#future husband locked on target!

[cosmicrain-draws]

He waved that pink-haired fool to come inside. Or was Scarab the fool?

[mydear-corinthian]

Protection || Thomas Shelby x reader

Synopsis: You were protecting your son, Charlie when Billy Kimber's men ambushed your shared home. Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort, reader gets injured, gun violence, mentions of blood, swearing, Grace's being mentioned once - s2 spoiler Notes: Not proofread, grammatical errors, GIF is mine Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

As another regular evening took place, a sense of peace descended over Thomas Shelby and his wife's shared home. While Tommy was busy with his business and papers, you found yourself wandering the enormous area of the estate with your young son, Charlie.

Marriage with Tommy wasn't for the faint of heart. You were highly aware of the ongoing danger that accompanied his lifestyle, the circulating threats and enemies that followed your husband's every step. Despite the obvious risks your love for him remained strong. You treasured him not as an infamous gangster, but as the man who made you feel valued, protected, and appreciated.

There was nothing but silence in the huge home; you could hear the clock ticking and the curtains flapping as the breeze shook the cloth. It was a Saturday night, so the maids weren't working, leaving you and Charlie alone. Charlie's eyelids were going drowsy as you cuddled him, softly caressing his back and humming his favorite lullaby. Looking at the clock, you realized how late it was, and Tommy hadn't returned home yet.

You heard the main entrance door open with a loud bang. Although it seemed strange, you assumed Tommy was just returning from a stressful day at work. Charlie woke up from his sleep and let out a loud cry when you heard gunfires as you were ready to leave your shared room. You were so terrified that you thought your legs were paralyzed. Without wasting any time, you grabbed Charlie and put his little body against your shoulder, giving him a tight hug.

With Charlie in one hand, you dashed to the door, locked it almost instantly, and took out the Enfield No. 2 six-bullet handgun that your husband had given you as a birthday present from the nightstand's drawer. You grab the gun and duck into the shared bedroom's bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

The room was filled with the sound of the little Shelby's piercing cries, which seemed to come from every corner. You tried so hard to soothe him, cooing softly, but all it did was make his cries louder and more echoing through the walls. As you tried to calm him, your hands trembled with fear and your fingers stuttering, a sign of your growing terror running down your face. You felt powerless in the face of Charlie's constant tears, and you started to search for a way out of the mess.

You started nervously to pray while holding a child in your arms. Tears were beginning to fall from your eyes and the prayers were mumbling on your lips.

Charlie and you were found by whoever was in your shared room as you heard the door slam. Breathless, you lowered your son onto the empty, shallow bath tub behind you and spoke to him to stop crying. and that you will return quickly. When the toilet door opened, two armed men in a hideous black suit and a top hat appeared; they were Billy Kimber workers.

One of the armed men circled around you and exclaimed, "Aye look, it's Mrs. Shelby," as you aimed your handgun at him, your hands shaking with terror. You've never been skilled with a gun. Tommy giving you a gun like that surprised you. He would not stop stating, "You'll use that in the future."

and perhaps the future was today.

"Suprised a Shelby doesn't know how to use a gun. How about we gift Thomas Shelby the lifeless body of his dear wife?" the man laughed. You raised the gun without thinking, your hand steady from the rush of adrenaline pumping through you, and took aim at the man's skull. The bullet cracked sharply and shot out of the barrel, piercing the air and hitting its target with terrifying accuracy. With a bleak proof to your determination, fortune smiled on you as the bullet hit accurate, plunging into the man's forehead with fatal force and instantly taking his life.

Attempting to fire another shot to the other man, you missed.

Suddenly, you heard a bang go off but paid no mind. Attempting to shoot again, you finally succeded; three bullets all over the now lifeless man's torso. The sight of the lifeless bodies made you feel sick but you chose to ignore it as you dropped your used gun to go and grab Charlie and ask for help. You grabbed your son right away, immediately hugging him and kissed his little forehead.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice calling out your name; Tommy.

His voice reaching out for you made you sigh with relief. Your husband ran toward you as your legs found their way to the stairs to return to him. You embraced him, resting your head on his chest and taking in his manly scent as you exhaled. "Oh god, Tommy.."

She took Charlie out of your arms and gave you a minute to rest in Tommy's calming presence in Polly's comforting presence. Tommy's hand gently cradled the back of your head as you leaned into him, seeking solace from the chaos of the moment in his gentle, comforting touch. His voice, a comforting whisper that passed through the chaos, whispered, "You're safe now, love."

He felt a warm wetness on his dark blue vest, making him break the hug to see what it was.

Tommy's eyes widened in fear at what he saw, and he let out a gasp. Once an image of elegance, your immaculate white evening gown now had a scarlet stain of blood creeping across it, the color standing out against the fabric. The room seemed to spin in a dizzying twister, threatening to paralyze you as the color faded from your face, your face was pale and your vision seemed to spin like a twister.

"Did you get shot?" he worriedly asked. Confused by his question, you looked down at your stomach, seeing the color red slowly colonizing your white evening gown.

"I - I um.. Tommy, I feel dizzy.." your fragile legs gave up, his strong arms catched you almost immediately.

Your eyes were starting to drop, your body was slowly getting cold, your muscles giving up.

"T - Tommy, why is so cold..?"

Fuck, he mentally cursed at the sight that met his eyes. It was as if God had judged him once more. Grace - this seemed so familiar. His fingers were shaking with fear and worry, his eyes were beginning to water, and his heart had stopped.

"We need a medic!" Polly shouted.

He tries to calm himself down by caressing the strands of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. "Please, stay." he begged.

His frustration was boiling over and his impatience was burning in the way he spoke. He gave orders for the medics with a strong edge to his voice, desperation and anger infusing each word as he demanded their immediate presence.

"Tommy.." you softly called his name before darkness took you.

Your stomach hurt and your brain throbbed when you woke up. Beside you, you noticed your husband uncomfortably sleeping on the wooden chair. You noticed that the ash tray on the table stand next to you was filled with used cigarettes, indicating that you had been out for a while. You were trying to sit up and Tommy woke up to the sound of your pained moans. His bright blue eyes met yours. Eyebags developed under his eyes as a result of struggling to sleep due to the chance that you wouldn't wake up anymore.

"Easy, love." he said.

In an attempt to prevent him from harming you, he cradled your back so you could lie down peacefully once more—as though you were a piece of glass that would shatter the moment it was touched.

He deeply blames himself for what happened to you. If only he was there that night. If only he went home early, you and Charlie wouldn't be in this situation.

"Where's Charlie?" you asked right away, your eyes looking everywhere in the room to see if your child was there or not.

"He's with Aunt Pol, (y/n). He's safe with her, don't worry."

With both of his hands clasped around yours, he sobbed out loud in front of you, unable to stop himself from crying. He felt responsible, guilty, and like a terrible partner for failing to give you protection.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry.." he cried as he apologized, kissing your hands.

You smiled softly as you placed your right hand on his face for him to look at you.

"It's not your fault, Tommy. The good thing is that me and Charlie are safe." reassuring, you gave him a weak smile.

"I thought I lost you." he exhaled in exhaustion, standing up as he kissed your head.

"I would never leave you, Tommy."

"Please don't."

[erosia-rhodes]

Speculation on Mizu’s heritage

Blue Eye Samurai on Netflix is one of the best things I’ve seen all year. As I’ve been rewatching it, I couldn’t help but speculate on Mizu’s heritage, and I wanted to share my theory so we can all laugh at how wrong I was in a few years. (I am notoriously bad at guessing plot twists. I was totally wrong about how Wandavision and Loki season 1 would end.)

Spoilers and speculation behind the jump.

Short version: Mizu’s mother was a white woman and her father was the Shogun. The Shogun’s wife, Lady Itoh, put the bounty on Mizu’s life because she was proof that the Shogun broke his own laws.

Who Would Want to Kill a Baby?

We know that there has been a bounty on Mizu’s head since she was a baby. There are only three reasons I can think of for putting a hit out on a child who’s just been born and couldn’t have personally wronged anyone yet:

1) To deny them an inheritance.

2) To eliminate proof of an affair.

3) To eliminate proof of a crime.

The woman that claims to be Mizu’s mother is Japanese, so Mizu assumes her father must be white. But once Fowler reveals that Mizu’s “mother” was actually her maid, it opens up the possibility that Mizu’s mother was white and her father was Japanese.

We know that someone is willing to a pay a lot of money to kill Mizu, but the maid also ran off with enough money to take care of Mizu for several years, so at least one person in this mess is wealthy. We also know that someone still wants Mizu dead when she's an adult because men come to kill her when her husband rats her out, so she’s still a threat to someone else’s interests at that time.

If the Shogun slept with a white woman and fathered a mix-raced child as a result, that would fulfill all three reasons to put a bounty on a baby. Killing her would remove any chance that a bastard might try to blackmail her way into an inheritance, it would remove proof that the Shogun had an affair, and most importantly, it would destroy evidence that he violated his own laws against Western influence by sleeping with a white woman.

But the True Culprit is…

But I don’t think the Shogun put the bounty on Mizu’s life. I think it was the Shogun’s wife, Lady Itoh, for several reasons:

1) Lady Itoh is willing to kill people who learn that her husband broke his own laws.

When the nobles are trying to escape the fire in the finale, Lady Itoh makes her sons lock the door behind them and sentence the other Lords to death because they witnessed the Shogun’s shame, the revelation that he broke his own laws by dealing with Fowler, a white man. She’s demonstrated that she’s willing to kill people to destroy proof of her husband’s violations, so she’d do the same to a mixed-race baby he fathered. It would also explain why Mizu’s maid never claimed the bounty herself; she would have been targeted for death too because she knew about the Shogun’s crime. She probably took whatever money was in the house when the killers came for Mizu, and went on the run as much to save her own life as Mizu's.

2) The woman’s a sadist.

Lady Itoh does everything she can to make Akemi’s life hell once she marries into the family. She saddles her with bitchy attendants and serves her disgusting food at the banquet, and finishes it off with the cooked remains of the bird Akemi tried to free. Then she sends her two more birds the next day, claiming they’re breakfast and lunch. I have no trouble believing this woman would put a hit on a baby!

3) She’s a hardliner against Western influence

After the fire, Lady Itoh orders her sons to destroy 2000 guns which they could have used in the future against their enemies because she’d so fiercely against Western influence. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who came up with the law banning white people and talked her husband into enacting it. That would explain why the Shogun was willing to violate the law, because he didn’t completely believe in it and only enacted it to get his wife off his back.

It Fits a Common Theme of Revenge Stories

Another reason I think Lady Itoh is the ultimate villain is because it fits the common theme that revenge is futile. Revenge usually destroys the person seeking it just as much as anyone they go after. There is a famous quote from Confucius that says, "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves." The implication is that the second one is for yourself.

If it turns out that Mizu has been going after the only four men in the country who couldn’t be her father, it would demonstrate how misguided revenge quests are. She’s spent her whole life pouring hatred into the wrong mission.

It would also be a painful twist to know that Mizu was in the same room with Lady Itoh in the finale, but she was focused on killing Fowler instead of realizing that her true enemy was fleeing out the back door with everyone else.

How It Will All Sort Out

I predict that Mizu will eventually learn the truth about her parentage and ultimately target Lady Itoh for death, not just for revenge, but so she can permanently remove the bounty on her head and live her life freely as a woman.

Akemi might end up assisting Mizu since Lady Itoh is also her enemy. Akemi will probably spend season two battling Lady Itoh for control of the household, and thus the country. If Akemi can put her husband in place as the Shogun, she could remove the bounty on Mizu's head.

If Taigan ends up working as a castle guard, this might put him in conflict with Mizu and Akemi if they target Lady Itoh since he would be honor bound to protect her.

It will be interesting to see how it all sorts out!

ETA: I misspelled Lady Itoh's name, sorry! (According to the subtitles it's Itoh, not Ito) I think I fixed every instance.

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[kitchenlittle]

I want to make a little PSA and warning about future content being posted to my page very soon. I will not stand for the slander of writers who choose to write about Miles Morales due to popularity of the movies. Let me make something clear since it seems there are many fake Marvel Fans out there who know nothing about the universes. THERE ARE UNIVERSES WHERE MILES IS ALREADY AN ADULT.

Earth-8 comes to mind where Miles is LITTERALY a full grown MAN MARRIED TO GWEN STACY and they have 2 CHILDREN TOGETHER. Their names are Charlotte and Max Morales. LOOK IT UP IF YOU DONT BELIEVE.

Every universe has a differing age/look from the Miles Morales we see in the movies and know why? BECAUSE THERE IS DARN NEAR THOUSAND IF NOT INFINITE universes of Miles. SO YES. There is a universe with events just like the movie with slight differences and Miles over the age of 18. So litteraly any story about about Miles would litteraly be cannon in someway!

Just like how we can have a Adult Peter Parkers like in the movie exist at the same time as underage Peter Parkers like Tom Holland's. Or should I say," -Dr. Strange and the little nerd on Earth 199999 (AKA Tom Holland)"~Miguel O'hara. And if you were paying attention to the movies you'd know that Miles cannonly exist in live-action human form. Uncle Aaron played by musician and actor childish gamebino mentions he has a nephew who wants to protect to Spiderman. You see that same prowler Childish Gambino Uncle Aaron captured in the new movie. He was captured by Hobie Brown and locked uo as anamoly needing to be sent back to his universe. Meaning that Adult Miles can exist at the same time as kid Miles!

NOT ONLY THAT. But here is some hyprocracy I have found. THE ANIME FANDOM. The most popular characters in the anime are 15- 16. FROM Deku and Bakugou FROM MY HERO, to Luffy FROM ONEPEICE, to Sukuna/Yuji from JUJITSU KAISEN and many many more. Most main characters are highschool age. HOW IS IT? That they can age up charecter that alot of times we will never see 18 or older and write a fanfic sometimes while the charecter in the story is still 15-16 and get a away with it. But Miles Morales authors go out their way to age him up before they even write it and litteraly aren't wrong since their are universe where he is older, are weirdos and pe***. I don't see some anime writers doing that? Make it make sense?

I PERSONALLY DONT EVEN WRITE FOR FOR CHARECTERS THAT DONT HAVE A CANON ADULT VERSION OF THEM AVAILABLE FROM THE OG CREATORS IN MEDIA. Guess who fits the criteria? MILES MORALES.

A message for my unsure authors out there.

~So for all my writers not their scared to post their fics. Label it Earth-8 Miles who is a father and husband to Gwen and say it's a headcannon of what ps happend he's 18-25 before he got married if you feel that weird about it.

Some of ya'll are fake fans who completely missed the point of the movie and it's implications. Don't come in my DMs telling me to take anything down because I'm not. You will be blocked and locked out of interacting with my page. And if you feel uncomfortable block me. Just know if you block you will be missing out of 50+ fics I've been working on 18+ characters for about a year now and will be posting starting in July. It's littersly an event I've been working on called the 'Lemon Fest', since it's my birthday month.

Once again every charcter I write about had a cannon adult version of them made by the creators or is already an adult. I was going to keep this a secret by I've gotta protect my fellow authors especially if they are being wrongly targeted. Wanna get mad? Wanna get angry at some authors? Get mad at the ones the ones that write about you favorite anime charecters that are likely 15-16 then ask them to delete it...oh wait...you won't.. because if done that would litteraly be deleting 3/4 of the fanfiction written on this site.

[flowerandblood]

The Vanity and Variability (6) (End)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, virginity lost, fingering, kissing, smut ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After Mr Targaryen proposed to her, after she had rejected him, after he had gone to London to attend his father's funeral she cried all night thinking only of him, suffering more than she had ever in her life.

She craved his affect, she craved his affection, but she didn't want an engagement out of pity, out of guilt that he had to make amends to her for contributing to her infamy, which only the two of them knew.

She didn't want him to have the conviction that he now owed her something, that she expected him to take responsibility for her actions. She didn't want to be his burden for the rest of his life, his forced choice that he would be ashamed of deep down years later.

However, it pained her that he had left without saying goodbye, she was sure that he was angry with her and hated her, that she would never see him again, and even if she did, his attention would already be focused solely on her other sisters.

That he would no longer try to fight for her favour, rejected and humiliated.

To her shame, she noticed that at the thought of him, of that night, she felt again between her thighs this awful feeling from which it had all started.

She felt helpless as it haunted her and kept her awake until she sank her hand there, mimicking the gestures of his fingers, bringing herself to fulfilment thinking of his wet kisses on her neck, of him touching her there.

She experienced sudden, wonderful pleasure, moaning into her pillow, and then, as she calmed down, tears of shame ran down her cheeks again.

She felt dirty and sinful.

Her only consolation was Vhagar, whom he had not been able to take with him on such a swift and sudden journey, and who now never left her side, accompanying her on all her walks, sleeping with her in her bed, wailing sometimes and whimpering in her sleep, evidently longing for her master, feeling as abandoned as she did.

She was not comforted by the fact that Colonel Strong, on hearing that Mr Targaryen had left for London, began to visit them, pretending that he wished to establish a closer relationship with her brother and father.

Royce, warned by Mr Targaryen of his disturbing personality behaviour, tried to keep his distance and stay within the bounds of common courtesy, however she knew that she was the target of his visits.

Seeing him coming along the dirt road she would lock herself in her room and not come out, not having the strength to look at him or talk to him.

Eventually, however, she would feel hungry or thirsty and have to go downstairs, at which point he would immediately go on the attack, showering her with pleasantries and questions she didn't know what to do with.

She had the feeling that the more she tried to move away from him, the more excited he became, treating her like a challenge.

One day, however, he took her completely by surprise by asking her to speak to him in private. She said, looking at her brother in horror, that there was nothing she couldn't talk about in front of him, but he insisted that this delicate matter required them to talk just the two of them.

Never before in her life had she been so terrified.

They went out in front of their household, walking with a slow, unhurried step, she tried to keep a safe distance and did not look at him, glancing around, feeling her throat dry up with stress.

"You are surely aware, Miss Baratheon, that you have long been the source of my deep affectation and have aroused my great interest." He began in a soft, gentle tone, but in which there was a note of undercurrent from which she felt discomfort, there was something in his gaze that made her unable to look him in the face.

"I sincerely hope that I also aroused similar feelings in you. I have spoken to your father and he said that the decision is yours, so it is with humility and hope that I ask you to consider my proposal and agree to become my wife." He said this as calmly as if he was sure she would agree, that such a proposal was a dream for her.

All she could think about, however, was that while he had seen fit to ask her father's opinion first, Mr Targaryen had seen fit to hear her opinion on the matter beforehand.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the mention of him, looking at him thoughtfully, answering nothing. Colonel Strong grunted loudly as he walked beside her, bewildered by her silence.

"Did my proposal embarrass you that much?" He asked with amusement; she saw his lips lift in a smile. She stopped abruptly, looking at him roughly, her face expressing impatient indifference.

"Forgive me, sir, but I will not marry you. You would not be able to make me happy, and certainly I am the last person who would be able to please you." She said so confidently and directly that she herself felt astonished, her heart pounding like mad. Colonel Strong smiled and laughed nervously, as if he wanted to turn her words into a joke.

"How do you know what would make you happy and what wouldn't? Have you looked into what gives you fulfillment with Mr Targaryen already?" He asked lightly, but there was a note of accusation and threat in his voice, from which she furrowed her brow in rage, breathing loudly through her nose, her whole figure tensed.

"You are insolent. Ever since I met you at the ball you have been nagging me and making me uncomfortable. I have tried to be gentle and respectfully let you know that I am not interested in you, but since I can see that it is not working, I will be clearer. Please don't get your hopes high, sir." She articulated the last sentence out loud and turned back towards her house, outraged.

How dare he speak to her like that?

As soon as she stepped inside she pulled off her coat and ran up the stairs, running away from Royce who called after her to wait, laughing loudly and mocking her. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock, he pounded on it with his fists asking loudly if she said yes.

"No. Go away." She called out loudly and sighed heavily, irritated, throwing herself down on her bed deciding that two proposals of engagement in a week were too much for her nerves.

She hoped her words had been blunt enough and that this disgusting man would leave her alone.

What was her surprise when, at dinner the next day, she found him at her table, sitting next to Floris. Her father nodded at her, indicating for her to quickly take her seat.

"My dear, you need not be ashamed. Your sister announced to us today that she has accepted the Colonel's proposal." He said lowly with some kind of pride, and Floris squealed, practically jumping up and down in her seat with happiness, squeezing the hand of Colonel Strong, who wasn't looking at his fiancée, however, but at her with some kind of pride and contrariness.

She felt like laughing at the thought that he thought he might have aroused her jealousy.

Some part of her felt sorry for her sister's rash decision, but then she decided that perhaps similar people were attracted to each other.

For the next few days, all Floris did was talk about what a wonderful fiancé Colonel Strong was, sending her gifts and letters that she read aloud to them, wanting to frustrate her and Cassandra. And while Cassandra was genuinely concerned that she was still a maiden when her younger sister was to be married, the only thing she was concerned about deep down was not Floris, but the fact that Mr Targaryen had not written her a single letter since he had been in London.

She knew he had no reason to do so, but she was worried about him, at the same time ashamed to write to him herself after she had refused him.

She felt she had no right to bother him again.

During one of the breakfasts when Floris was just talking about the ring she had received from her fiancé they heard someone suddenly enter their house, loud, quick footsteps echoing down the hallway, and then Mr Targaryen appeared in the passage, looking at her wide-eyed, breathing heavily, raspy and sweaty after his journey, his hair dishevelled and in disarray, partly out of its black ribbon.

Everyone rose from the table on seeing him, but she felt her heart squeeze at the fact that he didn't speak, just looking at her, piercing her deeply, she felt herself turning red all over, it was clear to see how much she longed to see him again.

Her heart was pounding like crazy with happiness that he was back.

Her father grunted loudly, trying to break the awkward silence by asking him about the funeral and offering his condolences again. He replied something perfunctory, as if he couldn't focus on what her father was saying without taking his eyes off her, licking his lower lip in a quick, nervous gesture.

"− it has come to my knowledge that one of your daughters will be getting married soon −" He said forcing himself to be calm, and she felt a tightening in her throat, understanding why this sudden visit, why this rush, this look, this terror in his eye.

He thought she had said yes.

She felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought that he still wanted her.

Floris jumped up in her seat at his words, showing him her ring, talking quickly about how happy she was that her foolish sister had refused him, not even understanding how lucky she was to have as her fiancé a gentleman who lavished his beloved with so many gifts.

His shocked gaze returned to her, his eyebrows arched as if in pain and relief at the same time, he swallowed loudly, looking at her with affection, and she felt tears under her eyelids, wanting to run up to him, to hug him, to kiss him, to mutter how much she missed him, how much she wanted him to love her, to still want her.

He sat down to breakfast with them at her father's request and they all continued eating, but she was no longer able to swallow anything. Every time they cast longing glances at each other over the table, breathing hard, she had the feeling she was going to explode with excitement and joy.

He was back.

She smiled under her breath at the thought.

He had blocked her path immediately after breakfast by informing her that he wished to speak to her in private, and she nodded quickly, dreaming of nothing else. She dressed her coat quickly and joined him in the park behind their property.

She saw him looking at her from afar, standing in his long black coat, his hair piled back, tied with a black ribbon.

"I have not had the opportunity to offer you my heartfelt condolences. I am so sorry." She said softly what she had wanted to say to him for weeks, looking at him expectantly, feeling like her whole body was on fire, for some reason she found it difficult to breathe.

Mr Targaryen hummed under his breath and nodded, swallowing hard.

"Thank you, Miss Baratheon."

A momentary awkward silence fell between them, looking at each other as if they were about to cry. She saw him press his lips together, measuring what he wanted to say.

"As I understand it, you have rejected Colonel Strong's engagement." He said uncertainly, cautiously, as if he wanted to be absolutely certain that she in no way desired Colonel Strong's affections. She lowered her gaze in embarrassment, sighing heavily.

"Yes. It was probably the most miserable engagement I could have imagined." She mumbled, trying not to laugh out of embarrassment, her lips involuntarily curving in amusement as she glanced at him again, thinking only of how much joy she felt at having him standing in front of her again. She saw his lips twitch in the mischievous grin she knew so well.

"Worse than mine?"

She giggled at his words, thinking fondly of the fact that he had joked about it himself, that he wasn't angry with her, that they were still close, that they still trusted and respected each other.

"Please, sir, don't be hard on yourself. I didn't behave properly then either." She said softly, playing with her fingers, well aware that the fault lay with her as well, that she had not explained her concerns to him or how she actually felt about him.

She heard him grunt quietly, looking away, apparently wanting to change the subject.

"My father, in his will, deprived me of almost all my property, leaving me only a small country manor in Dermore. I wish to sell it and with those funds buy or rent an estate in this neighbourhood." He said calmly, and she looked at him completely shocked, feeling her own heart pounding fast.

"You're not staying in London?" She asked in disbelief, feeling hot in her chest at the thought that he would be close, that they could see each other, go for walks together.

"There's nothing waiting for me there. There's nothing there that I want. What would make me happy." He said with a slight smile, and she closed her mouth quickly, feeling heat on her cheeks, wondering if he was really implying what she was thinking.

He looked at her suddenly in a way from which she swallowed loudly, his lips parted in thought, as if he still wanted to add something.

"I hope that this property will soon be filled with the laughter of our children."

She felt his words in her mind, in her heart and between her thighs, tears of disbelief and happiness gathered under her eyelids at the thought that he still wanted her, that he still desired her, that he still wished her to be his wife.

She felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest, she felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

She watched with eyes wide open, shining with happiness as he came closer and closer to her, as he grasped her hot, tear-wet cheeks in his hands, as he leaned over her so that their foreheads touched.

"My sweet friend." He whispered so tenderly, so warmly, that she just smiled, feeling like she was about to melt, her whole body trembling with emotion, her legs limp and soft at the thought that he really saw her like this.

That she wasn't just an asset he could get, a woman who could meet his needs as a man, but she was his friend.

A confidant, a companion, a protector.

She didn't even know when his face leaned lower and their lips found each other in a soft, warm, sticky kiss, so wonderfully innocent and filled with affection, longing, disbelief, joy.

"Yes." She whispered and felt him smile, in response kissing her deeper, bolder, more intensely, she raised her hands and dared to touch his cheeks, his neck, feeling at last that this was right, longed for, waited for.

She pulled away from him, feeling that if they didn't stop soon she would probably pass out from the excitement and happiness, hugging his chest, seeking refuge in his arms, which immediately embraced her tightly, his lips pressed against the top of her head.

"I need to speak to your father."

She stood outside her father's cabinet, feeling both joy and terror at the same time, hearing their muffled voices, but having no idea how the conversation had gone. She remembered what her father had said to her before Mr Targaryen had come to them, and she feared he would be harsh and unpleasant towards him.

After a moment, she heard a commotion, the door opened and Mr Targaryen came out, looking at her pale, saying that her father wanted to see her. She swallowed loudly, stepping quickly inside, closing the door behind her.

Her father looked at her intently from under his bushy, dark eyebrows tapping his quill on his desk, thoughtful. He waved his hand at her, indicating for her to come closer to him.

"Come closer, child. I'm internally torn, and I need to hear your opinion on the matter." He said lowly, scratching his chin. She sat down in front of him feeling her hands tremble and swallowed quietly, looking up at him with big eyes.

"Mr Targaryen has told me that you have supposedly agreed to accept his proposal, however I find that hard to believe. Is it true?" He asked with an air of irritation, as if it was obvious to him that his daughter would answer him that she had not agreed to anything of the sort. She smiled slightly, however, embarrassed at how comfortable she felt with the thought.

"He asked me to marry him twice. The first time before his father's funeral and the second time today. I rejected him then, but today I accepted his proposal." She said in a trembling voice feeling that she was about to cry, but not from pain, but from joy that he had come back to her, that he still wanted her.

Her father looked at her with big eyes, unbelieving that he had missed not one proposal, but as many as two.

"After all, we talked about how you don't feel ready for marriage yet. That you are…"

"I love him, father. He's my best friend." She said softly, and Mr Baratheon turned in his seat hearing the seriousness with which she pronounced the words. He swallowed loudly, looking away, not sure himself what he was thinking.

"Marriage involves more than friendship. As your husband, he will have the right to expect you to bear him children, and that means you will have to…"

"I know what that entails, Father." She said softly, wanting to reassure him, to let him understand that she knew what awaited her, what their wedding night would involve.

After what had happened between them that night, she knew he would never hurt her.

"I want this."

The news of their nuptials echoed throughout the house. Cassandra locked herself in her room, crying all day, Maris didn't speak to her, Floris even rejoiced that they might be getting married on the same day, and Ellyn congratulated her wholeheartedly, saying that she had sensed all along that it would end like this.

Royce seemed both the most surprised and the happiest at the same time, congratulating them sincerely, apparently really befriending Mr Targaryen during his stay.

The problem, however, was the bereavement of Mr Targaryen's father, which stood in the way of him marrying her. The advice of the pastor was taken, who said that indeed a long wait for the wedding would not serve anyone and that he could apply for a dispensation from the bishop himself, however, the nuptials should then take place without much pomp and the ceremony and wedding should be quiet and not too crowded.

Her fiancé was delighted with this news as it meant that, apart from his family, he did not have to invite anyone from London.

He asked his mother's permission by letter, and she granted his request, recognising that at such a difficult time everyone needed a reason to rejoice, and that if the bishop gave them a dispensation for the nuptials, she herself would have no objection.

The thought that Floris and Colonel Strong would be getting married on the same day comforted them as it meant that all the attention would not be focused on them alone, moreover, with Floris' disposition and her character they knew that she would steal the whole event for herself and they would only be the background to it, so they could just enjoy the day.

There was some kind of gigantic change in Floris, she wanted to pick out the wedding dresses, hats and ribbons with her, she would talk to her about the dishes at the wedding and the seating of the guests, her excitement and joy was giving her away and although her approach to marriage terrified her she was comforted by the thought that whoever Colonel Strong was, she could probably handle him.

"When I leave for London with him I shall certainly meet so many handsome, rich men! I'm so sorry you'll be staying here in the suburbs, but don't worry, I'll be inviting you to join us!" She said cheerfully and laughed, grabbing her hand, and she reciprocated the smile, bewildered, thanking God she wouldn't be living in London and watching her flirt with other men, bringing them scandal after scandal.

Between their engagement and wedding, she and Mr Targaryen took walks together and talked a lot about his past, his life and what they wanted their future to look like. It surprised her that they both wanted, above all, peace and quiet, a life away from the hustle and bustle, gossip and big-city society.

She watched with tender concern as he became more and more stressed by the thought of their wedding and the preparations, a few days before the ceremony his family, consisting of his grandfather, his mother, his sister, his two brothers and the wife of the eldest, had arrived.

She was most fond of the Mrs and Miss Targaryen, that is his mother and sister, they were warm, cheerful women who very quickly found common ground with her father, who tried with all his might to be well mannered.

His grandfather, Mr Hightower, was a rather haughty man and looked around their estate with curiosity bordering on embarrassment, however, he was always cultured and cordial in his words, evidently recognising that their money sweetened his entire stay in their company.

In addition to them, she was very cordial with his youngest brother, who, as it turned out, was the closest to her future husband of his entire family and, during their dinner together, he talked practically only to him, with no interest in anyone else.

The person she liked least was his eldest brother. As soon as he crossed the threshold of their house he measured her with a glance and threw a comment to his wife that, indeed, his brother had chosen the prettiest of mares, at which his wife lowered her gaze, embarrassed.

She also saw the glances he was throwing Floris, and she was smiling at him, all larks despite the fact that her fiancé was sitting right next to her. However, Colonel Strong was not interested in his fiancée, only in her, when the news spread that she was to marry Mr Targaryen he no longer spoke to her at all, offended.

She could not hide how pleased she was by this change.

The night before their wedding, she took pity on her fiancé and stayed in his bed with him, letting him snuggle into her and fall asleep with his head between her breasts hidden only by her nightgown. Although he drank an infusion of herbs to calm himself down he was too excited and frightened to fall asleep and said that he needed her close, that he would go mad without her.

They didn't fall asleep until morning, figuring that even if someone caught them it didn't matter anymore.

They were to become husband and wife today.

She vaguely remembered standing at the altar as the pastor talked about the importance of marriage, love, respect and fidelity, she stood in her lovely embroidered white dress, feeling that she had never looked more beautiful, her husband stood beside her frozen in motion like a tower, focused and serious. She couldn't stop smiling.

She was so happy.

Just as she suspected, all the attention was stolen by Floris, praising and cuddling up to her husband, and they only looked at it with pity, holding hands under the table, not letting go for a second. Her husband glanced at her surreptitiously once in a while, contentment and calmness on his face, a dreamy smile that added to his mystery and charm.

They kissed affectionately, taking advantage of the fact that Floris stood up and announced the toast again.

They danced with each other a few times before deciding that they would simply leave quietly, leaving the guests enjoying themselves downstairs and escape upstairs. By the number of guests she had ceded her bedroom to his sister, so they were to spend their wedding night in his room.

They locked themselves inside, wanting to make sure his brother didn't try to annoy them, and then they threw themselves into each other's arms, kissing deeply, passionately, tenderly.

They helped each other undress, struggling bravely with the bindings of her gown and corset, which was so complicated that she could hear her husband cursing under his breath, impatient, and all she could do was laugh. He kissed her then, angered that she was mocking him, and when her corset finally fell off and she was left only in her chemise he grabbed her hips and lifted her lightly, walking with her to his bed.

He lay down with her, positioning himself over her, gliding his lips and sucking the skin of her neck, her laughter slowly turning into moans and panting as she felt his manhood pushing against the spot between her thighs from under his trousers, his hand lifting the material of her chemise and running over her bare calf, her knee, her hip, making her run out of air.

"− you're not laughing anymore, hm? −" He growled warningly and she shook her head, feeling that wonderful pulsing between her thighs again and the embarrassing wetness, her nipples becoming hard and sore.

She reached her hand to the back of his neck and untied his ribbon, making his long hair fall over his shoulders, surrounding his face like an angelic nimbus. She grasped to untie his eye patch, but he flinched and grabbed her wrist, looking at her in shock.

"− no − not today −" He mumbled out, panting quietly, looking at her pleadingly. "− please − today I want everything to be perfect −"

"− you're perfect −" She said softly, but he kissed her hand, clenching his eye.

"− I don't want to − this is the happiest day of my life − please − I'll feel more confident with this − not today −" He repeated, and she gave in, stroking his cheek affectionately and nodded.

Not today didn't mean never.

He let the air out loud with a sound of relief and pressed into her lips, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, surprising her completely, his hips rubbing against her body, she could feel how hard he was.

She entwined her fingers in his hair and clenched them tightly, panting into his mouth, moving to the rhythm of his movements, his hand again on her thighs.

"− let's see what state my wife is in, hm? −" He asked tenderly, running the tip of his nose over her cheek, and she sobbed loudly when she felt his hand slide down between her thighs, in a sure, soft motion running over her womanhood, he moaned lowly as he felt how much of her juices coated his fingers.

He seemed to have run out of words because he said nothing, he just started kissing her like crazy, sucking and licking the soft structure of her lips, his kisses were sticky, hot and loud, she could feel her heart pounding fast, her insides pulsating with each circular, sure movement of his fingers around the point that was giving her so much pleasure.

She drew in a loud breath and tightened her hands on his undershirt when she felt the tip of his finger pushing against her entrance, sliding in a little, making her feel strangely taut and full, she began to breathe hard, surprised.

"− shhh −" He hushed her, kissing her nose, her cheek, her forehead. His tender, warm kisses, his whispering for her to relax, for her to trust him, that he had to prepare her, that all was well made her relax slowly, trusting him completely, allowing him to slide his finger deep, to the very depths of her fleshy interior.

They both began to pant loudly as his finger began to slide in and out of her with a loud, slick click of her moisture, she felt something tickle her wonderfully each time his finger rubbed against the spot just above her entrance, as if he was applying special pressure there, his thumb massaging the point of her pleasure outwards with calm movements, making her begin to drift off completely, moaning louder and louder.

"− not so loud, little one − they'll hear us −" He breathed out in a trembling voice, clearly aroused as much as she was by what was happening between them, how pleasurable it was, and kissed her again, trying to muffle the sounds she could no longer control, writhing beneath him.

She cried out loudly as he suddenly slid not one finger but two into her, pushing her core apart with intense, fast movements, she felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest, her whole body drenched in sweat, her hair in complete disarray, her hands clenched on his chemise and in his hair. She felt herself clench tighter and tighter on his fingers, felt something approaching.

Then suddenly he just stopped.

He rose, panting loudly, sliding his fingers out of her, with his hands wet with her juices he began to quickly untie his trousers, sliding them down a little and laying back on top of her before she had time to see anything.

"− spread your thighs wide −" He breathed out, one hand placing near her head, the other held between her thighs, looking at her with love, desire, longing, his lips slightly parted in a quickened breath, strands of his hair stuck to his cheek.

Obediently she did as he asked, breathing loudly along with him, and then she felt it, his tip pushing against her just as his fingers had done a moment ago, except he was much bigger and harder, pushing her body to its limits, making her throw her head back with a helpless moan, never having known the feeling of such fullness before.

"− shhh − I know − I know − does it hurt a lot? −" He asked in a trembling voice, breathing faster and faster, and she shook her head, recognising that she only felt discomfort by how much he was pushing her apart, not pain per se.

She saw him lick his lips and with a push of his hips he slid deeper into her, a low, surprised moan came from his throat that made her core clench tightly against him with pleasure, she felt shivers all over her body, looking at him like this.

"− fuck − just a little more, all right? − just a little more and he'll come all the way in −" He whispered tenderly as if he was apologising to her for requiring so much effort, so much sacrifice, when he had to be the one to take something away from her, to hurt her. She nodded, looking up at him with trust.

One sure movement of his hips was enough for her to feel his tip hitting her rear end, both of them panting loudly as they looked at each other with their mouths wide open, his hand from between his thighs rose to her cheek, stroking her tenderly, his lips brushing hers in a soft, messy kiss.

Her fingers tightened on his bare buttocks as he slowly began to move inside her, shocked by the intensity of the sensation, by how much his manhood pressed and rubbed her where she needed it, with every thrust he made she felt the fulfilment he was denying her back then approaching at an alarming rate, his length pulsing inside her greedily, craving release as much as she did.

"− God − I've been waiting for this for so long −" He mumbled between the tangle of their lips, teeth and tongues muffling their mutual moans as he began to accelerate, her fingers digging into his buttocks each time his manhood pushed her core to the limit with another thrust, deliberately rubbing her upper wall at the point through which she could see the stars, she heard his thighs slap against her buttocks with a loud splat as his bed began to creak loudly beneath them.

"− yes −" She mewled, unable to say anything else except that she wanted it, that she desired it, that it felt good, that she felt wonderfully safe in his arms, just smelling him, full of him inside her.

Hearing the word, he groaned loudly and sped up suddenly, resting more securely on his hands, the tip of his length hitting her back wall as hard and fast as if he wanted to pierce her all the way through.

She lifted her hips so that he was rubbing her even harder right there, where she needed it, and when she felt his hand return between her thighs again and begin to tease her, she simply tilted her head and came, sobbing loudly from the hot, tickling pleasure that shook her body.

She heard his surprised groan, his words of disbelief that she had clenched so tightly against him, and then his sigh and moan of immense relief, she felt something warm spread through her, his manhood pulsing hard inside her as he collapsed on top of her suddenly, crushing her with his body, panting all over.

They stroked each other in silence, breathing heavily, his lips pressed once at a time to her hot cheek, sweaty from exertion, he asked in a whisper if he had not hurt her, if she was all right, and she only nodded, lying with her eyes closed, unable to say anything, thinking only of one thing.

She was his wife.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

mr and mrs parker

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

wc: 1.7K

warnings: none. clean as a whistle

summary: fury has assigned you and peter on an undercover mission. as a married couple. and the two of you haven’t even been on a first date yet. used prompts 3 and 7 from oblivious pining from @mangocherri

A/N: peter and reader are aged up to 21, but there’s nothing explicit happening.

masterlist / peter parker

“the both of you are going undercover at the event as a married couple. need these bugs to be planted where you deem fit. keep tabs on anyone suspicious, and stay lively and sober. be the happy couple.” fury left the tiny bugging devices and exited the room without further words.

you and peter stayed quiet while both of you sat at the giant conference table. two manilla envelopes were sitting in front of each of you with information on the targets and the object of the mission. along with the cover story, the both of you being the happy mr and mrs parker couple.

now there was a slight problem with the cover story, you were a married couple. not even a regular couple, just two friends/coworkers who have crushes on each other but are too chicken to do anything about it.

“ever been to an event like this?” peter asked. the first one to break the growing silence in the room.

you bent the corner of the folder, “uh, yeah. but only twice and both were in the shadow missions. being dressed as a waiter, passing through the crowd unnoticed. now i’m gonna be dressed nice and done up, eyes watching. still never used to that feeling.” hand leaving the card stock and falling into your lap. “you?” already knowing the answer.

he shook his head, “not my thing. usually, it’s spider-man coming in to save the day.”

“well,” you stood from your seat, “for the day we can pretend to be fancy people and a lovely couple.” hoping you didn’t show too much excitement for the last part.

“best day ever.” peter replied as he grabbed his papers, a nice red ghosting on his cheeks.

-

“excited?” natasha walked into your room and sat on the foot of your made bed.

you were sitting at your desk which was your temporary vanity for the time getting ready. tubes and powers, palettes and brushes were scattered over the surface, a task for future you to clean up. hair painstakingly styled from your usual combat sleek look, your arms getting their workout for the day.

you sighed at natasha’s question, “i feel sick,” grumbled as you looked for your blush. natasha just laughed at the comment, “that’s the butterflies, honey. your nervous cause of your partner. i’m sorry, husband.” she practically sang the word.

you dropped your voice, “no, it's not cause of peter. i’m just not used to being in an eye-catching position.” touching up your eye makeup for distraction.

“uh huh.” she didn’t sound convinced, “well, i’m sure my memory doesn’t fail me cause i swear, there was this girl a few months ago who came to me frantic about this crush she had on a bug superhero. but i guess i’m old since i’m in my late thirties.” 

you dropped any brushes or makeup from your hand back to the table. a defeated sigh racking from your chest, “okay, yes, fine. it’s mostly cause of peter and how we’re probably gonna hold hands and maybe need to kiss or something. but there is a small part cause of the mission, that’s one hundred percent true.”

natasha stood from your bed and walked behind you, hands squeezing your shoulders, “you’re gonna do great, honey. you’re one of the youngest SHIELD agents, you know what you’re doing. and peter’s been getting better at undercover, there’s nothing to worry about. a simple bug and mingle.”

the two of you locked eyes in your mirror. natasha felt like an older sister hyping you up for your high school dance with a boy you liked, but in reality, it was an agent-to-agent pep talk for an undercover op with a web-crawling hero. tomato potato.

a gentle knock at the door stole the attention. you yelled for them to enter and peter poked his head around the gap, he sent a sheepish smile in greeting, and it made those flutters reappear.

“hi, sorry. don’t mean to bother-“ “your not a bother.” quickly interrupting peter. you ignore the look natasha sent you.

peter chuckled lightly, “thanks. uh, i was wondering if either of you could help with my bow tie? i can’t find anyone else in the tower and i wasn’t taught….” he trailed off while playing with the black fabric.

natasha patted your shoulders before moving away, “y/n can help. so i’m gonna head out and the two of you enjoy your date- sorry, mission.” leaving the both of you warm in the face and also giving peter a pat on his back before closing your door behind her. and then it was two.

you stood from your chair and made your way to peter. “sorry about her. loves messing with people.” rolling your lips and eyes shying away from peter’s pretty brown ones. again a light chuckle from him, “it’s- it’s fine. kinda used to that from my aunt.”

you nodded, “ready for tonight?” bouncing on the balls of your feet. you were still dressed in a loose shirt and shorts, planning to slip into your dress in a few minutes.

peter played with his bow tie, “physically just about. mentally… need a few more minutes to be thrown into the lion's den.” now you laughed as you plucked the fabric from him and stepped closer, “it’s not so much a lion's den, more like a… a monkey den.”

you popped peter’s stiff collar and slipped the fabric behind his neck, end pieces adjusted evenly. “what makes it a monkey’s den?” peter tilted his head back a little, chin almost hitting your forehead.

you spoke into his chest, fingers bending and twisting. “their all dressed in their monkey suits and throwing bullshit at each other. all they need is a couple of hung tires and boom, monkey den ala rich assholes.” pulling the finished bow tight.

you took a step back to admire your handiwork. peter dropped his head and his darting brown eyes made you part your lips subconsciously. peter swiped his hands down his pressed white button-up, “how- how do i look? like i’ll fight in?”

you let your eyes drift down his chest, the shirt loose enough that it wouldn’t strain when he moved his arms. the end of the shirt tucked into his black dress pants that were without a wrinkle and stopped just at his ankle. but when you went from toe to head, you only saw a boyish face with little bits of baby fat clinging to his cheeks. how he smiled awkwardly, teeth flashing white, his eyes nervous and almost blinking too many times.

“you won’t fit in.” saying the statement gently. peter deflated a bit, a crinkle in the middle of his brows. you gained that previous step back, right hand hesitantly falling over peter’s heart.

“but it’s best you don’t look like them. want you to stand out as your own.” boldly gazing into his eyes, letting your words melt into his brain for a moment before walking away. “now, uh, if you could just stay here so you could help with my dress that’d be great.”

“yeah! ye-yeah, can- can do that.” and you heard the heels of his sleek leather shoes click on your floor.

you grabbed the all-black gown from your closet and led into your connected bathroom. stripping off your casual comfy clothes, you held the dress to the floor and stepped in from the top to save your hair and makeup from friction. thick black straps sit on your shoulders and with a hand over your chest, you slide the door to shuffle back to the open space.

peter had his hands stuffed into his pockets and was leaning into your desk area, eyes taking in all the photos decorating your dirty mirror. he had a soft smile on his thin lips.

“a little help, spider boy.” sneaking up on him and not withholding the little giggle at seeing him startle in surprise. “thought you had a tingle for danger.”

“it’s called spider sense and you're not a danger, at least not to me.” you hummed as you turned your back to peter. you peeked a glance over your shoulder to see peter standing pretty close to your back, closer than would be normal to zip up a dress. he pulled both sides of the fabric tight then held them with one hand at the top of your back while his dominant hand tugged up the zipper slowly. you sucked in the sigh that wanted to escape at the feeling of peter’s touch and warmth, you kept your head forward and eyes focused on your messy bed.

peter stopped and you thought he was done but then his wrist skimmed across your neck and you couldn’t help the audible gasp. “sorry, didn’t want your hair getting caught.” his voice was low. “it’s okay.” almost breathless. “it’s- it’s beautiful. your hair and- and makeup. just not used to seeing you dressed up.”

a quick laugh, “yeah, definitely out of my comfort zone. but it’s- it’s not too bad. at least you're in the same boat, i’m- i’m guessing.” chiding yourself for the assumption, but peter quickly quelled the nerves, “definitely out of my zone. there, all done.”

turning to face peter you did the same actions as him earlier, looking down at your attire and smoothing your hands over invisible wrinkles. “not too much? not trying to draw attention.”

you waited to hear an answer but it never came. you looked away from the dress to see peter with wide eyes and a tight mouth. you stepped closer and pressed the back of your hand to his cheek and exposed forehead, “you okay?”

he mindlessly nodded, and you stepped away to look for your tiny heels. but stopped in your search at the crack of peter’s voice and the heart-racing words that left his mouth.

“what?” your own eyes blown large. peter scratched a hand on the back of his hair before shoving it into his pockets. he cleared his throat and looked directly at you while repeating, “you- you look beautiful. hard to not draw attention.” he cleared his throat again.

“uh, th- thanks, peter.”

“yeah… well i’m- im gonna wait outside. see- see you in a few minutes.” and he left before you could protest his absence.

-

[dark-elf-writes]

Imagine Izuku, hurting and sore, being welcomed by their big siblings. By Hizashi and their husband Shouta (mortal? Demigod?) who make a room just for Izuku. By Snipe who takes what small amount of skill with weapons Izuku has to hone and hone until that slight advantage becomes stronger. Hawks who broke out of a facility designed to keep him docile and burned it to the ground with a smile and a pyro on one arm who then took down thr former number two hero with a snarl.

Izuku whose mind is to fast. Who sees to much abd saw the way Inko looked past. Saw her ignore the truth for her own comfort. (Katsuki and Izuku are best friends like her and Mitsuki. Izuku is just clumsy. Shes a good mom. She never cheated. Izuku is just a normal child. There is nothing special) Izuku who reaches out and the others reach back.

Izuku can’t lie.

They never have been able to. The words burn on their tongue and ache coming out, but the truth is dangerous and often not what adults want to hear so they learn to talk around it. To weave half truths that don’t hurt but still are what people want to know. They learn to talk about villains rather than monsters (and really isn’t a monster just a villain at the end of the day?) they learn to speak about chance rather than foresight (a hundred percent chance is still a chance in a technical sense) they learn to show internet rather than speak about the burning need for knowledge that could consume them if they let it (they are interested, of course, but interest is such a light thing compared to the need that screams through them.)

They can’t lie, but they can always tell when someone is lying.

Their mom is the worst liar, they think. She lies to Izuku, telling them she loves them and wouldn’t anything for them; she lies to others, telling them that the bruises and burns are just because Izuku is clumsy and an adventurous child; she lies to herself, telling sweet little lies about how Katsuki is Izuku’s friend and he will make a great hero one day while Izuku… well Izuku will find something better suited she’s sure.

She’s a liar.

Izuku wishes they could just hate her. Wishes that each lie didn’t ache as badly as the first one. Wishes so many things that never come true even with all of the flashes of the future they see.

At least, not until one of their flashes leads them to their siblings, the older children of Apollo that recognize Izuku just as easily as Izuku recognizes them.

There’s no lie in any of their words when they tell Izuku they want them to be safe. That they are Izuku’s family. That they care. No lies when Hizashi tells them they see the monsters too. No lies when Keigo says their glimpses of the future are cool. No lies when Snipe promises that they can be just as strong of a fighter as they are a scholar with a bit of practice. Not even a lie when Shouta (Hizashi’s husband and apparently a son of Hermes, which wouldn’t have been Izuku’s first guess but they are burning to know about their gifts and if the rumors go a lock sensing and disabling ability is true) tells them that they can stay with him and Hizashi for as long as they want.

Sitting in the living room with their siblings bickering back and forth while Hizashi heals them (that rumbling is so soothing. Like a cat’s. Didn’t they read something about purring being able to heal? Was this connected to Voice or their father. Were they both from their father ? Were quirks just godly gifts watered down through the years were—) Izuku can see what the future holds. Dozens of little flashes playing out in seconds.

Laughing into a karaoke microphone while Hizashi pulls some ridiculous dance move. Keigo scooping them up for a flight because “every child of Apollo should get to race the sun!” Steady hands cruising their own as they pull back a bowstring, letting their fingers roll off so the arrow thuds dead center of the target. A laughing man they can’t quite see against the sun lighting him from behind with calloused hands so warm it’s like pure sunlight cupping their cheek.

A hero costume in green and black with a little yellow lyre stitched in where most wouldn’t see. A sun that matched three other costumes that had them all clever hidden.

Izuku sees it all, hears no lies, and reaches out.

[ticklishraspberries]

Ren Faire (Eddie/Steve)

Summary: Steve, Eddie, and Robin go to a Renaissance Fair and see some interesting demonstrations. (This fic is for my lovely friend @gigglyrambles!! I literally just pulled this whole plot out of my ass and wrote it in one sitting, so I really hope you like it, LOL. Also, shoutout to @wordstrings because I know she has written something similar for Our Flag Means Death, I hope you don't mind me taking inspiration!!)

Steve isn’t sure how he ended up being dragged along to a Renaissance Fair with none other than Robin and Eddie, but he found it hard to say no to either of their puppy dog eyes and incessant begging.

His outfit is simple, consisting of a white, long-sleeved shirt with laces at the neckline, tight brown pants, and brown boots. He feels only a little bit ridiculous, but after seeing what his friends are wearing, he supposes he isn’t the weirdest looking one.

Eddie is decked out in black, an intricately detailed top with ruffles and buttons. A fake sword sits in a holder on his waist. Robin has gone for a more masculine look, a cloak over her shoulders and a bow and arrow in her hand.

“Screw historical accuracy,” she’d said.

“The fact that you’re a girl isn’t the problem, it’s that you couldn’t hit a moving target with an arrow to save your life,” Eddie had teased, and Robin had elbowed him in the ribs, making Steve laugh.

Now that they’ve arrived, Steve has relaxed a bit. He used to feel out of place whenever he attended events that he wouldn’t have been caught dead at in high school. Corroded Coffin concerts, DnD campaigns, and that one time he drove Eddie and Robin to the nearest gay bar in Indiana. It had definitely been more awkward sober, and before he realized that he’s bisexual, and could have totally had more fun if he’d been aware of and okay with that information at the time.

He’s sort of glad he wasn’t, though, because kissing Eddie Munson during a childish game of truth or dare was a much funnier way to have your queer awakening, and dating Eddie Munson is way more fun than hooking up with random guys in a bar.

“They have really good beer here,” Eddie comments, to which Steve holds up his car keys and jingles them. No medieval mead is going to keep him from being the designated driver.

“I can drive us home,” Robin says, absolutely joking, but Steve still gives her a horrified look and makes a show of sliding his keys back into his pocket, patting the denim for safe keeping. She sticks her tongue out at him, and he flicks her cheek.

Eddie does end up getting some beer, and Steve allows himself a few sips. They’ll be here for at least a few hours, he’ll surely sober up by then. He also samples the gigantic turkey leg that Eddie gets, and Robin wrinkles her nose in disgust at the messy nature of the food.

As they walk around, Steve finds himself getting into the spirit more than he had expected. They eat, watch musical performances, and shop at the little stalls set up by various vendors. Eddie buys a few rings for himself, and buys a handmade mug for Uncle Wayne. Robin indulges in candles and soaps, and even dares to see a fortune teller.

“She said that I’ll meet my future husband soon,” she says, giggling. “Clearly she’s a fraud, or she’d know I’m not interested.”

When Robin runs off to find a bathroom, somehow, Eddie and Steve end up standing around a demonstration about medieval punishments and torture, which Steve expects to be gruesome, and quickly finds he would rather hear gritty, gorey details than stand her and watch this happen.

A pretty girl, probably around their age, is locked into a pair of wooden stocks, and—

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Steve mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Eddie looks absolutely delighted as he leans in close. “What’s wrong, Stevie? The demonstration isn’t bothering you, is it?” he asks. His cheeks are flushed, too. A few months ago, Eddie would probably be the one stuttering and staring at the ground right now, but ever since he introduced this little world to Steve, he’s gained a confidence about it that only comes out when he gets to tease Steve into oblivion.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up, I’m trying to watch. Maybe I can get some pointers from these guys.”

‘These guys’ refers to the two men who have started tickling the girl’s trapped feet, and frantic giggles fill the air and make Steve’s stomach flip.

“Oh, she’s handling this better than you would,” Eddie continues to tease. “I’d already be called every insult under the sun if you couldn’t kick me instead.”

“I will kick you right now,” Steve threatens. It’s a complete lie. He’s frozen to the spot on the grass, torn between watching and focusing on the grass. Everyone else in the crowd is behaving like this is so normal, no big deal, just a silly show.

One of the men has moved behind the girl to tickle her ribs, her arms secured above her head. Steve crosses his arms over his chest, subconsciously protecting his own sensitive spots, like just watching her could tickle him, too.

“You love that spot,” Eddie coos. “You make the cutest sounds when I tickle you there.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” Steve grits out.

“Sure you will, sweetheart. Can it wait ‘til after I’ve made you cry real pretty for me?”

Just then, Robin appears at his side. “This looks like my worst nightmare,” she says. “I hope this girl is getting paid well.”

Steve makes a noise of agreement, but can’t bring himself to look over. Eddie Munson is going to be the fucking death of him. Thankfully, Robin is immediately bored of the display and drags them off to explore. Eddie subtly gives Steve’s side a quick pinch as he walks past him, and Steve suddenly can’t wait to go home.

***

“You are a fucking menace,” Steve accuses the moment they’ve made it through the door.

His parents aren’t home, Robin was dropped off back at her house, and now, Steve is alone with Eddie for the first time all day, and he refuses to voice how excited he is for whatever Eddie’s got planned.

But Eddie just grins, tugging off the more elaborate pieces of his costume, leaving himself in socks, boxers, and a white t-shirt. He makes his way to the kitchen, comes back with two cans of beer, sits on the couch like he isn’t ignoring the clear tension in the room.

Steve gapes at him for a minute before joining him on the couch, kicking off his boots and taking a beer as well. Maybe Eddie’s changed his mind…Maybe he just isn’t the mood, and Steve isn’t going to pressure him into anything.

But…Well, he has a sneaking suspicion that isn’t the case at all.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask, it’s not gonna happen,” he says.

“Ask for what?” Eddie tilts his head curiously, but there’s a glint in his eye that proves Steve’s theory.

“Nothing,” Steve replies, playing along. “All that talk back there just made me think you had a plan for when we got home. But if you’re not interested, that’s fine too.”

“Did you want me to have a plan?”

Steve huffs. “Maybe. But if you don’t, then let’s forget about it.”

“Oh, c’mon baby,” Eddie says, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him close. “All you’ve gotta do is ask if you want it so bad.”

His cheeks burn. Stubborn as ever, he shakes his head.

Eddie sighs with exaggerated disappointment. “If you insist. I guess I’ll just keep my hands to myself tonight…”

“Good,” Steve says, and turns the television on.

It takes two beers and a stupid scene in a film to break him. It’s a quick, barely there tickle, but the character’s laugh makes Steve perk up like a dog hearing a doorbell ring.

“Fine,” he says.

“What’s fine?” Eddie asks.

“Just fucking tickle me, you dick.”

Eddie grins and wastes no time, lunging across the couch and pinning Steve to the cushions.

“I knew you’d crack eventually, sweetheart,” he teases. “Sorry we don’t have quite the same set up, but I’ll hold you down real nice, okay?”

Steve is already grinning. He can’t help it, he’s so lovestruck by his boyfriend and desperate to laugh his head off. And laugh he does when Eddie goes straight for his ribs, scratching at the dips between each little bone.

“There’s that pretty sound,” he says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s jaw that is both sweet and ticklish under the current circumstance.

The stupid shirt with the laces is pulled over his head and discarded on the floor, and Eddie pins Steve’s wrists and tells him to stay still before exploring each ticklish spot on his torso, making him shriek and cackle and snort like a fool.

He doesn’t stay still for very long, arms shooting down to his sides when Eddie attacks his belly with blunt fingernails, and Eddie scolds him but doesn’t stop.

As he squirms on the couch, giggling like mad, he wonders if they sell some of those bondage contraptions there. He thinks that they should go back to the Ren Faire sometime. 

[airas-story]

Hi! Can we please have another part of Tony and selkie Stephen? ♥

First part of this series, here!

The cafe was busy when Stephen entered, focused on his target.

Stephen slid into the seat across from the man from a month ago: Tony Stark. He could still feel the whisper of the man’s name within his mind from that moment when he’d held Stephen’s coat, had owned Stephen’s body and soul. 

Tony, who had taken and returned his coat.

Tony, who had, unknowingly, broken the curse Mordo had placed on Stephen, locking him into his human form.

“Hello, Tony.”

Tony jumped a little, eyes widening when he looked up and locked eyes with Stephen. “You.”

Pleasure twisted through Stephen at being recognized so quickly. “I did say we’d see each other again,” he reminded Tony.

Tony’s gaze darted over him and Stephen saw his focus rest, for a moment, on the coat Stephen had draped over his bag.

“You did,” Tony said, quiet. His gaze found Stephen’s again. “Who are you?” he asked.

Stephen smiled at him. “I do think I’m your future husband,” Stephen said. “Because the next time my coat ends up in your hands, I expect you to keep it.”

For a long moment, Tony just stared at him. “I think I need more than that to go off of,” he said finally. “A name would be a good place to start.”

“Stephen Strange.” Stephen reached out, grabbed Tony’s coffee, took a sip. “Hazelnut,” he noted as he stood. “My favorite.”

Tony looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by his gall or offended by it as he copied Stephen by getting to his feet. “Should I make a note of that?” he asked.

Fast learner, Stephen noted. “You’ll earn my eternal devotion,” he said dryly.

Tony’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. “And what do I have now?”

Stephen smirked. “We’ll call it fascination.”

[seb-reads31]

Tw's - Cursing (I'm still awkward with cursing in my fics), a lot of murder talk 😭, angry vex, mean Vex and Vax dad, threats, corrupted religion talk sort of, crying (?)

Type - fic

Genre - Hurt/comfort

Comments - PART 2‼️ This is gonna be set in the Fey realm when you meet the twin's father 😋 AND OMG I'M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK 😭😭😭 This deadass took me like, 3 days to write after trying to ignore it to the best of my ability cause I didn't know how to go about it, but here it is finally 😭 (up next is probably gonna be Vax. Him or Kiki)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (coming soon)

Demon worshiper, or redemption seeker?

It was about 9 in the evening as you creeped outside of a humble hut in a village, canvassing the area for any guards or restless souls that could see the crime you were about to commit.

It was easy, sneaking into the house, there was no form of lock on any of the windows or doors. “Careless, naive, damn near idiotic” clouded your thoughts while crawling through the window into the hut. It was supposed to be a simple in and out mission, like the ones before this. Sneak in, locate the target, kill him, then leave in the cover of night and collect the other half of your reward.

First part done, now you just need to find him. You shuffled through the hallways, quiet as a mouse, until you heard heavy footsteps. Bingo.

The footsteps fade away slightly, signaling that he was going the opposite way of your position. Time for step 3, kill him. Sneaking up behind him, you barely noticed his long, elven ear to twitch before he swung around and caught your hand before you sunk your blade down into his back.

Panic immediately sprung through your brain, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tried to push the blade down with all your might. During the struggle, you managed to push him against a wall and knock into a table in the hallway, the corner of it pressing against his side, the pain splitting his focus from pushing away your blade causing him to lose some distance, and losing more as you finally got more leverage.

As you pushed the man further back into the wall, you saw a glint of something reflecting from the moonlight on the table in his side. It was.. a photo. The man, a woman, and two.. children. Oh gods, he was a father. You were paid to take away a husband and a father. You stopped pushing the blade down in your realization, the man following your gaze.

You slowly pulled away, kneeling down in front of the man. Tears start to pour down your cheeks as you take your hood off as you pull your mask down, revealing your scarred face. “Please, forgive me sir. I deeply apologize for trying to take you away from your family, and owe you so much for nearly doing so.” You look up at him, tears welded up and cascading down fiercely. He thinks for a moment, then crouches down to your level. “I won’t report you to any authorities if you do two things for me, understood?” You nodded quickly, silently begging him to tell you.

“Number 1. Leave your cult, and start anew. I don’t know of your past, nor do I care. The life of a Bhaal worshiper is disgusting, and unforgivable. You’re lucky I’m even considering letting you go. Number 2, you owe me a favor in the future, assuming we ever meet again. You are to do it no matter what it is. And I’ll be reasonable and not ask you to kill someone for me, I have no doubt you’ll refuse to do so after this. Now, leave. And let’s hope we never meet again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years have passed since that day, and you’re so grateful for it. You got to make new friends, go on so many adventures, and meet your beautiful girlfriend, Vex’ahlia.

Your most recent adventure has become more so of protecting a big ass kingdom from coin and power hungry dragons, which led you with over half of your party in the fey realm. You all have had a very large roller coaster of emotions throughout this journey, a few of which have brought you and Vex together into a loving relationship. As much as you love her, you can’t bring yourself to tell her of your past due to the fear of losing her, leaving you riddled with guilt.

And that guilt was soon replaced with dread when you met her father.. The man you were paid to kill all those years ago. That’s why she and her brother looked familiar, they were his children, they were in the photo. And you knew it would only be a matter of time before he recognized you too. Your only way of hoping he didn’t recognize you was staying quiet.

Which didn’t last long, unfortunately.

You were standing between the chairs Percy and Vex were sitting in, who were discussing the twin’s father giving them safe passage through his newly transported lands in the Fey Realm until they left the walls, when he started to insult them and the journey you all have set out upon.

“You needn’t spin false tales of their exploits,” he held up his smoking pipe and examined it scrutinizingly as he spoke his next harsh words. “The very idea of Vax’ildan and Vex’ahlia standing up for the greater good is… well, rich.” And you had it, you impulsively raised your voice and spoke your thoughts. “I can’t believe you would say that about your own children, how heartless do you have to be to not see the good they’re trying to do for the entire country so YOU can go back home and not worry about being attacked by fucking dragons??” You glared at the man, a very familiar glare.. oh no, you drew attention to yourself, not to mention that you INSULTED the man you owed a favor to! You could see the recognition glint in his eyes, but he said nothing… Yet. He let out a small sigh, standing up from his chair, as he continued despite your outburst, “This is a trying time for all of us. Have you any idea the burden your sudden arrival has caused my family?”

Vax finally decided to speak up, walking closer to the man he was somehow related to. “We didn’t come for a reunion.” He stood just under his gaze but didn’t back down while he was below the gaze of the cold man, “And yet, here you are. Throwing around my name whenever it suits you-” “I despise your name.” Vex intervened as she saw the tension rising. “No, it’s fine.” She spoke carefully, pulling her brother away from their shared father. “No harm intended.” You tried speaking up again, not wanting her to just take the harsh words from her father, “but, he just said-” “It’s… fine.” She interrupted you, softly glaring at you to tell you silently to keep your mouth shut. However, you have a tendency not to listen..

“No, it’s not! I am not about to let your father disrespect you!” You didn’t really care about bringing her father’s attention to you at this point, but you were about to regret it.

“Oh? And what room do you have to talk, murderer?” The room went quiet, a shudder ran down your back as you suddenly remembered the favor he has yet to cash in, and you have a feeling on what it’s going to be..

“What? Love, what does he mean?” Vex is confused, and now her father is due to the nickname.. Welp, this is about to be a shit show. “Love? You really call this.. Disgusting creature love? Will you still love them if they were to tell you about their past?” You froze, your heart beating in your ears. He was grinning, for the first time since you arrived, you knew what that grin meant, shit.

“Go ahead, show her that horrendous mark on your body. Consider this me cashing in my favor from all those years ago.” Vex looked between you two, wondering what the hell was going on. Vax was about to ask what their father meant until you revealed the mark that was once hidden on your body, and the room falls silent again… Percival is the first to speak. “Is that.. the mark of Bhaal, the god of murder.?” He spoke carefully, covering his mouth as his eyes grew wide, matching Keyleth who was next to him, gripping her staff tightly.

“What.. in the loving FUCK do you mean god of murder Percival?!” Vex glares at him, then.. you. “Don’t tell me you.. Killed people to worship some hellish god! And what does he mean by ‘cashing in my favor’, tell me!” She grabbed you by your collar, pulling you close to her. Tears pricked your eyes as you finally told her the last thing you never wanted her to learn about your past.

“I-I.. I used to worship Bhaal.. And I accepted a commission from someone in a different section of the cult to kill your father when I was younger, the same age as you. I didn’t because I saw a family photo of you, him, your mother, and Vax. I finally realized that I was paid to end the life of a man with a family, Vex. He is the man who spared me from imprisonment and gave me the push I needed to leave the cult. Please, forgive me for not telling you.. I wanted to tell you, I swear! I was just afraid you would hate me, or leave me if I told you. Please just understand that-” “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.” Vex yelled in your face, the tears that welded up in your eyes finally falling down your face as you saw the absolute anger and betrayal across her face as she lets go of your collar and storms out of the room muttering curses. You don’t follow her, knowing she needs time to calm down and process the absolute bomb you dropped on her, and your friends.

“You.. kept that from all of us, because you were scared?” Vax spoke in a low tone, almost daring you to answer, but you tried anyway, knowing you deserved it from keeping something so big from them. But before you did, Percy answered for you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Yes, they did and for a good reason. They changed, and left that cult, and chose a path of redemption because they felt so bad about the lives they took. And yes, while being part of that cult is normally a very large issue, none of us know how they came to be a part of the cult in the first place. You need to understand that.”

Vax huffed, his glare softening just the tiniest bit. “That doesn’t excuse the fact that you hid this from my sister the entire time you’ve been together with her. Not to mention from all of us during our travels together,” he walked towards you, just like he did with his father, and pressed a finger to your chest. “And you better tell them when we find them again, or I will, and it won’t be pleasant for anyone.”

Vax left, assumingly to comfort his sister. Keyleth and Percy looked at each other, then pulled you in close to them. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Vex will come around.” Keyleth tried to comfort you, maybe give you some hope, but you couldn’t help but feel guilt and anger bubble up inside of you. Guilt for not telling Vex sooner, and that she had to find out this way. And anger for how she found this out, that she wouldn’t give you a second to genuinely explain yourself.

After.. that, you all met outside in an incredibly awkward atmosphere. You receive the scroll that gives you safe passage through the elven town, until you leave the walls. But as you received the scroll, another argument ensued, and on accident the twins taught their newly found out sister the words “fuck you.”

Anywayssss, you finally meet up with.. What’s his name again?? Uh.. Starts with a G.. GARMELIE, we both totally knew what his name was. You all found him writing outside of the town waiting for you. While he was talking with part of the group Vex walked off, sitting on an abnormally large mushroom, restringing her bow. You thought for a moment, but it only took a mere second of looking at her sad face for you to gather enough courage to go over there and genuinely talk to her without her yelling.. hopefully.

You sat a fair bit away from her, wanting to give her physical space incase she wanted you to leave. She looked up at you with a small glare, but all you could see was the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wanted to, I thought about it every night I went to bed, anytime you said you loved me, when someone told a story from their past. I just.. didn’t want you to hate me, or to leave me.”

Silence engulfed the both of you, as she worked on stringing her bow a bit slower, showing that she was listening to you. With that in mind, you continued. “I was.. born into the cult, my parents being extremely loyal to Bhaal, and only teaching me how to kill quickly and silently while I was growing up, then teaching me how to read and write. I went on my first ‘religious quest’ when I was about.. 8. Then I kept going till I was 14, when I met your father for the first time. You don’t have to forgive me for this, or forget it, just know that I love you and never wanted to hurt you during all of this.”

She stayed silent, speeding up slightly when you finished telling your story. You let out a sigh and decide that this is your que to leave, until she stops you. “I’m upset, yes, but I don’t hate you. Yes, you should’ve told me sooner and not have me find out from my own father, but, you told me nonetheless. How it came about is obviously shitty, but you kept your word to him, and normally people wouldn’t admit to it over a favor from years ago. You kept your word, even though you knew the damage it would cause, and I thank you for that.”

She finishes her bow, then looks over at you and smiles. Vex reaches a hand out and places it on your cheek, stroking it softly. “I still love you, that won’t change for a very long time. Thank you for telling me your story, love.”

[kizudnyy]

Crimson Raven p2

Fumikage Tokoyami's aunt!Y/N

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This will be a series but might be cross-posted and continued on Ao3 for certain reasons. @absquatulatevelcro on ao3 same Vivii as always..

INFORMATION: Y/N Tokoyami, an honourable 25-year-old woman who has been in the singing industry for 9 years and very well known amongst the American Pro Heroes, decides to go reside in Japan, Musutafu after her failed marriage with someone (not important) at age 19 and had to suffer abuse and loosing her child at the age of 20, summoning the courage to leave her husband at the age of 22 . This time, Y/N decides to look for a better future at Japan after being targeted by villains, she discovers Keiko, a young boy with broken wings, whom she legally adopts and a certain avian pro-hero who catches her interest.

CHAPTER 2: I'll protect you no matter what

As time flowed on, the memory of the injured man gradually faded from Y/N's mind, becoming little more than a distant echo in her thoughts. Immersed in her nursing studies, she devoted herself with helping other people in need while simultaneously nurturing her career as a singer in disguise.

Yet, a persistent sense of familiarity stirred within her whenever her colleagues mentioned a certain winged pro-hero. Initially, she brushed it off as like a 'justin beiber situation', but as their conversations increasingly revolved around the hero rather than their studies, annoyance crept into her heart.

And this time, she decided to put it to an end after an incident arise in her workplace— One being an old man was disregarded due to their petty and insufferable conversations. Luckily, she was there when it happened and had managed to help the old man in time before he suffered from mild food poisoning.

This made her feel disappointed for the younger colleagues of hers due to this incident and decided to arrange a meeting between the two girls who were guilty with the act of abandoning their duties as nurses and focusing more on idolizing 'celebrities'.

She stared intensively at the two girls, who were clearly new to their jobs. A heavy sigh escaped under her mouth. "You girls know what you've done, right?" She stated in a disappointed tone.

"Miss Tokoyami—" one of the girls spoke before pausing, biting her lip as she faced sideways. " we didn't mean to.." She whispered, barely audible, which caused Y/N to raise a brow as she approached closer.

"Miss Tokoyami, what?" Y/N repeated, her voice firm yet composed. "What you two have been doing is not only unprofessional but also dangerous. Your obsession with that pro-hero has clouded your judgment, and it almost cost someone their life today." She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, "I understand admiration, but it should never interfere with your responsibilities here. You're here to help people, not to gossip about Pro-Heroes who don't even know you!"

The two girls exchanged nervous glances, letting their fear envelope them as one of them let out quite sob. "We're sorry, Miss Tokoyami," the other girl finally spoke up, her voice trembling. "We'll make sure it won't happen again."

Y/N nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good. Remember, our priority is the well-being of our patients." She sighed as she adjusted her glasses."Now, let's get back to work and ensure this doesn't happen again."

After her disciple, the two girls eventually returned to their work spaces while she stayed in the inclosed room. The coldness hit her skin like snow as she slowly sat down.

"I swear to god," She muttered, letting her lock tangle with her fingers as she ran through them. "This is the 5th time they've mentioned that name.. I mean, I don't mind the continuous conversation about a certain hero, but.. this name.. feels familiar." Y/N ranted.

As Y/N continued to reflect on the incident, she couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washed over her. It wasn't just annoyance at the girls' obsession with the pro-hero; it was something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of her memory.

With a heavy sigh of annoyance, Y/N made the decision to set aside her lingering questions for the time being and refocus on her job. Despite the nagging sense of curiosity that still tugged at the corners of her mind, she knew that her responsibilities as a nurse were paramount.

Returning to her workplace, Y/N took a moment to center herself and compose her thoughts. She adjusted her uniform with practiced ease, ensuring that she presented herself professionally.

"G-good afternoon, Miss Tokoyami."

Y/N turned to face her colleague, Amanda, noticing the nervousness in her voice and the way she fidgeted with her fingers. She offered Amanda a warm smile, hoping to put her at ease.

"Yes, Amanda? Is everything alright?" Y/N asked, her tone gentle and reassuring.Amanda hesitated for a moment before speaking, her words coming out in a rush. "I just wanted to say thank you. For earlier, you know, with the incident. You handled it so calmly and professionally. I-I admire that about you."

Y/N's smile widened at Amanda's words, touched by her sincerity. "Thank you, Amanda. I really appreciate that. But you did great aswell, if it wasn't for you. I would've never saw it with my own eyes."

Amanda's expression brightened at the praise, and she nodded enthusiastically. "T-thank you, Miss Tokoyami. I'll do best in the future!"Y/N chuckled, "Well then, thats great!.. and please call me Y/N instead. I already feel old being addressed as 'Miss Tokoyami' all the time."

Amanda nodded, her eyes sparkled in emotion as she felt happy to be praised by you. "Y-Yes! Thank you,"With a reassuring nod, Y/N watched as Amanda excused herself and went back to her duties.

As Y/N's shift finally came to an end, she gathered her belongings and made her way out of the hospital. The crisp evening air greeted her as she stepped outside, providing a welcome contrast to the sterile atmosphere she had been immersed in all day.

She took a deep breath, savoring the freedom that the end of her shift brought. "Finally! The taste of freedom," she exclaimed, wings fluttering in excitement as she looked around. "Amanda and the others might have already went to the cafeteria..." She pondered before shrugging, turning her heel as she walked down the sidewalk.

The streets were bustling with activity, filled with people going about their lives, yet her mind still lingered on the day's events and the persistent sense of familiarity that had haunted her. She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts and focus on the present.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the young boy walking in her direction until it was too late. They collided gently, both of them stumbling slightly from the impact.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Y/N exclaimed, reaching out instinctively to steady the boy.

The boy looked up at her with wide, startled eyes. He had a mop of unruly golden-brown hair and a pair of broken wings protruding from his back. Recognition flickered in Y/N's mind as she took in his appearance, almost sensing a feeling of nostalgia.

"It's okay," the boy mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked nervous and uncertain, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.

Y/N crouched down to his level, her voice gentle. "Are you alright? You seem a bit lost. Do you need help?"

The boy hesitated, his wings twitching slightly. "I... I don't have anywhere to go," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I'm K-Keiko..."

Y/N's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She offered him a reassuring smile. "It's nice to meet you, Keiko. My name is Y/N. Why don't we find a place to sit down and talk? Maybe get something to eat?"

Keiko nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and uncertainty. Together, they made their way to a nearby café, settling into a cozy corner booth.

As they sat across from each other, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards Keiko. He reminded her so much of herself at his age—lost, searching for a sense of belonging, and yearning for something to start with when she was in America.

They ordered their food, and as they waited, Y/N reached out and gently took Keiko's hand in hers. "Keiko, do you have anyone you can stay with? Family, friends?"

Keiko shook his head, his eyes downcast. "No. I was... I was abandoned because of my wings."

Y/N's heart broke at his words. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm so sorry, Keiko. No one should have to go through that. But you don't have to be alone. There are people who can help you, including me."

Keiko looked up at her, his eyes filled with hope and uncertainty. "Really? You would help me?"Y/N nodded firmly. "Absolutely. If you want— I can adopt you right now!"

A sense of gratitude spread across Keiko's face, his eyes glimmered with emotion as he thanked her continously. "Thank you- thank you so much, Miss Y/N!"

As their food arrived, they began to eat, the conversation flowing easily between them. Y/N shared stories from her day, and Keiko listened intently, occasionally chiming in with his own observations and experiences.

It was a simple, yet meaningful moment that reinforced the bond between them

.Walking out of the café together, Y/N and Keiko made their way back to her apartment, the city's lights guiding their path. As they approached her home, Y/N looked down at Keiko, her heart swelling with affection.

"Keiko, I want you to know that you're safe with me. Tommorow, im gonna take care of you from now on."

Keiko looked up at her, his eyes filled with gratitude and determination. "Thank you...I don't know how to thank you enough.."

As Y/N and Keiko entered her apartment, she noticed the boy's steps slowing down, his hesitation growing more apparent.

By the time they reached her door, he looked almost paralyzed with uncertainty Kneeling down to his level, she offered a gentle smile, trying to ease his obvious discomfort.

"It's okay, Keiko. You're safe here," she said softly, her voice carrying warmth. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I promise you'll be alright."

Keiko glanced at the door, then back at Y/N, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "I've never... I mean, I don't know what to expect," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's heart ached for him. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I understand. It's normal to feel this way. But I want you to know that you can trust me. Let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

Keiko nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. He stepped inside cautiously, his eyes darting around as he took in his new surroundings.

The apartment was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold streets he had known for too long.

Y/N closed the door gently behind them, giving Keiko a moment to adjust. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some hot chocolate?" she offered, hoping to make him feel more at ease.

Keiko's eyes brightened slightly at the mention of hot chocolate. "Yes, please," he replied, his voice a bit steadier.

Y/N smiled and led him to the cozy living room, where she gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

As she prepared the hot chocolate in the kitchen, Y/N couldn't help but think about the journey that had brought Keiko into her life.

It was no doubt that this young boy needed her, and she was ready to do whatever it took to provide him with the stability and care he deserved.

Returning to the living room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, Y/N handed one to Keiko and sat down beside him. "Here you go. I hope you like it." Keiko took a cautious sip, a small smile forming on his lips. "It's really good. Thank you."

Y/N watched him with a mixture of relief and affection. "You're welcome, Keiko. If there's anything you need, or if you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you. This is your home now too."

Keiko nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he settled into the couch. "It's just... a lot to get used to," he confessed. "But it feels nice to have someone who cares."

Y/N reached out and gently squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you're here, Keiko. We'll take things one day at a time, and I promise I'll be here to help you through it all."

As they sipped their hot chocolate in companionable silence, Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her.

For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she needed to be, doing exactly what she was meant to do.

Eventually, Keiko's eyes grew heavy, the events of the day finally catching up to him. Y/N noticed and gently suggested, "How about we get you settled in for the night? You need your rest?."

Keiko nodded sleepily, and Y/N led him to the spare bedroom she had quickly prepared; the room was simple but cozy, with soft bedding and a few comforting touches.

"This will be your room," Y/N said, helping him get comfortable. "If you need anything, my room is just down the hall."Keiko looked around, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

"You're welcome, Keiko," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "Goodnight. Sleep well." As she left his room and quietly closed the door, pausing to stare at the wall before she returned to her own room.

-Word Count: 2208 (no a/n)

MASTERLIST

[thatsgoodsquishy0]

Pairing: F!Reader x Ranger!Sam Coe Rating: M+ Bio: Set during Sam’s younger years working as a Freestar Ranger alongside his wife, Lillian Hart. Whether circumstance, or impossible luck, you're given a second chance at life, ultimately growing close to The Coes. You take a shine to Cora, but the family dynamic is something else entirely, albeit a little overwhelming, as you realize the toll Lillian's absence has taken on the family, but more specifically, her husband. Sam Coe is witty, charming, and ambitious; a man who knows what he wants and stops at nothing to reach his goals, but when his wife seems to prioritize her career over her family, it's hard not to notice the strain growing inside him. Your friendship may be just the support Sam needs, even if the temptations for something more linger, and when your past threatens your future, where will your morals lie? Will you end up back where you started? Chemistry is a cruel mistress

cross-posted to AO3 credit to @seracoe for the lovely Ranger Sam pic & @cafekitsune for the divider & @fangbangerghoul and @bearlytolerant for their unwavering support and feedback. thank you so much!! <3

i. BOUND

Your wrists were bound behind your back. Scratchy twine rubbed against your skin as you wiggled your hands. Alarms blared overhead. Your head rolled as your vision bobbed. Your knees were sore. You remembered the cruelty of your captor’s instructions to never sit or lay down; you could only kneel. Through the slits of your eyes you barely registered the urgency amongst the crew as they bounced around the cockpit, like bugs inside a terrarium.

“Fuck! Fuck! They’re headed towards —- !” a bloodied scream, cracks of gunfire, liquid gurgles over the intercom.

“They just wasted Fredericks!”

“How the fuck did they find us?!”

The rope chaffed against your wrists; a sick reminder that escape was futile.

You looked to your left. Your eyes shot wide and a deep, guttural scream left your throat as you met the endless stare of a dead woman. In refuge, you looked to your right. Another dead one greeted you just as forcibly. You flinched, averted your eyes, but in the darkness behind your eyelids the horror remained; splashes of red staining her hair, the ghostly whites of her eyes, mouth frozen in a permanent scream, the ugly circle in the middle of her forehead.

The kidnapper’s rampant states evolved to a frenzy as they darted their desperation towards you, like a missile locking onto a target. Shots continued past your range of sight, but you heard them; muffled and close.

One of the kidnapper's charged towards you, gun in hand.

Your mind in fragments, you tried your best to stand before they could reach you, but the kneeling rendering your knees useless. You fell forward, sharp pains stabbing your kneecaps as you fumbled up again. A woman delivered a shift kick to your stomach. You groaned and toppled back, your trapped wrists splashing against the puddle of wet blood.

“You did this, didn’t you?! ” the woman bellowed. “Who’d you send for?! Huh?!” She grabbed a fistful of your hair, locking her venomous glare against your quivering lips as you chased an answer on your tongue.

She yanked harder. “Answer me, you fucking rat!”

You opened your mouth and willed yourself to speak, but the words abandoned you. Tears pooled in your eyes.

Fed up with your sloppiness, the woman growled and released her grip. You stumbled back, falling on your side as you caught yourself from landing on your wrists, hair dipping into the red liquid. She cocked her gun. You squeezed your eyes shut. Sweat beaded atop your forehead, its saltiness mixing with the metallic stench of your hair as the tarnished concoction trickled down your face like runny hair dye. You felt the bloodied strands of hair gently brushed aside, making way for the cold barrel as it pushed into your forehead. You thought you heard the trigger click in anticipation. Your heartbeat convulsed inside your chest.

Then — a hatch opened. Two gun blasts. Bam! Bam!

The gun clattered against the floor, followed by a thud!

You popped open your eyes. The woman’s lifeless body lie face down beside your shoes, her brown rats nest a bloodied mess as crimson fluids leaked from her head across the floor. Your breathing blew out in bursts, in and out. Violent gulps of air choked your throat and stung your chest as you struggled frantically to break free from the restraints while hastily hauling yourself to a corner. Your stomach churned as you worked your wrists, the grip seeming to shrink tighter, down to the bone with every pull. The alarm sang like a sick cheer for your escape as you thrashed your wrists against the floor, screaming, wailing, fighting for absolution.

You curled into a fetal position, the pain from the kick resigning in your stomach as you felt your will crumble into hopelessness, like the last survivor on a sinking ship.

There was no direction for your gaze as you shut your eyes.

“Hey – hey -- stay with me now.”

Beneath your trembling, that anxious voice reached you, as if it were coaxing you along a bridge across treacherous waters.

Your mouth fell open, bottom lip shaking as any formation of a sentence betrayed you. You mustered a weak gasp as a man approached. His face was rugged, but determined as he peered down upon you, upon your sanguine soaked forehead. He sported a cowboy hat that seemed to provide a shadow against his face. His brows were thick and furrowed together as his hands attempted to reach the sides of your face. You suspended your gaze and tucked your body away from the room. Away from him.

“Ain’t gonna hurtcha!” he remarked, his voice silent amid the screaming buzzer. “Just wanna make sure y’ain’t bleedin’ a ton!”

Your throat was drier than a vase of forgotten flowers; tongue just as tied as the wrists behind your back — a spot the man captured quickly as he assessed your predicament. You heard the flick of a pocketknife and quickly looked up. A woman stepped into the room. She lowered her gun, but kept her finger above the trigger. A golden glint on her chest caught your eye. Your stomach dropped. Police?

Suddenly, you feared for your life again.

“Sam, don’t untie her just yet! We have no idea which side she’s on!”

“Pretty clear to me which side!”

“It could be a trap!” The woman stepped closer, her gaze fidgeting around the room as they hollered against the ringing. “This could be their ploy!”

“She’s banged up pretty bad, Lillian, and she can’t use her hands. Clearly, she couldn’t grab a weapon even if she tried!”

“I just don’t know about this, Sam!”

“You took a chance on a reckless kid once, and despite how you found him, things turned out pretty damn fine!”

The woman located the gun closest to you and immediately kicked it across the room. The man continued to hold his unsheathed pocket knife. The blade gave a serrated smile.

“Just trust me, alright?!”

She took a sharp breath, a sigh, then removed her finger from the trigger as she lowered the gun all the way. “Alright! Fine! We’ll take her back with us, get her all patched up, then ask her some questions! See what she knows!”

“Yes ma’am!” You caught a glimpse of a tiny smile swathed in success as the man leaned across your body and began to cut into the twine. Your hands trembled.

“Hold still!” he yelled, sawing through the restraints.

Your heart raced. What if the blade sliced through your skin by accident? You remained completely still, patient, until finally, the ropes snapped off.

You instinctively rubbed the twisted indentations embedded in your skin. Despite your hands being freed, you still couldn’t bring yourself to move, or speak. You gazed at your savior, the knife still in his grasp. He considered you with a tilt of his head, his eyes straight-lined with patience as he retracted the knife and slid it back into his pocket. The woman doubled-down on her stance, waiting for your next move. You exhaled, quick and shaky. The man offered his hand, but you didn’t take it, then he slowly crouched beside you, and urged you to stand up, his voice barely comprehensible over the squawking alarm.

You lifted yourself up, unintentionally pressing your hands into the blood of the dead. You withdrew your palms and swung your head around. Splatters of brain matter splashed against the wall and space-viewed windows. Your legs rocked from under you. Vehemently, your head shook in disbelief. You covered your hand atop your mouth and blinked away tears. Before you could look any further out of sheer morbidity, a pair of hands firmly gripped your shoulders and pulled your sight away. The man’s brows etched with concern. His stare linked to yours.

“Don’t look.”

In utter shock, both words swam through your eardrums in smooth, purposeful strokes. and you obeyed, keeping your eyes on him. Your muscles were weak, but appreciative, as you tried again to stand up. The man threw your arm carefully around his shoulder and the woman followed, a grunt passing from her lips as you adjusted to their rescue.

“Don’t make me regret this, okay?” She muttered close to your ear as you exited the cockpit hatch.

Blood rushed from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes. Each blare of the alarm mimicked the pounding in your head, like thousands of birds squawking as they pecked your ears raw.

You whined as you passed under one of the sirens.

The man yelled something, but his voice remained unintelligible, however, you thought maybe he was reassuring you. You lifted your head and peered to your right – the woman focused forward, aware of the next steps as you moved further down the ship. The man adjusted his hold on you, and you caught the faintest scent of cologne mixed with salt and blood. The pounding in your head grew louder, angrier, as they pulled you past their victims. The air smelt of tarnished pennies. The soles of your shoes dragged along the floor through puddles of red, leaving a evidence of a retreat behind as you exited the ship and entered another one.

You were ushered through a series of rooms, each one more scientific than the last, until your body was gently laid onto a cot. Exhaustion consumed you. You battled with your brain to keep your eyelids open as they slowly began to close; not for the sake of sleep, but for asylum against the ringing in your ears. You curled into a ball — the dead woman from the ship accompanying the darkness that began to swallow you.

“Get her a trauma pack.”

“Sam, we only got one left. Once we get to The Rock, Doc will look her over just fine.”

“Then, I’ll buy another one. Lillian, don’t fight me on this.”

There was a long pause, followed by the decrescendo of footsteps, then you heard the faint sound of an object being placed beside you. After a few minutes you heard voices, but the words were too distant to hear or understand, however the tones were defiant, combative. One of them raised their voice, but you couldn’t tell who. Then, they stopped.

Finally, as your body lulled against the rolling ship through space, your heartbeat steadied. Boots softly thudded into your room as you lay on your side, your face against the cool of the ship’s wall.

“I, um – I don’t know if you can hear me, but there's medicine next to ya, if you need it. I’ll be out on the nav-floor if you need anythin’.” He cleared his throat. “Alright then.”

You were grateful, even if tonight stole the words right out of your blood soaked mouth, you saved. Saved from death, from a fate worse than death, from something you’d never experience again, because you had an idea how you ended up here in the place.

Despite this, you tapped the inner recesses of your mind searching for something, anything, hinting whether or not this was a stroke of luck or if someone knew you would be on the spaceship and called for help.

Was this all part of Anton’s plan?

A sudden warmth encompassed you. You set those worries aside and reached your hands forward feeling a softness draped over you. The fabric blanketed your body as you allowed yourself this moment of vulnerability. Anton didn’t exist right now.

You’d use the trauma pack later. You were in need of a shower, too. You scrunched your face, the blossoms of your cheeks popping as you listened to the sickening way the dried blood cracked. Shudders flowed through your warming body. You pushed your appearance aside, craving the nurturing arms of slumber; at least for a little while.

You pulled the blanket closer until it covered the tip of your chin. You licked the dryness off your lips, careful not to lick off any blood that had slid its way down. You parted them, releasing a low breath, a safe breath, as the blanket melted into your body.

You weren’t sure if the man was still there, or if your voice would even reach him, but you knew the second those words left your parched throat, you’d never forget this day, or this man’s unabridged kindness.

In the dark of the spaceship, as the hum of the grave drive soothed your weary muscles and the pillow held your blood soaked head, you sleepily whispered, “Thank you.”

[im-657-mv]

waves of desire

[requested]

yandere pirate kim hongjoong

word count: 1101

The sounds of waves crashing made your heart slow to a steady beat. The sun warmed the cold feeling that had numbed your thinking. Isn't this what you loved? This was the future you had wanted. You've always dreamed of life out on the sea, no land to hold you back, and no one to tell you what to do.

Isn't this what you wanted...

That fateful day he saved you. He took you from the ashes of your home and village and he rescued you. He promised that you would be safe from harm, from trouble, and safe from all things that threatened your existence. No matter how big or small he had promised to be there.

You wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for him. Your rescuer, your captain, your lover. Kim Hongjoong.

He was a brave man that fought against the evil of the mainland. He was the sea encaptured within the body of a mere mortal man. Fierce and raging against all who threatened to end his rule of the vast ocean. But to those who truly knew him, he was a man of honor, of beauty, of sanctity. Hongjoong was powerful and with his crew by his never-ending side, his name was known and feared throughout the land and sea.

You love him. All of him.

His eyes. Fiery and determined. Unwilling to let go of the one thing he desires.

His laugh. Enlightening and entrancing as if the myths of sirens were real.

That's why you loved him. That's why you married him.

On the deck of a ship that rocked from side to side as the waves crashed and cheered at your union. It was all so perfect. The very life you dreamt of as a child now finally a reality.

It was all so perfect...

But your heart was racing. The sun was too bright. The waves were too loud. It all clouded your judgment, your thinking, your mind. And he... He hindered it all.

From the beginning, he said he loved you. That he would do anything for you.

"See, Y/n. Even the high seas rejoice in our bond..."

You didn't think he meant it literally. You felt sick. Your stomach turned in on itself as it threw up the food that was once there.

"Did you have to burn Y/n's village down, Captain?"

"Of course I did. I would have burned hundreds of villages for them. I would have killed thousands for them to be in my arms for all of eternity."

His words rang in your ears like a bell as they repeated over and over and over again. That pain was his fault. He burned your home down. He burned your people down. Children, wives, and husbands were all slain under his strict orders.

You had thought it was the other known bandits who targeted your home. But it was him. All this time he held you, whispering sweet things in your ears as his hands traveled further and further down. All this time his hands had the blood of your people stained on them. The blood of your parents.

And you had loved him. You had kissed him, held him, cherished him all while he had that smirk of knowing.

"Y/n you don't look so good," Seonghwa replied as his hands carefully reached to your back, but you could barely hear him. The first mate's words sounded so distant and far away that even your breathing seemed louder.

Should you jump?

But Seonghwa knew all too well before you could act on your thoughts. His once gentle hands turned rough as they bounded your hands behind your back as you thrashed in a hopeless resistance.

"Let me go, Seonghwa!" He didn't answer as he dragged your body away from the edge and toward the all too familiar Captain's Corner. You started sobbing as you continued to struggle against his firm hold, thrashing and throwing your entire body weight in desperate hopes of escaping.

Before you knew it you had arrived at the mahogany door chiseled in gold that screamed power and pure sophistication.

"Come in." His voice echoed as Seonghwa threw you into the room, locking the door as he made his way out.

"Oh baby," He whispered, getting up slowly as he made his way towards you.

"Why," His footsteps stopped as they reached in front of you.

"Why did you burn my village?" You cried out softly, pressing your face down into the floor. Maybe the smaller you shrunk the more he won't be able to see you. As ridiculous as it seems you hoped it worked, but he knew. Hongjoong knew you all too well. And he knew your hints of submission all too familiarly.

"Oh my poor baby," Hongjoong muttered in sweet sympathy. You heard his sword unsheath and you immediately grasped onto his boots deathly tight.

"Please... don't kill me..." You pleaded without looking into his eyes. His lying eyes.

"My sweet Y/n. You know I won't kill you." The metal of his sword wound up under your chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.

"I did it for you." Your eyes gleamed as they filled to the brim with tears.

"You are my treasure, my desire...And I just couldn't have anyone else sharing you." You tried to look away but the threat of the blade was enough to keep you still.

"Now," Hongjoong whispered as he leaned forward, "be a good (boy/girl) and stay here." He stood up straight as he made his way back to his desk grabbing a few things. You stayed still afraid of what he might do if you tried to make your way out of there. Even if you did you'd be stranded in the sea, lost and at prey to the waves,

Hongjoong made his way back to your trembling body with a beautifully made porcelain teacup in hand. With utter delicacy he kneeled down, moving your head towards the mysterious drink.

"Drink up." He whispered and forced the tea down your throat. As the warmth spread threw your throat and down around your body, you began to feel different. Almost as if you were a cloud as you let the tea do its work. Your vision was next as it wanned from blurry to somewhat normal.

"Everything will be better, baby. I promise." With a gleam in his eye and a sly smile making its way across his face, you let your senses go, falling into his warm embrace.

"I will never let you go, my sweet desire."

[rockislandadultreads]

Disability Pride Month: Genre Fiction Recommendations

Noor by Nnedi Okorafor

Anwuli Okwudili prefers to be called AO. To her, these initials have always stood for Artificial Organism. AO has never really felt...natural, and that's putting it lightly. Her parents spent most of the days before she was born praying for her peaceful passing because even in-utero she was "wrong". But she lived. Then came the car accident years later that disabled her even further. Yet instead of viewing her strange body the way the world views it, as freakish, unnatural, even the work of the devil, AO embraces all that she is: A woman with a ton of major and necessary body augmentations. And then one day she goes to her local market and everything goes wrong.

Once on the run, she meets a Fulani herdsman named DNA and the race against time across the deserts of Northern Nigeria begins. In a world where all things are streamed, everyone is watching the "reckoning of the murderess and the terrorist" and the "saga of the wicked woman and mad man" unfold. This fast-paced, relentless journey of tribe, destiny, body, and the wonderland of technology revels in the fact that the future sometimes isn't so predictable. Expect the unaccepted.

Fortune Favors the Dead by Stephen Spotswood

It's 1942 and Willowjean "Will" Parker is a scrappy circus runaway whose knife-throwing skills have just saved the life of New York's best, and most unorthodox, private investigator, Lillian Pentecost. When the dapper detective summons Will a few days later, she doesn't expect to be offered a life-changing proposition: Lillian's multiple sclerosis means she can't keep up with her old case load alone, so she wants to hire Will to be her right-hand woman. In return, Will is to receive a salary, room and board, and training in Lillian's very particular art of investigation.

Three years later, Will and Lillian are on the Collins case: Abigail Collins was found bludgeoned to death with a crystal ball following a big, boozy Halloween party at her home—her body slumped in the same chair where her steel magnate husband shot himself the year before. With rumors flying that Abigail was bumped off by the vengeful spirit of her husband (who else could have gotten inside the locked room?), the family has tasked the detectives with finding answers where the police have failed.

But that's easier said than done in a case that involves messages from the dead, a seductive spiritualist, and Becca Collins—the beautiful daughter of the deceased, who Will quickly starts falling for. When Will and Becca's relationship dances beyond the professional, Will finds herself in dangerous territory, and discovers she may have become the murderer's next target.

This is the first volume of the “Pentecost and Parker” series.

Borderline by Mishell Baker

A year ago, Millie lost her legs and her filmmaking career in a failed suicide attempt. Just when she’s sure the credits have rolled on her life story, she gets a second chance with the Arcadia Project: a secret organization that polices the traffic to and from a parallel reality filled with creatures straight out of myth and fairy tales.

For her first assignment, Millie is tasked with tracking down a missing movie star who also happens to be a nobleman of the Seelie Court. To find him, she’ll have to smooth-talk Hollywood power players and uncover the surreal and sometimes terrifying truth behind the glamour of Tinseltown. But stronger forces than just her inner demons are sabotaging her progress, and if she fails to unravel the conspiracy behind the noble’s disappearance, not only will she be out on the streets, but the shattering of a centuries-old peace could spark an all-out war between worlds.

No pressure.

This is the first volume of the “Arcadia Project” series.

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang

Stella Lane thinks math is the only thing that unites the universe. She comes up with algorithms to predict customer purchases—a job that has given her more money than she knows what to do with, and way less experience in the dating department than the average thirty-year-old.

It doesn't help that Stella has Asperger's and French kissing reminds her of a shark getting its teeth cleaned by pilot fish. Her conclusion: she needs lots of practice—with a professional. Which is why she hires escort Michael Phan. The Vietnamese and Swedish stunner can't afford to turn down Stella's offer, and agrees to help her check off all the boxes on her lesson plan—from foreplay to more-than-missionary position...

Before long, Stella not only learns to appreciate his kisses, but crave all of the other things he's making her feel. Their no-nonsense partnership starts making a strange kind of sense. And the pattern that emerges will convince Stella that love is the best kind of logic...

This is the first volume of the “Kiss Quotient” series.

[corpulentcarbs]

Read if you’d like to, don’t reblog

Lilian’s early life was unknown because of her secret status as an agent, but it is hinted that she’s a fallen angel the agency found her wandering the streets and took her in after she fell from grace. She was forced to undergo harsh physical and mental training to hone her skills as an assassin. Allowing her to carry out her duties as a lethal assassin without any form of hesitation or remorse. As a result Lily’s emotions were suppressed and most of the time she rarely showed any outward sign of emotion except some rare moments.

One day in particular she was sent out once again to take out a target but this target somehow convinced her that she was a lot more than just a hired slasher. Secretly though she wanted to leave her old life of worthless killing behind and start over, this would be her only opportunity. With The assistance of Isaiah who she was sent to kill, she was able to temporarily dodge the overbearing eye of the agency that had her under lock and key. Seemingly enough it lasted quite awhile to the point where she was happy, and even had a child with a human which was Isaiah of course. He came up with the name “Rozalia” for their child.

The night came when tragedy struck, once a short while of hope for the future turned into sorrow and misery. Coming home from grocery shopping Lily called out to Isaiah that she was home and about to make dinner, no reply. She called a second time still no reply, now she went and searched around the house. She soon found Isaiah’s body on the floor motionless and in a pool of his own blood, he was taken out by the agency who sent her here in the first place. After months her radio silence date has finally caught up to her. It was the first time that she felt her emotions weld up inside her as she cried out his name only to be answered back with deafening silence.

Finding a note near the dresser that read out: “My beautiful Lily, if you find this then I’m dead, fate has finally caught up to me. You changed my life for the better, I am glad we’re were able to rekindle each other with the sweet moments and cherished memories we shared together. But I’ll keep this short because there’s something I want to tell you, there’s a place where you can go with our child Rozalia, a place that’ll keep you safe from the clutches of that agency hiding so many dark secrets. I know you’ll be strong for both our sakes which is why I know you’ll get there safely. Until we meet again in the next life my love.” Taking a moment to sob into the folded paper of the letter before regaining herself from the grief of the death of her husband.

Gathering the essential things and taking Rozalia to the destination that Isaiah wanted them to travel to, because it wouldn’t be long before the agency came back to finish the job. The trip took several tireless days, luckily Lily was molded under many harsh conditions so she was used to it. But her main concern was getting Rozalia there safely since she was still young. Finally she knocked on the door of the disengaged place, it took a few minutes before the door finally opened and Lily was greeted by a woman who was seemingly the head of this establishment. Leaving Rozalia under her care as she knew she was going to have to leave her behind, not wanting to be a danger to her daughter.

Now she lives on the run hiding away from the cruel agency who raised her into being one of the deadliest assassin. Retiring her way of the sword while still keeping a watchful eye over Rozalia but never interacting with her in her as she grew up. Since she was far too fearful who the consequences that might follow her if she’s seen with her daughter. But she’s still happy and proud of the young lady she grew into even without knowledge of what happened to her parents and how she came to be.