wrong.” Said Moira in disbelief. “That idiot Revanth spelt it wrong. Or maybe you accidentally fiddled with it. Or maybe Adi did.” She threw the newspaper over her shoulder. “None of you are getting paid!”

“But I need the money!” Protested Grahitha. “Do you know how expensive data is ?”

“You can earn it.” Answered Moira curtly.

Grahitha groaned, “What do you want me to do this time?”

Moira turned her head upwards, yesterday’s failure already fading. “What if we cut it in with lasers? That would be difficult to misspell.”

Grahitha groaned and their voices continued rising, fading into the ever-changing ordinary.

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Taglist: @focusdumbass @ohlooksheswriting @velvetlighthouse

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#violetvineyard #short stories #original writing #original fiction #writeblr #short story slam 2019 #the word reaper #supervillains #holding out for a hero #hofoh

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barbika1508 · 7 years ago

Text

Call me Oppa ( Kim Namjoon x Reader /Smut)

Words: 3,8k

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut, PWP

Warning: Cursing, Sexy times - Penetration, Dirty talk ecc

Summary: Namjoon wants to try out a secret but not so secret kink he might have.

Authors note; Y/F/N means your friends name //Example// is her talking over the phone

//You can’t just…no…// I let out a heavy sigh closing my eyes frustrated before I glance up jumping slightly at the door squeaking. Namjoon gives me an apologetic smile as he pushes at the door closing it up. I offer a smile before frowning again as I stare up ahead of me, at the few pictures and polaroid’s Namjoon plastered over the wall with tape.

//But you can’t say that to a girl bro…// I whine out loud and listen to Namjoon as he slowly makes his way to me. I scot over to the wall glancing up at the Ryan’s dolls on the headboard, but leave my left arm stretched as an invitation. The rest of his plush toys are settled momentarily around his desk until we figure out what to do with them, as I’m staying over most of the time these days. I see a small smile stretching across the rapper’s lips as he eagerly climbs into the bed and cuddles into my side, wrapping his long arms beneath and completely around me.

//That should happen when you establish a relationship. // I go on stubbornly but remain relaxed as I run my finger through Namjoon’s soft hair, that’s freshly dyed into a natural brown color. I miss the grape color he had to be honest. It looked good on him. Although this one looks good too. He looks good with anything.

//But there are so many…//I whine again earning myself a soft chuckle from the boy next to me. Glancing down he’s looking at me curiously while I roll my eyes making him grin before I’m looking at the ceiling.

//Fine, fine no I don’t really know mine…I don’t think the daddy one is a thing for me…no definitely not…oh dude possibly…I know my friend has a glasses kink…// at that I feel Namjoon stiffen his reaction amusing me //Yeah basically. There’s chocking? Tying up, man come on go to googleeeee…// I trail of, glancing down at what my hand is doing. Namjoon’s face is squished into my stomach head turned down making me grin even more. Shy cutie.

//Oh, that one the Oppa and Noona one …// I breathe out //No didn’t try it. Have you? // I chuckle in the end, a bit //You’re nasty you know that?! Of course you do…I’m going to leave you okay, you have things to find out…no I’m good…yes I’m refusing I’m aware…yes there is…very much…none of your business…sexy times you deny me pleasure?!// I bark out a laugh //Yes screw you bro, indeed…okay that sounded wrong…fuck off…okay…yes kinks type in kinks…no...I’m hanging up now…yes I will enjoy that...ha I win…byeeeeeee// with that I end the call raising my other hand up to support my phone preventing it from letting it fall onto Namjoon’s head. I notice he’s still hasn’t relaxed.

‘’Sorry about that Joonie. It was Y/F/N, being clueless about life.’’ I apologize as I quickly turn the applications off my phone, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone anymore.

‘’What were you talking about?!’’ he asks carefully making me grin widely as I slide my phone onto the nightstand above me and slide my hand into his hair once more.

‘’You’ve heard what we were talking about.’’ I point out ‘’Don’t play ignorant.’’ I tease giggling, while he tightens his hold on me.

‘’Yah how can you be so direct?!’’ he whines making me laugh, as I run both hands over his scalp to which he groans in content at the touch.

‘’It’s not a big deal really.’’ I reply simply. He surprises me slightly when he lifts himself up and raises onto his elbows getting closer to me.

‘’Are you sure?’’ he asks looking like he’s holding himself back. I grin mischievously, and tug at his shirt, bringing him so close that he’s only mere inches away from my face.

‘’Joonie…’’ I whisper my breath for sure ghosting over his face. And he’s the one who leans in and closes the distance. He even moans into the kiss, as I grin into it, but kiss him back eagerly. He has even more plump lips than I do. They’re velvety smooth, and it’s not long until his tongue is boldly licking over my lower lip asking for permission which I let him take along with the control of the kiss. Soon enough I’m sliding lower lying flat on the bed while he remains lying next to me, ignoring my attempt for him to shift in between my legs.

After a while, he breaks the kiss as we’re both left breathless. He leans his forehead against my own as I grin my fingers still cradled in his hair. I take him in, at his already slightly bruised lips and flushed expression. Lying down he buries his face into the side of my neck groaning with frustration. It makes me start to chuckle at how adorable he is acting.

‘’What done already?’’ I tease him, trying to move but his arm is keeping me in the spot ‘’Joonie?’’ I ask slightly worried as I run my fingers in a comforting manner through his hair and over his back.

‘’The kinks that you were talking earlier…’’ he starts his voice gruffer and very close to my ear.

‘’Yes?’’ I encourage him further on.

‘’The Oppa one…’’ he goes on his hold tightening while I grin widely and it’s clicking in my head ‘’I mean I’m not suggesting anything, please don’t get me wrong if you don’t want to do anything I understand and completely respect you…’’ he starts to ramble. But I take the moment to cup his cheek and push at his head, leaning down kissing him and shutting him up. The angle is awkward so I break the kiss soon after and roll onto my side, lowering down to his level as he looks at me panicky.

‘’I’m not judging you for anything.’’ I start as I trail a finger over his cheek and jaw gently ‘’I want you Namjoon. Don’t be afraid. I want to make you feel good.’’ I whisper the last part and I see how his eyes darken on spot as he visibly gulps but doesn’t take his gaze away.

‘’I mean you are older than me a year, which is not even in the least a bad thing or anything…’’I pull onto his hair slighty.

‘’Get to the point.’’ I laugh as he lets out a frustrated breath and then looks at me determined.

‘’Could it be possible for you to call me Oppa tonight?’’ he blurs out now glaring. But that took a lot out of him to say. And I’m obviously taken aback because he actually said it out loud. He asked the question. It’s not even that bad of a question, the whole daddy kink thing that he wanted to try I didn’t protests or anything, why suddenly shy over something like this?!

‘’Sure.’’ I reply and smile back ‘’I’m down for that.’’ I watch as he lies then down, boneless groaning as he presses his face into the mattress.

‘’Aish the things you do to me…’’ he groans as I laugh throwing my head back as I lie onto the bed comfortably feeling a bit smug.

‘’It’s not my fault!!’’ I tease tapping him gently, as I glare up at the ceiling. It doesn’t take him long to lean up and peek at me. I offer a smile and then take a deep breath trying to focus, as I lean up and press my lips gently over his. Almost in a timid way. He responds back gently as well, but proceeds to press into me more, so I let him take control as he leans onto his elbows once more.

I don’t do anything on my own, trying to get into the role he wants me to portray. So, it takes some time, of making out for him to finally move in between my legs. At that I break the kiss, breathing out rapidly. He looks at me puzzled as I cup his cheeks looking down between us, feeling a blush crawl up my cheeks but it’s only because it’s getting hot in the room.

‘’Oppa …’’ I whisper furrowing my frowns slightly as I look at him innocently ‘’I trust you.’’ I add leaning up to peck him ‘’I’m ready for you. Only you.’’ I go on and watch as a proper blush raises up his cheeks as he looks at me stunned. But the way his eyes are dark and the way he’s staring at me tells me a completely different story.

‘’Oh jagi…’’ his voice is already hoarse ‘’Oppa will take care of you…’’ he whispers and leans into kiss me before he starts trailing his lips down from my lips to my neck, while I try to bite back a smile. I let out short breath because of the way his skillful mouth kisses all over my neck, and over a few of my sensitive areas but he misses them completely. Most likely on purpose; such a tease.

‘’Ah…’’ I hiss when he grazes teasingly over my collarbones with his teeth. Yet it’s the t-shirt that’s stretched too much already that stops him as he takes a look at me.

‘’Let’s take this off, shall we?’’ he asks with a warm smile. He leans up kissing me briefly; it’s an attempt at a distraction. Yet I feel his hands trail at my sides, raising the shirt alone, until he’s tugging me up enough to slide the shirt over my head. I bit my lower lip giving him a shy look. But he offers a reassuring smile leaning into kiss me ‘’You’re beautiful.’’ He whispers and his words actually make me blush a bit. He is so sweet.

‘’Oppa...’’ I gasp, as his hands raise up from my hips so I take the moment to tug at his shirt impatiently. And then I watch with hooded eyes, as he sits up and tugs the shirt over his head. He has a mischievous smirk on his face as he lowers himself down again and goes straight for my neck. Oh, how I would love to, flip him over and show him a thing or two. But I settle for running my hands though his hair, as he lowers down pressing teasing kisses over the top of my breasts.

His hands sneak underneath me to which I arch my back ‘’Like this?’’ I ask again biting my lower lip when he glances up at me. I know doing that drives him crazy for some reason, because I think I look dumb when especially I try looking seductive while biting my lower lip.

‘’You’re doing perfect baby.’’ He coos as he undoes the hock, my bra falling slack against my front. Again, he leans up and kisses me while sliding the bra off my chest and arms. I tug my hands back with the intention of running them over him, but he’s fast grabbing both my wrist into his own.

‘’You are so unbelievably gorgeous baby girl...’’ He murmurs in a deep tone and in English to which my eyebrows shot up in surprise turning me on even more because of the way he speaks. So, deep. And now I feel myself getting wet properly ‘’You like this?’’ he goes on ‘’Me speaking English…’’ he adds on to which I shyly nod making him grin, before he’s lowering himself down, capturing one nipple between his teeth.

‘’Ah Oppa be gentle…’’ I hiss as he teases blowing, making my nipples harder before he moves to my other breasts and sucks it into his mouth, his tongue moving around the numb expertly. I put on extra effort as I let out a chocked-up breaths and small whines, until he’s leaning up kissing me to which I eagerly return back. He tugs at the pillows behind me propping me up, his hands slipping back down to the top of the shorts I’m wearing.

‘’I’m going to take care of you…’’ he whispers his forehead leaning against my own ‘’Do you want to feel good baby?!’’

I immediately nod eagerly reaching up wrapping my arms around his neck ‘’Please Oppa.’’ I plead giving him a pained expression his own going neutral for a moment before he’s cursing under his breath and then leaning up, tugging both my panties and shorts off.

‘’So, beautiful…’’ he whispers as I reach out, urging him to get close to me. He obliges kissing me more urgently as he moves against my lower part. I feel his hard member through his own shorts to which I moan into the kiss, my grip on his biceps hardening. And at some point, he starts rubbing me just the right way putting enough pressure and friction against my clit, to which I genuinely start to pant and moan. Until his fingers trail between my legs. My eyes widen at that, in anticipation.

‘’Good girl.’’ He coos, as he traces my lower lips silently, before brushing the pad of his finger over my clit making me jolt upon the touch; he grins widely looking at me for my reaction.

‘’Oppa…’’ I say needy as he settles himself more comfortable and spreads my legs wider.

‘’I’m going to make you feel so good…’’ he promises his voice an octave lower and for a moment I only stare at him before I’m closing my eyes, as he presses one finger slowly, and carefully inside me. He genuinely fell into the roleplay. This is fun definitely fun times.

I whine when he lodges his pointing finger all the way in; I have to bite my lip not to moan because it actually feels really good. I can’t immediately give him the satisfaction of making a mess out of me this easily. No one I was with before in my entire life has had long fingers as he has, and he’s reaching inside me so far already brushing all the right places. I whine once more as I look at him putting on an innocent face. He pulls the finger out and pushes in, making me breath out shakily. But he’s far gone in his own head as well. Mouth parted he’s watching me still hovering over me. His pupils are blown wide, from arousal. Judging by the tent, I start wondering how he’s not losing his cool. Just as I’m about to say something, or let my hand wander down he starts to move his finger in an out building a rhythm that has me letting out moans and closing my eyes, not to get to excited upon even seeing him in this state. Because after all I did this. he’s aroused and in this state because of me.

And then he’s pushing in another finger to which my fingers sink into his biceps; the intrusion is so delicious and the way his fingers feel inside me makes me see starts before my eyes. And he’s moving once more, brushing directly against my g-spot at some point. And I can’t hold back the moans anymore because he’s making me feel so good. Opening my eyes as I look at him, all I can do is wish he’d want to go down on me. I know I’d take him only seconds to make me cum.

And just as the tidal wave starts to raise up he pulls his fingers out. I stare at him in confusion as he sits back, and proceeds to quickly tug off his own clothes. I have so many curse words dying on the top of my tongue. But this is about him. The beginning in a way of this crazy relationship I agreed upon only a few months ago.

I reach up with my hands covering my face with them and wait thinking briefly about how magical these past few months have been.

‘’Baby girl, why are you hiding yourself away again?’’ he asks and I feel him lean down, and hover over me. But I feel kisses being pressed going from my right elbow and upwards my arm gently.

‘‘I want you so bad Oppa…’’ I reply furrowing my brows as I look at him with despair. Because I do want him. forget him going down on me, I just want him inside me. He takes a hold of my hands, and bends them up propping himself over as he keeps a hold of my hands in his own. Such a romantic my Joonie is. I do lean up getting impatient to met his lips. But his kiss unlike my own rushed is without any kind of urgency. My eagerness makes him smile into the kiss.

‘’And you have me, my love.’’ He replies back once we run out of breath. We exchange a genuine look between one another, seeing lust clearly in each other’s eyes. His next kiss mimics my previous one, urgent but still loving and gentle one. Meanwhile I spread my legs even more, as I feel him at my entrance, teasing me as he runs his cock up and down my folds. I whine loudly but in protest not holding back anymore.

‘’Patience baby girl…’’ he chuckles while I run my fingers through my hair before gripping onto it, as I gasp when he starts to push inside. My breathing speeds up upon his eyes staring at me. MY mouth opens into an ‘o as I feel him inch by inch as he enters, me eventually bottoming out. He’s a big boy definitely gifted.

‘’Y/N…’’ he whispers breathless as I simply stare at how gorgeous he looks trying to hold back at the moment ‘’You feel so good baby girl…’’ he goes on dropping his head onto my shoulder ‘’So tight…how are you so tight…’’ he goes on and it clicks in my brain why he isn’t cocky or smooth anymore like he was a minute ago. Another flood of good jokes goes down the drain as I don’t want to break the intimate moment he’s build up for the both of us. But unlike what is going around in his mind and my own; I am enjoying the slight burn from the stretch itself. I feel my walls already clench down around him. Now he is the one who’s breathing hard this time around.

‘’Namjoon…’’ I whisper reaching up to run my fingers gently through his now slightly damp hair. When did it get so hot in the room?!

‘’Just…a moment…’’ he says breathlessly as I smirk wanting to say something but decide against it. So, I keep petting his hair and staring up at the ceiling instead waiting for him until he gives an experimental trust and makes me gasp. I watch as he leans up looking at me with a serious expression ‘’I can’t hold back much…’’ he confesses as I cup his cheek.

‘’Let go then.’’ I reply encouragingly ‘’Come on Oppa fuck me.’’ I growl for affect and then he’s sitting up gripping onto my hips and pulls almost all the way out and then trust into me hard. I groan, at that in delight as he hits the right spot which makes my toes curl, while I grip blindly at the sheets. And then he repeats his movement, again, and again and again and again. And then he’s simply pounding into me. He’s going at it hard, that I don’t even have the breath to moan or let out any kind of noises…only occasionally when he switches it up and I get some air into my lungs.

And it hits me like a tidal wave after a while. The pent-up frustration from his teasing and slow gentle approach just hits me all together.

‘’Nam…joon…’’ I manage as he looks down at me finally ‘’I’m…c-c-close…’’ I stutter helplessly before he’s leaning forward towering over me and keeping up the brutal rhythm that by the change of angle gets harder more pleasurable.

‘’Me too…’’ he grunts. But I’m the one reaching in between us and rub my clit, which causes me to automatically tighten around him. He yells at that moans and groans spicing beautifully from his lips, his hip movement faltering. I push myself over the edge, shouting out loud as I see stars explode. My body just goes limp but so does his after two more thrust. I stare up at him silently as he hunches over holding himself on shaky arms. Still breathless he pulls out, making me hiss. Its more from the feeling of his cum dripping outside.

‘’Sorry…’’ he breaths and just lies down onto me knocking more air from my lungs making me chuckle for a brief moment. I wrap my arms around his sweaty body, petting him until I can’t keep my mouth shut anymore.

‘’Joonie, you’re a bit heavy…’’ I try, tugging at him to roll only a bit off me. But he pushes himself from me completely rolling onto his side, eyes half opened as he stares at me.

‘’Sorry jagi.’’ He apologizes tiredly while I only smile and lean down to peck him because he clearly has no energy to do anything more.

‘’It’s okay.’’ I reassure him lying down to enjoy the afterglow of what just happened. But my body soon starts to cool off prompting me to move. Yet when I do shift it isn’t the most comfortable thing. I glance towards the door contemplating of getting up.

‘’Don’t go.’’ He says still tiredly but forcing himself to move. He manages to move only an inch closer.

‘’I’m not.’’ I reply leaning over the edge to pick up his shirt ‘’I’m going to have to buy you a new shirt though.’’ I say as I reach over to clean him briefly to which he hisses for a moment, and then chuckles half-heartedly as I turn him onto his back and proceed to clear myself as much as I can.

‘’It’s just a shirt.’’ He says, as I throw the shirt towards the trash can. Picking up his boxers I hand them over while holding onto my panties ‘’No too much it’s too hot…’’ he complains as I slip one leg into my panties

‘’Sucks for you.’’ I reply shrugging as I tug the panties on, and he proceeds to do the same.

‘’The things I do for you.’’ He complains but his smile tells another story.

‘’Oh buhu.’’ I mock him reaching for the sheet we have kicked to the end of the bed ‘’You owe me breakfast in bed!’’ I point out raising the material over him before I lie down, resting my head comfortably over his awaited arm and onto his chest, his breathing having returned to normal.

‘’Anything for you my queen.’’ He mumbles half asleep but still presses a kiss on top of my head.

‘’So cheesy. Goodnight Joonie.’’

#kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #rm x reader #bts smut #kim namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #namjoon x reader #bts #bts rm

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summernumber74 · 7 years ago

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“Summer No. 74″ — Day 3 — 4,922/50,000

Behind the house the sun was making itself known. Still behind the horizon, or maybe just the hills and trees. Judy preferred the hills, the trees. Sitting here on the old sofa staring into the morning night, not hung over but a few inches of center, she remembered the trip she made in high school to see her dying great-grandmother. This was the first time she’d travelled with her mother’s fiancé. The three of them drove through the secretive evil hills of North Georgia, through the softer evil hills of Alabama, the evil flat forests of North Mississippi, then the in the flat evil of Louisiana and finally arrived in the unending plains of North Texas. Judy and her mother hadn’t gone west for at least 5 years, when she was 12 or so, at which time Judy was so spiritually desolated that she never took in anything around her.

They went back and forth between a now estranged uncle’s home (suburban and unthinkably ugly, an arrangement of blocks with tremendous pitched ceilings) and a hospice center (just typically ugly, like all spaces in the thrall of death). On the last visit to the hospice center, Judy knew she’d be seeing her great-grandmother for the last time. The air on this February day was empty and vicious. Out the window, she saw the barrenness of the plain. On the horizon she saw a few little hills, undeniably just a subdivision, and then it all came together. This was a death. A dry, indifferent, wintry flatness.

A drop of an adult beverage, “the ol’ glug glug” in Jeremy’s terminology, and Judy was up at 6 on the dot. When she was up this early, Judy came out to sit on the damp couch and through the screen of tree limbs watch the world wake up. Already a pair of laborers had passed by, talked about how bad the bus schedule on this side of town was. Then there were the joggers that always caught their breath sitting on the half rotted log next to the road. Then the cyclist. Now, a break in the activity. Around 7:10, another batch of joggers, then students heading to their 8 AMs, and then and then and then. Sometimes it felt overwhelming, but Judy loved the endless procession of the world, of people’s elaborating on the business of their lives. Judy, for her part, felt most in herself running errands, Making Phone Calls, the kind of silly day-to-day shit that makes it possible to take care of her self. If she could tend to her body, broken and miserable as it was, then everything else was more tolerable.

Finally awake enough, caffeinated enough, Judy gave some brain space to last night. After drinking and showing each other different playlists on their phones, they played with the BB gun and shot all their bottles apart, the front yard turned over to glass and pellets. Kathleen got the PS2 she kept in her backpack and showed Judy and Jeremy this thing she found in Final Fantasy XII, then Ken in their sports bra and boxer briefs gave a reading of some choice passages from The Uncollected Dan Brown. Around 2 they all fell asleep cuddling on the futon Judy unfolded in her room. Who could want for more?

Well, more sleep and something to eat. Judy was hungry and feeling sort of queasy from all the coffee. She fried an egg in butter until it was crisp and terrible, then ate it on a dry piece of wheat toast. Even though her hand was a bit shaky from the coffee, she closed her eyes on the loveseat. In a caffeine dream, several dozen read lines expanded and contracted to a song that did not sound like, but that definitely was, “Take My Breath Away.”

The she gasped away as Kathleen shook her and said loudly, “Judy!” Judy sat up so quickly that her and Kathleen hit foreheads. There was a ‘Klonk.’ Jeremy was rocking back and forth while sitting on the arm of the loveseat, and the arm rocked with him. “What time is it,” Judy asked, her voice half of a groan. Judy reached for her phone and saw that it was 7:30 AM, she’d been asleep only about 20 minutes. “We’re going to go hang out with Marshall at the bakery for a while and then head over to the print shop,” Kathleen said with a sleepy dreaminess, “Do you want to come with us?” Judy smiled slightly at the idea, then, propped on an arm of the loveseat, saw the washing machine. “Ughhhh. I gotta do a few chores, for moving out. I’ll come in around….1? Is that okay?” Jeremy leapt to his feet— “1! You want to come in at…1??” A pause. “Yeah 1 o’clock should be fine.” Kathleen nodded in agreement. “Yeah, come on in at 1. We’ll save you something.” Kathleen hugged Judy and gave her something between a peck and brush on the cheek— sensuous.

When she heard the door close, Judy sat up and stared at the floor. She stared at it some more. Then she went and ran the load of clothes she’d left in the washer the day before. She played a Match 3 game on her phone for a while then closed herself inside her room. She still couldn’t imagine that she was leaving, and that this room, with its rough wooden floors that slanted at a different angle at every point in the room. She decided to smoke a cigarette in her room as a dumb, minor act of having been here. Paint flakes fell like pollen as Judy opened the old window, lit a cigarette and hunched out into the hot heat. The A/C chugged like a train, nearing it’s fifth death of the summer. Soon, she’d be back at her hometown, bored and belabored. No more waking up at 2 PM, or crying in front of the gas station, or setting off fireworks in the clearing by the tracks. Misery! Her bare torso scraped against the wood of the windowsill, splinter lodged in her rib. “How overloaded. This window is a rotting Longinus,” Judy said aloud to her empty house. Thinking about this summer, she felt the way it’d been a folding and folding of stereotyping, the sadness, the flatness, the seeming meaningless days punctuated by overloaded nights. In spite of that, in spite of the way she could feel herself rubbing against the walls of possibility, she felt good that she knew that, at least— that there could have been more. She wanted to feel the regret raher than not know there was something worth regretting. And she dreaded going home, and being in her old room, and her mother’s ex-husband, and the starchy traffic jams near public schools, and she dreaded being aware from her friends, even if it was only an hour away. An hour in any direction anywhere on the world could mean anything. An hour north or south or earlier or later, it mattered. Judy moved her laundry.

The book return slot on the exterior of the library had been bolted shut for the last month. Judy walked into the air conditioning— noon and the heat outside was in its full swing— and felt the slight quiet pleasure of being in a pretty public library. This one was late modernist, low ceilings and wide avenues, with a few po-mo touches for new public study rooms. She approached the front desk and the librarian on duty, a soft-faced man with a piece of paper taped to his light jacket saying “He/Him Pronouns.” Judy made sure to give off extremely transgender energies.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” The librarian was in a brief mood. Judy set the books, close to tumbling, onto the desk. “Hey, I need to return these books.” “Ok. Let’s see here,” and he swiped book after book across a red light scanner. Each book was accompanied by a throaty bark that Judy (shrewd one) figured meant they were overdue. This would be a thing.

“Are you aware that this books are overdue, some of them by several months?” The librarian was bored and a bit acidic.

“I’m not, um, surprised. What’s the fine?”

“Seventy-four dollars and thirty-one cents, exactly.”

“Well. Interesting. Anyway, they’re not mine, so, I’ll, uh try to get in touch with my friend about it. Umm, I’ll try calling him now, actually. Let me step outside.”

The librarian was unconvinced but turned back to his work. Judy rushed back to her car and exhaled from how hot it’d already gotten. She drove back home and stuffed the laundry, mostly dried, into a trash bag. While there, Dani came from her room. “Hey. So, I was at the Little Roll this morning, and saw Jeremy and Kathleen.” “Oh,” Judy asked, trying to get a read on Dani’s ambiguous tone.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, okay,” Judy said, sort of offput. Dani walked back into her room and shut the door. Judy checked her room to make sure there was nothing else to take down to the donation center. She remembered there was a stack of records in her trunk that her old roommates had given. No doubt they were now melted. She brushed aside the thought of looking at them.

Even having done so little in this crusty house, time had gotten away from her. Judy threw her bag into the backseat and drove to the big donation center.

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jujubieberbae · 8 years ago

Text

SEX TAPE

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Request: could you please do an imagine where justin and y/n went for jog on the mountains in cali and when they reached to the top in a private space justin fucked y/n against some tree or whatever but a pap saw them and recorded it while y/n and justin never knew. and when y/n and justin are done fucking they went home and saw it on the media of fucking etccc.. you do the rest 😊 LOLOL IK THIS IS A STUPID IDEA😂😂😂

Its unedited so excuse any mistakes. And sorry for the wait, but im back Bitches!

***

The padding and crunching of our feet atop the layers of gravel that littered the familiar trail, accompanied by the early morning birds singing a sweet melody was just as sweet as candy to a child. It was a sugar rush.

But in compose to a sugar rush for a child, it was adrenaline rush for myself.

The sunlight seemed to dance during this early spring morning. To weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. This morning, the yellow light was calming. The suns rays diffused softly through the gray curtains of clouds with a shrouded light that never failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving.

The hilltop approached fast, and with the last few steps completed, a large and triumphant breath was released through my dry and scratchy mouth, so desperate for a sip of water.

“That was a good run.”

The voice was so sweet to my ears, but so sudden after the hour period of silent running. My eyes trailed towards the figure besides me with a smile, as I walked forward, snatching the bottle half full from his hands.

“Yeah, for you.” I scoffed. “I was struggling half the time considering you hogged the water.”

Justin’s smirk was undeniably attractive, his sweaty physic only making the sight so much as a delicacy to look at.

“Thirsty much?” Justin commented sarcastically but the hint of lust was hard to miss.

“Only for you baby.” I replied with a wink before gulping down a large amount of the water bottle.

It was silent from then on out, the early morning breeze brushing past the both of us - whipping through the green blades and blossoming leaves around us.

Justin was the first to act upon our setting, stepping forward on top of the breezy mountain until the entire veiw of LA stood in front of him, me following close behind.

A sigh of delight was forced from Justin, molding a cloud of smoke to appear, re-creating the once invisible air into a smoggy form. His eyes danced around the city with the glare of the sun reflecting against his orbs - leaving his eyes in a beautiful bright honey colour.

He may not be beautiful to himself, but to me, he was just perfect.

His once distracted eyes finally caught sight of mine, furrowing in at the eyebrows as his mouth morphed a form of questioning. “What?” He wandered.

“Nothing.” I replied breathlessly, “Just reminding myself of all the reasons I fell in love with you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled. “Well keep trying, you might be here a while.”

The lack of self confidence in his tone had a frown settling across my face as I peered up the handsome boy in astonishment. “Well, It really isn’t that hard. All I had to do was stare at your eyes for a couple of seconds.”

It was silent for only a second, before I stepped forward, my gaze fully meeting his as we turned to face each other. “You really are perfect to me. You know that?”

“I’m not perfect, but I don’t find it hard to believe you find me perfect, cause I think your perfect aswell.”

This had me smiling like an idiot as we both leaned forward, capturing each others lips in a smile set with love and passion, soon falling into one of love and need.

I don’t know if its just me, but recently, I’ve been needing Justin a lot more desperately then usual. It had to be something hormonal, but whatever it was, it was driving me crazy.

The kiss came to an end, leaving my slightly chapped lips pleading for justin’s as the cold air rushed of the swelling aftermath of the kiss. A whimper so slight but noticeable involuntarily rumbling from my throat. I wanted him so bad, and all it took was a kiss.

“I want you so bad.” It escaped as a whisper, appearing shaky and unstable, as if talking to loud would leave me trembling at the knees.

His eyes widened at my tone, obviously slightly dumbfounded at my sudden change in mood.

“Woah. It’s like we haven’t had sex in months, you’re really desperate right now baby girl.” Justin commented, almost in worry.

His voice had me pooling in my panties. This was not natural - nor healthy. All the boy did was talk.

“I know.” I whimpered. “I think its my birth control pills. There making me hormonal. But baby - I need you.”

In this moment, I could of sworn a flash of some sort was seen, but after a quick glance around, nothing was seen, and I had just passed it up as a reflection from the many car mirrors to far for the eye to see.

Justin’s frown of worry fell into a smirk, his face lighting up with smug lust “Well, happy girls are the prettiest girls. And I’m gonna make you elated babygirl.”

His words hadn’t even comprehended through my mind before my back had made contact with the nearest tree. His hands trailed throughout my entire body, ravaging the skin beneath my shirt slyly.

His hands left heat in its trail, even with the morning breeze. It was magic against me, magic that was too addicting to wait on. His lips began attacking the delicate skin by neck, nipping and sucking on the tender flesh by ear and down my collar bone. He knew all the places that had me weak in the knees, and once realising he effect he had on me, hoisted me into his arms, supporting my legs as I wrapped them around his waist.

One by one, our sweaty clothes had found there way to the floor, until we were both left in nothing but each others arms, grinding our hips against one another.

My wetness had his dick hard and his hard had my pussy wet. It was a cycle influenced by one another. Never ending.

His teasing had me moaning under his gaze, eyes dark and pure with lust, as I imagined his now buzz cut once long, and how messy it would be right now from my fingers. I wish he hadn’t shaved it, but either way he was hot. Hot enough to have me begging on my knees after a simple kiss.

“Stop teasing and just fuck me already!” I hissed.

My hips grinded against his in hopes that he would notice how much I needed him. He hissed, and in a sudden second, he had tightened his grip on my thighs and pressed me harder against the tree. The bark scraped and scratched down my back, leaving me with a pleasurable pain. Was it weird I found this oddly sexy?

His nails dug in to the skin of my thigh, no doubt leaving marks for memories on either side of my legs as he leant forward to press his lips in the valley of my breasts, right atop my tattoo. His kisses trailed higher and higher until my lips were aligned with his own.

My back arched a little towards him, leaving him with nothing but the contact of my skin and hardened nipples against him, the feeling leaving him groaning against me. Quickly, his eyes dashed around the area of the hiking trail, finding no one who found an interest at hiking this early in the morning before he attached his lips to my own, and slamming his unnaturally large dick inside me without warning.

“We’re back from our hike!” Justin’s voice echoed throughout the marble flooring and crisp wall panels. The cluttering of keys being placed against the kitchen island bench, followed by the shuffling of shoes Justin and I had both removed from our feet as we entered the abnormally quiet house.

That’s when the noise began, the screeching and giggling of the two children I had come to love as my own emerging from the living room and towards the two of us. Jazzy made no hesitation to jump into Justin’s arms, as Jaxo stuck his hads out for me to pick him up, which I did graciously.

“Hey champ!” I smiled, tickling Jaxons stomach.

Jaxon giggled, throwing his arms around my neck. “Hey Y/nic/N.”

It wasn’t until I glanced up that I spot Scooter sitting at the kitchen bench, his head in one hand and scrolling through a page on his macbook with the other. Pattie on the other hand stood in the kitchen, hand fumbling around with her lip as she slowly paced. Thats when I realised,

Something was not right.

“Hey, are you alright?” I asked pattied, heading her way to run her back comfortingly.

Patties eyes flickered forward in recognition, as if just realising that I was here before a small smile played her lips, but not wide enough to reach her eyes. Sadly, the moment was short lived as her smile fell into one of sadness - or pity maybe?

“Me? I’m fine. You? I think maybe you should sit down for a second.”

“Huh?”

“Both of you.” Scooter added, motioning towards the grand lounge.

Justin and I eyed each other suspiciously, both slowly making our way over towards the living room cautiously. Both Pattie and Scooter followed along, and once walking into the living room, found Jeremy seated on the single seater typing aggressively against his phone.

Carefully placing the two kids down, Justin I sat next to each other, eyeing the adult carefully as we waited an explanation. Scooter seemed scared, almost conflicted and choked up on what to say. Thats when I really knew this could not be good.

Scooter began, “Justin-…No….Y-Y/N…no. How do I say this? Well, guy’s-”

“Look! The paps caught you guys having sex this morning!” Jeremy yelled out from the corner. I hadn’t even thought he was paying attention to anything happening around him until now.

“Jeremy!” Pattie hissed, glancing towards the children.

“Wait…What?” Justin questioned, shock rippling through every word.

“Sorry Justin. But you were reckless and someone had caught you two. It’s all over TMZ.” Pattie sighed.

Justin’s once calm gaze morphed into one of panic, his body leaving the couch aggresively yelling “FUCK!” Loud enough for the kids to jump back from there game of rock paper scissors beside me.

“Calm down sweetie.” Pattie begged. Her eyes showed a form of motherly worry, but also slight fear causing me to shoot up and jump to the rescue.

My arms flew around Justins body in comfort, feeling his shoulders shake in rage. I noticed everyone else glance around the room, nodding amongst each other before all exiting, taking the kids along with them, leaving Justins and I with a few minutes of privacy.

“Justin,” I whispered against his body. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt had flustered my body at this point, and Justin had seemed to notice that. his gaze jumping up to look at me with his eyebrows furrowed in slight worry on my behalf.

“No babygirl don’t be. This isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah but If I hadn’t started it this wouldnt have happened.” My eyes had filled with tears at this point.

Justin immediately pulled me towards him, my face crashing into his chest as he hugged my head towards him. “Hey, hey. Stop. This was just as much me as it was you. I should have been more careful but there’s nothing we can do now.”

“I just wish we could go back and fix things. God I hate how nosy people are!”

“It’s okay baby girl. Hey look at me.” My eyes trailed to his, ones with hope and reassurance that everything would be alright in the end. “Listen to me, shit happens that’s just what comes with being apart of my life but we’ll get through this together. okay?”

I stood staring at the beauty in front of me, amazed how he can make me feel so secure in a time of insecurity especially after finding out half the world has seen me naked at this point.”Okay.” I agreed.

His arms pulled me tighter against his chest, voice soft.

“Good.” He responded. “And beside, I wouldn’t want to go back and change it even if we could. That Sex was bomb.”

My hand met his chest, a small clap made at the impact.

“Alright, sorry.” He chuckled. “But it’s still true.”

Psst! Leave requests.

#justin bieber imagines #justin bieber imagine #justin bieber smut #justin bieber fake text #justin bieber #justin bieber fake texts #justin bieber au #justin bieber drabble #justin bieber one shots #justin bieber one shot #justin bieber drabbles #mccann #jason mccann #jason mccann imagines #mccan imagines #mccann smut

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blessed-but-distressed · 8 years ago

Text

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

also on ff.net

Thank you so much to the fantastical @lenfaz, for lessons on child development, read-throughs and general hand holding.

Tagging: @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, and whoever else asks.

Emma

Emma Swan had a PhD. Emma Swan had 1265 followers on Instagram. Emma Swan had every line of The Princess Bride memorized.

But one thing Emma Swan did not have?

Electricity.

She flicked the switch again, in the vain hope she’d just imagined it the first time. Nothing happened. She tried the outlet by the toaster. Nothing. Nada.

Because of fucking course Emma would wake up on the first day of the year to find her new apartment shrouded in unending darkness. Because what landlord in their right mind actually picked up the phone at 7am on January 1st? Hell, judging by what she’d seen out her window over the last few hours, they were probably just getting started on all their Hogmanay festivities. Everyone else seemed to be.

Only, Emma wasn’t going to accept defeat right away. Sure, cold Pop-Tarts were okay in a pinch, but it was still freezing out and she had a mighty need to crank up her space heater and put on a pot of coffee. She was very motivated.

It went to voicemail three times before someone finally picked up, the voice on the other end of the line irate and decidedly not sober.

“What yae want?” the voice barked.

Oh joy.

“Hi. I’m the new tenant in 2c? On Sciennes House Place?” She began, tentatively.

“Is it bloody well on fire?” came the unimpressed reply.

And to think, Emma was only three days into her twelve month lease. Clearly this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“No, but it is dark.” A meaningful pause. “Because the power is out. No electricity. None.”

There was the sound of movement on the line, and a string of curses Emma only half understood. “And you filled the meter?”

For a moment, Emma wondered if she’d misheard. “Filled the… what?”

“The meter! The electricity meter, you daft girl. In the front cupboard, by the door. You’ve got to put pound coins in it, and turn the handle, or else the power will go out!”

Because that was super normal. And a little fact that might have easily been shared when she’d come to view the place. Or when she’d signed the lease. Or when she’d picked up the keys. Any of those times, really, would have been ideal.

“You mean I drop them in there?” Emma clarified. “Instead of being sent a bill?”

“Aye,” grumbled the voice on the line. “Is that it then?”

God forbid they give their liver a whole five minutes reprieve. “Uh, I guess.”

The line went dead without so much as a goodbye, and she resisted the urge to throw the phone in frustration. Instead she swallowed down her rage and focused on her new plan of attack.

Pound coins. Okay. She could do that. She backtracked to the kitchen by the dim light of her phone, to where she’d left her bag. Rummaging around a little she drew out her purse, sorting through the change she’d accumulated since Christmas. A grand total of £2.43.

After fighting her way through the extra sweaters she’d squirreled away in the front closet, she eventually discovered the bulky black outline of the promised electricity meter. With baited breath, she dropped in her first coin, letting it fall into the machine with a clatter. Then, she reached out and turned the crank. At last it clicked into place, and the room behind her lit up.

But her celebratory whoop was cut short when she caught sight of the actual meter reading by the newly returned light from the hallway. The needle had barely budged above zero. She was going to need a lot more coins. And soon.

It was still dark out when she hit the pavement, but Emma was far from the only one out and about. On the contrary, the streets still teemed with late night revelers who hadn’t quite made it home yet. They traveled in packs. The giggling women in teetering heels, skirts too short for the weather. The men shouting slurred obscenities, trailed by the sound of glass bottles breaking against concrete. The all-night crowd, in all of their glory.

Emma hugged her jacket tighter around her, nuzzling her face further into her scarf. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.

“Nice night, darling?” One called out, but she pretended not to hear him, increasing her stride.

Only one more block. She could make it.

A slight figure stood sheltered in a doorway ahead of her, ragged and hungry-looking. “Spare any change, Miss?”

That was something that had honestly surprised her over the last few months. It wasn’t just that Edinburgh seemed to have a proportionally high number of rough sleepers for its size. Or that they were strategically placed at all major thoroughfares, empty Costa Coffee cup at the ready. It was that they always seemed to be unfailing polite, no matter the hour or weather.

The irony of being asked for change at this very moment? She shot the girl an apologetic glance and kept walking, making a promise to herself she’d get the girl a sandwich or something on her way back.

But as she came up to the 24 hour convenience store on the corner, she noticed the windows weren’t emitting their usual greenish fluorescent glow. In fact, they were dark, the doorway shuttered. There was a sign taped to the window with a note scrawled in black Sharpie.

Closed for the bank holiday. Happy Hogmanay!

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, and took a deep breath, swallowing down the litany of curses that were on the tip of her tongue. Defeated, she jammed her hands back into the pockets of her jacket, turning back in the direction of her apartment.

“Any change for a cup o’ tea?” she heard the homeless girl up ahead call to a passing couple. To her surprise, the guy stopped, the tell-tale clatter of coins as he dropped them into the cup.

Emma watched on, an idea forming. She waited for the couple to pass before she stopped before the girl, a ten pound note clutched in her hand.

“Hi. You wouldn’t happen to have any pound coins, would you?”

She wouldn’t say it was a mistake; what she’d tentatively titled: The Scottish Experiment. After all, there were pros and cons with living any place.

Pro. The chances of her running into her ex in the wine aisle at Sainsbury’s were practically nil.

Pro. Her Instagram game was on point. Her feed had become an embarrassment of crags, cobblestones and castles, and she derived a certain amount of pleasure from the swoony emojis left in the comments.

Pro. Despite all the horror stories she’d heard about the Scottish weather, it was still a good twenty degrees warmer most days than it would have been back in Storybrooke.

And Pro. Her friends from home were only a Skype date away.

She heard them before she saw them. The excited squeal of two liquored up girlfriends enamored by the marvels of modern technology. And then her Skype window flickered to life and she saw them too. Mary Margaret and Ruby, squashed together on Ruby’s tiny blue sofa, both fighting to get their faces into the frame.

“Emma!” Ruby shouted, with the uncontrolled glee of the truly intoxicated. “I miss youuuu!”

Emma looked at her clock, and frowned. “Uh, it’s 7pm there, right? Did someone get an early start on happy hour?”

Instead of answering, Ruby grabbed a wine glass from out of the frame and took a big gulp, leaving the floor open for Mary Margaret.

“Victor got a job offer from Storybrooke General,” she explained, with a smile. “We’ve been celebrating.” Since noon, it seemed like. Her cheeks too were a little on the rosy side, but at least she had her volume under control.

“Hell yeah, we have!” came Ruby’s exuberant reply.

“Oh,” said Emma, scrambling for the right response. “That great!”

“And now he can give up that apartment in Portland and move in here!”

“Wow. Ruby, that’s…” Out of character. “…a huge step.”

“I know!” Ruby agreed, settling back down on the couch. “But I’m really fucking happy, you know?”

She looked it, too, her grin stretching from ear to ear. And though Emma might’ve recently stood on a rooftop at 2 am with a bottle of whisky and declared herself an enemy of love, she couldn’t deny Ruby’s sheer joy was touching.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Emma admitted. “You guys spent, what? The better part of ten years circling around each other? But I’m really happy for you.”

She held a hand up to the screen, smiling when Ruby did the same. Then Mary Margaret let out a drunken giggle, and placed her hand over Ruby’s and Emma heart broke a little at the schmaltz of it all.

“Speaking of Victor,” she said, removing her hand, “shouldn’t you guys be umm… celebrating together?” she asked.

“We will, later,” Ruby said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “First I wanted to talk to you! How are you? How’s Scotland? How’re the Scottish guys?” The last one was accompanied with a salacious waggle of her perfectly tinted eyebrows.

“It’s great. Scotland’s great! Haven’t you seen my Instagram?”

“I loved that one of the castle!” Mary Margaret piped up. “With the mist and everything?” She let out a cry of frustration, burying her head momentarily into her hands. “God, I’m so jealous of you! Please tell me you’re having a good time.”

“Sure I am. I mean, I’ve been a little busy getting the new apartment set up and everything, but yeah, it’s great.”

“And the Scottish guys?” Ruby cut in, not be ignored.

“Honestly? I haven’t met that many yet. Not unless you count my students, which err… gross, or my boss, which umm… no. But I’m sure there are lots of Jamie Fraser types right around the corner.”

Con. There were not a lot of Jamie Fraser types right around the corner. Because Jamie Fraser was fictional. Tragically.

“And friends?” Mary Margaret prompted, preventing Emma from delving headfirst into any Highlander fantasies.

“Oh, um… I’m working on it. Some people in my department are really nice.”

Con. Emma’s introduction to the history department had been lackluster, bordering on negligent. It seemed to be populated almost exclusively by hungover grad students and career academics decades her senior, and they’d welcomed her into their midst with about as much enthusiasm as they would the guy emptying the trash bins.

“It’s a work in progress,” she continued. “But it’s not like college, right? Where you just so happen to land the world’s clingiest roommate, and she bullies you into being her best friend?”

Mary Margaret shot her a warm smile at the memory. “You were a tough nut to crack. But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Emma wasn’t so confident. A childhood in the system and abandonment issues aplenty didn’t exactly leave you with stellar social skills. In Emma’s experience, trust had to be earned. And earned. And earned. Fortunately, Mary Margaret and her merry band of well-adjusted hangers on had always been up to the challenge.

Con. They weren’t around anymore. And that was entirely Emma’s fault.

Sure, it was a cliche. An American going all the way to Scotland just to sit in a fucking Starbucks. But in Emma’s defense, an epic view of the castle through the picture windows did help. It was the kind of view that was worth supporting a tax-dodging multinational conglomerate for. That and the independent around the corner was full.

She might have preferred to drink her coffee and answer student emails in the comfort of her own office, but being the new kid on the block, she was still stuck sharing with an archaeology professor from Leeds, and he had office hours.

Still, she felt she’d made the best of a bad situation. She had a warm beverage and the best view in the house. Hell, it would have been perfect if it wasn’t for the fact she was pretty certain the guy in the corner was staring at her. Not at his phone, sitting abandoned on the table in front of him. Not the morning edition of The Scotsman clutched in his hands. Not even the million dollar view behind her. Just her.

After ten minutes of it, Emma had had enough, shutting her laptop lid and sliding out from behind her table to confront him.

“Do I know you?” she asked, her words barbed and poised for action.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said, excitedly.

“Who?” Emma asked, wondering if she’d been mistaken for someone important.

“Emma Swan?” he said, pointing down to where his newspaper lay open.

“How the fu-” But Emma never bothered finishing the question.

Because the answer was staring her right in the face, in the guise of a full-page color advertisement.

It was a picture of her. She recognized it immediately as one August had taken last summer, at her farewell party. It was one of those rare photos, that somehow managed to tow the line between candid and flattering, without showing how drunk she’d really been. She liked that picture. She’d made it her fucking Facebook profile picture.

She blinked, but the image didn’t shift. It just sat there, seared onto her retinas, along with the words that had been emblazoned across her face in glaring crimson:

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Oh, fuck.

No one saw it, Emma repeated under her breath, as she navigated the halls, avoiding eye contact. No one saw it. You’re being paranoid. Nobody actually reads the newspaper anymore.

Only, someone had. Or a bunch of 18 year old someones, most likely, because when Emma returned to her creaky old office on the third floor it was to find the Archaeology professor gone, the door jimmied open, and her colleagues gathered in an indiscreet circle in the hallway, sniggering.

She pushed past them, not bothering to offer up any words of apology. They had it coming. Then, steeling herself for a moment, she stepped into the open doorway to survey the devastation.

It was her. Or more accurately, her face. Everywhere. On everything. Someone had gone to the trouble of cutting out five hundred copies of that fucking ad, and plastered it all over every available surface on her half of the room. Her desk. Her filing cabinets. Her bookshelf. Her fucking coat rack. Not even the light fixtures had been spared.

Someone was going to die, and Emma knew exactly who she was going to kill first.

***

“You’re dead to me.”

Emma had always found it helpful to begin with a statement of intent.

“Ohhh, so you saw it then? Do you like it?!” Ruby asked, excitedly.

“What the fuck have you done?!”

The sheer venom of her delivery must have tipped her off to Emma’s general mood, because Ruby’s next words were considerably more measured.

“Surprise?”

“Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

“Helped you? Look, I know it’s a little…”

“INSANE?!”

“I was going to say obvious, but okay.”

“How the hell did you even afford that? A full page is like…” Emma wasn’t exactly up on The Scotsman’s advertising rates, but she was sure it was hardly comparable to the likes of the Storybrooke Mirror.

“Oh, we all chipped in,” Ruby supplied breezily.

“We all? You mean, more people than just you were privy to this insane plan and DIDN’T STOP YOU?!”

“And their advertising guy knocked a bit off the price,” Ruby admitted, ignoring Emma’s last question entirely. “I mean, I know I’m with Victor and everything, but his accent, wow. I have no idea how you stand it every day. I mean, he was only talking about pixels or something and already half wanted to take my clothes-”

Emma ended the call before she had to hear any more.

It didn’t blow over.

By day’s end she was a trending topic on Twitter, her phone blowing up with messages.

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend had gone viral.

Helped along, no doubt, by the social media savvy students who’d defaced her office. Or maybe the ones who interrupted the middle of her afternoon seminar on Jim Crow laws with a riotous rendition of Why Can’t We Be Friends? on motherfucking rollerskates.

Fucking theatre students.

That one had seen her raked over the coals by her head of department, after which followed a terse lecture on professionalism, and setting an example. And she could hardly miss the highlighted relevant sections of the Policy on Employee Use of Social Media tacked to her office door the following morning.

So… her boss thought she was an attention-whore.

To make matters worse, there was website that had been set up to accompany the ad. Emma sat up until 3am watching the hit counter tick over with growing agitation. Nearly a quarter of a million hits. She didn’t even dare to check the inbox of the accompanying email account.

She was officially a national laughing stock.

Perhaps she should just call it. The Scottish Experiment, such as it was, had been a mistake. A cataclysmically huge mistake.

Killian

Somewhere nearby, a child was screaming.

That was the first thing Killian Jones registered upon waking. The second was the low moan of his bedmate, as she burrowed deeper into the cocoon of blankets beside him.

“Make it stop,” came the muffled whine from underneath the duvet, New Zealand accent unmistakable.

The third: he’d slipped up and taken Tink home again.

Bloody hell.

He sat up with a start, the fourth revelation of the morning exploding with sudden painful clarity behind his eyelids. The vodka had been a mistake. A grave, grave mistake.

Careful not to jostle Tink as she lay with a pillow over her head, drowning out the worst of the screams, he searched his floor for his prosthesis. There was no sign, but he did turn up last night’s jeans. They too, were a little worse for wear, a sizable rip in one knee that definitely hadn’t been there before, but he slipped them on anyway, his efforts made clumsy by his lack of prosthetic. His shirt proved somewhat harder to locate, eventually discovered in a suspiciously sticky state on his bathroom floor. He chose to forego the shirt.

“Back in a moment, lass,” he whispered to the form under the covers.

“You need to move out,” was the gruff reply, as she rolled over onto her side.

No arguments there.

Then, with a sigh, Killian unlocked the door and padded out into the hallway, in the direction of the shrieking.

Lachlan, more commonly referred to as Lachie the Devilchild, or the Lachie Ness Monster, was doing what he did best, sitting up is his custom-built racing car bed in a puddle of his own urine, screaming blue bloody murder.

“Hey, hey, lad. It’s alright now,” Killian said, in what might pass for a soothing tone. At the sound of his voice, the caterwauling ceased at once, as the boy turned to look at him with giant blue eyes, thick with tears.

“Uncle Killian,” the boy sobbed, tiny fists clutching at his sodden pyjama pants. “I had an accident.”

Lachie, aged four, was Killian’s least favourite nephew. Some people liked to pretend they loved all their family members equally, but those people had probably not taken night terrors into account. There was plenty of time for the boy to rise in the rankings when he was older.

Killian crouched down low beside the bed, and placed a consolatory hand on the boy’s shoulder. His eyes were watering from the smell, but he forced a smile. “Aye, lad. You did. But it’s alright, happens to the best of us. How about we get you all cleaned up then, and let your parents sleep, eh?”

The boy obediently held his arms out for Killian to lift him out of his plywood prison, but before he could get a hold of him, one of the parents in question rounded the doorway, looking harassed. Liam. All six feet of him, swathed in fetching tartan pyjamas and a sour expression. The state of his flannel shirt, the buttons done up all wrong, hinted at what might have kept him.

He stopped dead when he saw Killian standing there, turning his scowl into a curt, “Morning,” before stepping forward to tend his son.

“Another nightmare?” Liam asked the boy in a softer tone, leaning over to gather him in his arms.

The boy nodded as he clung to his father, stricken. “You were gone, and Mummy was gone, and Callum was gone, and Uncle Killian was gone. You all left me all alone and I couldn’t find-” his little voice cracked, a fresh flood of tears falling from his eyes.

“‘Hey now,” Liam crooned, rubbing soothing circles into the boy’s back. “It’s alright. Daddy’s here now. And no one is ever leaving you alone, got it?”

Lachie didn’t answer, just tightened his grip, as his father lifted him out of bed with an exaggerated groan. “Christ, you’re even heavier than you were yesterday. At this rate, you’ll be fully grown in a couple of weeks.”

The boy lifted his face away from where he was cradled against his father’s chest to fix him with an admonishing look. “Don’ be silly, Daddy,’ he chided, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt. “I’m still a boy!”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked as he set him down, peering down at his youngest son with teasing eyes.

“Yes!” The boy shouted, a playful shove to his father’s shoulder. “Tell him, Uncle Killian!”

Liam turned, as if surprised to see Killian still standing there, hungover and shirtless. “Out gallivanting, again?” The tone was playful, but the look accusatory. But before he could raise a word in his own defence, a second parent crossed the threshold, rendering them all mute.

Elsa had that effect on people. Even sleep rumpled as she was, with purple bags under her eyes and the oversized grey T-shirt she wore as a nightie frayed and stretched to her knees, she was striking. And just like the descendant of lesser Scandinavian royalty she was rumoured to be, she surveyed the scene in front of her with a kind of calm indifference. But as her gaze fell at last on her youngest son the facade cracked somewhat, a tender smile curving her lips.

“Mummy!” Lachie cried.

He made a lunge for her, but Liam scooped him up out of mid air. “Not so fast, little monster. How about we get you into a bath first, eh? Then you can cuddle your Mummy as much as you want.”

The lad kicked up a fuss, but Liam held fast, threats to withhold pancakes whispered into the boy’s ear until he settled quietly in his arms. “Good little monster. Now, bath time!” Liam said, making for the door.

Elsa shot her husband a grateful glance as the two of them made their exit, disappearing down the hall. Only once they were out of earshot did she sag a little, letting her exhaustion show. “Thanks, Killian. Sorry, we were-”

“Lalalalala,” Killian said, his fingers in his ears. “I really don’t require details.”

She smiled at that, going over to strip the bed, her blonde braid spilling over her shoulder. “Just a thank you, then.”

“It’s no bother.”

She shot him a skeptical look.

“Alright, so he’s the child of Satan,” Killian relented with a smile. “But he does have your bone structure, so all hope is not lost. And it’s the least I can do. Since, you know…” He waved his stump awkwardly in the air between them.

“Nonsense,” said Elsa, rising to her full height with a mess of stinking bedsheets clutched in her arms. “You know we love having you here.”

“Even Liam?” Killian asked wryly.

“Yes,” Elsa smiled warmly, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as she passed. “Especially Liam. No matter what he says.”

“He says plenty,” Killian muttered under his breath.

Elsa turned towards him in the doorway with a frown. “It’s hard for him, I think. He’s so used to playing the father, he forgets you don’t need one anymore. But let me worry about that.” There was a sudden flash of mischief in her eyes. “And you can worry about the girl you left in your room.”

So much for stealth.

“Should I set a place for this one?” she asked, slyly. “I’m making chocolate pancakes.”

“Err… she’s gluten intolerant,” Killian mumbled, brushing past her out into the hallway.

“Maybe one day you’ll bring home a girl who you want to have pancakes with your family?” Elsa teased.

Killian gave her a tight smile. “Perhaps.”

Or perhaps pigs might fly.

Barely two weeks into the New Year, and he’d already broken two resolutions. He’d gotten scuttered on a weeknight and he’d fallen into Tinker Bell’s orbit again. In fact, one had begotten the other, like a series of sinister dominoes.

He’d planned on having an early night. Just one beer. Out long enough he wouldn’t be dragged into the entire bath-bed-story rigmarole when he arrived home, but not late enough to fall in with the Antipodean crowd when they shuffled in after 9.

Clearly, there had been a miscalculation somewhere along the way.

One Killian was now atoning for as he walked briskly along Princes Street, that rare Scottish winter sun peeking out from behind the gothic spire of the Scott Monument, every golden gleam of light like a stab wound to the head.

Coffee might save him. Elsa’s pancakes certainly hadn’t done the trick, and nor had Liam’s disapproving glare from the head of the table, the self-righteous bastard. Coffee was his last hope.

Energised by that thought, Killian bound up the stairs to the first floor cafe with the most enthusiasm he’d displayed all morning, nearly crashing headlong into a blonde in a red leather jacket standing at the top of the stairs.

“Apologies, lass,” he said, reaching out to grip the banister with his good hand. “But if you’d be so kind as to move out of the way…”

She turned around slowly, an attractive face twisted into something pissed off and clearly caffeine deprived. “No, because this is where the line ends,” she snapped, clearly at her wit’s end. “And if you think I’m letting you cut ahead of me-” she trailed off, the threat implied. American, he realised after a moment. It certainly explained a lot.

It was only as Killian gave her a brief once-over, that he noticed that he too, was under inspection. Something that might have been cause to smirk, if he hadn’t caught the exact moment she clocked the prosthetic peeking out from under his left sleeve, her eyes growing infinitesimally larger, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“I uh… I…didn’t mean…”

“Nevermind, love,” he said, stuffing the offending limb into the pocket of his jacket. “Been waiting long?”

He craned his neck, surveying the line in front of them as the doors to the cafe swung open, a pair of teenagers emerging clutching steaming to-go cups.

“Fifteen minutes, so far.”

And she was still the last one in line. Damn it.

He consulted his watch. A quarter of an hour until the staff meeting, and he still had to traverse half of Princes Street in that time. He wasn’t going to make it. But before he could throw in the towel, the lass in front of him beat him to it.

“Fuck this!” she declared, hands raising her hands in defeat. “I’m out. Starbucks it is.”

She motioned for him to take her place as she passed him, and he watched her go, half amused, half wishing he could follow her lead. Until he realised his staff meeting wouldn’t keep until after waiting in yet another queue. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned and fled down the stairwell after her, and out onto the street.

The instant at work would have to suffice.

Work was with Saorsa, Scotland’s premier monthly magazine. Though owed by a Swede, edited by an Englishman, and staffed by a random assortment of European nationals as it was, also about as authentically Scottish as the cheap plastic tat they hawked to tourists along the Royal Mile.

Their poky little offices sat on Rutland Square in the West End, the rooms still furnished with the same fussy Victorian wallpaper they’d sported back before they’d been converted into offices. The chandelier from some old dame’s parlour still hung over the conference table around which Killian’s colleagues sat in readiness, as he stepped through the door with his mug of Nescafe.

“Nice of you to join us,” Liam drawled, from where he sat at the head of the table, rolling a stress ball between his fingers.

All those who naturally assumed that working under the direction of one’s immediate family might be some kind of advantage, had clearly never worked under Liam Jones.

Killian settled for raising his mug in his brother’s direction in a mocking salute, before taking his vacant seat.

“Alright,” said Liam at last, setting down the stress ball and rubbing his hands together. “We’ve got a week until we go to print, let me to see where you’re all at. Cindy?”

It was the usual tosh.

Most of Saorsa’s subscribers were pensioners, or expats living abroad. They didn’t want hard hitting current affairs, or in-depth exposés. A monthly magazine was hardly the place anyway, in the age of the 24 hour news cycle. What they really wanted was to read about the Scotland that still lived inside their rose-tinted imaginations. Where the Bay City Rollers were still relevant and the only crime came from the fevered imaginings of best-selling local authors, profiled on page 9.

So if Killian happened to tune out for the majority of a meeting detailing puff pieces on SNP politicians and an exhaustive review of the King’s Theatre Pantomime, it wasn’t due to any particular malice on his part. He was just bored to tears.

But perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised when Liam held him back after the meeting, as if he were some unruly schoolboy.

“You could at least pretend to be interested,” Liam admonished, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “The last thing I need is everyone thinking I’m playing favourites.”

Little chance of that.

“If you have a problem with my copy-” Killian began, but Liam cut him off.

“Your know damn well your copy isn’t the problem, Killian. It’s your attitude! Can you honestly tell me you were fully engaged just now? Giving your colleagues the respect and attention they deserve?”

Knowing he didn’t really expect an answer, Killian settled for a shrug.

“Look, I know you were out last night-”

“Oh, come off it!” Killian cut in. “Don’t give me that sanctimonious bullshit. If I’m any worse for wear this morning, it’s more down to the screechings of your little hellion than any gallivanting I might have done!”

Liam was silent, but Killian still caught it, the sight of that familiar vein throbbing in his brother’s forehead as he swallowed back the words they both knew he truly wished to say.

So why don’t you just leave then?

But that was the thing about having a fuck up, cripple for a brother. You never actually vocalised such thoughts, lest everyone think you’re some kind of monster.

“I’m sorry, I…” Liam began.

“Save it for the motivational memo,” Killian responded drily, rising to his feet. “I’ve still got to hammer down a meeting with Ruth Davidson’s chief of staff. Unless there’s anything else?”

He almost made it outside before Liam spoke again. “Oh! I forgot to mention. I’d like you to start brainstorming ideas for the next Slice of Life. It’s yours now.”

Killian turned abruptly in the doorway.

“The Slice of Life column? You mean the one where they interview postmen and the people who collect the bins? Read exclusively by little old ladies and people lining their litter boxes? I don’t bloody think so! What about Ian?”

Liam frowned. “He retired at Christmas. We had a going away party for him? For chrissakes, Killian, you signed the bloody card!”

Ah. So that’s what that had all been about. Now he thought about it, Ian’s wife was maybe the wrong side of fifty to be welcoming a new baby.

“Of course,” Killian blustered, “Crieff, wasn’t it? To raise alpacas?”

“Kelso,” Liam sighed in a long-suffering way. “And it was llamas.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

Killian only just managed to duck the stress ball aimed at his head. “Get out!” his brother ordered. “And learn how to use Wikipedia!”

The Slice of Life column. Bloody hell. Was there no end to the day’s indignities?

The previous incarnation had simply been an excuse for Ian McKenzie to sit in his local on the magazine’s dime, chatting up barflies under the guise of “celebrating the everyman.” His interviews were usually conducted about four pints in, and it showed, the questions about as shallow as a frying pan.

Favourite films. Secret recipes. Thoughts on Independence. Truly banal details from the most mundane people alive.

If Liam thought Killian was up for continuing this tradition of celebrating mediocrity, then he was sorely mistaken. Killian may have cut a few corners in his time, but a man still had to have his pride.

Only, he had no real idea where to begin.

It was a dilemma he puzzled over during the quieter moments. After the boys had gone to bed, and he stayed up late reading Patrick O’Brian novels. As he chowed down on his midday panini to the soundtrack of Rai Uno at his favourite Italian place on Leith Walk.

He even took to avoiding Liam in case he asked him about it, none too easy a task considering he lived and worked with the man. And the very reason he came to be sitting in the Cambridge Bar Friday evening, downing a few ales with the lads when Will gave a low whistle, holding up his copy of The Scotsman so the rest of them could see.

It was hardly risque. A snapshot of a blonde woman caught in a candid party moment, head thrown back in laughter. Killian had staged enough “candid” shots in his time to know this was the genuine article, but that wasn’t the interesting part. Nor was the fact that she was clearly gorgeous. Rather it was hashtag that had been printed over the photograph, striking in red.

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

“Imagine a girl like, having trouble befriending anyone,” Will snickered. “They’d be lining up around the bloody block.”

Robin and John hummed half-heartedly, eyes already drawn back to the screen in the corner, but Killian was inclined to agree. The lass was rather pretty. And if he wasn’t mistaken, just the tiniest bit familiar.

“Hang on,” he said, pulling the paper towards him. “I think I’ve met her.”

“One of your women?” Robin cajoled. “You have had a thing for the blondes lately.”

“That wasn’t code for I’ve slept with her,” Killian snapped, causing Robin to dive back into his ale, chastened. “I think I’ve actually met her.”

But where? He doubted he’d seen her up at Holyrood, whilst chasing after Ruth Davidson. She didn’t look like a Tory. Then, in a flash of red it came to him. The lass at the coffee shop. The one on the stairs. The American. He knew she’d looked familiar. And judging by this, she was just as entertaining when she wasn’t standing in coffee queues.

Very entertaining, even. Entertaining enough to appeal to little old ladies and the Scottish diaspora, perhaps?

There was only one way to find out. The seed had been planted. All Killian needed to do now was find this Emma Swan.

It took four days of dodging Liam’s calls and haunting every coffee shop in central Edinburgh before he got lucky. But fortunately for Killian, this American’s caffeine addiction had finally overridden her sense of self-preservation.

She’d done her best to fly under the radar, he had to give her that. Squirrelled away in a corner booth as she was, woollen hat pulled down low to cover that trademark blonde hair, thick black frames instead of contacts. He might not have recognised her at all, if it weren’t for the jacket. Red leather, just as he remembered.

“Excuse me, lass. Do you have a moment?”

She didn’t look too happy when she noticed him standing there. That too, was familiar. She was a bit of a spitfire by his recollection, and he was keen not to set her off too soon.

“I’m sorry,” he said, laying on the graciousness. “We met the other day. Do you remember? On the stairs?”

He let his left sleeve fall a little, and the moment she caught sight of the prosthetic he knew she did. Only of course, it wasn’t going to be quite that easy.

“So?” she replied shortly, eyes wandering back down to the tablet resting on the tabletop.

“I’m afraid I never got a chance to introduce myself. My name’s Killian. Killian Jones.”

“I really didn’t ask, Killian Jones,” she said, her tone deceptively sweet, even as she kept her gaze fixed on the tablet.

“I’m aware of that, lass. But I thought it might be best to even the playing field a little, seeing as I know your name.”

That got her attention, her eyes snapping up to meet his. “Listen, buddy,” she said, voice low and vicious. “If you’re here to make fun of me, or to hit me with some really bad pick-up line you’ve been saving, I’d really rather you just left.”

“Been a rough couple of days, I take it?”

She shot him a long-suffering look. “You have no idea.”

He was beginning to think he might.

“Alas, I’m not here to make fun. Or to make any overtures, though you are lovely. I am however, a member of the fourth estate…”

“And that’s my cue,” Emma declared, rising from her seat, and cutting short his prepared monologue. Instead she packed away her tablet and reached across to drain the last of her cup. “Have a nice life, Killian Jones,” she said, patting him on the shoulder as she passed. “Follow me outside and you lose the other hand.”

Some people might have taken Emma’s reticence as off-putting, but Killian loved a challenge. Certainly, the threat of bodily harm had been a bit disquieting, but the lass was unlikely to follow through. Not before he laid out his pitch, anyway. And if she still wanted nothing to do with him after? Well, then he would jump off that bridge when he came to it.

She wasn’t hard to find. Even though her social media had been carefully scrubbed of all incriminating details, such as place of work or contact details, a simple Google search turned up her name as the author of a number of scholarly articles under the broader scope of American History.

So Emma Swan possessed both brains and beauty. And what looked to be an unhealthy fixation with the life and times of John Jay, if he wasn’t mistaken.

A short trawl through the staff directory of the University of Edinburgh turned up not only Emma’s job description: Lecturer in American History, but also the location of her office, a contact email, and when she might be available for office hours. It was almost too easy.

He saw the moment she spotted him, leaning on the wall outside her office door as she arrived for the day, arms laden with reference books. He also caught the momentary flicker of panic, as she internally debated making a run for it. But it was just that, a flicker, before she sighed and kept walking.

“Killian Jones,” she said flatly, balancing the books on her hip against the wall as she wrestled her keys from her jeans pocket.

“Emma Swan,” he smiled. “How nice of you to remember me. I brought coffee.”

She glanced down at the cup he was holding with wary eyes. “Are you a stalker?” she asked, pressing her key into the lock, and shoving the door open with her boot.

“No, I’m a journalist.”

She snorted, placing her armful of books down on the nearest flat surface before turning back to him. “The difference being?”

Killian smirked. “I write about it after.”

“Coffee?” he asked, holding out the cup for her to take.

For a moment she looked tempted, but her hand quickly fell back down to her side, fists clenched. “I don’t accept drinks from strange men.”

“Not even with cinnamon?” he asked, wiggling the cup a little in the air between them.

Emma’s mouth opened, then closed. Then she reconsidered. “Do I want to know how you know that?”

“The barista. The one with the manbun? I showed him your picture and he remembered your order.” He leaned over to set the cup down on her stack of books, in order to rifle through his jacket pocket. “This picture, in fact,” he said, pulling out a copy of the advertisement that had started it all.

At the very sight of it, Emma seemed to shrink inwards, glancing left and right down the hallway for witnesses. Seeing none, she seized Killian by the wrist and pulled him over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind them.

“I…” he began, but she didn’t let him finish, taking the cutting from him and screwing it up in her hands.

“What do you want?”

He grasped around for the right answer. “I… want to help.”

“Help?” Emma gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah, sure. You just want to exploit one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. And let me tell you, that’s saying something.”

“I take it the ad wasn’t your idea, then?”

Another bark of harsh laughter. “Not so much. My friends back home. They mean well, but they’re…” By the way her words trailed off into a frustrated groan, he believed he got the idea.

“Where’s home?” he asked.

Which was apparently one innocent query too far, because Emma Swan’s eyes narrowed, arms coming up to cross over her chest. “Oh, you’re good, Killian Jones. But I am not for consumption. So if you think you’re getting some story out of this…”

“Alright,” said Killian, switching tack. “So you resent the whole ordeal. By that reaction in the hallway just now, I’m going to go out on a limb and say perhaps the whole thing caused some trouble here at work?”

Another snort, which clearly meant, yes.

And then he spotted it, out of the corner of his eye. It looked like… a face. Emma’s face. Or a facsimile of it, looking down at him where it hung suspended from the ceiling. “Is that?”

Emma sighed. “A prank. Couple of students broke in and covered the place. Or, my half, at least,” she said, indicating the sparser left hand side of the room. “Not quite as bad as the rollerskating flashmob to Why Can’t We Be Friends? that burst into the middle of my afternoon seminar…”

Killian hadn’t meant to laugh. He really, really tried not to. But honestly? Roller skates and a War anthem? The youth of today were ingenious.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said, wiping away the tears that had gathered in his eyes. By her expression, he could tell she was long past looking at the funny side. And he felt compelled to make it up to her. “Here,” he offered, dragging over a chair so that he could fetch down the one thing in the room that was more offensive than himself. It didn’t come unstuck easily, a slice of white paint chipping off with the tape, but the ceiling was, at least, clear. He placed the square of paper into her hand.

For a moment, she just let it sit there. And then she closed her fist around it, pressing it into a ball.

“I can help you control the narrative,” Killian offered, deciding he might as well start his pitch before she threw him out.

“Is that right?” Emma asked with more than a little sarcasm, throwing the paper into the bin by her desk.

“You want people to know you’re not the one behind #FindEmmaSwanAFriend? That you aren’t just another bloodsucking American out for her 15 minutes of fame? I can help with that. And I could, perhaps, help with the… other thing.”

“Other thing?”

“Friends, Emma. This whole nightmare scenario came about because you’ve found it difficult fitting in here, correct? I can help with that. Help you sort the responses you’ve gained from your website. Or perhaps, offer suggestions as to other methods you might try…”

To give credit where credit was due, she twigged immediately. “So you can write about, right?”

“Aye,” Killian admitted, wryly. “That is… the general idea.”

“No.”

“You don’t think think it’s a tale worth telling? How many others are out there right now, otherwise successful adults, struggling to find their niche? It will resonate with people. Why else do you think the campaign was so successful?”

“No.”

All in all, not quite the response he’d been hoping for. Time to bring out the big guns.

“I’ll pay you!” he blurted out, wincing at how desperate he sounded.

But rather than dismissing him out of hand, as he expected, the lass instead looked thoughtful. “How much?”

And therein lay the problem. Saorsa was not exactly flush with cash these days. Magazines all over were folding, and they’d mostly weathered the storm by launching online and letting Scottish expats drive their subscription base. But there was no expense account to speak of. So whatever he offered would be coming directly out of his own meagre salary. A good thing Elsa had refused to accept any rent money from him, he supposed.

But what to do? To go low, and hope for the best? Or to go high, and just accept the financial hardship?.

“£100 a month,” he said at last. “For a year.”

“Yeah, that’s really not going to cover a year’s worth of public humiliation, friend. Not even close.”

Which was fair enough. But it was all he had to offer.

“And if I told you the magazine I write for, Saorsa, mostly caters to the elderly and expats? No one under 60 would dare admit to reading it. And I somehow don’t think it’s the opinions of Scotland’s retirement community that has you most concerned. Or am I wrong?”

“You could just be saying that…” Emma reasoned.

“I could, but I’m not. Trust me, it’s not the most glamorous place to work. But if you did this for me, it would go a long way towards getting my brother off my back.”

“Your brother?”

“My editor,” Killian clarified.

“Your editor is your brother?” Emma exclaimed. “Holy nepotism, Batman!”

He gave her a wry smile, holding up his prosthetic. “I prefer to think of it as affirmative action. It’s awfully hard to pull a pint one handed.”

“Please don’t make me into that dick that says no to the one-handed guy,” Emma pleaded.

“You could always not say no?” he posited, laying on the puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t like it…” Emma began.

“Think of the money,” Killian encouraged. “Think of the healthy social life you’ve have. Think of how I will take care of everything.”

She still looked doubtful. Perhaps he’d come on too strong.

“Fine!” she snapped, finally snatching up the coffee cup he’d brought and bringing it to her lips. “I’ll do it. But I swear, if this thing gets out of hand? I’m out. I am not signing on for a public crucifixion!”

“No crucifixions. Roger.”

“And umm… out of interest, could I get that £100 in pound coins?”

#findemmaswanafriend #cs au #cs ff #cs ff au

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