#so i applied at my apartment as an assistant and the manager only does calls

[mayordeas-clone]

i suck at trying to get a job so bad but also i wanna blame the guy i am supposed to be getting a call from >:/

[mountswhore]

𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 — mason mount

summary: chelsea’s massage therapist, and mason’s long term crush, had moved to a different club. but after reuniting at nationals, you realise just how much you missed him.

notes: requests are open, just ask! this is so fucking long, please read when you have time.

“I will take care of you.” + “I could never get tired of you.”

for @masterclassbaby

“she’s pretty,” mason hummed, chin in the palm of his hands and eyes gazing at you. chelsea’s newest sports massage therapist. he watched as you conversed with a few of the injured teammates, the boys on either side of him laughing at his blushed cheeks.

“mounty’s in love.” chilly sang, pushing mason gently. the three of them were laying on the turf, waiting for their trainer to arrive and being introduced to the pretty lady who would be massaging their injured limbs from now on. “go on, make a move before kai does. you know he will.”

“i’m not making any moves,” mason huffed and pushed himself to his feet, ben following suit and pulling a ball towards him with his foot, “can i appreciate her beauty without wanting to make a move?” ben rolled his eyes at his friend, eyes now focused on the ball for the first time in twenty minutes.

“so you’re just going to stare at her, like a creep.” ben stated, stopping the ball with the side of his foot and kicked it back to mason. “noted.” mason was barely focused, looking over to you every time you laughed or your voice echoed. he’d laugh with you, crinkling his nose when you did, it was sickening.

ben had kicked the ball to mason’s feet, where is stilled and hadn’t even broken his stare. he had ‘regained control of the ball’ by kicking mason’s ankles, which had definitely caught his attention and caused him to hiss in pain. “you fucker, what did you do that for?”

“i just gave you a reason to talk to her, you clown.” ben revealed sarcastically, mason limping over to you as you held a look of concern.

“everything okay, mount?” you politely asked, the slight touch on his back as well as hearing his name fall from your mouth was sending him into a frenzy. he just nodded, and followed you inside to where your new office resided. “what the hell happened? last time i looked, you were kicking a ball about with chilly.”

your voice was as silky as he’d imagined. “yeah, he’s a bit slow. so he thought kicking me in the ankles would be a wise idea.” you couldn’t help but giggle at the man’s joke, avoiding his gaze as you were sure to blush. this man was attractive, but it was your first day, you had to remain professional.

“i better get to work,” you huffed, rubbing some hand sanitiser onto your hands and pulling his socks down. “we can’t have chelsea’s best player injured a few days before the game,” you’d finally met eyes and stared at each other for a brief second, before bashful looking away.

“you think that?” mason almost sounded unsure of himself.

“of course,” you grinned and applied some pressure to the side of his ankle, “i’d say you’re one of the best.” mason hummed almost silently, resting his head back on the table. it didn’t hurt, and if anything, he’d have to thank chilly for kicking his ankles, as it got you two talking.

weeks had passed, mason visiting your office most days with random excuses.

“my legs are fine. but maybe a shoulder rub for good luck?”

“i bought you a smoothie.”

“it’s cold outside, and i told the boys my thighs were sore.”

“now i’m just bored.”

every time he’d appear, you’d just pull up a chair instead of prepping the table. he’d talk to you about the most random of things, the pair of you having an intense debate on whether or not ross and rachel were on a break. he’d quickly become your favourite visitor.

“mr. mount, to what do i owe the pleasure?” you questioned, knowing it was him just by the way he fiddled with the handle before opening the door. he grinned at the nickname, sitting in the desk chair beside you.

“i actually came to ask if you wanted to go for a drink tonight. the boys were meant to, but now it looks like i’m all alone.” mason explained, a white lie thrown into the mix. he wasn’t being left by the boys, he asked them to cancel, so he could spend some with you. “so, you fancy it?”

“sure.” you smiled, accepting his invitation before you could overthink your way into cancelling. “i’ll text you my address.” he nodded his head, resting his head on his hands as you got on with paperwork. you could see out of the corner of your eye, he was staring at you as you worked. he had no training to be getting on with, and saw a better pastime in watching you work.

when you’d finally finished work and gotten yourself dressed up, mason was even more in awe of you. you looked adorable at work, and now he’d seen you in a new light. it’s like seeing your crush outside of school, it’s weird not seeing them in uniform, but seeing a new layer of them was good. he’d picked you up and taken you to the nicest pub he could find, it was a quiet one. it was a pub you had to pay extra for to sit on the terrace with a table to yourself. but he was willing to go the distance.

“it’s weird not seeing you in your kit.” you mentioned, staring at his impeccable sense of fashion. like he’d been ripped from the front page of asos. mason chuckled loudly and sipped on his beer, after doing a brief ‘cheers’ with you. it was british tradition, after all.

“i know. i’m used to seeing you in leggings and a chelsea top.” mason observed, his cheeks blushing at the way you looked at him. he felt the butterflies begin to swarm in his stomach, like they did on the way here. “now you’re in a dress, i can see your legs.” his eyes widened at the weird statement that just fell from his lips, face burning with embarrassment. “sorry, that sounded so creepy.”

you burst into laughter, feeling anything but disturbed. in fact, you felt more comfortable with him. “don’t worry about it, you’re easy to feel comfortable with.” mason took this chance to hide his rosy cheeks by sipping on his beer. the pair of you conversed for well over an hour, your conversations from work spilling into the mix too. and soon enough you were laughing on the walk back to your home.

“that’s hilarious. i can’t believe we could’ve almost met years ago.” you exclaimed, mason proud of recalling that memory. the pair of you remembered an awful christmas concert that happened in a town near central london, and were almost inches apart unknowingly covering your ears at the screeches made by the backup singers.

you’d ended up at your door, mason standing just centimetres away from your face. you knew what he wanted, and you wanted it to. so, with the confidence given to you by the mixer you’d just downed a while ago, you closed the gap between you and engaged in a sweet kiss with him. it was well overdue, mason’s teammates would say as he told them the following day.

you’d settled in really nicely with the team, enjoying every day you spent at the training grounds. you’d only been on that one drink date with mason, always planning to reschedule another but you’d both be too busy to do so. it didn’t stop you from texting nonstop and have some late night facetime calls. you were really beginning to like each other. it was as if nothing could ruin your happiness you felt with your life at this moment.

until you’d been pulled aside and told by chelsea’s own manager that a man united massage therapist had quit, offering you the job. it would mean your whole life would shift, you’d have to move, you’d have to make friends with a team all over again, and leave mason. you couldn’t bear telling him, which you’d also been told to do. you’d have to break the news to your beloved team, who would come and cheer with you after a win, and always pester you with random requests. you were each of their’s personal assistant almost, loving your relationship with them all. and mason, you knew he’d be crushed, the girl he was so deeply falling for, being told to move to another club.

you were on edge since that very morning, not being your usual joking self with your boys as they came in for their sessions. you’d weakly smile at them and make small talk whilst tending to their stiff joints, then let them leave. all the boys carried on with their day, assuming you were just having a bad day. but mason could see through you, he could tell something was playing on your mind.

as you were putting pressure on mason’s ankle, which he’d been take off the pitch for last week, he grabbed your arm gently. sitting up, he pulled you close to him and held you how he usually did. his hands grazing your sides and his eyes almost burning holes into your own. “talk to me, pretty. what’s on your mind?”

you shook your head. “i’d go easy on the foot today, mount. i don’t want to see you benched next game.” would you even be able to see their next game? it brought you close to tears throughout the day, but being trapped in a room with mason, you were bound to cry and tell him everything.

his grip didn’t leave your arm, instead he pulled you closer to him and held you close to his chest, now standing and towering over you. you felt a sob erupt through your chest, opening the flood gates as you cried into him. he’d never seen you like this, you were always his smiling ball of sunshine. “talk to me, y/n.”

“they’re moving me.” you simply stated, hoping not to say another word and him just understand completely. but it didn’t work like that, none of the team knew. mason would be the first to know, and you had to tell the rest of the team before the day was up. as this weekend you’d be arranging accommodation in manchester whilst you looked for permanent residence, as well as meeting the team and staff you’d be working for.

“what?”

“they’re moving me to united, mase. a therapist quit over there and they asked for me, your manager signed me over a few days ago. and i’m gonna be leaving you boys.” you explained, mason’s grip on you loosening as he tried to come to terms with what you were saying. he’d had his fair share of bad news in his life, but this was the biggest blow he’d felt in a while.

“they can’t do that,” mason stuttered over his tears, a frown cast upon his face, “they can’t just expect you to pack up and leave.” you placed your hands over his cheeks, forcing him to look down at you. that’s when his tears began to fall, looking so vulnerably at each other in this time of sadness.

“they can, mason. and they have, i need to go this weekend to meet the team and look to move up there.” you admitted, your hands refused to leave his face. you were soaking up every bit of mason you could before you left. long-distance didn’t work for either of you, especially with how busy you both were. the only time you’d see each other would be if chelsea were to play united.

“i can’t lose you, y/n.” he confessed, pulling you into him and resting his head above yours. it wasn’t just losing a girl he was seeing, it was losing someone he loved. he’d fallen deeply in love with you — but telling you would just hinder your movement. he couldn’t make it any harder than it was, it would ruin you. he just had to let you go.

that afternoon, you’d thought about what you were going to say and met the boys on the pitch. the second mason saw you, it took everything in him to not cry into his hands. but he managed to stay strong. you stood weakly beside the team manager, avoiding everyone’s eyes and fiddling with your jumper sleeves.

“afternoon boys,” you greeted them, hearing a few cheers and whistles, they loved you, “i have some news. today will be my last day working with you. i’ve been transferred to united, which will take full effect this weekend. you guys have my number if you just want to talk rubbish, or have any questions for me.” it was a long while of hugging them all, laughing with them and repeating little inside jokes with them.

“what are you going to do without me, huh?” you asked reece, who just chuckled and gave you a squeeze. “i’ll miss you all, you know who i’ll be cheering on if you ever go against united.”

you’d settled in at united perfectly, but something was missing. it was always going to feel this way, nothing would ever break the bond you shared with the chelsea boys. even when they went head to head, and you’d catch mason’s eyes on the pitch, you’d have to hide your smile when they scored, and try even harder if mason was the one putting it in the back of the net. you got on well with the boys here, but you found yourself missing the boys back at chelsea, and most of all, mason.

months had passed since your move to manchester, and you were heading out of your office on a particular tiring friday afternoon, walking past united’s manager, who always seemed to be on his way to something.

“ah, y/n, just who i needed to see.” he commented, stopping you as you were headed out to find a late rashford for his session. “keep an eye on your emails tonight, please. you’ve been included in an international offer.” you nodded, not hearing anything past the word ‘email’. and when you’d gotten home that evening, waiting for your takeaway to arrive, you mindlessly scrolled your emails.

something about the upcoming world cup, saying you’d been selected as the teams massage therapist. it burned your eyes as you danced around your tiny living room; so happy to have a chance at seeing any of the chelsea boys again. you’d thought that after all these months of just seeing mason’s face in his instagram posts, he’d have forgotten about you and moved on. but it was the furthest from the truth.

mason watched over your socials for months, seeing your various pictures with the likes of rashford, shaw, and lingard. he made sure you had friends and was having a good time up north. but every night he’d go to bed, yearning for you and the time you both spent together. missing your first kiss, missing hearing the sound of your laugh in real life, not just through another footballers videos. he missed spending hours on the phone. and although he had a chance to reconnect with you, it would be too much for the both of you to handle. he’d miss you so much more, knowing you were simply unobtainable.

after signing all of the correct documents to show you could in fact work for the national team, you were on your way to the training grounds and coping with living in the camp alongside the boys and other members of staff. it was better than your tiny manchester apartment, that was for sure. you weren’t really needed outside for training, so you set up your office and began on your paperwork. time passed a lot quicker here than it did when you worked at united, it was nearing your lunch break already. a knock was placed at your door, bringing your out of your work daze.

“hello, stranger.” you heard from behind you, heart overjoyed that it was actually him. it was your mason. you turned round to greet him, standing up and immediately pulling him into a hug. it felt familiar, the only bit of familiarity you had in this place. “god, i missed you.” he even smelt the same, as creepy as it was to say.

“i knew you’d be called up,” you admitted to him, looking up at his red face. it was just like the first time, he was so nervous to talk to you, “you’re still my best player.” his hands found your cheeks, taking advantage of the affection not feeling awkward. it was as if you never left.

“you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you all these months, y/n,” he whispered, face centimetres away from yours. “how much i’ve wanted to kiss you again.” you wanted it too, you finally felt like you found your missing piece. but you had to remain professional, this was national level now, not just club level.

“trust me,” you whispered back at him, holding your hands above his own, “i’ve wanted to kiss this pretty face, too. but we have to be professional.” he nodded, understanding that if they were caught, you’d be the one facing repercussions, not him. so he respected your choice and stood back.

“what about when the day’s over, and we go back to the camp,” he suggested, a hand on your shoulder to stop you from turning around, “what would you say to me then?” you just shrugged, sitting back down in your chair and continuing your work. the remainder of your day was quiet, just talking about a few people tomorrow that have stiff joints that need loosening. you’d made your way back to camp, opening your door and sighing as you took your shoes off.

what room are you in? mason texted, waiting outside his door.

you’re eager, i just finished work. but i’m on the floor above you, room 39. you texted him back, speedily changing your attire for something more comfortable and freshening up. mason would be up here within seconds. and whilst there were no rules stating that the squad shouldn’t be in staff members rooms, it felt wrong.

“you’re gonna have to leave when nobody can see you.” you sighed, opening your door to an eager mason. he wormed past you and sat on your bed, semi annoyed that your bed was comfortable than his.

“so not only do you get a room to yourself, you get a bed that doesn’t feel like a plank of wood.” mason stated, clearly getting comfortable on your bed. “i just might have to stay here.” you rolled your eyes and sat beside him, resting your head on the pillow. “you tired?”

instead of saying anything, you nodded and inched closer to him. his right hand was drawing delicate patterns on your exposed arm, whilst the other was wrapped around you. this was the moment he wanted with you, even when you were working at chelsea. but it’s happening now and that’s all he cared about. holding the girl he still deeply loved in his arms.

“i’ll go down to dinner soon,” he mentioned, even if you could hear him or not, “maybe i’ll bring you something up.” a small kiss was placed on your temple, mason snuggling into you a bit more.

the next day, you knew you had some sessions. so you were up early, a text from mason on your phone.

i left late last night, i fell asleep once i came back from dinner. i hope you had a good night.

you blushed at his text, getting yourself prepared for the day. the boys had a match coming up soon and you wanted to be on top of your game, making sure they were all stretched and ready. you sat in your office, prepping your table and your paper work for the first person to enter.

you’d worked with grealish, bellingham, and lingard today. and they only had a few more hours training until they were done for the day. you sighed in your seat and rested your head against your desk, arms and hands sore. your handle was violently shoved down, your door opening in the process. startled, you watched declan carry his best mate in.

“he rolled his ankle taking a kick,” declan explained, helping his friend onto the table. you quickly sanitised your hands and pulled his sock down to observe his ankle. “will he be okay for the game in a few days?”

“yes, dec. he’ll be out in no time.” you reassured his friend, mason smiling through the sharp pain shooting through his ankle. declan had left shortly afterwards, leaving you to giggle at mason.

“what you giggling at, hm?” mason questioned, a finger tickling your side. you squirmed and brushed a hand over his head, his features relaxing under your touch.

“it’s always the ankles, hm?” you retorted, mason rolling his eyes before letting out a laugh of his own. “let’s get you back on your feet in time for this game.” you had taken his boot and sock off, applying gentle pressure to the sides of his ankle and seeing how badly he reacted to the pain.

after the next few days of training, it was finally time for the match. you stood nervously on the side of the pitch, watching the ball being passed around. you watched as it had gone to mason, someone from the opposing team sliding into mason, and knocking his ankles together. he fell and began to yell in pain, the medics rushing over to him and assessing the pain. after realising it was not too serious, but he still had to be taken off, they’d given the job to you.

mason sat on one of the chairs beside you, head leaned back as you pulled his socks down. he winced as your small, cold fingers had pressed different parts of his ankle, but it didn’t feel bad. in fact, it was quite relieving. “it really is always the ankles,” mason finally agreed, making you chuckle and sit on the floor opposite him, “god, it fucking hurts.”

“i will take care of you,” you mentioned, your hand sliding into his. he smiled at the contact, his free hands gently tickling your side. this small amount of public affection felt scary, but good. you knew someone would pick up on it, but you didn’t care in the slightest. you had been away from mason for far too long. months and months apart, yearning for each other every second you were awake.

when the match was over, england scoring a whopping 4-0, mason was by your side for the rest of the evening. even getting onto the coach to go home, he sat beside you the whole way; his hand in yours and his head gently resting against your shoulders. when heading back to camp, knowing you had a day’s break before the boys were back on for training again in time for the next match, mason followed you to your room. you didn’t mind, neither did anybody else really.

you’d gotten into bed beside him that night, eyes heavy from the amount of work you’d both put in today, and the buzzed feeling from declaring victory had awoken something in him. he had the urge to kiss you, like he has every moment he’s spent with you recently, but more than that. he wanted to tell you he loved you, but decided to keep quiet. he wanted to save it for another day, maybe someday more special, when you weren’t trying to catch up on sleep between games.

“are you tired of me?” mason asked, releasing his voice into the darkness. he had no idea whether you were awake or asleep, as half an hour had passed of you both enjoying each other’s presence. you were wide awake, although your eyes told a different story.

“i’m tired in general,” you admitted, rolling over to face him, barely catching his pearly whites in the dark, “but i could never get tired of you.” mason’s heart was beating through his chest, reaching out for your hand to place onto it. it was a special moment — feeling his heart rapidly paced from your words, you’d barely noticed mason’s arm around you as he pulled you into him.

“good, because i’m not letting you go again,” he spoke quietly, your hand now replaced with your head, feeling his pulses on your cheekbone. you smiled for the millionth time that day, happy you had your mason back.

[ptergwen]

love is more than a word

w/c: a very ouch 3.6k

warnings: so so so much angst and an unhealthy (ish) relationship

summary: after nearly four years together, peter has stopped trying

a/n: listen y’all i don’t know what came over me when i made this but i think it’s the saddest thing i’ve ever written? uh try to enjoy tho

-

you never thought this would happen, but you’re getting tired of peter. it isn’t your fault. that cliche it’s not you, it’s me line doesn’t apply here.

at first, you actually did find yourself believing the it’s me part. you’d came to the conclusion that you expect too much from peter. he goes to class, he works, patrols, sometimes parties, takes you out when he can. he’s got a lot going on for a full time college student, which is a busy life to lead on its own.

it’s why you don’t complain when he wants to spend the night in and order a pizza instead of cooking together like you’ve been wanting to try. it’s why every time your friends ask you two to hang, you have to reluctantly explain that peter is passed out at eight o’clock on a saturday.

there’s a lazy “wanna make out?” some nights, if peter isn’t yawning when he steps through the front door. even that has lost its enjoyment. kissing peter doesn’t give you the rush it used to, the taste of his strawberry chapstick not flooding your senses and intoxicating you. it’s become predictable. comfortable. boring.

peter is boring.

you’ve slipped into unspoken routine. say your hello’s, work on separate assignments in different rooms. peter eventually yells something like “babe, you hungry yet?” across the apartment, his passive way of asking you to make dinner. you usually order takeout because why make an effort if he doesn’t?

you might watch one of the ten movies peter has liked since before the start of your relationship. he’ll usually fall asleep during it. no surprise there. his overpacked schedule exhausts him, which you’ve talked to him about spreading himself too thin. peter is too nice and can’t say no, so this is where it leaves him.

the main reason you’ve stayed with him is that he can’t take care of himself. he’s clueless about paying the bills, sorting his laundry, simply remembering to drink water. peter wouldn’t be able to go a week without you. he even says it himself.

“crap, i totally forgot about these,” when you picked up his special ordered textbooks from your school library. “can food go in the garbage disposal?” a rare time you didn’t wash the dishes. “thank you, y/n/n. you’re literally a lifesaver,” whenever you do a task for him that someone in their 20s shouldn’t need assistance with.

you didn’t used to mind much. he watches over the city every night. you felt you should return the favor. spider-man could use some help, too. after the almost four years you’ve been together, peter has become completely dependent on you. it only got worse when you moved in together your junior year. you’re concerned how he’ll manage later in his adult life.

you’d think he’d be a little more passionate about your relationship considering how much he needs you. you know peter still loves you, of course he does. that’s not what the problem is. he’s become content with the mutual feeling, so he doesn’t try anymore. he expects the spark to keep itself lit.

no more random joke of the day texts that he used to send you. he stopped surprising you with your coffee order in the morning, the one that he memorized the first time you two went to a starbucks. what you initially found most endearing about peter was that he remembered every little thing you told him.

he put whatever energy he had into showing you that he listened. he’d do it all with rosy cheeks and that toothy smile of his. it seems now like he’s under the impression that being in a long term relationship means none of that matters anymore. there’s no need to impress you, keep you guessing, make you feel special.

tonight is your breaking point. as you go over all of this in your head while peter lays peacefully next to you, you can’t take it. you’ve been making so many excuses for him. you lie to yourself. you’re desperate to believe this is okay and normal and you can work this out, and you can love whatever version of him this is.

but, you can’t. you can’t do it. you need to tell him now because if you sleep on this, you’ll end up feeling bad and be stuck under these suffocating blankets forever.

“peter?” you whisper his name, your back turned to him in bed. you haven’t cuddled each other to sleep in a while. his arms don’t make you feel held now, they make you feel trapped. you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore his look of hurt when you reject his open embrace.

“peter?” you speak louder after a moment of silence, except for his occasional snores. a loud one escapes him before they stop altogether. his eyes stay shut as he mumbles out a, “uh... huh?” your heart is thudding through your entire body. you take a breath in from your nose. “i wanna break up.”

the breath you let out next is one of relief, those three words that have been scratching your throat for months finally out. peter slowly turns his head over his shoulder. he blinks rapidly at your motionless figure. you’re still not facing him.

“what?” is all he says. his voice is surprisingly steady, the confession not yet registering with his sleepy mind. his eyes are burning into you. “i wanna break up,” you repeat and squish your face further into your pillow. peter suddenly sits up, flicking on the lamp on his side. he tries to sling an arm around you. you move further away until you’re at the edge of the bed.

“i’m serious, peter. everything we had, it’s gone.” your words cut through him harder than literal knives he’s been stabbed with. “i- i don’t understand. where is this coming from?” he rakes a hand through his mess of curls. you turn onto your back, looking up at peter. his eyes are fixed on your lower half.

he’ll most definitely cry if he meets your eyes. he really doesn’t want to cry, not ever again when you won’t be here to make him feel better.

“it’s been coming,” you almost scoff at him as you prop yourself up against your pillows. peter’s teeth tug at his lower lip. “all we do is this.” you gesture to your bed, slapping your hand down at your side. “i get tired,” he speaks quietly, refusing to look at you. “i know you do, peter. i know, but you’d be a lot happier if you ever listened to me.”

your statement comes off as condescending to him. he works up the courage to look you in the face. “are you kidding? all you do is boss me around, and i take it. i’ve never once complained.” anger is coursing through his veins and voice. at the situation, that he’s about to lose the one stable part of his life. you’re getting pissed, too.

“that’s because you can’t do anything yourself!” you throw the blankets off you and swing your legs over the bed in one motion. peter hops out of bed entirely. “my whole life, i’ve been on my own half the time,” he spits as he comes over to stand in front of you. “sorry for taking you up on your offers to help.”

your peter would never spew that shit out. he wouldn’t guilt you for something he’s in the wrong about. this peter takes you for granted. he has no clue how fucked he’d be without you.

the first time you spoke to peter was on your way to history 227. you’d recognized him from your class, much more interested in the pretty boy taking notes with his tongue stuck out than whatever war your professor would lecture about.

he was carrying some books, a pencil case that didn’t fully zip, and a five subject notebook. you watched him do his balancing act through the halls until his legs started to wobble. a knowing smile on your face, you tapped his shoulder. it was a gentle one so you didn’t scare him and make all his things fall over.

“can i carry something for you?” you laughed out and pushed one of your backpack straps up on your shoulder. peter only stared at you, his doe eyes prompting you to reach for his pencil case. “uh, no, it’s fine. i got it. see?” he proved that to you by hiking everything up in his arms. he gave you a smile of his own.

“are you sure? we’re going to the same place,” you’d checked again and pointed at his impressive pile. “i’m not gonna steal your sharpies.” “really, i’m fine,” peter insisted with a heart clenching chuckle. “you can have one, if you want,” he offered and attempted to unzip his case, one handed. you put your hand over his to stop him.

“wait until we get to class,” you let go of him, leaving the tips of peter’s ears a shade of pink you’d later fall in love with. “i’ll sit with you.”

peter was once determined to do things on his own, to be self-sufficient. it used to be something he was proud of. now, he’s completely incapable of holding his independence.

“we’re done, peter.” your tone is short, you getting to your feet. “you’d probably forget how to fucking breathe without me, but call it bossing around, i guess,” you laugh bitterly and go over to your drawers. peter’s face falls as he grabs your wrist, stopping you when you pass by him. “where are you going?”

no answer. you pull yourself out of his grasp with your lips pressed into a stern line. peter follows you step by step over to the dresser. “wait, wait. don’t leave, baby. please,” he begs you, getting onto his knees beside you. you’re pulling random clothes out as quick as you can. a science t-shirt peter outgrew is in your hands.

peter used to give you all his old clothes. the signature smell of his cologne lingered no matter how many times you washed them. they kept you calm on nights he was out late patrolling or away on missions. peter would sport a smirk whenever you wore them out in public, pulling you closer to him and complimenting the look.

it started when he was packing for his first mission since you two had begun living together. he’d realized he became too buff to fit in some shirts. remembering how many times you’d giggle at their funny sayings, peter gave them to you. you threw one on and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. it became your tradition.

peter would set off for a new continent, but a piece of him would stay home with you.

the stretched out hoodies and ripped sweatpants just sit in your drawer now. another meaningful thing discontinued. whatever he doesn’t want goes to may for donations now. the memory of what they used to mean to you makes a fit of rage burst through you.

you slam down his ‘find x’ shirt in the space between his knees and yours. you’re on a mission of your own this time. you aren’t going anywhere until you get rid of all the stuff that went from him to you.

“y/n, don’t do this. i- i love you. i love you.” peter chokes out, tears filling his eyes. his vision is clouded while you toss more clothes to your side. “i love you, y/n/n,” he whimpers again, and this time you briskly push the drawer shut. the whole dresser shakes. this is the most emotion either of you have shown in the past few months of your relationship. it’s a little too late.

“love is more than a word, peter. you have to back it up with actions.” you’re doing your best not to cry. the memories of how loved peter made you feel play in your mind. he briefly wipes under his eyes and shakes his head. he’s so oblivious. “i thought i- i did.” “exactly, you did. you gave up at some point.” your voice gets weaker as a tear drips down your chin.

you didn’t plan on breaking down when you imagined this moment. part of you wishes you could give him another chance. most of you knows it wouldn’t do any good for you or peter. you’re not right for each other anymore. he outgrew some sweatshirts, you outgrew him.

that takes you all the way back to it’s not you, it’s me. it’s really both of you.

for the last time, you pull peter in for a hug. the two of you need this. he loops his arms around your back, keeping them loose around you as he tucks his face into the side of your neck. you’re a mix of tears and sharp breaths with your chin on his shoulder. you bring a hand up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of curls.

he sobs right into your ear, effectively destroying whatever composure you had left.

even though you’re not in love with peter, you haven’t stopped loving him. somewhere inside of him is the goofy boy who asked you out on a post-it during class. the kindhearted man who gave so much of himself to the world and saved enough for you. the one whose fingertips left goosebumps on your skin with every touch.

seeing him like this, having caused it feels like a dull pain rippling in every part of your body. you’ve been there to soothe him during countless breakdowns over the years. you managed to stay strong for all of them. this is the only exception. he lost people, felt down about life, made mistakes. you were there to pick up each piece and put them back together.

the one mistake peter made that you can’t fix is not loving you right. you became his rock, his anchor whenever he let grief and sadness rule over him. you’d get him back to himself. he could’ve at least bought you flowers once in a while, or done anything that showed his gratitude. every iteration of awful put together isn’t enough to describe how he feels.

“i’m so- i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i don’t deserve you. i never have,” peter murmurs as he cries, wetting your skin that his face is still pressed into. your fingers pull roughly at his hair. hot tears overflow from your own eyes. “i should’ve done more.” his voice cracks on the last word. “that’s all i wanted to hear, pete,” you breathe out and pull away from him.

“does that mean you’ll stay?” he croaks, arms still wound around your body. his eyes are hopeful when they lock with yours. a frown pulls at your lips. “only for tonight. i should... one of us should sleep on the couch.” “oh,” his voice is gravelly, so he clears his throat. “i’ll do it.” you’re not going to fight him on it for once.

peter removes his arms from your waist, you sitting back down on your thighs. you give him a blink and you’ll miss it smile because you can’t keep one for long. it’s to let him know you’re not mad. you were at the start of this conversation, then he took accountability. you also came to terms with the fact that the downfall of your relationship was a joined effort.

there are more factors than peter not giving you what he should have. time, different goals, new outlooks on life. you can’t hate only him because a whole bunch of things lead to this.

instead of a smile, since he physically can’t put one on his splotchy face, peter brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of your lips. he gets up to leave the room, but you stop him with a “wait!” he freezes in front of you. you get out a hoodie from his pile of old clothes and stand up. “it’s cold.” you put it in his hands, earning a grin that he didn’t think was possible.

“thanks, y/n,” peter sighs and holds the hoodie against his chest. “goodnight. um,” this is the part where he’d usually say i love you. “sleep well, okay?” the replacement stings for both of you. you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without hearing that phrase first. as much as you didn’t feel it anymore, you’d become used to it. “you too, peter. night,” you say softly.

you head back to your bed while peter walks out the door. he glances at you once, and you’re already settling under the covers. he shuts the door behind him before finding his way to the couch.

your bed has always seemed too small. it’s gigantic without peter. you aren’t sure how you feel about that yet.

peter lays across the couch, the hood that doesn’t quite fit him pulled over his head. he’s only wearing it because you gave it to him. you doing that not even five minutes ago was how you backed up your love with actions. it’s so easy. silent tears spill from his eyes at the realization.

he wishes on every star that he could’ve figured out he wasn’t doing enough sooner. you’d be together right now, had he just caught on. there was a time he prided himself on knowing you fully and completely. how to turn you into the shy one with certain combinations of words, what your schedule was each week so he could plan his free time around it.

your relationship became something he thought would last unconditionally. if only he was able pinpoint the exact moment he went wrong.

you’re right in the other room. he can go in there and bawl, plead for you to take him back. how could he do that and claim to love you, though? you’ve made it clear you‘re over him.

the best way for peter to show you he loves you is by letting you live your life, without him in it.

-

you don’t see peter again for weeks. he moved back in with may, and you got to keep the apartment. you were the one who took all the care of it, anyway.

your semester ended at the perfect time because peter isn’t in any of your new classes. the city is too big to bump into each other. you’re free from the hold he had on you, which would’ve been four years long since yesterday. you’ve been good at picking up his broken pieces for too long, and now it’s time to pick up your own.

for all the hangouts you missed on his behalf, you made up for it. you called mj the day after your breakup and met for lunch. she never explicitly said it, but she took your side. peter had a feeling because when he had the same idea as you, to lean on his friends for support, she never reached out.

betty is indifferent, ned stays cordial with you. his real loyalty is to peter. you can’t blame him.

peter hasn’t been doing well since you broke up. he’s not eating enough, he can’t focus on work of any kind. you were right when you said he would forget how to breathe without you. he often wonders how you’ve been.

he finds out today.

you’re walking around campus, heading in the direction peter just came from. he has a class in the building your last one was. the two of you are on the same sidewalk, opposite sides. he almost doesn’t recognize you.

mj is on one side of you, a guy he’s never seen before with an arm around your shoulders. you’re all laughing about whatever dumb thing your professor said during the lecture. your hair, which is done in a new style, flows behind you in the spring breeze. a smile takes place on your glossy lips. the smile is directed towards that guy. your new boyfriend, peter assumes.

you look amazing, and not only physically. you seem happy with your small group of people. peter hadn’t been able to give you that happiness in years, so it’s nice to see you got it back somehow.

he must have stared too long because you notice him. you fall behind mj and your potential boyfriend, both of them wrapped up in discussing your next project. peter stops walking. you do the same. he’s not sure if he upset you, or what’s going on. his instincts tell him to apologize. his mouth stays closed.

that infectious smile of yours appears once again. you thought about peter yesterday, it being your anniversary and all. you’d only let yourself remember the good things. they outweighed the bad ones when you look back on everything.

“aye, grandma! get over here!” mj calls to you, your boyfriend nudging her side. “take your time, y/n/n. i’m not in a rush to write seven long ass pages.” you laugh to yourself at the two of them. peter fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. it’s from the drawer of things you used to wear. “one sec!” you yell back.

“hey,” you turn to face peter, who’s giving you a tight lipped smile. “how’ve you been?” “i’m okay. just, you know,” he shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. there’s a short silence before peter says, “you seem good. really good.” he smiles for real this time. “yeah, i am. i hope you are, too,” you tell him and genuinely mean it.

you’d like to catch up soon, but it’s not right yet. you both need more time. “i’ll see you around?” you’re already starting to walk, backwards so you can see peter. “uh, sure. bye,” he gives you a quick wave and continues on his way.

you get back to mj and your boyfriend, his arm returning to your shoulders. they waited for you by the stoplight. “what’d ya get up to over there?” he teases, mj suspiciously watching your face for any tells. you carefully think through your answer with a grin. “love.”

[punemy-spotted]

Of Blackbirds and Barons: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You Make The Rain Fall Harder

Relationships: Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader; CEO!Billy Russo x Reader; Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader x CEO!Billy Russo

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con; Dark!Fic; Mob and Mafia Elements; Character Death (Minor and Major); Threesome; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Kidnapping; Mentions of War; Human Rights Violations; Contract Killing; Mafia AU; Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat; Complete Disregard for Actual Rules of Journalism and Style Guides; Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply

Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-con; Drugging/Date-Rape; Fingering (F-Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Unprotected Sex; Possible Breeding Kink; Kidnapping; Obsessive/Possessive Zemo; Dark!Zemo; Human Rights Violations; Discussion of Destruction of Novi Grad and Sokovia; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The problem with having sympathy for the Devil is that he will drag you down to Hell regardless.

Author’s Notes: Another series! Because I can’t get enough of Mob!AUs! Zemo makes his dark entrance. And this IS dark, so read at your own discretion. As always, all of my work is 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Masterlist

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia, that which once stood the test of time against the Tsars of Russia, began to crumble long before its borders did, its sweeping architecture and decadent mystery giving way to the sharp lines of Brutalism and the characteristic industrialism of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Sokovian people managed to maintain their identity in the face of a new kind of empire, bringing greenery and art to a brisk, concrete world.

There is no Sokovia now, not the way one would think, but there are still Sokovians scattered around the world, clinging to the traditions of their once-home and searching for a banner to be united under.

A banner carried by a man like Helmut Zemo.

The caret blinks back at you with a mocking sort of finality, a metronome counting down the seconds to your ultimate frustration. Once. Twice. Thrice — you lose count, staring at the screen until your vision crosses and the words blur together, until only his name remains.

Zemo.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

Your notes are expansive, excessive, papers strewn about you and you look at each scribbled anecdote, each carefully dictated word, each photograph you have annotated until it is more red marker than actual picture and you are… frustrated.

Where do you put all that passion? He asked you over champagne and charcuterie.

You know this man.

You know this man like you know your own soul. You know this man who has bared his soul to you in turn and how are you supposed to impress upon the world that he has shown you the broken heart beating slow and painful in his chest in just a thousand words?

There is nothing. Nothing you can do, nothing you can saywhich could even begin to encompass the horrors which he has experienced and now as you painstakingly tap out word after word describing the grand beauty of his apartment, you wonder if this really was what your life was meant to be.

These are… fluff.

This is a man who has managed to unite an entire fractured country under his royal banner and yet the project wants to know about the indoor garden of his apartment, wants to photograph him in fine suits and know his haircare routine and this can’t be it. This can’t be the face of the man you see everywhere now, moreso since you picked up the assignment, purple-masked and surrounded by brass wings, over the homes of Sokovians all over New York.

And not just there.

I am a man, he told you with his hand on your thigh, But I can become an idea. And an idea is immortal.

You let your eyes skim over the photographs you took, a collection of banners and graffiti and billboards all proclaiming the need for the Sokovian people to come together and heal. To show that their small country — broken and divided in the wake of an attack by a rich megalomaniac’s private military — could not be taken down simply because its borders had been erased and its capitol turned to rubble.

We live in an age of information, and through information we are boundless.

It should terrify you.

It does terrify you.

But inside of that terror is a sick fascination with the man, isn’t there? That’s the trouble with you investigative types — peel back the layers enough and you find yourself capable of feeling sympathy for anyone.

He flaunts his power, and yet it’s innocent. Is it so wrong, then, to want to bring my country back to its glory?

No, you remember answering shakily, but not as well as you remember the pinpricks of heat his fingers left on your skin when that gloved hand brushed over you arm.

Breathe deep, hover fingers over your keyboard and try not to feel like you owe him the weight of the world. He approved of this, even suggested a word count and a topic of conversation — any chance to put his name out into the consciousness of the public, it seemed, to raise interest for the gallery by raising interest for the cause. Make it indulgent. My people, they enjoy art. They enjoy knowing that their leaders have preserved the past for them.

So do it.

… Baron Zemo’s New York penthouse is its own garden amongst a sea of steel and stone, a veritable museum of priceless artworks rescued from what remained of Sokovian museums and ministry buildings. It is, in its own way, an ode to the spirit of Sokovia, which lives on in the hearts and minds of its people around the world. He displays artworks of the many displaced Sokovians, gesturing broadly to a 3D model of an art gallery he intends to have built near the memorial at Novi Grad — with the consent of the Slovakian government — and speaking fondly of his intention to showcase the lost art of Sokovia as a reminder that loss of land cannot be the loss of an identity…

The artworks, they will be painful at first. But the gallery will showcase more and more, and eventually we will have hope.

He waves a gloved hand over the pieces he has preserved. Sokovian history. Scenic expanses, fields and flowers, a city skyline dotted with domed cathedrals. Each painting marred some way too, you can see when you look close. Patched canvas, the dusting of ash and rubble in the corner of an ornate frame, a trick of the light revealing repainting to cover up damage.

A stone hoof sits on a bookshelf, The attached horse and rider blown to rubble in the attack. I’m told it was of Emperor Ferdinand, but my archivists have not been able to confirm, he tells you as he stands behind you, his hand resting soft on the small of your back.

Come. There is more to be seen.

More to be experienced.

His living room is a garden.

It smells like fresh jasmine the moment you walk in, ivy climbing the walls and you swear you can hear birdsong from more than the pigeons cooing outside. Flower arrangement is an often looked down upon art, but the gardens in Sokovia were impeccable. My father won several awards for his pieces before his…

He trails off and you watch him, seeing the pain paint his face as openly as if he meant for you to watch the facade crack and then back to that placid, pleasant calm, a serpentine smile on his face as he extends to you a hand and guides you to the open air of his balcony and bids you Sitbids you Enjoy bids you I have looked forward to his meeting.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Zemo, you begin politely, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trying to avoid the way his eyes follow your fingers, feeling seen, We’re grateful for the honor of your patronage for this piece, we know you could have —

Nonsense, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his butler and then leaning back comfortably in his seat as champagne and various cheeses are brought forth, You are my guest, and I am grateful you agreed to come meet me here, to assist with my… project. Now. Please, enjoy, I do not want to treat this as strictly business.

Is that why he had you come alone?

Don’t.

Don’t dwell on it.

It happens all the time, right? It has to.

A somewhat reclusive man, not keen to be in the limelight, in need of public attention to achieve his goals — you are a means to an end and he is your means to an end, surely you can understand.

Is that why he wipes the honey from your lips and kisses it off his fingers?

This is going to be a difficult conversation and you know it. You can only gush over houseplants and rose décor for so long before it becomes… trite, before you’re a part of the problem, painting a shining veneer over a half-decade old injustice

But he is warm, warm and friendly and you cannot help but laugh to his response when you draw attention to the architecture to draw attention from your blush — Very modern, yes. We are in New York, after all, and the old ways are fine for country houses but not so fine, for sunny penthouse apartments —not noticing the way he looks like he’s just smelled blood at the sound of it, the narrowing of his eyes and the hiding of his inscrutable expression behind a sip of champagne.

Well then. Shall we get started?

Of course.

Why don’t we start with your plans for opening night?Your notepad is out, the recorder sitting in front of you to pick up the sound of your voice and his, ready to commit everything to memory.

Of course. We cannot deny the… elephant in the room, I think you Americans call it. There are many who took pictures of the aftermath of the attack, and not enough who have seen it immortalized…

… The tragedy of Novi Grad and the consequential absorption of Sokovia into its surrounding countries weighs heavy in the Baron’s living room, draped in ivy and jasmine and hanging vines but also in photographs of what was left after a private military corporation chose to turn human lives into a war game.

No one knows who Ultron is, only that he is dangerous, that his technology rivals that of the SHIELD Syndicate’s Tony Stark, that he is willing to ally himself to the highest bidder, and that he is fully capable of unleashing endless destruction upon the world…

You will never forget the photographs he shows you, all that death and destruction in the golden light of his balcony, all that warmth and all you can see is cold bodies bathed in concrete dust.

They call to you, when you close your eyes — answer for our crimes — and you remember the way his voice changes too, so soft and solemn, the brush of fingers against yours when you touch the bombed out shell of a country mansion My home, in Sokovia, to the gray-and-blood horror which forms the centerpiece of his display, and you remember your research too, that the Baron is a widow, that his title is inherited from the most tragic of circumstances, that his son was an innocent lost in the attack and you are furious too, at the senselessness of it all.

It is a tragedy yet unanswered for, more than half a decade since the dust settled.

That quote sits front and center on your mock-up, wondering if you could make whatever editor who would inevitably rip this piece to shreds — just before publishing its corpse alongside some glamour picture of the Baron his coat — finally see the error of ignoring the tragedy. You won’t, but it’s worth a shot, as you lean back in your chair and stare at the screen again.

Sometimes you think about it.

Watching Novi Grad happen from the comfort and safety of your living room, wrapped in blankets as open war broke out in the capital city of what had once been a crown jewel in an ancient dynasty. A playground, a show of force.

Sometimes you hear the screams.

The blinking carat waits for you to add more to this story, to decide where you want to go.

… The Baron plays a game with his interview, insists on knowing his guests just as we insist on getting to know the enigmatic leader who has risen up a beacon for the displaced people of his homeland. We will not be recreating our answers in this article, as they were of course of a personal nature, but we do thank the Baron for taking the time to get to know us just as he bared his soul, his sorrows, and his hopes to a gaggle of strangers seeking to make him known to the world…

Tell me of you, sweetling.

Me? This interview is about you.

And so I must tell all my secrets for free? No, I insist. A secret for a secret.

He watches you with a hunger, coal-black eyes an invitation. Slide your gaze away or fall and who knows what depths he will drag you into and what you will find there?

No.

Don’t look, don’t look as you sip the tea Oeznik brought when you politely declined the champagne — Another time, probably — and let it brace you with its bitterness, let it clear your head.

Breathe.

You’re in too deep now, trapped in this cave of wonders… and wouldn’t it be worth it? Know him as he knows you, follow the trajectory of the smiling man before you.

What would you like to know?

Tell me how you taste his eyes whisper.

Tell me what it would take says the curve of his fingers over your hand.

Let me put you on display hums the razor-blade of his smile.

Tell me what drives a woman to take on such a … dangerous line of work, is the final inquiry, innocent and curious and gentle and you sip your tea and smile.

Is it dangerous?

You must know how many secrets you uncover — and the lengths the keepers will go to in order to hide them.

If people get hurt, shouldn’t I bring that to light?

How noble of you, he tells you with another hum, with his fingers squeezing yours, with his eyes fixed on the gaze you refuse to send his way, It must be quite thrilling.

Let me thrill you too, sweetling.

Pull away.

Do it.

Pull your hand away, make an act of it, pick up a candied strawberry and press it past your lips, let the sweetness soak your tongue and wash away the bitter thoughts, let yourself be bright and chipper and pretend you are not afraid.

Because you’re not.

Of course you’re not.

You are in control here, you must be in control here.

This is nothing. This is a casual interview with a handsome man in his handsome penthouse, an interview about architecture and art galleries and you were a correspondent once and you are meant to be friendly here, not afraid, so what are you afraid of?

What is it about his coal-dark eyes and too-sharp smile that turns your blood, that sends you back into your hutch, little rabbit, what is it about the way he prowls at the corner of your thoughts that makes you shudder so?

What are you running from?

Who are you running from?

Your turn, sweetling.

Mmh?

Our deal, or have you forgotten already?

Yes. You have.

It’s his eyes, you keep insisting to yourself. They drag you in, so dark it feels like you’re drowning in the void of them, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s a chase.

It’s what you’re good at.

Right — I’m sorry, I’m…

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The fog in your thoughts doesn’t fade, confusion crossing over your features and ill delight crossing over his. All you had was tea, tea and some of the candied fruit his butler brought for your enjoyment, how can you feel so…

Hazy?

So…

Upturned?

Something clatters behind you and you realize it’s the chair you were sitting on as you stand, unsteady and abrupt, lost in the moors of your own frantic thoughts and there is his hand on your elbow, so careful and soft and there are his lips before yours, so…

Tempting.

Somewhere, a woman croons to you of falling rain and rushing blood and the room does spin round as you stand still in the open air of a desire that is yours and not your own all at once. Shhh, shhh, let me help you whispered in your ear, a hand to your cheek and you…

You blink.

Reality flows into view like a sudden bath of ice water. Jerk away from his iron grip, raise your hands and try to resist, shake your head and N-no, I think. I think I need to go, I’ll just call a cab —

I cannot let you do that, sweetling. Not when you are finally within my reach.

His hold is steady. Unbreakable, even, as he pulls you close and you might even be dancing with the way his arm wraps around your waist the moment you fall into his chest, Don’t look so afraid, sweetling. No one will hurt you, here.

I will protect you like a jewel.

Your mind is still yours — the dose was just enough — but your limbs? Your limbs are tied to his strings, lost as he guides you right back inside, lost as he gestures for Oeznik to close off the balcony.

Your place is somewhere else now.

You belong underneath me.

He guides you inside, jasmine intoxicating your senses and wisps of smoke seeming to float past your eyes. Reality blends into the fantasy, the Baron and his prize, the gentle touch against your soft cheek, the cradling against his form and he is…

Determined.

A door opens. A portal into another kind of decadence, with soft sheets and softer touches, the sliding of a mouth over yours as your escape clicks shut behind you and you are pressed between wall and man and you are consumed.

Curl your fingers into the lapel of his coat, lose yourself to the pressure of his lips, the sharp nip of teeth against soft flesh. He tastes of champagne and honeycomb and you are saccharine on the tongue, a mess of sighs and admonitions left unsaid.

My precious thing, whispered into your unfocused sighs, I will take such fine care of you.

And you want to protest, want to insist you are free you are uninterested you do not want this man and his hands under the cotton of your blouse but the words tangle on your tongue and instead all you can do is whimper.

Whimper, and hear him chuckle against your skin, a line of kisses drawn from your parted lips along your jaw until he’s found the thrum of your pulsebeat to draw a gasp the moment his teeth scrape against the delicate skin. He must mark you his, after all, and this he will gladly renew, over and over.

Over and over as he draws you to bed, lays you amongst soft cushions and softer sheets, indulges in the soft curves of you in the golden glow of the room. Your clothes — so conservative, so professional, so unnecessary — he makes short work of even with what mild resistance you manage, Shh, shh, do not fight me.

The heat is yours and not yours all at once, warming your skin and leaving you flushed, leaving a trail of burning want along your skin where his fingers trace over you and centering in your core You need this, sweetling, look at you…

Do you?

Is it you who needs this or he, he who has begun to kiss along your skin, he who presses himself between your legs so impatiently? The accusation lives in your thoughts and passes past your lips as a strangled Nnh-no, ignored without ceremony or appeal.

Protests are useless when your tongue can form no words and your limbs can do nothing but writhe, seeking structure in the grip of his sheets as he unravels you with a press of his lips to that soft center of yours, slick with a need you cannot own and yet all yours.

He maps you with a hungry gaze, fingers already tracing the plushness of your folds, gathering slick like he might have been collecting nectar and you watch him pull back, watch him bring his hand to his mouth, watch him wrap lips around his fingertip and drag the taste of you onto his tongue, One day I shall make you taste how sweet you are…

One day, after he has savored you so deeply.

You are so full of words they burst out of you on a normal day and yet nothing you say comes to light, just the bare whimpers and anxious mewls of your needy self as he returns to inspecting, to enjoying, to savoring the reactiveness of your body.

He touches. He touches as if he has owned your body a thousand times, he touches as if you are delicate, as if you are breakable, as if his fingers might lead you to shattering around him here and now and you…

Are so close, already.

So close, trying to find the strength in your muscles to pull away, to speak something beyond desperation with every curl of fingers against your cunt, with every pleased hum he utters in response to the flex of your sex. Shh… no more fighting, sweetling, I know you can be good.

He knows you can be good, he says, with all the innocence of a man trying to convince his cat to stop clawing the couch, not a man presently holding your legs open with one hand at your thigh and the other curling against your walls while you arch your back. It builds, the pressure, it builds and builds and builds and — Let go, sweetling. Let me see your ecstasy.

Is that what this is?

You keen. You keen softly, desperately, brokenly, as skilled fingers find the spot which makes you, which leaves you breathless and flushed and sobbing, a trickle of tears making their path down your cheeks as you bite your own lip to muffle the sounds you did not know you could make. Wordless and pleading and he notices with a cold smile the way you seem to succumb, hips no longer desperate to escape the curling, stretching assault of two — no, three — fingers preparing you for him.

Hips pressing back towards him now, a betrayal of your conscious-yet-barely-focused mind, that lustful sweetness in you taking over and he can only watch in awe. Awe not at your surrender but at your perfection, muttering in a language you do not understand and yet you understand perfectly what he means — he will have you, all of you.

Ah, I shall so enjoy playing with you more, sweetling.

But not now.

Now his impatience outpaces your need and both outpace his cruelty, his desire to see you beg and so instead he pulls back his hand — and hears the desperate N-no, please don’t — to bring a cruel gleam to his dark eyes and even barely conscious as you are you know he is beautiful.

Beautiful and cruel, as he frees himself and curls fingers around his cock, rubs your own slick onto that soft skin, hisses at the very feel of you like it must be a preview to how you will make him throb, and presses himself over you. Presses himself over you, absorbs the cry of pain or anguish or relief which pours from your plush lips with the punishment of a kiss just as he sinks, hips pressing against yours, stretching you with his full length and Now we are one, my sweet.

Now we are one.

He will take fine care of you but you, you take finer care of him, so plush and tight around his senses, so desperate as you cling, so lost and wanton and he kisses away the tears which continue to sting your cheeks and hisses half-sensible promises into your ear — You will always be mine — as he ruts his hips and practically shoves you forward with every thrust, dragging you back with a snarl and the pressure builds.

Builds and you moan, builds and you sob into his hungry mouth, builds and you hold to him as if he were the last thing which made sensein the world builds and you are consumed and he is consuming, and the release is both of yours, spilling deep inside of you and that too is the final shackle upon your soul.

You sit. In the darkness of your office and you remember, worrying the cuticle of your thumb and staring at the words you have typed while your memory drifts back to that hazy reminder.

… A discussion with the Baron about Sokovia reveals a country rich with history. Once a Duchy of the Hapsburgs during the era of the Holy Roman Empire, the deeply Catholic country clings to the Austrian and Italian tradition of ceremony and indulgence. Baron Zemo plays an example of the hymns sung in the many cathedrals which once filled the country, a mixture of Sokovian and Latin to raise the soul to divine heights.

The Baron speaks of the country’s culture with a warm fondness, of how even during Soviet occupation, the people managed to enjoy games like ice hockey, and football (the European, variant, the Baron would like to emphasize), and even spent time indulging in horse racing. Surrounded by Slovakia and the Czech Republic, it keeps a similar tradition, with a twist…

No, that cannot encompass all that you discussed, and yet that is what the recording shows, words traded back and forth which you do not remember, a conversation of laughter and warmth and none of it slots into what your mind tells you occurred.

You erase. You rewrite. It is the same passage, over and over, fingers acting unbidden of your frantic will and eventually you give in, demand to be done with these words and this screen, eventually you desire peace.

… Baron Helmut Zemo is many things. A historian, an ambassador, a politician, an activist. He is a widower, a man trapped in the past, a man with lofty dreams for the future. He wears his sorrow as well as he wears his happiness, and for those who still call themselves Sokovian, he is their shepherd into a new age.

And as the door to your office opens, your keeper.

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Our Story - Prologue

theA/N: My first Chris Evans series. This is just a fluffy little series that has been floating around in my brain for a while, and because I've recently fallen head first into the Chris trashcan, I figured he’d be the perfect person for this little love story AU. I mean absolutely no disrespect with this, it's just a work of fiction. I also want to give a huge thank you to @percywinchester27​ and @girl-next-door-writes​ for being my betas for this story. You are both amazing and I'm so grateful for your help on this. 

Chapter: One

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader (unfortunately no Chris in this part) 

Warnings: Absolutely none. 

Wordcount: 1850

Four weeks after my twentieth birthday, I left my childhood home in Savannah, Georgia, and pointed my nose towards New York. It was hard to believe that eight years had passed already, but my twenty-eighth birthday approached in large strides to remind me of how much time had passed, and how much had changed. New York City was a stark contrast to Savannah, the city that never sleeps VS the most charming city in America. When I first moved here, it was my intention to stay for only a year, then I would be back in Savannah with my family and the man that I loved so deeply, Josh. 

However, life never really turns out how you intend it to, no matter how much you plan for your future. Josh and I used to talk at length about our future together, and I honestly couldn't wait to get started on it all, house, careers, and then a family of our own at some point. Then, after eight or so months of long-distance we finally broke and admitted to ourselves that it was just too hard. I know you might think that since we had stuck it out for that long, we surely could manage a few more months, but by then I had been asked to stay on in what was supposed to be a temporary position, and I had fallen in love, not only with the city, but with my work. I asked Josh to come to me, told him we could find ourselves a little apartment in Queens, or the East Village, something we could afford, and we could spend a few years together here before moving back home to start a family. I guess you’ve already figured it didn't turn out that way, and it ended, as long-distance relationships often do, in heartbreak. It was my first real heartbreak- amicable, civil, and soul-crushing. It was also then I realized, as we all, unfortunately, do at some point in our lives, that love does not, in fact, conquer all. 

If I'm being completely honest, I knew within my first month in this magical city that I would never want to leave, and after things ended with Josh, I felt as though I had deceived him in some cruel, unintentional way. Every conversation we had, had after that had been filled with lies and promises I never intended to keep. I had fooled myself as much as I had fooled him. After our break up, although completely heartbroken, I felt free and unburdened, which strangely made me feel even worse about the whole thing. Our love didn't end in some big blowout argument, or because we didn't want to be with one another. It ended because of the thousands of miles that separated us, and because in the months we spent apart, I changed in a way that could not have been foreseen. Never did I imagine myself in a big and busy city, but as I said, New York and me, it was love at first sight. 

You might be wondering what job took me from my safe and comfortable life in Georgia, thinking that it must have been some grand, once in a lifetime thing. It was not. It was a temporary job as a personal assistant. I found it as I sat by my computer one night, daydreaming about what kind of life I would live if I had all the money in the world, what life Josh and I could create for ourselves. That's when I came across the ad. A woman, Mrs. Wallace, needed an assistant. She was a very wealthy woman in need of someone to keep track of her very busy social calendar, amongst other things. I knew she was wealthy because she lived on Fifth Avenue, not that I had ever been to New York and really knew what that entailed, but I had seen movies and read books placed in the city and knew very well that Fifth Avenue was a very expensive street. There was little to no description of the job or what Mrs. Wallace was looking for in an assistant, other than that they had to be organized and were able to juggle multiple things at once. Beyond that it really came down to compatibility. I was nothing if not organized, so before I knew it, I had compiled an application letter and sent to her email. I told no one about this, because it was ridiculous for me to think I'd even get a reply back. In all honesty, it had all been forgotten by the next morning, and I didn't think of it again until three days later when, at dinner with Josh I might add, I got an answer. She would like for us to meet. We sent a couple of emails back and forth where I tried to, as politely as possible, explain that I did not have the means to travel to New York just for an interview. I stated that I appreciated her interest, and apologized profusely for not being able to make it out there. It was then she asked for my details, and about fifteen minutes later I got a confirmation from American Airlines that my ticket had been booked and paid for. Two days later I was sitting opposite Mrs. Wallace at a restaurant that I would never be able to afford, listening to her talk about the job I had applied for and what she expected of me. 

The very first thing that struck me about Mrs. Wallace was her age. For some reason, I had imagined someone in their fifties, full of botox, fillers, and whatever else middle-aged women put into their faces to look younger, but Mrs. Wallace was not that much older than me. At the time we met, she was twenty-seven, so younger than I am now, and strikingly beautiful. Thick, black hair that looked professionally blow-dried and sculpted so that not a single strand was out of place. It draped over her shoulders in loose Hollywood style waves and stood in sharp contrast to the white blazer she wore. Her skin was olive, her eyes deep brown, and her cheekbones could probably cut glass. When you put that together with her long, model-like legs, an hourglass waistline, and a very ample bosom, the woman looked like a greek goddess. To top it all off she had a warm and kind smile, and a kick-ass sense of humor. Kate, as she insisted I call her, was far from the stuck up, nose in the sky, botox filled woman that I had imagined in my head. We hit it off, and before dessert was served, I had a job offer. 

It's hard to explain, but I felt as though I needed to take this opportunity, that this was an experience I was meant to have in some inexplicable way, and I accepted right then and there without a second thought, or even a conversation with my family or boyfriend. Josh was angry with me at first, but supportive, so two weeks later I stood in front of 1040 Fifth Avenue and looked up at the towering building with its limestone and intricate carvings here and there. Kate greeted me at the front door as I stepped out of the car that she had sent to pick me up from the airport. This place even had a porte-cochere to protect the residents from rain as they walked from the door to their private chauffeur-driven vehicles. I would be staying here with the Wallace family, in the staff quarters with the rest of the staff of course, so that I could be available to Kate at all times. And that's how my New York adventure started. 

Eight years later, I am still working for Kate, still living in my little room in the staff quarters, but I love it. I have a little bathroom and everything I need. Food is prepared for us all by the cook, Rosalia. She is a little, plump woman in her mid-fifties, kind and compassionate, not to mention deeply passionate about the food she prepared for the whole household. Along with me and Rosalia, the other staff in our quarters are Magdalena, the housekeeper, and Mitch, who is Mr Wallace’s assistant. There was more staff, of course, like the private chauffeur’s, who didn't live on-site and throughout any given day, people would be in and out of the place like it was a busy office space as opposed to the home that it actually is. 

Now, Mr Wallace was a very busy man, working non-stop whether it be at his office, or at his home office. It seemed as whenever I saw him, he was walking in fast strides, either on the phone, or confirming things with Mitch who half sprinted behind him with his I-pad, trying not to trip over anything as he tried to keep up and take down notes at the same time. Henry, that was Mr Wallace’s first name, was a little older than Kate, not so much that you could accuse her of being a gold digger, but he was approaching his fifties now. He didn't look it though, he was a very handsome man, and kind. Imagine George Clooney, a man that just seems to get more gorgeous with every passing year. Kate and Henry were busy, always had their hands full with whatever it was, but somehow they always found time to share a meal together every day. Even if it meant having Rosalia heat up some leftovers for them at midnight. They were very much in love, and it was clear in the way they looked at one another, and how they always made sure to have that little moment to themselves every day. A couple of years ago, Kate had confided in me that she could not have children of her own, it was something that had weighed on her since she was only sixteen years old, but with Henry, she said, ‘I have all I need with that man, all the love I could ever wish for.’ It was a shame really, because I knew that Kate would have made an amazing mother, and Henry a great dad. ‘I'm alright,’ she had assured me. ‘I've come to peace with it, and learned not to dwell on something that will never be.’ 

So, that's the short version of how I ended up here, doing a job I adored in a city I loved with all my heart, so I think it's about time we move forward. Jump to the part where my real story starts. Spoiler alert; it involves a warm summer day in Central Park, a ruined dress, and an extremely handsome man named Chris. 

******

If you liked what you read, how about slamming that reblog button and help spread my work? If you leave a little comment on top of that, you’ll be in my heart forever. 

Want a tag? I got you!! Just send me an ASK and I'll add you. 

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss

[hoodoo12]

Elegy (4/6)

These two’ll be the death of me, @clairjohnson . . . Home again, home again, jiggity jig, even if that home is a tomb. Despite drunkenness, something unexpected occurs.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beejiesbitch @janitor-boy @angelicspaceprince @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice `

If she hadn’t been so focused on keeping him upright his words would have knocked her down. Maria had heard this man flirt a hundred times over, but nothing ever so flattering and eloquent. The most beautiful. Her stomach twisted at the compliment. Both unbelievably flattered and heartbroken all at once. Had he always thought this? Or had he really just gone overboard with the drinks tonight? 

She was about to respond, to express how completely touched she was by his words, when he started to talk again. Beej’s announcement of their arrival, and subsequent stumble, snapped her out of her thoughts. When had they gotten here? She hadn’t even realized they’d gone through a door. 

Didn’t matter. The Netherworld was a strange place, Betelgeuse was strange, it was easier just to accept things as they were. What was harder to accept, however, was his home. It was practically barren, save for a bed, table, and wooden chair. The only light in the room came from a few scattered candles that revealed debris strewn across his old wooden floor.

It looked like a crypt. It might be a crypt. 

“This is where you stay?” she asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice. Her place was hardly a palace, but it was clean. Bright. She couldn’t imagine ever spending a night here. Let alone however many hundreds of years he’d been dead. The mere concept made her chest tighten in pity. 

“Let’s get you over to the bed . . .”

"Gives me incentive to get top side," he muttered half under his breath at her blurted question. "Who cares anyway? I close my eyes and it's gone. I don't see it. No one else does either." 

She hadn't taken her arm from around his waist. With her continued assistance, he shuffled over towards his bed. The distance wasn't far, but as if to help bolster the fact his place was more fleabag hotel than the Ritz-Carlton, his foot caught a stack of Handbooks for the Recently Deceased--how did those get there? It couldn't be that he'd stolen them from recently deceased in order to con them--

--and he stumbled. The four walls around them did a looping dance. Automatically his grip over her shoulders tightened even as his other hand went for the rusty iron foot rail on his bed. He managed to remain upright, but had jerked her along with him. 

As he recaught his balance, the room settled back into place. 

She'd been close while walking with him, but there'd still been a detachment. He'd managed to scatter that with his ham-fisted, foolish misstep; Maria had been pulled right to him. 

With a jerky, unnatural movement, he lifted his arm off her. 

"Sorry," he apologized.

Top side. She and others, including Juno, had wondered for decades how he’d manage to find ways to the world of the living. There were rules. Passes you needed to apply for - but he, in normal Betelgeuse fashion, skirted by it all. 

She was about to snap back at his flippant comment when he tripped over what appeared to be a pile of handbooks. Maria reminded herself to inquire on those later. Thankfully Beej caught himself on the bed, saving them both from falling face first on the wood floor. In his effort to stay balanced the arm around her shoulder moved forward, effectively pulling her into his chest. One arm still wrapped around his waist, the other now flat on his chest, she peered up at him with embarrassment. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he was sturdy, and she felt unusually small pressed against him. 

When he detached himself with a slurred apology Maria took in a shaky breath she didn’t need then helped him sit down on the bed. God, he looked so disheveled - more so than usual. His eyes were heavy, shoulders slumped, and his tie was loosened and askew around his neck. 

Without waiting for permission Maria slipped the loose tie up and over his head and hung it gently on the foot rail. Turning back she hesitated, just for a second, before helping him slip his jacket off. She ran her hands over his shoulders and under the jacket, sliding it down his arms. The beauty queen reached around him, leaning in close, and retrieved the jacket and reunited it with his tie. 

“From what I can see of your bed I doubt you take these off when you sleep.” She crouched down and angled his large black boots for him to see. “However, I can’t bring myself to see you place these nasty things on the mattress.”

Some quick finger work on the laces and a few short tugs had both boots off. She placed them neatly at the foot of his bed. Maria brushed some questionable dirt off her hands and returned to the older man, giving him a satisfied once over. Gently, she pressed on his shoulder for him to lay down. 

“Get some rest, Alborotador. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around again soon.”

He felt loose, like his joints had been separated. Maria's gentle guidance around the end of his bed to the side and helping him sit was appreciated, but that was nothing compared to her carefully removing his tie. At some point it'd become loosened, or even in his inebriated state he'd have slapped her hands away. Nobody touched his neck, that was a rule. But she was quick and efficient and the fabric never touched his skin. That would've been enough, but then, but then-- 

She assisted him out of his jacket. Any other time he'd have made some off-color comment or pushed the flirting so hard it would have bordered on desperate. But muddled by the booze and still feeling the deep ache of rejection from those people in goddamned Connecticut, just to have her be attentive, just to have her hands peel him out of his outerwear-- 

A small sigh slipped past his lips. If she heard it, she ignored it.  

Then she didn't leave well enough alone; she actually crouched in front of him in her cocktail dress and heels--everything about her was in stark contrast to the rat's nest he lived in, and he included himself in that melancholy assessment; he should have never brought her here--and worked the laces of his boots loose and pulled them off his feet.

The care and concern pained him. The simple act of touch took him apart. 

When she took his shoulder he almost moaned. Like a man dying of thirst in a desert, he wanted nothing more than to drink in that simple friendly touch. 

It took all his will power to not grab her hand. Not for anything inappropriate, but just to keep it there, so he could soak it in. Instead, he sat dumb and dull as she straightened her skirt and bid him farewell. 

"Why does everyone keep leaving me?" he whispered. There had been a time very recently he'd bellowed that, but here, all he could expend the effort on was something closer to a whimper.

Maria had started to make her way out of the room when he spoke, the sound of his broken voice pulling at her more than the words themselves. Not that the words didn't catch her attention, and in many ways, hurt her. He was drunk, she reminded herself, and sad. She could stay with him a little longer - just until he was unconscious, she already crossed a line by being here, and basically sprinted past said line when she helped him undress. 

"I'm not leaving you," Maria corrected while she walked back over to the bed. "I was just going home. I have no illusions that you won't be darkening my waiting room doorstep again soon." 

Gently, she sat down on the bed beside him, her leg brushing up against his own. 

"Now lay down. Go on." She pushed at him again, moving out of the way for him to lift his legs up. The beauty queen stayed seated beside him, her torso twisted slightly to look down at him while she spoke. 

"If anyone left, it was you, Beej." The words were soft and sad, and she reached out absently to adjust a crease in his white(ish) button up. "Got yourself in so much trouble that Juno had to fire you - and then you were gone. Disappeared like smoke for years, only to show back up in the waiting room looking pissed." 

Maria had been so relieved, and so unbelievably angry to see him after all that time. It was that absence, that complete cut from communication, that had brought her back to calling him Mr. Betelgeuse - a title she already found herself skipping again in favor of his nickname.

Maria appeared at his side again, and blearily he looked up at her. Her nudge wasn't rough but he was so unsteady it was almost enough to topple him. He managed to not just fall back like a drunk--haha--but only just barely. 

Her words came to him as if through cotton wool. Disorganized thoughts moved lazily inside his head; it was so much easier to be angry than this drunken, dazed state he was in. The fact that the beauty queen had even given him the time of day was almost too much to take and much too much to even try and puzzle out. 

In the reaches of his memory he did recall how upset she'd been to see him again, and her cool reception to him ever since the final incident that sent him packing--that he'd designed for at least the chance for freedom. Tonight was the first time in all the times he'd reappear she'd ever done anything more than nod politely and exchange chilly words. 

As she sat primly, lightly beside him, the bed frame buckled. It didn't startle him, he was more than used to it, but he could imagine the surprise on her face as the mattress sagged her closer to him. Her delicate attention to his shirt made him catch her hand. 

"Come here," he croaked out, before clearing his throat, giving her a half-hearted pull. "I gotta tell you something."

The unexpected dipping of the mattress when he laid back surprised her, and she ended up with her back pressed against his side. Maria might have just fallen on top of him, if he hadn’t grabbed the hand that had been adjusting his shirt. 

Deep brown eyes assessed him curiously at the request. He was quite capable of saying whatever it was he needed to say from where she sat now - but the pull of sympathy was still strong. Without a word Maria leaned down to him, her free hand bracing her body on the mattress next to his. Being this close, even closer than when she was helping him walk home, she could pick up the smell of moss and wet dirt that clung to his clothes and skin. There was also the faintest smell of roses - so subtle that she could have second guessed if it was there at all.

She did as requested, and leaned over him. A stray lock of hair escaped from its careful pinning, and tickled his cheek. Maybe if things between them had been different, maybe if he hadn't fucked everything over in that spectacular way that was apparently his specialty, he'd have permission to brush it back. To lift it and settle it behind her ear. A minor but intimate gesture. 

But he didn't. He let her hair stay where it was, because it was also nice to feel it on his skin. 

Now that he had her there, he was at a loss for words. Lots of things flitted through his head: "You deserve better than me." "I missed you." "Wanna go see Saturn? I know a safe place--" 

In the end, he frowned a little as he focused on her features. She was so close everything was blurred; he didn't think it was because of the alcohol. Why in the ever-loving hell did she put up with him? 

"Thank you," he whispered.

There was a long silence while his eyes searched her face. Maria could tell he was considering something - and the fact that it was taking him this much time started to worry her. Why? She wasn’t sure. 

At this distance she was able to get a good look at his face. It was round and scruffy, and strangely complimented by his Roman nose. Even in his current, sullen state his lips still had an upturned curl to them. She’d always liked his lips.

 Her attention was taken away from his face when he spoke, and she smiled at him in response. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Blame it on the alcohol, on their proximity, on the raw vulnerability he’d shown her - but without having time to process her actions, her face closed the distance with his. The kiss was soft, and her lips barely pressed against his own. 

It took only a few seconds for what she had done to register, and when it sunk in, she pulled back. Not all the way, but enough to give him a dazed, almost apologetic look. She hadn’t planned to do that, would have sworn up and down that she would never be kissing Betelgeuse right up until the moment she did. Maria started to sit up a little more and opened her mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say.

The brush of her lips against his was a shock that wasn't dulled by alcohol. 

His hand automatically went up to touch her, to slip to her jaw to keep her close, but the split second that it took for him to try she pulled back again. But the motion was in place; although he missed keeping her where she was, his fingers touched the junction of neck and shoulder. 

There was nothing more important in his existence than tasting her lipstick again. 

Eyes wide, his tongue swiping his bottom lip in a move he didn't give conscious thought to, Beetlejuice breathed out, "Mi hermosa emperatriz Maria . . ." 

With a little additional pressure from his hand he encouraged her back towards him as he surged up to her.

tbc . . .

[skylarmoon71]

E2 Harrison Wells x Reader- Oneshot (Extra)

"Does it fit?" Harry shakes his head, removing the screw.

"I might have miscalculated the size."

"Wow, you made a mistake. That's impossible."

"Very funny (Y/N)." you just smile, and Harry removes his glasses, heading to get some other screw for the newest of his little gadgets. During the weeks after that little party at Iris's house, you and Harry seem to have gotten closer. Maybe it was the way you could relate. 

You both shared a similar experience. You understood each other. That mutual understanding grew into respect. Now you can't get enough of the grumpy overconfident Harry Wells. Cisco was on a little snack break. You were off your shift, so you thought why not swing by STAR Labs. Now it was just you and Harry, so you settled for helping him with his little experiments.

Taking a seat, you stare at the cup of water on his desk. Harry might be a while, so why not keep yourself entertained. Twiddling your fingers, you watch the water swirl around, rising out of the cup. You make small circles with your index finger, enjoying the patterns it created.

"Having fun." you nearly drop the water, but you catch yourself at the last second, glaring at Harry. 

"I almost caused a short to all these computers." you gesture to the screens right next to you. Harry looks a bit proud that he caught you off guard and you drop the water back into the cup. He takes a seat, but he doesn't return to work, he's looking at you.

"Harry, I hope you're not getting any ideas. I'm not gonna go through some weird experiment." As a scientist you know he can't help but want to test each and every thing. Cisco made you run through so many unnecessary trials when you first discovered your abilities. Some that probably were just for his curiosity.

"I've never had the opportunity to witness you use those abilities up close. We're always facing some kind of danger. "

He's right. When weren't you fighting some crazy meta.

"You can manipulate the water ratio in the body as well." This is the first time he's really taken interest. "Well yeah. Our body's about 60 percent but I guess you already knew that."

"Naturally." you just roll your eyes with a smile.

"Can you show me?" your brows knit.

"Harry, my powers don't work like Barry's. People can get hurt when I.." 

Truth of the matter is you tried to avoid using your powers after you'd almost murdered Calvin's killer. The fear of losing control and offing someone was constantly at the back of your mind.

"I know you." You can see it on his face, he displays nothing but absolute trust. At what point did you become weak to Harry?

"Show me?" He tries again. You don't agree at once, because you're still a little weary. But he trusts you, so what do you really have to fear?

"Okay." you lift your hand, and it's shaking a little. You close your hand to keep it steady. Harry waits patiently for whatever you're about to do. "Can you turn your hand over?" Harry obeys your request, turning his hand over on his lap. Your palm hovers right over it, and he marvels at the fact that his hand lifts on it's own.

He isn't moving a single muscle to assist. Your eyes are intensely concentrated, and he supposes it's the reason he feels nothing but a twitch in his hand. It rises all the way to yours like a puppet on a string, and now your hands are pointed upwards, fingers spread apart. They touch, and Harry's eyes connect with yours. 

"Astonishing." with a shy smile, you take a breath before you stop the action. Harry can no longer feel the pressure aiding him, and he guesses he should move his hand now, but he really doesn't want to.

"I hope it didn't hurt, I was trying my best to deter the pull. With villains I don't have a problem adding force. I'm not really used to applying it under non threatening circumstances."

"I think you've mastered both areas. I didn't feel a thing." you sigh in relief. 

"That's good, I was really worried I'd hurt you."

"Rest assured then, I came out unscathed." He sends you a gentle smile, and it's then you realize your hands are still touching. You're about to pull away, but Harry links your fingers. Those digits slip between yours, causing your heart to stagger.

"H-Harry.."

"It's amazing isn't it, how much you can read from physical contact. How well it conveys what we feel." He places his free hand on the handle of your chair, wheeling you closer. Your breath hitches. Harry really was sneaky. He hasn't released your hand yet, and now your knees brush. You swallow as his eyes seem to penetrate your soul.

He raises his hand, touching your cheek. There's a strong urge to lean into his touch, to fall into this abyss. Harry inches closer, gaze darting between your eyes and your lips. He's just a hairline away. Your eyelids lower and just as you feel the mingling of your breaths, you're smacked back into reality. Pulling back quickly, you scramble to your feet. You're shuffling frantically, eyes beginning to water.

"H-Harry I-I can't I-I need to.." you sob, and Harry rushes to his feet, holding you in his arms. He knows why you're so rattled. Closing your eyes you cry softly. 

"I-I'm so sorry Harry.."

"Shh shh, you have nothing to apologize for. I was acting on my own impulses." It's been years to slowly move on. It's only been a year for you, and you're still finding your way through it all.

"You won't lose me (Y/N)."

He knows, and understands. You're terrified to put yourself out there because you're afraid that if you do, that love will be ripped from you again. Your hold tightens on his body, and he runs his arms over your back, trying to calm you. Rocking side to side, he hums a soft tone, and you can feel the tension leaving your body. Your cries die out slowly, but he doesn't let go. You need this, and so does he. 

He waits until you're ready. When He feels you pulling back slowly, he loosens his hold. "Are you alright?" you nod, and Harry wipes the remnants of tears from your eyes. You appreciate the gesture.

 "I'm sorry I pushed you, I more than anyone should be understanding of your situation. "

"It's okay Harry." You'd never blame him for such a thing, or be angry. For you, there's been a spark for a while now. Between your lectures when he goes at it with Cisco, or just your daily bickers when Harry feels the need to prove his intelligence on a case. "It's not that I'm not attracted to you Harry."

"I would hope not, I'm very attractive." he grins, and you smack his shoulder. "I'm trying to be serious here you jerk." you can't help but laugh, and Harry loves it. He much prefers this sound.

"I get it, you need time to heal. There's no shame in admitting you're still in pain (Y/N). Something like that, love like that, it doesn't vanish overnight.

 "This is one of the reasons that you've fallen for the dark haired scientist. As intolerable as he can be at times, at his core, he's understanding, loyal and caring. "I'll give you space to-'

"No!" He's alarmed at the yell. You step closer, and Harry can't stop his eyes from straying to your lips. Swallowing, he waits for some type of explanation.

"You're right, it has been hard. A part of me will never stop loving Calvin. I know that. But I think I'm..I think I'm starting to move on. I don't want space Harry..not from you.''

"(Y/N), you don't have to-"

"I know." This isn't some obligation you feel you have to fulfill. And earlier, your reaction wasn't a rejection, it was just a call to reality. There's a man standing right in front of you, ready to love you, and it scares you, but it also warms your heart. "We can take it slow (Y/N), there's no rush to feel pressure into it. "

Harry is the cutest. He really doesn't want to jeopardize anything. You're the one who makes the first move this time. Your thumb slides over his lower lip, and you've finally managed to get him to stop rambling. Leaning unto your tiptoes, you kiss him with all you have. 

You need to let him know you appreciate it all. His friendship, care, sarcasm, strength, trust...love. Harry's hands settle on your waist, and he can longer resist. He pulls you impossibly close. 

There are no restrictions, and he uses that to his advantage. Fingers slipping into your hair, he deepens the kiss, relishing in the little moan that slips from you. The melody urges him to provoke some more out. You open yourself to him, no barriers. There's just you and him.

For the first time in a while, you feel light, and it's all thanks to Harry.

[harmonyandco]

Note: Harry and Hermione are currently in a long distance relationship. Hermione went to California while Harry stayed at London until...

Also, I'm not a descriptive person so don't expect much from me lol

Hermione was walking on the streets of California holding a stuffed bear Harry gave her in her pocket. She never felt so alone in her life... She was by herself, in a place she isn't familiarized in. She missed everyone

Later night her Manager called her and said she had some paper work to finish in order to get promoted as assistant manager, and she knew she's not gonna let this opportunity to slip away just like that. So she rode a taxi to reach her office.

So her manager started to give her the documents she need to finish in order to be promoted into assistant manager

A few hours later it was a quarter to eleven pm. She just had her second bottle of iced coffee that day. Although, she was still tired af.

Later she finished them and she was relieved to know that not only about the fact that she finished her paperwork, but she is also going to be promoted. She had no idea what would ruin her day at the moment but she hoped it didn't.

When she left the building, it started to rain. She didn't bring any umbrella. She spoke too soon, this ruined her happiness. She was looking all over the place for shelter, but there wasn't any. She couldn't go to any restaurant since they were all closed. She still had no car.

Then suddenly a man came rushing to her, removing his coat. He didn't see his face tho, since it was really dim on the street she was at now. Also, his voice sounded so familiar, she couldn't recall who owns it cause she heard it a year ago...

'Miss! Take it, you are soaking wet' the man said panicking

'No I'm alright it's just that-'

She stopped talking because the man seemed to be looking at her bear (it fell off her bag)

'Why does this look so familiar?'

'Umm, can I have it back? Sorry, it's a bit special to me'

'Oh...alright' Then he handed over her bear to her to be placed in her bag

Then when she looked up to finally face him, she saw a man on his 20's in glasses with green eyes and soaking wet hair. She realized, it was...

'Harry?'

'Wait no way! Hermione!'

Without hesitating, she jumped into his arms. She missed him so much. She took back what she said about her day being horrible. This was definitely one of the best moments in her life.She could finally hug him again and feel his soft hair.

As they pulled apart Harry was beaming at her. He looked so fucking adorable. He cupped her cheeks and said

'I can't believe I finally found you!'

'me neither'

Then he kissed her forehead softly.

'Can I do that too, Harry?"

'Fine, fine finee' he laughed

Then she pulled him in and peppered kisses all over his face.

'Okay, okay imma stop now' she said while looking at his face covered with her lipstick. 'Oh my gosh, Harry! I'm so sorry'

Then she started to wipe her lipstick off his face causing his face to turn reddish-pink. She could feel that she was turning red too

'It's okay, Mione'

'I miss you calling me that'

Afterwards it started to rain harder, his clothes were getting more soaked.

'Hermione, I think we should be going now'

'Yeah...'

'Lets go to my car'

'Wait, you have a car?'

'Um, yeahh duh'

As soon as they arrived, they placed Harry's coat was in the back of the car cause it was so wet.

'So, you want me to drive you to your place or you're going to stay with me?'

'You live here now?'

'Yeah...I wanted to apply for this job but it closed early so I just headed out for dinner. Then I suddenly saw you'

'What job?'

Then Harry handed her a brochure of the job he was applying for, she could never believe it at that moment but it was her company he was applying for.

'Are you going to hug me forever?'

'Harry, this is my company! This is where I work!'

'Really?'

'Yesss!!'

'Guess faith's not gonna let us apart again'

Then Hermione hugged him, he didn't care if he was soaking wet. It was her fault anyway.

'Are you going to hug me forever?'

'Yeah if I could'

'Hermione, you adorable little munchkin, stop'

'Sorry for being clingy' she said as she sat back at her chair

'Its alright, I find it really cute anyway :3'

After that, Harry started the car

'So what? you going to my place or not'

'I want to stay with you of course'

'Aight, my place is down town, kinda near so it won't take long.'

'But first we need to go to yours to get clothes, you're soaking wet rn'

'Okay fine'

Then as the rain stopped they saw the moon perfectly aligned in the center of the city

THE END

[holylulusworld]

Her again

Title: Her again

Square Filled: Office AU

Ship: AU!Dean x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Charlie Bradbury, John Winchester

Rating: explicit

Warnings: angst, language, lies, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, unrequited love?, a hint of breeding kink, consensual degrading (name calling), a hint of choking, light blow job, hand job, implied smut

Summary: At an office party you finally turn your back on Dean.

Word Count: 2,4 k

Written/Created for @spnaubingo​​​​​

2020 SPN AU BINGO Masterlist

Divider by @writeyourmindaway​

“Her again?” Jo huffs, watching you look at Dean who has one arm pressed against the wall to cage Lisa Braeden, the girl getting the job you wanted. “I can’t understand what everyone sees in her.”

“A dog in heat,” Charlie grunts. “Wonder how she got the job without having the qualifications Dean wanted. Do you know what that bitch did before she started working here?”

“Charlie do not use the b-word. We are all women and do not…,” Lisa turns her attention toward you, grinning wildly as Dean brushes a lash off her cheek. “Okay, she’s a bitch.”

“That chick was a fucking yoga instructor, girls,” Charlie jerks her head toward Sam who winks at you, offering you another free drink. “I should tell Sam she got the job for blowing her boss…”

“Charlie, we do not know if she got the job that way,” you watch Dean grab another drink, eyes landing on you. He raises the glass, but you do not have it in you to return the smile he gives you. “I’ll have that drink with you now.”

“Sam is fighting for your attention, girl. Go and get him, tiger,” Jo snickers at Charlies' words, pecking her friend’s cheek.

“I am not in the mood for stupid office rumors to spread. I do not need someone telling my boss I fucked his brother only as we shared a drink,” grumbling you walk toward Sam, taking the awful eggnog out of his hands.

“My brother again?” Sam muses watching his brother eye you warily as you give his younger brother a soft smile. “He’s a fool for not seeing you.”

“Well, I worked my ass off and didn’t get the position. I cannot compare with chicks like Lisa Braeden. I don’t know,” you sigh deeply, smile fading away. “Men do prefer girls like her, not me. I am awkward around men like your brother or you.”

“You are talking with me,” Sam slings one arm around your shoulders, squeezing your arm. “Maybe you should’ve told him that you like him.”

“And embarrass me even more,” deadpanning you point toward Dean who offers Lisa another drink. “Look at him, Sam he’s in his flirting modus. There is no chance he will not take her home like all the other girls. I do not want to be another notch on his belt. At least I’ll keep my dignity and do not have to do the Dean Winchester walk of shame.”

“That’s a new one,” snickering Sam looks at his brother whose jaw ticks anytime Sam touches you. “Dean Winchester walk of shame…”

“Maybe ‘I fucked my boss and now I have to quit’ would be more appropriate. I bet she is good, flexible, and all. I mean as a former yoga instruct…,” biting your tongue you pray Sam didn’t get the last words.

“I know she’s not qualified for the job, Y/N,” Sam does not like the way Dean acts around Lisa, not at all. “They have a history, okay. During his wilder times, he had an affair with her for like a week.”

“Great,” voice dripping with sarcasm you look at Sam. “He dunked his dick into her cunt and that’s the reason she got the job. A job she is not even qualified for. I worked my ass off. My relationship went downhill thanks to the fact I was married to my job. Fuck this,” you throw the glass with eggnog to the ground, glaring at Dean who turned his attention toward you.

“Y/N, calm down,” Sam tries but you push his hand away.

“This is ridiculous. Our boss fucks a yoga instructor for a week, and she gets the job Cole and I applied for. If Cole would have gotten it, I would have understood. He is longer at the company than I, has more experience but this is a shitshow and I am out of this for good. Fuck Winchester Inc. and fuck his CEO, Dean Winchester.”

Giving Sam an apologetic smile you pat his chest. “You’re not the one I hate right now. I will grab my shit and you’ll get my termination letter.” Sam can only watch you storm out of the room to rush toward your office.

“What the fuck was that Sam?” Dean gasps only catching a glimpse of you storm out of the room. Sam shrugs a smug grin on his lips.

“That was the best employee and woman for the job you gave your ex quitting her job and calling you a jerk,” Sam still grins when his brother storms after you. “I mean, you are a jerk after all.”

“Sam? What happened?” Charlie feels her legs give in. “That was not the plan! How shall we get those two together when she quits her job?”

“Relax, Charlie,” not worried at all Sam offers Charlie a self-assured smirk. “My brother will beg, plea, and fall to his knees to not lose Y/N.”

“Done?” Dean eyes you warily when you storm out of your office to leave the building. “Not even a goodbye?”

“Goodbye, jerk!” you brush past Dean, not caring he follows you. “I can’t believe you gave that yoga chick the job instead of Cole or me.” You stop in your tracks, glaring at Dean whilst you stomp your heel onto his foot, causing him to grunt in pain.

“I know, I did not deserve the position yet, but I thought I’ll give it a try. Cole, I knew he would make it, but he is great at his job. That girl can barely keep up with her tasks. She always bugs Jo to do most of her job,” you blink the tears of anger away. “I am disappointed more than I am mad. I know you tend to think with your dick but making such a lousy decision to get your dick sucked is the shadiest thing you ever did.”

“She doesn’t suck anything, Y/N,” Dean grasps for your hand but you wiggle out of his grip, giving him a warning glare. Sam, Charlie, and Jo can only watch you yell at Dean.

“Yeah, that’s the reason she got a job she’s not qualified for. I know you want to give people with less qualification or education a chance, but this is not such a job,” anger taking over you drop the box to backhand Dean. “That’s for ruining my relationship by forcing me to work my ass off for nothing.”

Rubbing his burning cheek Dean watches you pick your box back up. “There I stand, believing you and I could’ve had something. I am still the nerdy chick helping you with your grades. But this is over. Look for someone else to pamper your ego and the rest of Dean Winchester.”

“Y/N, wait,” the look on your face let Dean stop in his tracks. “She needed a job and that was the only free position, I swear.”

“Dean, we were looking for assistants, a new PR manager and so on when she started to work her. Do not underestimate me, Winchester. I am not a dumb little lamb falling for the big bad wolf,” you are half-way out of the building before Dean catches up with you.

“Wait, sweetheart,” not stopping you walk faster. “Please…”

“Won’t work anymore, Dean. Shove that sugar-sweet pet name up to your ass,” you blink the tears away, taking a deep breath. “Good thing I never told you I love you because this would’ve been embarrassing as hell,” the door slams shut behind you and Dean swallows the lump in his throat.

“Dean what the fuck!” Sam runs after his brother, watching you enter a cab. “You should’ve stopped her. That was the plan.”

“I told you he’ll mess up,” Charlie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jo, check Y/N’s office, maybe she forgot something. Sam, you will check her termination letter. Dean, stop being a jerk.”

“She loves me,” Dean grins dreamily. “I mean, hell she loves me.”

“Uh-Dean, I hate to ruin your daydreams but at the moment she rather hates you,” Jo shrugs, giving Charlie a wink. “Don’t think she liked watching you flirt with that Braeden chick.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight this way,” Dean grunts into your ear, pressing his sweaty chest closer to you back.

He has you on your belly, legs straddled by his muscular thighs, his cock so deep inside of you it borders on pain, your boss pumps wildly into you. “You’re such a slut for my dick.”

“D’, fuck,” you whine, fighting the ropes holding your hands bound behind your back. “I want to cum.”

“Did you earn to cum?” His lips press against your ear and you shudder, feeling his tongue slide in. “You caused quite a scene there.”

“You said, oh-please right there,” Dean’s large palm wraps around your throat, forces your body to bend to his will. “Please…”

“I said, make it look believable, not fucking rip me apart,” he slams into your abused pussy, making you yelp with every thrust. “I wanted them to believe you quit.”

“Dean, please. I need it,” his free hand slips between your thighs, to toy with your pulsing nub. “I’ll do anything, Sir.”

“I know you will,” Dean muses, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Monday morning you will come to my office, apologize and I’ll yell at you while you blow me like a fucking pro.”

“All you want but please let me cum,” watching Dean in the mirror he placed opposite his bed you roll your eyes. He is grinning wickedly, loving he won the upper hand. “Please.”

“Fucking cum on my dick,” now you push back onto his length, feeling your toes curl. “I want this pussy to squeeze me, milk me dry. You know, I’ll give you all my cum until you are round. Everyone will see you are my whore.”

“Dean!” You cry out, fluttering around his twitching length. “Give me your cum, Sir. Please.” Dean approves your words, gives you shallow thrusts to ride your high out. “Please.”

“There you go, slut,” sticky cum runs down your thighs, ruining the silky sheets. “Love fucking this cunt.”

“I am sorry,” you sigh, snuggling into Dean’s chest. “You said I shall make it look believable and got carried away.” Gently stroking the cheek, you backhanded you look up at Dean. “This sucks.”

“Listen, my father is a strict bastard. Whether we keep our relationship a secret and you can have the position, or we go public and lose it all,” Dean sighs, running one large palm over your ass, squeezing it roughly.

“Lisa played her role well,” giggling you peck Dean’s cheek. “I mean, fuck me, she should get an Oscar for her performance.”

“This way we got rid of Cole without firing him,” Dean grins, moving his hand to your back to tickle your skin. “We had to make him leave on free terms, believing Lisa got the position. Next week you will come back, and I will suggest that you’ll get the position to avoid that you sue me for being a naughty boss.”

“Sounds good to me,” you love the plan Dean and you developed over the last months. “They will lose the bet too. Five hundred bucks for new shoes.”

“You were the only one betting you’ll quit during our Christmas party. I got an evil mastermind in my bed.” You nod eagerly, exclaiming you used an avatar for the bet.

“Now back to me going down on you, boss,” a low growl leaves Dean’s lips when you crawl under the blanket to have a look at his dick. “Looks good, Sir. Maybe I should,” hissing Dean lifts the blanket to watch you lick the tip.

“Sweetheart, I wanted you in my office, on your knees like a good girl but,” he throws his head back, moaning your name when you lick him all over. “Forget it, just take me in your warm mouth, baby girl.”

Voice husky, at least two octaves deeper Dean urges you on, praises your mouth, pussy, and anything he loves. “Please baby girl, suck daddy’s cock.”

You look up at Dean, giggling. “Sorry, I don’t know where this was coming from, Y/N.” His cheeks shades of pink Dean pats your head when you play with his balls. “Such a good little cocksucker. Aren’t you a good little bitch?”

“Winchester stop making me wet again, dammit,” you pump him slowly before you relax your jaw enough to try again. “If you say another word, I’ll ride that dick until it falls off.”

“Fuck me, come up here,” before you can protest Dean tosses the blanket aside, to watch you crawl onto his lap. “Now ride me until you are a mess…”

��See, we need to do something about this,” Dean points toward the faked papers you hand him this morning. “She will sue me if I do not give her the position, father.” Whilst John looks at the papers, you have a grand time teasing Dean.

His cock at your mercy you run your hand up and down his length. Moments before John waltzed into his son's office you wanted to suck your boss off. Now you have him at your mercy and enjoy every second.

“Jesus, that bitch is greedy,” John curses, just like Dean when you slap his dick. “She will sue us for your mistake. Fire Braeden, no give her a suiting position and give that greedy cunt the job. I hope you can dick her down one day for fucking with you…”

“Oh-I will dick her down, Sir,” Dean grunts feeling your hand move faster along his shaft. “Metaphorically, of course…”

“Such a needy slut,” Dean grunts, pushing upward. You are on his lap, back against his chest. His hands on your tits he let you ride him while he checks some numbers, or at least tries to do so. “Naked on your boss’s lap in the middle of your lunch break.”

“He forced me down his dick, Sir. What can I do when he wants to fuck the neediness out of me?” You grin feeling Dean’s fingers pinch your nipples.

“Now, ride me like a good girl and later we will go to my apartment and celebrate you won the bet, got the position, and my dick on the same day.”

“Deal, Mr. Winchester,” you roll your hips faster, moaning as you hit that spot making you see stars. “Now I want you to fuck me over your desk like the slut I am for you.”

“Always so needy, Ms. Y/L/N,” Dean snickers. “I’ll see what I can do for you…”

Tags in reblog.

[writtingfiction]

Claude and a fake dating au please

Please enjoy this mondern version of them cast with the fake dating au! School starts in three days, lets see how many stories I can write before then, enjoy!!

pairing: Byleth x Claude

words: 1.7 k

Now when Claude had received the invitation to the corporate annual party he wasn’t expecting much, just the usual black and white suit and talk about how things are going well within the company. Maybe brag a little about how they got the upper hand in sales for the first quarter of the year. Nonetheless, as cunning as he was, he wasn’t expecting to show up at the party with his former boss from back when he was an intern with the Seiros Inc. Not only did he show up with his former boss, but he’s also said to everyone, within his company and rivalling companies that the two of them are together.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when the two enter the room all eyes on them. Byleth has half a mind to pat his arm gently in a way to comfort him. Claude wants to crawl into his own skin the way Edelgard and Dimitri look at him. Never mind how Seteth absolute seethes as he sends daggers towards him ready to rip him apart the second, he’s left alone. He thinks the only person to not be surprised by this was his own assistant. Although, he didn’t have the heart to tell him that this wasn’t exactly real.

When the pair had separated his close friends swarmed him. There were a lot of comments and many, many questions. He needed a drink. Hilda was incessantly poking his side, demanding for answers as Lorenz was lecturing him about something, he’s not paying attention.

“If you keep asking me all at the same time, I can’t answer you.” Claude said annoyed. Just barely making it to the table to grab a drink. The small crowd goes silent before they all speak up again. He shoots them a look before he hears one voice clearly through all the voices.

“Ok, ok, ok, I just need to know how.” It was Lysithea. Claude looks her in eye and then towards the rest of his friends. He’s now very glad that the two of them talked about this beforehand and came up with a story. Claude clears his throat.

“Well,” He starts off, trying to give off a vibe of mysteriousness and he is doing it well. “It started after Byleth got back from her overseas trip— “

“That that was 8 months ago!!” Hilda let out a whispered cry. Claude sends her a glare.

“Yes—As I was saying, after the overseas trip she had. We got back into touch as she was looking for a new job. I told her she could apply at Leicester Alliance and things went on from there.” Claude said, sipping his sweet drink. Rapheal lands a rough hand on his shoulder congratulating him.

“I have half a mind to scold you Claude, getting together with a former colleague like that? Do you even know what this could do to the company?” Lorenz started off with his lecture and Claude tried his hardest not to eye roll.

“Hence why we kept hidden for so long. We also hid it well mind you.” Claude said. Pointing a finger to no one in particular. Lysithea shakes her head.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Lysithea was a very smart girl for her age. Even though he constantly teases her for it, he couldn’t help but curse at how she knew he avoided the question. He had hoped his friends would carry the conversation away when they knew the least amount.

“What was your question, again?”

“How. How did you manage to convince Byleth to get with you?” Claude hums. His way of buffering so he can recall what him and Byleth discussed.

“I charmed her. Impeccable planning if I might say so myself.” Claude says. Grin as wide as possible to show off how cocky he was. He could see the very visible eye roll from Hilda.

“Totally Claude, now will you stop and just tell us?” Hilda whines out.

“Tell you what?” It’s a new voice. Everyone turns to see Byleth standing at the edge of their little circle. She’s dressed in smooth black dress that hugs her figure comfortably. There’s some gold jewelry on her wrists and neck. A matching pendent with Claude with his own necklace. Byleth’s outfit compliments Claude’s nicely, a couple picked straight from a magazine.

“Byleth! They were asking about how I managed to get you under my arm.” Claude said. Approaching her, smoothly wrapping an arm around her waist.

“If I remember correctly, it was you who was caught like a deer in headlights when I had asked you out for dinner.” Byleth said. Voice flat with a hint of teasing to it. The cat-like smirks that appeared on half of his friends faces had almost made him loose his composure. It didn’t help either that what Byleth said was true. When things first started out, Byleth suggested a dinner to chat about things and it honestly caught him off guard.

“Well, now they don’t need to know that.” Claude let out a nervous chuckle. He thought he had everything under control but this woman had him rethinking all his plans in under a second. She was just as or more cunning than him. A rare smile appeared on her face.

“No need to hide what happened. Have you told them about how you almost fell down the stairs earlier?” Byleth teased as Claude went red, choking on his words.

Claude trying to save himself and barely in doing so. Byleth was ready to crumble the reputation he had as cool lover and was trying too. Not with fake information either, he didn’t know if it was worse. However, while trying to keep it together he was catching things. People were relaxing around him for once. His close friends and coworkers were smiling and sharing stories from their lives. His rivals weren’t so tense around him, Seteth stopped glaring at him throughout the night. The old man was more focused on his sister than him tonight.

Byleth was making everyone around him more comfortable by telling them a side that only she would see. Claude shook his head with a small smile on his lips. Perhaps she was more cunning than he was.

The rest of the evening goes on without a hitch and he’s very happy with himself. Byleth noticed the change in demeanor. She wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. However, she’s stopped in her tracks by two familiar faces. Edelgard and Dimitri approach her before they leave for the night.

“Byleth, if I may,” Dimitri speaks up, long blonde hair tied back nicely. There’s a small braid on the side of his hair leading to the bun. “Would it still be too late to offer you a position within the Faerghus Knights?” There’s an eye roll from Edelgard.

“What he means to say, even though you’re with Claude would you be open to a new and better position? Preferably with the Adrestian Corp.” Edelgard said. Byleth can only smile, a small part of her is glad they haven’t given up the friendly rivalry she only hopes it doesn’t end in an ugly way.

“I’m sorry, my loyalty goes to Claude. Not just because he’s my boyfriend.” Byleth felt something twist at her heart. It felt strange to call him that openly. She had spent the last month or two coming to terms with the deal that the two of them made. The two leaders of their respective company's sigh.

“We’ll get you one day, Professor.” Dimitri said a large smile on his face. Byleth only shook her head at the old nickname. Yes, she was their boss and taught them how to do their jobs to the best of their abilities but she didn’t deserve that title. She bids them fair well and goes to rejoin Claude. She knew the man was getting weary with how the others questioned him relentlessly about company issues now that pleasantries were over.

She grabs both of their coats before she reenters the room. A clear sign that they were leaving for the night and no one would stop them for a chat. It was one thing she was grateful for; they knew when people wanted to leave and would let them. It takes Byleth a moment to find him even with everyone who has left. When she does spot him, he’s surround by those greedy slimy men who would do anything to get ahead. Unfortunately, Claude is the only huge target left. Edelgard and Dimitri left, Seteth and Rhea left two hours into the party. First to arrive and first to leave, mused Byleth.

Byleth appears at Claude’s side in a matter of moments. One hand resting on his back, a comforting gesture. There’s a stretched smile on Claude’s face and cruel grins on the faces surrounding him. Byleth is quick in saying hi as she places Claude’s coat in his arms, cementing the fact that they were leaving and no one would be stopping them. Only one or two men tried to keep Claude longer but Byleth was quick to interject. Coats on and pulling him away from the crowd by the hand. When the doors of the building were closed behind them, they let out a breath.

There’s a shared look between the two of them, before they let out a small laugh. Byleth is the first to move from their spot at the door. Hand reaching in to her coat pocket and taking the keys out, waving them in the air.

“Ready to head home?” Byleth said.

“Couldn’t speak sweeter words for my ears to hear.” Claude said.

The drive home was nice, the music was just loud enough to drown out overwhelming thoughts. However, as Claude checks his phone looking at new emails a smirk appears on his lips.

“Good news, we have more shareholders because of our appearance tonight. I have a feeling there’ll be some more cameras following us around more than normal over the next couple weeks.” Claude said. “You ready for this?”

“I’m ready. The company will come out on top for the end of the year, just get ready for the speed bumps along your path.” Byleth replied. Claude let out a chuckle.

“We’ll defeat anything coming our way. I won’t let them win.” Claude said, knowing the year ahead of them will be difficult but he had Byleth by his side. What could go wrong?

[laketaj24]

The Rules IV: Triggered

Author’s Note: Thank you all soo much for your input!!! It helped me out more than you know! This was fun as hell to write and I hope you’re down for a ride! It’s about to go down. There are two songs that really hit the nail on the head for this part, they are linked below! Happy Reading my people!

Pairing: CEO!Henry Cavill X Reader

Warning: Angst. SMUT. DRAMA.

Want to catch up! Click HERE

Song Inspirations: Jhene Aiko: Triggered (First Part) Jhene Aiko: P*SSY Fairy

If your heart slowed anymore, you’d collapse. But it wasn’t just the lethargic beat of your heart that slowed down. The kiss. The fucking kiss was being replayed in your head over and over, the way she cupped him, the way his lips touched hers and he deepened it. You feel the bile rise at the helm of your throat and you step back.

“Excuse me.” You whispered to a bewildered Alex, “I need to leave.”

He noticed. You could tell by the way he looked back to Henry and then you. His tall frame went from relaxed to apathetic. “Is it him?” He gave a wave in Henry’s direction and then stepped closer to you. “Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” You attempted to push your way through the crowd and caught an opening into the gala hall. Alex was on your feet, his long strides made it easy for him to catch you. “Hey, I can’t talk about it right now.”

Your mind raced, he took a month away from you, was it because the entire time he had her? Were you some fucking mistress, side-chick, side bitch… Homewrecker? Inwardly you taunted yourself with the unceasing line of insults to yourself. Fuck! Fuck.

“Look.” Alex cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. His presence kept you from bolting into the nearest room and destroying everything in it. You were grateful for that, maybe. “He is not worth you not enjoying this night. Do you know how beautiful you are right now? Every eye in the building was with you when we arrived. Make him mad, but don’t let him win. He did nothing to deserve a win apparently.”

The pep talk worked and more and more you were starting to understand why Alex was a friend you didn't want to lose regardless of what happened. The first dance is casual, you fight tears watching the woman touch his hand, laid her hand on his chest and laugh like he was a comedian. He wasn't that damn funny. You stay for an hour, it was required to stay an hour, you have done only what was expected of you and nothing more. Alex took you home, the car ride is silent besides the occasional murmur of a curse word under your breath.

Home is what you craved more than anything, once the door was closed and Alex's driver left you released a scream that scared you, followed by a sob as you felt your heart literally break. What a fucking feeling? Grief for someone who didn't deserve it. You didn't drink to solve your problems, so alcohol was a no. Sleep was the obvious answer.  The dress felt like it burned your skin, you were certain it didn't, but the fact that it came from him made it poison. He was poison, that you willingly chugged down like a vintage wine and now the repercussions had finally made their grand entrance. And fuck them.

Why were you looking them up, they were a known couple, known to everyone but you? You typed in his name and nothing but her appeared Billionaire Henry Cavill and Olivia Tate grace the Emmy's with their presence. Will this playboy finally settle down? Olivia Tate has HC's heart around her finger. You were sick again. You throw the phone on the couch and screenshot the picture of him kissing her. Is this the future Mrs. Cavill?

You changed clothes, slipping the crop top and leggings on. You knew it wasn't the end of the night. And you were right, sleep does not come. He sends you seven messages, each of which you stared at trying to formulate a response, but they didn't merit one, until the last one.

Henry: I've been looking for you for an hour. Where are you?

Henry: You left without a word? Are you mad or something?

Henry: A response would be nice.

Henry: Y/N

Henry: Y/N. I'll find you later.

Henry: Be there in ten.

Y/N: Drive safe. Are you bringing the wife with you?

You hit send of the picture you'd saved.

Henry: Wow.

The wait for him to arrive only infuriates you more, your mother had always said your temper was like a wildfire, once it sparked it would consume everything to the ground. You knew she was right; Henry even knew your temper needed to be managed, but no one fucking managed you. This included Henry. He didn't knock. He never did really, he entered with his perfectly tailored suit and an eye roll. And the lamp crashed behind him. He ducks, but his face is shocked.

"What the fuck was that?" he hissed.

"My fucking two-hundred-dollar lamp." You picked up the shoes and hurled them across the room next and he ducked as if he knew they were coming and charged towards you. You moved from his grasp. "You have been with her for a year!" It roared out of you and then the tears followed. "Why did you even come over here? Did you think I would be okay with it? Do you think I want to be your whore? Come when you say, fuck when you say and then you go home to her. Don't touch me!!"

"You're not going to let me explain, are you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Explain Henry, tell me what lie did you conjure up, while headed here. She's just a friend. I wasn't with her." you shake your head and Henry folds his arms across his chest. "Is she the reason you wouldn't let me kiss you?"

"Are you finishing acting like-."

"Say it!" You cut him off and step closer to him. You wanted to hit something, but his face was too pretty for that shit, and despite your anger, your mother raised you better than that, "Like what Henry? Get out."

"Y/N."

"I said get the fuck out!"

His jaw clenched and he pushed his hands through his thick mane of brown curls, ending the polished look he had earlier. "I'll call you later."

"Oh, no the fuck you won't." You opened the door to Alex standing there with his eyes on Henry. Why was he back? "He was just leaving." You explained to Alex. "Bye."

Alex stepped aside and held up the brown bag, you could smell the Chinese and noticed the wine bottle. "We didn't get to eat." He explained. The smug grin on his face sealed the night, he was a good guy.

You smiled and watched Henry stare at him before looking back at you. He shook his head, "Goodnight."

"Fuck you." You whispered.

In the past hearing, people say they were numb sounded foolish, of course, they felt. A human cannot simply shut it all off, but you were wrong. So wrong, it was easier to go numb than to feel. It started with work, your time invested in the company allotted you vacation three fucking weeks, paid and free.

The first week you spent with Alex, not fucking his brains out like a part of you wanted to but being a friend. He allowed you to talk, you told him everything and he listened with no judgment and that made it easier. Tia was around too, she spent the night with you when she could, in between hair appointments and makeup slots. Her career was changing fast, you were happy for her even if you barely showed it at times.

The second week you shut them both out. You told them you were out of town, but you were in your apartment with food and tear-soaked pillows. His phone calls had stopped, but you feared it was only because you changed the number. Work could contact you via email if they needed to, but no one even called you during the first two weeks. The marketing strategy you left would do well, you knew it. And besides your certainty in your program, you didn’t care what Cavill Industries did at the moment.

The third week, everything went numb, there were no more tears to cry. Every inkling of him that existed was gone, including the $6000 dollar dress. You burned it and at that final act, the night was gone from your mind. He’d broken the rules. You’d both set them and when he kissed her, he disqualified himself.

The first day back to work your anxiety had you in its grip. Every phone call and opening of your door you dreaded. But he didn’t come. He wasn’t even in the building, according to your boss and that eased everything. You could work with him not being anywhere near you, and that made you apply to the other firms that had once been interested in you. You got two calls immediately. Matheus Corporate wanted to hire you without an interview and after the offer they sent, you were taking it. You typed out your resignation letter and turned it into HR. It was the right choice.

It was a month before you saw him again, and the Cavill you saw briefly in the lobby looked nothing like the one you had grown accustomed to. His hair was wild, and he had a beard, an actual beard. His slate-blue eyes were tired as were his movements. Just seeing him triggered you, the horrid memories of that night flooded your head and the pain resurfaced. Being numb would not be possible around him. You knew it. You hid in the stairwell like an idiot and avoided him. Nine more days of work here and you would be clear.

“Look, the way I see it, we are friends now.” Alex kicked his feet up on your desk and looked to you for affirmation.

You gave it to him nodding your head and chugging down your third bottle of water. “Yes, we’re friends. So, when I call you up at midnight and you’re with your little girlfriend cuddling and things you still have to make an appearance.”

“Girlfriend?” He scoffed.

“You heard me.” You pointed at him.

“I’m hoping one day the little girlfriend, I am cuddling will be you.” He smiled. “There is no rush and no expectation for it. But I didn’t want you to leave this place, oblivious to the fact that I really like you.”

Your heart warmed and you smiled. “Nine days to go and your boldness is out the bag.”

He shrugged. “Did I get brownie points?”

“A whole cake.” You said. You were back to work an hour later, singing under your breath when the door opened.

“I told him to wait outside.” Your assistant said, trying to beat Henry in the office. She turned to you. “Ms. YLN, Mr. Cavill is here to see you.” But he was already in front of your desk.

“Get out.” He said to her.

“Whatever you have to say to me, she can hear.” For some reason, you knew if the door closed you would succumb to him, “Speak.”

“You are not leaving.” His voice was not composed, just wavering and near weak. “Y/N.”

“Gianna, you can go.” You exhaled. What the hell had happened to him? She left the room and the space that once seemed huge started to shrink. Henry walked towards you and you held your hand up when he reached your desk. “What?”

“You changed your number.”

“What did you expect?”

“For you to give me a chance to explain,” His eyes plead with yours for the opportunity. “Can I have that please?”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, I was never yours, right?”

“You’re still mine.” The slight possessiveness came back to his voice.  

It made you weak for a moment, your hitched breath took over the silence. “Hurry up, Henry.”

“She is my girlfriend.” He said.

The words punch at a wound you were certain was nearly healed. You hoped he was going to say that he left her, the pathetically infatuated part of you wanted him to say, she dumped him. But he just reaffirmed what you already knew. Olivia Tate was the official girlfriend of Henry Cavill. “Thanks?” You swallowed. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t want her to be, I want you.”

“You are making no sense and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to throw things at you here. I just wanted to leave all this in the past. Go be with her.”

“Y/N.” He said your name as if he was fighting for breath. “There are some things you do not understand about me. Things I would rather not talk about, but I don’t want her.”

“Then leave her! Damn it.” You bit out. “You are a grown man. You can make decisions on your own. If you didn’t want her then end it. End it now.”

“I can’t talk here.”

“Where else are you gonna talk?” You laughed. “My place? Hell no.”

“Mine.” He shook his head. “I’ll send a car for you after work. Don’t make them work Y/N. Just come.” He looked at you. “Please.”

“Fine.”

 You didn’t fight his orders on meeting him, curiosity reared its ugly head and you were gone. His home was at the edge of town, the driveway curved up a hill and lead to the glass estate. It was incredible. Had you been here on better circumstances, you would have enjoyed the view. You stepped out and the door opened. Henry had shed the suit for a black shirt and black sweats that hung at his waist somehow accenting his frame. Fuck. Were you even going to be strong enough to say no to this god? One last fuck? Just to say goodbye fuck, it wouldn’t be frowned upon.

You argued with yourself and walked into the home, the décor was much like his office dark brown woods with a modern sense. You stood in the foyer and looked at him. The closer to the door you were, the more likely you were to say no to him without hesitation.

“I can’t shut you out of my mind.” He confessed. He had shaved, but his hair was still tucked behind his ears, longer than normal.

“Just tell me.”

“I met Olivia in college.” He sighed. “We used to date off and on, but it was never more than sex. Never.”

“That’s all it is with us.” You interrupted. “Hence the reason I don’t need this talk.”

“Then why’d you come?” Henry stared. “I have been infatuated with you for months and when I finally got the opportunity to be with you, I jumped at it.”

“Don’t feed me bullshit.” You held your hand up.

“Who do you think hired you?”

“Why can’t you just leave her?” You asked.

“She knows things about me that can ruin me.” he stopped talking. “Liv is talented at getting the things she wants. If I leave her, she’ll spill it.”

“Oh, get the fuck out of here!” You laugh. “You expect me to believe this Lifetime movie shit? You got a girlfriend and you want me too. Admit it.”

“I don’t want her.” He shook his head. “I want you.”

“You can say it until you’re blue in the face. If you don’t show me, how in the fuck am I supposed to believe that this… isn’t just a way for you to get what you want.”

Henry sunk to his knees. “I’ll beg you.”

“Dogs beg.” You spat.

“Anything.” He rasped.

“Do you know how bad I hurt? I didn’t work for weeks. I didn’t care for weeks. We’ve been together a month. Do you think my behavior was normal? Do you think yours is normal? No. We are bad for one another and I just…”

How did he get up so fast? You moved back and he was on you, his steps heavy and determined. He caged you against the wall and then you realized, his face was wet with tears.

“You have to believe me.” He whispered and the fear clawed through him. “Please.”

There was an urge pushing you to leave this place, nothing good can come from him. But his face was pained, you’d never seen this part of him. You cupped his face affectionately and your lips graze his cheek. It feels as if he shutters and then you just do it. You hesitantly kiss him. Your lips touch his and the energy that passes through you ignites a groan.

“Please.” The plea is accompanied by him responding to the kiss, tenderly. He leaned into you, his body blanketing to you and taking whatever breath you thought you had left. But you were sure that he took your breath away without a kiss. His brow furrowed as he deepened it pushing your head against the door. He wrapped his arms around you, swaddling you in his muscles while somehow it wasn’t the muscles that you felt. For the first time, he was being himself with you. He allowed you to feel what you didn’t even know was there.

He pulled back from you and he moved as if he was dizzy. The breath he had stolen from you had made it's way back to you and you inhaled. There was more than a desire that flickered between the two of you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

His eyes flashed with a little hope. “Same.” Henry didn’t wait for permission he just scooped you up from the floor and kissed you again, this time it hurt. The hurt is so fucking good.

“I want,” the words were caught in your throat. Was this right or were you spiraling? “I want you, here. Right here.” He lowered you both down on the steps so that you were straddling him, you didn’t care for his comfort. You wanted him to feel you. “You remember the rules?” You whispered. Your tongue licks his lips and then dives in and he’s taken back, gripping your ass that is winding on his dick. You can feel him through the sweats. “Hmm…”

“I could never forget.”

“Don’t cum unless I say.” You smiled before kissing him again. You bucked your hips on and his eyes widened the lust pushing through. “You hear me, sir?” Your voice was low and filled with lust. “I want to fuck you right here.” He grew harder, flinching against you. “I want you to moan my name when you cum…”

Henry’s hands were in your hair, pulling you back so he could see your eyes. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want me to, just fuck me.” He begged.

“Did you miss me?”

“Always.” He groaned lowering his head to your breast. He sprung the from the blouse and ripped it in two. “Always.”

You wanted to believe him, but the lingering hurt from the past month. “If you lie to me again,” You unsheathed him from his sweats and stroked your hand down the length of his cock. You swiped the precum that oozed from the tip down and pumped again. “Missing me is all you’ll know how to do, sir.”

“Fuck,” He jumped in your hand and sucked air in through his teeth.

“Understand?”

“I-,” He moaned when you increased your speed. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” You were so turned on by the way you were making him feel. You now understood why he wanted to be in control of everything in the bed. It was sexy as fuck to watch what you could do to someone. You could watch them unravel, put them back together and do it again.

Henry pushed the pen skirt up and easily ripped the panties. He tossed them behind you and his fingers were in you. Prodding and working, you fucking missed him, even though you shouldn’t have. “Y/N.” He moaned. “I’m almost there.” He panted.

You stopped stroking him and began to ride his fingers, lifting yourself from them and then back on until the next time Henry pushed his cock in. He was fighting every urge he had to allow you some control in this thing. He threw his head back when he was fully inside of you and stilled.

But you wanted to fuck him. You wanted to ride him slow and draw out every fucking moment you could with him. So, if you regretted being here in the morning, the walk of shame wouldn’t have too much shame. Your walls sealed around him and he gripped your hips trying to stop you from fucking him, but you continued. Your rhythm was wild, you used his shoulders like an anchor and smiled down at him. His face was red and misted with sweat. His curls were soaked, and he was mesmerized. Your tits bounced in front of him and your eyes were rolling. “Y/N.” He warned and you felt his cock grow harder and then he growled, shuddering in your breast as if he had waited forever to cum inside of you.

“Seems you broke a rule.” You laughed and continued to fuck him. He made sounds that only made you wetter for him and the man was part machine. He had to be as his cock grew back rigid and he was still shuttering from coming the time before.

Henry licked his fingers and slapped them onto your clit before he pulled you towards him. His fingers knew how to work your pussy. Moving in circles and then another slap before he started back again, and you were about to cum. You didn’t want to. You shook your head and Henry looked up at you, “I won’t last another time. I ca-,” Your pussy shook around his and your thighs locked down as the pleasure surged through your body. “Shit!” He yelled before slamming into you and spilling his cum again. “Y/N.” He rasped.

The floor wasn’t a bad place to lay for the time being. Henry was wrapped around your naked body and there was no need for cover. He kept you warm enough.

“Was she the reason you didn’t kiss me?”

He exhaled. “She,” he paused. “I never know when she will decide to come back into my life.” He admits. “And up until you, it was easier not kissing, that way when it ended… there were no emotions in it. It was just fucking. I can’t do that with you, okay? A single glance from you could make my heart stop, a kiss would have shattered me.” Henry admitted.

It was quiet for a while. Just deep breaths and kisses all down your body. “Let’s go to bed.” You said finally. “My boss would be mad as hell if I missed tomorrow.”

“I’m throwing you resignation away, and if you’re having problems out of Mike… I’ll fire his ass.” He stood up and reached his hand out to you. “Come on, the bed is the proper place to make sure you’re so tired work isn’t an option.”

  His bed was comfortable, the sheets were so soft you were tempted to ask where he got them. You slept peacefully entangled in the muscled mass that is Henry. But it was not a complaint to make, being without him for so long made you grateful you could listen to him breathe and feel his heart against your back.

“Thank God.” The unfamiliar voice came from the bottom of the bed.

Your eyes narrowed as the bright sun made its way through the windows. The blonde hair was the first take away, it was Olivia. You scrambled from under Henry’s body. “Henry!” If she wanted a fight, you were ready to fight her, you’d just prefer to not be naked while doing it.

Henry groaned and once he caught sight of her he jolted up from the bed. “Olivia. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t be rude. I was just saying thank God.” Olivia leaned over his legs and looked at you. “I hated watching him mope around here. He looked like a puppy, sad because his bitch went away.”

“Bitch? I beg your pardon, Henry if you don’t get this woman.” Henry gave an admonished look to Olivia and gripped your hand. It didn’t comfort you. It just pissed you off. You snatched your hand away from him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” One more foul word from her and you’d fight naked.

“Excuse my manners, darling. I’m Olivia and I am so glad you are here. It seems we have some rules to introduce.” She pushed up from the bed and left the room. “Chop, chop Henry, dear. Bring your bitch, I have a plane to catch.”

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Coffee to go

Pairing: Chris Cuomo x female Reader

Warning: Swearing, Smut (only read this if you’re 18+ pls), NSFW, not edited

Note: Alright, this is my first attempt at smut so be nice pls (also I’m not a native speaker, so sorry for my grammar)

The cold November wind blows right into your face as you walk (actually, it was more of a jog) through the streets of Washington DC.

“You will reach your destination in 200 meters“ the computer voice from google maps tells you through your headphones. You break into a run, clutching your hot coffee cup tightly to prevent it from spilling over.

“Shit, don’t let me be late on my very first day of work“ you whisper to yourself, as you finally reach the huge glass doors of the CNN headquarters.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N“ you tell the security guard at the entrance, showing your ID„ I’m the new intern in the politics department.“

„First Elevator on the right, then all the way up to the 10th floor.“

You pass the security check and mumble a quick “Thank you!” to the guard as you make your way over to the elevator. You have 3 minutes left.

“This is my dream job, this is my dream job. It’s finally happening.“ you repeat to yourself, alone in the cabin.

You still can’t believe that you were granted the prestigious position as an intern for the DC politics department at CNN. You graduated with a degree in journalism from Oxford, UK this summer, but with the current political climate and the presidential election coming up, you felt like DC was the place to be at the moment. When you saw there was an internship at CNN advertised, you didn’t hesitate and applied. And all the hard work you put into getting excellent grades and doing tons of extracurricular work payed off, because here you were, on your first day of work.

You try to calm your fluttering nerves one last time with deep breaths and a sip of your still fairly hot coffee.

As the mechanical voice announces the elevators arrival on the 10th floor, you practically storm out of the doors...and run straight into a wall.

“Oh Fuck!“ a deep voice exclaimes, and as you take a step back you see that the wall you ran into was, in fact, a man. A very tall, broad and handsome looking man...with your hot coffee spilled all over his white dress shirt and a furious look on his face.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Sir!“ you cry out, praying for the ground to swallow you up. What a perfect first impression. You reach in your pocket to grab a handkerchief, but he dismisses you bluntly with a wave of his hand.

„Just watch where you going next time.“

Giving you one last sharp glare, he walks away, disappearing into a door further down the hallway.

Still mortified, you throw your now empty coffee cup onto the nearest bin and hurry to the room you were told to go in your admission email. It’s a tiny office, where a moddle-aged woman sits on a desk loaded with paperwork.

“Good Morning Ma’am, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the new politics intern, starting today.“ you tell her, hoping that your face isn’t beet red anymore and your jacket is free of coffee stains. The woman glances up from her computer screen and gives you a quick look over.

“About time. Welcome to CNN, I’m Susan, your supervisor.“

She rummages trough a desk drawer.

"Here is your company ID, a key to the break room, you already sent us your signed contract, didn’t you?“ she asks in a monotoneus voice.

"Yes, thank you so much.“ you say, taking the offered items. "Is there already a list of what my tasks here are going to be?“

"Yes, with the election coverage starting tomorrow, there is still a lot of preparation to do. You’ve been assigned to run errands for our anchor team today, and I guess also for the rest of the week. Paperwork, coffee, stuff like that, just be at their back and call. We expect it to be a tight race, and we need to cover it 24 hours a day. So be prepared to spend most of your time here.”

"There’s a locker in the break room, put your stuff there. The copy room is next door, make 3 copies of those papers and bring them to Chris Cuomo, he’s our lead anchor for the election coverage. His office is the last door down the hall on the right. And hurry, we don’t have a lot of time and he’s not exactly a patient man.” She starts typing something on her phone, obviously dismissing you.

You rush to the break room, hastily throw your bag and jacket in the last free locker, checking your appearance one last time in the mirror (face still a bit red, but no coffee stains, thank god) and go on to make those copies next door. You let your mind wander while the copier does it’s job.

Chris Cuomo. You know he hosts a well known daily prime time show on CNN, but you’ve never seen it as it airs in the middle of the night in the UK. You’re actually suprised they chose him for the job of the election lead anchor, considering he was originally based in the New York Office of CNN. You try to remember what he looked like, but you have no idea. And no time to google him.

So you just grab the stack of papers and bolt down the hallway to the door Susan described. There’s a provisional sign on the door, bearing the name “Christopher C. Cuomo”.

You knock three times and hear a loud "Come in“ from the other side of the door. You enter...and stop instantly, eyes going wide.

Standing in front of you is the guy from the elevator. The hot one. The one who’s dress shirt you ruined with your beverage.

Said dress shirt lies on the floor in a crumpled heap. The man, obviously Chris Cuomo himself, is wearing only a white undershirt, apparently in the middle of changing clothes . His huge, muscled arms are on full display. And he’s looking directly at you, one eyebrow arched.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a hint of annoyance in his deep voice.

You realize you are staring, and quickly try to compose yourself.

“Uhm, yes, I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr Cuomo, I’m Y/N, the new intern. I’m here to deliver those papers from Susan’s office . I’ve been assigned to assist you today...Sir” you add hastily.

“Assist me, huh? I hope this doesn’t involve any more coffee. I only have so many white shirts.”

“I’m so sorry again for that, Mr. Cuomo.”

“Don’t worry, kid” he says, now giving you a closer look. His eyes are a perfect shade of blue-green. The heat started creeping back in your face under his scrutizing gaze.

“You’re a Brit, aren’t you?”

You just give a quick nod, not trusting your ability to speak properly. He comes a step closer, arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

“Have a good start then, Y/N” he says, voice dropping a bit, still holding intense eye contact.

You feel your heart rate going through the roof and pray that he won’t detect it. This mans presence was really intense and brought all kind of distracting thoughts to your mind.

Your "Thank you so much, Sir” comes out way less confident than you intended to, and you basically flee through the office door you hadn’t even bothered to close when you entered.

“Wow!” you think to yourself, “It’s the first day, and you already made a fool of yourself and now have a giant crush on the lead anchor, who’s at least in his 40s. Good job.”

This was going to be interesting.

(Next Day, afternoon)

“Don’t stare, don’t stare.”

You chant your mantra in your head for what felt like the hundredth time this day.

The last 24 hours have been the most exciting, stressful and demanding ones of your entire life. You currently run on what feel like 5 liters of coffee, some energy bars and a two hour nap you managed to catch on the couch in the break room, the circumstances leaving you with a constant feeling of giddy exhaustion.

But no matter how much your eyes were burning, you couldn’t take them off Chris Cuomos hands. Those big, strong hands with thick fingers, holding manuscripts, fixing his tie or just opening a bottle of water. You try your best not to think about how those hands would feel like on your bare skin, grabbing your hair, pushing your tights apart. The burning feeling between your legs intensifies as you feel yourself starting to get wet.

Chris is wearing a black suit today and looks so unbelievably good that you want to cry. His confident, almost dominant demeanor in front of the cameras, combined with his sharp witted comments on the latest news only fuel your growing attraction to him.

Youre standing in the corner of the studio, holding a stack of papers and a clipboard with the latest numbers of some irrelevant county in Alabama that you need to hand over to the anchor desk.

The cameras move over to Phil on the magic wall. Chris uses the quick moment out of frame to stretch his arms above his head, his shoulder muscles clearly visible even through the suit jacket. You’re staring again. And he’s looking directly at you with a knowing smirk.

He caught you.

You feel your face flushing again and you quickly begin to shuffle through the papers in your hand in a poor attempt to appear busy.

“Thank you Phil, we’re taking a quick break now, stay with us.” Chris’ voice sounds through the studio. As soon as you made sure that the cameras are turned off, you hurry over to the anchor desk, putting down the fresh manuscripts with the latest numbers and restock the water bottles, all while trying your best to avoid Chris, still mortified that he caught you checking him out.

The commercial break only lasts about five minutes, so you quickly make your way to the studios supply cupboard to fetch some new water bottles. They were on the top shelf, just barely out of reach for you. You were already standing on your tiptoes, but no chance.

“Need any help with that?” a deep voice suddenly says right behind you. You startle, loosing your balance and fall right into the hard chest of Chris Cuomo. Strong arms sneak around you, steadying you. In that moment you become aware of the heat radiating from his huge form, his delicious smell of aftershave and coffee filling your senses.

Your pulse is like a hammer in your chest as he lets go of you, giving you the opportunity to turn around and face him.

“We really can’t have any normal interactions, Y/N?” he asks, studying you, again with that intense gaze and a little smirk.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Cuomo, I don’t know what’s up with me, I’m usually not that clumsy. Must be the lack of sleep.“ you ramble and try to return his stare, forcing your voice to sound steady and confident, something you weren’t feeling at all.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind you falling into me at all.” He comes closer, his huge form filling out most of the tiny storage room. You take a small step back and feel the shelf behind you. You look to the floor, absolutely overwhelmed with the situation (and without a doubt, with a beet red face again) One of Chris‘ giant hands reaches out and turns your chin up to meet his eyes. His touch burns and tingles on your skin.

“I would appreciate it if you would look at me when I’m talking to you.“ he says in a intense and stern tone that sends a hot throb to your center and makes you take a sharp breath. You feel your nipples hardening under your blouse, wetness gathering in your pussy.

„Yes, of course, please forgive me, Sir.“ You look up to meet his eyes.

His pupils are dark and dilated as he lets out a deep, shuddering breath. The tension between you is almost palpable.

„Come to my office after the shift is over. Alone.“ he says and storms out of the storage room, leaving you behind in a horny, confused mess, waterbottles totally forgotten.

The next few hours are agonizing. Not only is the election a really tight race, your nerves are in a total frenzy because of what happened in the storage room. You keep replaying the interaction in your head and try your best to not stare over to where Chris was sitting, failing miserably every time. One time, your eyes meet his, but he just arches his eyebrows and looks back onto his laptop screen.

The dominance with which he had talked to you stood in a total contrast to the gentle touch of his fingers on your face. You are confused, and more turned on than you have ever been by anyone else.

You want to kiss him, want his hands all over your body, touching your naked skin, claiming you. Why does he want you to come tonhis office? The uncertainty was driving you crazy.

Time was creeping at such a slow pace, but finally the day shift is over. You ask an extremely tired looking Susan for a break which she begrudgingly grants you.

After quickly freshening up, you make your way through the empty hallway to Chris office, heart almost jumping out of your chest. What the hell was going to happen?

Straightening your blouse one last time, you knock on the door, waiting for the allowance to enter.

”Here goes nothing.”

Chris sits behind his desk, both suit jacket and tie hanging over the chair.He’s looking at you, as if he’s expecting you to make a move.

There was a prominent vein in his temple that became more noticeable the longer you stood there, failing to get a word out, hands trembling at your sides.

His shirt sleeves were turned up, and the view of his defined forearms sends a throb of want directly to your core. Finally, Chris breaks the silence and adresses you.

“Y/N, why are you here?”

His arms are crossed in front of his chest, accentuating his biceps. You just stand there, unable to move a single muscle.

He gets up from behind his desk and makes his way over to where you are, stopping directly behind you. A shiver goes down your spine because of the close proximity.

His next words are spoken with his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath against your cheek, his deep voice making the hair on your arms stand up.

“I asked you a question, little one. Answer me.”

You gathered every ounce of courage you had.

“I want you to touch me.”

He doesn’t move.

“Please, Sir.”

Suddenly, two strong hands grab your shoulders and spin you around.You stare directly into Chris’ face, his dark pupils are blown, there is a look of unhinged lust on his face.

A second later, his lips come crashing down on yours. The kiss isn’t gentle, all tongue and teeth and passion, making your head spin and your knees weak.

One of Chris hands sneaks around your back and grabs your ass, giving it a rough squeeze. You moan loudly as he holds you even closer, his hard bulge pressing against your abdomen. His big, hot body pushes you back against his desk and he effortlessly lifts you to sit on top of it.

Chris takes a step back, his large hands sprawled on your tights. You can feel the heat of his skin all the way through your trousers, the need to have him is so strong that you feel like your whole body is on fire.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, little one?” He says in low, throaty voice, holding your tights in a hard, almost bruising grip. “Staring at me, biting those pretty lips, undressing me with your eyes, making me hard every time. You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?”

He kisses you again, and starts to trail hot, wet kisses down your neck. You can’t focus, your hands clutching at his back, little gasps of pleasure coming out of your mouth.

“Yes, please, I need you” you exclaim, admitting what’s on your mind since the moment you saw him wearing that undershirt. His hands leave your tights and start opening the zipper of your trousers, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.

His hands are now roaming up and down your bare legs, slowly coming closer to the pool of heat and want between them.

“Oh my God, please touch me.” you beg, longing to finally feel his fingers on your aching pussy.

One of his large hands leaves your leg and gives you a hard smack on your ass, the pain causing you to utter a sharp cry and sending a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

“Ah, be polite, little one. Use your words and ask me properly for what you want.” Your face is burning, why was hearing this so incredibly hot?

“Please touch my pussy and fuck me, Sir, I need your cock.”

You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. But this was an exceptional situation, and right now you’d say anything if it would result in Chris cock buried inside you.

He smiles a devious grin. “I wanted to do this since the moment you stepped into my office yesterday. Take off your panties, now.” he commands, giving you another slap on your ass.

While you’re hurrying to get rid of your underwear, he starts unbuckling his belt, opens his fly and takes out his cock. It’s long and hard, already leaking precum. You were in for a treat. He pulls a condom package out of his pocket and rolls the rubber over his length.

“Turn around and bend over” he said, you quickly obey and a moment later you feel one of his thick fingers parting your wet folds and entering you, while another finger rubs your aching clit. A needy whine breaks out of your mouth and you throw your head back in pleasure .“God, you’re already so wet for me, little one.” Chris groans, adding another finger.

You almost can’t take it anymore, feeling like you might go insane if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“I need you in me, Sir, please” You’re begging now, totally beyond caring.

Chris removes his fingers, lines up his huge cock at your opening and starts slowly pushing in, inch by inch.He groans, grabbing your hips, and once he’s fully settled in your tight heat he starts a brutal, deep pace.

You let out a hiss as he stretches you and hold onto the desk, trying not fall over with the force of his powerful thrusts. The pleasure is overwhelming, his large cock filling you perfectly over and over again, a bruising grip on your hips, his deep voice groaning dirty things into your ear. You’re ability to form coherent sentences is long gone, only moans and short breaths are coming out of your mouth.

Behind you, Chris is breathing heavily as one of his hands reaches around you to rub your clit.

“Fuck, You feel so good baby, so fucking tight around my cock.” he swears as his thrusts are starting to become faster and more erratic.

His rubbing on your clit intensifies, and you can feel your climax approaching.

“Come for me baby, come on my cock.“ Chris leans forward, biting the tender the spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

Pleasure and pain surge through you as you hit your peak, Chris‘ name on your lips. You feel his body going stiff behind you, his grip on your hips tighening almost painfully as he finds his release with you.

For a while, the mix of both your ragged breaths is the only sound in the office, then Chris carefully pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness making you whimper.

Strong arms embrace you, and you hear a small chuckle as a kiss is being pressed to your neck.

But the gravity of what you’ve just done still hits you like a punch to the gut and you whirl around, eyes wide with shock, head still spinning from the intensity of your orgasm.

“Oh, oh no” you mutter to yourself, breathing heavily as you see your crumpled trousers and panties lying on the office floor along with several papers who fell from the desk during your activities. What did you do?

“Hey, hey, little one, calm down.” Chris says, sensing your anxiety right away. He cups your jaw and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your trembling lips. Your worry eases a bit as you kiss him back.

“How about you lie down on my couch and I go and get us snacks and something to drink. Maybe even some coffee?” he asks after pressing a final kiss to your head.

You manage a shaky nod and a small smile, looking up at Chris’ handsome face.

He flashes you a toothy grin, forehead still shining with a thin layer of sweat, his hair tousled.

He looks breathtaking.

“You’re staring again, Y/N.”

“I know.”

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 27: Injured

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka

WC: ~1970

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply; kid whump

Notes: Caning. Tied up. Academy-age Iruka, ANBU Kakashi. Post-Kyūbi attack. AU where Iruka and Kakashi were once friends.

A/N: Happy Birthday To Me!!! I've been looking forward to this one for over a week :)

A/N 2: Combo with my Bad Things Happen Bingo Board square: Caning

~

Kakashi sighs, watching Iruka walk home without a care in the world. That prank he pulled today was genius, and it caught a genin team unawares while they were out cat-catching, but Sandaime-sama could have been a bit harsher during the disciplinary hearing. Kakashi had been in the room—the kid had zoned out, Sarutobi sighed like this was a waste of time, and then the two of them sat down and played shogi and had tea for an hour.

Kakashi steps away as Umino unlocks his door and goes inside. One of these days, his pranks are going to come back to bite him. And worse, he’ll have deserved it.

~

Iruka is particularly proud of today’s prank, having dropped a barrel of day-old frying oil on a genin team because they were too absorbed in their mission and not aware of their surroundings. Really, he did them a favor. If they’d been in a real combat situation, it could have ended with one of them dying instead of the lot of them just needing a serious bath.

He closes and locks the door behind him and slips out of his sandals. He’ll have to wait at least a week to perform the next—

The window is open.

He never leaves the window open.

Iruka fumbles back for the doorknob but there’s already someone behind him, and he yelps and turns around to face them. The kid—he’s not much older than Iruka, how did he get past the wards on his window??—grins maniacally down at him and crowds him back. Iruka takes a few steps further into the apartment, and screams around the hand that covers his mouth from behind. The one behind him drags him into the center of his studio apartment with their other arm around Iruka’s chest, pinning his arms to his side.

He goes to kick out behind himself, to get at the one holding him, but a third sticks a kunai under his chin just before he readies his foot and tsks at him.

Iruka settles down. He’s really outnumbered.

“What’s the Hokage got you doing as punishment?” The first one, the one blocking the way to his door, asks.

Iruka can’t answer. The second one still has their hand over his mouth.

The third one snaps his fingers. “That's right! I heard all about it!” His face darkens and he glowers down at Iruka, “Fucking nothing. A slap on the wrist and an afternoon of tea and shogi with the Hokage—what a punishment!”

This is the genin team he caught in his trap earlier, he realizes. And, Oh, shit, they’re angry.

Number One pulls out a spool of chakra wire with a grin. He takes Iruka’s hands and ties them together in front of him, wrapping the wire between his fingers to keep them still and preventing him from making hand-seals—as if he knew any jutsu that would be particularly useful here. The other end of the wire is threaded through the handle of Number Three’s kunai, and then Three throws it up into the ceiling where it sticks.

“Get the window, Hiro,” Number One says, and Number Two—Hiro—goes and shuts the window, and then pulls back the curtains. Number One pulls on the chakra wire, yanking Iruka’s arms up above his head until he’s on his toes.

He whimpers. “Guys, really, it was just a joke—a prank! I didn’t mean any harm by it! I’m sorry!”

“That’s right,” Number Three sneers, “You should be groveling for forgiveness.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to give it to you,” Hiro says, producing a thin wooden cane from out of his pack and tapping it against his palm.

“Ready for your real punishment, kohai?” Number One grins, stepping forward and pushing a bandana into Iruka’s mouth. He ties it behind Iruka’s head. He then takes a knife to Iruka’s shirt down his back and slices away the fabric, against his muffled cries.

“I think ten strikes should be enough to get the point through to him,” Number Three says, putting his finger into the tears running down Iruka’s cheeks. “Ten strikes each, of course. He wronged all of us.”

~

Kakashi patrols the village vigilantly, and keeps thinking about the three genin covered in frying oil. He tries to be sympathetic. Dirty oil has a way of staining, he supposes; they’ll be lucky to be able to salvage any of what they’d been wearing.

Really, Iruka did those kids a favor. If it had been a field mission and they’d been caught off-guard like that… He won’t admit it out loud, but if losing their clothes and having to wash frying oil out of their hair will teach that genin team to remain vigilant, Iruka likely did them a great service.

Earlier, they had been outside the Hokage’s office, asking about what disciplinary actions were going to be taken against Umino. And they had been pissed to hear that Sandaime-sama only gave him a stern talking-to.

Kakashi wonders if, maybe, he should check in with their jōnin-sensei.

~

Iruka screams through the gag. With each strike of the cane against his back, he sobs harder. He wonders if anyone will notice; probably not. If anyone will care; definitely not. Sandaime-sama says the village is a family but really? An orphan is an orphan. No one will—

“My turn, Kaoru,” Hiro says. Number One, Kaoru apparently, gets one more strike in before handing off the cane. He won’t be able to sleep tonight. Should he go to the hospital after this? How was he going to get to the hospital after this? Would anyone believe him that it wasn’t a prank, that he’s been attacked in his own village?

Iruka cries, trying to beg for mercy through the gag. The genin team ignores him, and Hiro moves into position. The cane comes down onto his back.

~

“I don’t keep track of them after training,” Yūto-sensei says. “As for that Umino kid, he deserves what he gets if he gets something worse than how Sarutobi disciplined him.”

Kakashi makes the call to leave his patrol and head for Umino’s apartment. He doesn’t call his team; he’d make it there faster alone. And he has a bad feeling that he should have stayed after following him home.

~

Iruka sobs heavily, his chin resting against his chest; until the tip of the cane is there, lifting with gentle pressure and sure threat. Iruka meets the eyes of Number Three—Shiori, he’s learned. As if knowing their names makes any difference. In a normal hostage situation, the textbooks say to try and develop a rapport with your captors and find out their names, offer your own. This isn’t a hostage situation; it’s torture.

They haven’t gotten to the torture resistance unit yet.

“Take the gag off,” Shiori orders. Kaoru does so.

Iruka gasps, heaves deep breaths. He licks his lips and then says, “I’m sorry,” over and over again.

Shiori puts the cane against his lips and Iruka whimpers. “I know,” he says, “but you still have to be punished. And I want to hear you scream, unburdened.”

“Shiori—” Hiro starts nervously.

“No one cares about him,” Shiori says, rolling his eyes. “So what if he screams? He’s just another orphan, having another nightmare.” He drags the cane along Iruka’s bare side as he takes up position behind him.

“Please, don’t…” Iruka whines. “No more. I’m sorry.”

“Bad kids need to be taught. You don’t have parents anymore, and if the Sandaime won’t do it, then it falls to us, your senpai, to teach you.”

The cane comes down.

Iruka cries out, thrashing in the chakra wire. Kaoru and Hiro look around nervously as the cane comes down again, pulling another scream from Iruka’s lips.

The third time, a knock comes on his door. “Umino-kun, are you alright?”

A kunai is at his throat immediately, Shiori dropping the cane aside.

Iruka doesn’t know how to respond. He needs to get away from these guys, but he doesn’t know who’s on the other side of the door—it could be a shinobi, but it could also just be the old couple who manages his apartment. He can’t tell by the voice.

“Tell them it was just a bad dream," Shiori orders, hissing in his ear.

He decides to take a chance. He pings a line of chakra through the door, something small, hoping it will hit whoever’s there and alert them. “I—I’m sorry. Bad dream,” he calls back.

He’s relieved to receive a ping of chakra back.

“If you’re sure,” the shinobi at the door says. “Have a good night, Umino-kun.”

“Thank-you,” he mutters.

Shiori waits barely another minute before putting the gag back in Iruka’s mouth and raising the cane again; but he only gets one more strike in, Iruka’s muffled cry echoing in the studio apartment one last time, before the door is kicked in. The ANBU from earlier today stands in the doorway—the one who had picked him up from the scene of his prank and brought him before Sandaime, and who thought he was stealthily following him home but was stupidly obvious.

The three genin try to escape through the window, but they had carefully closed it earlier and aren’t smart enough to break the glass to get away. The ANBU closes the distance easily, performing non-lethal blows and knocking Kaoru and Hiro out; and then when Shiori realizes that he’s outclassed, he tries pulling his kunai back out to threaten Iruka, but the ANBU flickers across the studio and disarms him, first, then knocks him out.

With his attackers unconscious, Iruka’s sobs turn from pained to relieved.

The ANBU stands before him and cuts the chakra wire holding his wrists together above his head. His back aches and he cries out as they ease his shoulders down; he grits his teeth and cuts off the cry, muttering, “Hurts.” He leans into the ANBU chest plate and sniffles.

“Do you need medical assistance?”

Iruka looks up at the voice and, finally, recognizes the mask—Hound. And he’s familiar with the mask, and who’s under the mask; they were friends, once, weren’t they?

“Kaka—”

“Hound,” Kakashi mutters. “In the mask, it’s Hound. Do you need medical assistance?”

Iruka nods, leaning against his friend from long ago. His armor is cold; refreshing against the feverish heat of Iruka’s chest. Kakashi holds him, his gloved hands gently prodding at his back where there aren’t marks. A growl rumbles against Iruka’s temple.

Kakashi seethes above him, and Iruka tries unsuccessfully to tune it out. “In the village, no less. You should have been safe…” Behind his back, Hound makes a series of seals and says, “Kuchiyose no Jutsu.”

Summoning smoke poofs around in the corner of his view, and then Hound says, “Bull, stand guard. Shiba, Akino, go to T&I and have a team come and collect these three. I’ll report later.”

“Why not—?”

“Iruka’s injured,” Hound murmurs. He holds Iruka still, and then turns and crouches down, reaching back for Iruka’s hands. Getting the idea, Iruka flushes, but settles himself over Kakashi’s back and wraps his arms around Kakashi’s neck, letting the older teen position them in a way he’ll be able to run without worrying about Iruka accidentally choking him. Then, he slips his hands under Iruka’s thighs, pulls them around his waist, and stands up. He carries Iruka on his back like he weighs nothing. Iruka hides his face in Kakashi’s neck. “I’m going to get him to the hospital first, then I’ll meet at T&I to debrief.”

“Kakashi—”

“Hound, Iruka,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” His voice deepens into a growl as he continues, “You won’t get hurt again, not on my watch.”

Iruka closes his eyes, finally feeling safe, and rests as Kakashi flickers them away.

[the-scarecrxw]

📓 :D

okay <3 I'm very fond of The Boys Retiring apparently but I have this one fic that I've just barely started but it's probably gonna be long.

So au Jeremiah going crazy plotline never happens. it's just chaos of chaos' sake. Rome still gets shot and is out of the picture for awhile. Jonathan and Jervis are up to no good until Jervis gets arrested (Jonathan very rudely does not give a fuck and doesn't help him) then like a week later Jerome emerges and together they cause chaos.

After a seemingly only Jerome attack on the gcpd (jim voice: that knockout gas hasn't been identified, tho. could be Crane.) Jim and Harvey are searching around the gcpd for any stragglers of Jerome's followers and such and whoops they check an alley and completely interrupt Jerome and Jonathan's post mission adrenaline rush bang and after some awkward back and forth (and Rome admitting he tossed his gun the moment he saw Jon) Jim is like "fuckin idiots. please cuff yourselves."

As they're leading them away Harvey makes a snide comment calling them freaks (bc Jerome made a joke about handcuffing Jonathan) and Jonathan does Not take it well and promptly elbows him and bolts, and Jerome quickly follows. Jim and Harvey take fire but the boys are able to duck out of the alley unscathed.

or so it seemed. Jerome looks back to not see Jonathan. He of course immediately turns back and oh god Jonathan is on the ground and there's blood and Jerome is panicking and getting angry because and Jim Fucking Gordon shot his boyfriend in the lung and hes probably dying.

this got long whoops one sec

Jim. feels very bad. he has very much so always felt bad about Jonathan. he always thought if he'd been quicker he could have saved him from his dad's serum. if he payed more attention to his case afterwards he wouldn't have gotten sent to Arkham. Abused there. Wouldn't have become Scarecrow. And now he just shot him. he's just a kid, really. barely 18.

Jim of course is like "okay, be mad later and help me stabilize him. get him on his side, put lots of pressure." in the bg Harvey is calling an ambulance and a patrol car to take Jerome to the precinct. Jerome very fiercely fights that he's not leaving Jonathan, who at this point is very out of it. So out of it that Jerome is very concerned and Jim is like "uhh yeah he's in shock because his lung just collapsed" and Jerome is like👌this close to strangling Jim but that would mean taking pressure off of Jonathan's wound.

Patrol car is there, ambulance another few minutes out. Officer switches places with Jim so he can take Jerome to the precinct [AND THIS IS WHERE I LEFT OFF WRITING SO FAR] but Jerome is still refusing but he eventually manages to pull him away (Harvey replaces him to apply pressure) While they're driving to the precinct Jim awkwardly tries to reassure him that Jonathan will be okay, the operation to help him rarely has complications. Jerome doesn't respond and Jim just... politely pretends he doesn't hear Jerome biting back sobs.

They keep Jerome in one of the interrogation rooms while Jim ya know washes all this blood off himself (Jerome is still covered in it) I haven't thought much about this portion of the fic, it's moreso time filler for until Jonathan gets out of surgery. Probably just gonna be Jerome refusing to talk to anyone until he can see Jonathan. Eventually Jim gets a call from Harvey that Jonathan is out of surgery, stable, and just waking from anesthesia so it would be the perfect time to interrogate him and Jim reluctantly agrees.

Jim, though, does have a heart and informs Jerome of the news and he immediately flips and demands to see him but Jim keeps refusing until Jerome yells "I'll stay in Arkham peacefully for the rest of my life if I can just get some time with him!" Jim reluctantly agrees (and helps clean him up bc they're not gonna bring him in covered in blood)

When they arrive Harvey has already been questioning him for a bit but it hasn't gone far bc Jon is still loopy and very good at avoiding questions. The moment he sees Jerome he tries to get out of bed except he's been quite literally strapped down to it so that doesn't go well. Harvey steps back and lets Jerome sit by Jon

We get very soft times from the pov of the awkward observers. Rome holds Jon's hand, occasionally strokes his face and hair and kisses his cheek while they're quietly talking and it's all very sweet and so incredibly uncharacteristic from what they're used to seeing from. well. maniacs.

As Jon really starts to get more lucid it's clear he's not comfortable being strapped down at all, he's constantly testing the straps and squirming and Jerome starts to unstrap him but Jim is quick to protest, saying he has to stay in bed and they can't risk him trying to escape while injured and Jerome snaps "he's not going to escape! he's going to stay and cooperate. He just doesn't like the straps. They did that to him in Arkham." Jim lets Jerome finish unstrapping him. they talk quietly some more for a bit before Harvey interrupts like "hey we really got to uh. talk and shit." and they both agree so the four of them sit there and after a moment of silence Jerome goes

"I'll agree to go to Arkham and stay if Jonathan can be pardoned. Blame it on temporary insanity-- something. Anything to keep him from going back there. He can function in society-- he can." Jonathan reluctantly nods and agrees

"Arkham tried giving me a medication. it quieted the Scarecrow. made it easier to ignore his suggestions and the urges he would give me. I refused to take them... But I'll take them now. If I can visit Jerome in Arkham."

Jim and Harvey of course initially protest but Rome and Jon make a really good argument. It's clear the arrangement was something they'd talked about before, but was still painful to enact. They clung to each other's hands, shaking. They didn't like the idea of being seperated. Being together kept them sane but Jerome refused to have Jonathan go back to Arkham. it had been a long argument and a lot of convincing before Jonathan agreed to the plan of Jerome going to Arkham alone.

So.... it happens. There's an actual trial this time (bc Negotiations) Jonathan is still too hurt to attend in person so lawyer in his stead and such. Jonathan watches the news with tears in his eyes in his hospital room as they get everything they planned. As Jerome gets carted off past a jeering crowd into an Arkham inmate transfer van.

I don't have much past this point. I imagine part of the deal has Jonathan being some sort of city/state ward for awhile? he's technically an adult but he'd been in basically prison since 15, so he has help getting set back up. I imagine a filler chapter of a Very Mundane Day of Jonathan's life.

Wakes up in his shitty little apartment. takes his morning meds. has a shitty poptart breakfast (he never really liked them until Jerome introduced him to the cookies and cream flavor) Goes to some classes (he's learning psychology...) where he pretends to be a normal person. Works after school (he's a library assistant.) Gets home and ponders if he needs glasses (glasses jonathan supremacy.) Has a shitty dinner while he emails his court ordered therapist that yes he is doing perfectly fine (that's a lie) no he doesn't need to see him this week, that panicked email in the middle of the night was absolutely nothing. Takes his night meds. Does homework or studies until he passes out. Rinse and Repeat until Saturday.

Saturday is his one good day. That's his Jerome day. His therapist notes an immediate uptick in his mood on Saturdays for approximately 4 days until it rapidly drops to concerning levels. Seeing Jerome sort of... Resets him. Cant quite say happy, how can you be happy when you can only see the love of your life your boyfriend for two hours once a week? For a long time they weren't allowed to touch, Jerome was handcuffed to the table. Now they hold hands his entire visit and sit close enough to whisper to each other softly, and they try to sneak kisses when the guard looks away for a moment.

Jerome's therapist notes his mood stabilizes on Fridays and lasts until Tuesday, in which he returns to the expected maniacal behavior.

....

okay I have more I want to write about this but I have to start getting ready for work so :( please enjoy this <3

[thefanficmonster]

Meant To Meet

The Curator (The Dark Pictures Anthology) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Y/N and the Curator are enjoying an evening at the Repository, treating themselves to the many stories the place has to offer. But none of those books manages to capture Y/N’s attention quite like the person reading them. It’s about time she admitted it.

Requested by Anon. Hello! Sorry to be posting your request so late dear, I’ve been swamped with work and I really apologize for not being able to get to it sooner. Thank you for the request and for your incredible patience. Hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy ❤

My mind is all over the place. I have a good reason to stay focused but I just can’t find it in me. This is the fifth story the Curator has attempted to read me today, but it’s been a struggle for me to memorize a single word let alone the plot and character names. Therefore, I can recall nothing from any of the passages read so far. I tried to blame it on the stories, but I’m starting to think I’m the problem. Who am I kidding, of course I am! But not entirely. What is a girl to do when she suddenly views someone she sees every day as something more than a friend. Sure, this would be a ridiculous thought if it were heard by anyone else. But not to me. I see perfect sense in it - he’s the only one that truly knows me. He notices the small details, understands how my brain works. He’s got insane insight on me that sometimes is quite scary.

He knows how to make the good moments memorable, the bad moments better, the sad endings into hope and good endings into excitement. He understands what it’s like to be stuck in one place. Literally and metaphorically.

Well, I met him while I was metaphorically stuck in this weird life of mine. I couldn’t figure out where I had come from or where I was going. All I knew was that I needed an escape, but I couldn’t find that either. I was the most hopeless I had ever been. 

And then luck suddenly decided to move onto my side, flip a page I couldn’t. Get my life moving again.

I was heading to a job interview in a part of town I had never been in before. You can imagine I was not at all enthusiastic or even the tiniest bit hopeful. After going from one potential job to another, never hearing good news back and having to deal with the heavy heart of never being good enough, I was not looking forward to another rejection. It was a simple job I was going for - a personal assistant for a lawyer. Sure, it was a bit far from my apartment but it was a chance, and Lord knows I was gonna take each and all chances. 

Walking down the empty, unfamiliar street, I kept looking at the signs, searching for the name of the lawyer I was supposed to meet with. I tried dialing the phone number I saw in the paper but no one picked up my call. I was already starting to deal with it, convincing myself this was better than a ‘Sorry, you’re not the fit we’re looking for, but we’ll stay in touch’.

I walked to the very end of the street, seeing nothing but signs of old-timey restaurants, barber and antique jewelry shops. It felt like I was in a different decade, not a different part of town. It felt so comfortable and homey and it would’ve been even more appealing if it wasn’t for the eerie vibe it gave off due to the lack of people walking around. 

Eventually, I spotted them - two big wooden doors with small colorful windows on top of them. They were the fanciest element of the street, sticking out almost hypnotically. The temptation to invade the inside of the building behind them was eating away at me. One of the doors was even slightly open, like an invitation to walk in and explore what they hid. 

No, this could end REALLY badly! Imagine if someone lives there!, I tried telling myself, tried to force my feet to move in any direction just away from the doors. However, they wouldn’t budge. I was stuck in place quite literally this time. Seeing my unmoving state as a sign and against my better judgement, I stepped forward, closing the distance between me and the two giant pieces of polished wood. Before I knew it, I had placed my hand on the golden handle of the slightly opened door and gave it that push that would result in it opening entirely, revealing a very faintly lit, ominous hallway at the end of which was another pair of wooden doors, these much more ordinary. I subconsciously walked in, my feet weighing down the wooden floorboards which were covered by a carpet. 

I felt slightly more confident going in, seeing as how the place had no spirit to be a home. It was too dark, too creepy and definitely minimalistic. The walls framing the hallway did have a painting or two on them but even those paintings were rather off-putting, I couldn’t look at them for long. I expected the floorboards to creak with every step I took but they were surprisingly silent, not fulfilling the horror movie cliché I had in mind.

The other pair of doors wasn’t nearly as tempting to open, but I had run out of any hesitations at that point. Pushing them open I was met with a wonderland that seemed to have been created especially for me. Books, old books lining what looked to be an endless amount of shelves. I felt tiny surrounded by knowledge I was yet to discover. I felt a new sense of excitement bubbling up in my stomach, something I hadn’t felt in a while.

“Good afternoon.“ A male voice startled me, coming out of the blue. “How can I help you?“

I quickly turned around, looking for the voice’s owner. Then I saw it - a silhouette of a man sitting in an armchair by the unlit fireplace at the complete opposite end of the gigantic room. In his hands I could see the outline of a large book.

“Um, hello.“ I returned his greeting, making a few steps in his direction shyly, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to walk in like that I just...“

“Couldn’t help it?“ He cut me off, “Yes, this place does posses a strange power over the people that near it. Well...not all people. You must be quite special.“

I was taken aback by his words. Now at closer proximity, I could see his icy eyes. They were sending me a warm and friendly gaze despite how cold and empty they looked. He was clearly older than me, his attire and overall demeanor fitting in perfectly, not only with this place but with this entire part of town. His silver hair was slicked back, not a single piece of it out of place.

“Uh...thanks?“ I was well aware it sounded more like a question rather than an expression of gratitude to his questionable compliment, “I was actually in search of the office of Mr. Harper. A lawyer in the area. I’m going for a job interview. So, if you could point me in the right direction, I’d really appreciate it.“

The man nodded reluctantly, closing the book and placing it on the carpet with such caution as if it was fragile. He slowly got up, “I’m afraid you’re on the wrong street, Miss. And I’m sorry to inform you the spot you’d be applying for is already taken. Has been for a few days now, actually. Mr. Harper and I are good friends, he told me about it.” A small apologetic smile appeared on his face. “But, I’m not a bearer of bad news entirely. How about I give you a proposition?” He made a pause, scanning my face for a reaction. I raised an eyebrow at him as a signal for him to continue which he did after he got up from his chair, “You see, this place is too big to be kept by a single person. I could use a helping hand. We’ll discuss the paycheck, that won’t be a problem, I can assure you.”

A job. And I won’t even need an interview. Nor any special qualifications. Well-payed. Bonus is that I’ll get to spend my days in the company of so many books. So many stories. Sign. Me. Up!

You can bet I accepted the offer on the spot and I enjoyed every moment on the job since. The Curator, which is the man’s identity as I was soon to find out, was a pleasant, kind man who didn’t hold it against me when I’d drop my cleaning duties to sit on the floor and read a book that had distracted me. Hey, can anyone blame me? A bookworm like me being in the Repository is the equivalent of putting a kid in a toy store. Not to mention he’d read me stories while I was working or on break. What better job could I ask for?

Well....

Fast-forward to now - half a year later - a month ago, I found a far better paying job, a lot closer to home and one that’d allow for me to show my true skills, not just dusting shelves and organizing books and occasionally making tea. So, I was forced to quit, however, that didn’t stop me from coming back to the Repository.

To my dismay I only recently came to terms with the reasoning behind the magnetic energy this place possessed over me. The Curator was right about that pull this place had. For me it was different, though - it wasn’t the place pulling me back.

“Y/N you’re not listening again, are you?“ The Curator’s suddenly more authoritative voice shook my mind out of its wandering state, reminding me that there’s a present I should be living in.

I blink a few times as if awoken from a deep slumber. My eyes meet his and I feel my cheeks reddening under his caring gaze. “Of course I am!”

A smirk starts playing on his lips as if he has already proven his point, “Then tell me: what was Christopher’s dilemma?”

Well shoot, I should’ve expected a question to confirm my nonsense, too bad I didn’t hear a word he has read. “Um...how to end global warming?”

The Curator laughs, closing the book. “Alright, alright, I get that you’re not in the mood to be listening to stories today.” He sets it aside on his desk before leaning back in his chair, “Do not take this out of context, but why did you come today if you didn’t feel up for a read? Actually,” he straightens his posture yet again, “Why do you keep coming here altogether? Once again, don’t mistake this question for anything, I’m just curious. I know it’s far from your home and you either have to walk four miles or waste money on transport, either way, you’re wasting time...” He trails off, having run out of things to say. It probably has something to do with the blank stare I’m giving him unintentionally.

I snap out of it, shaking my head. “Um, isn’t it obvious?” Yeah, isn’t it? Like, whenever I’m around him I feel like I’m holding a big sign that says that I have fallen for my ex-boss - a man rather older than me, mind you. And on top of all that - a man that hasn’t nor will ever look at me with the same 

His faint eyebrows raise the tiniest bit, “Obvious? Well, if it is, consider me ignorant.“ The usual smile returns, “Please, enlighten me.“

Am I really gonna do this right now? I mean, he never leaves this place so if I do end up making a fool of myself - which I’m most certainly will - all I have to do to avoid him is avoid coming here. How much do I have to lose? Only him. But then again, I’ve never had him to begin with,

“At first, it was all about the books and stories this place holds. It’s truly magical that way. Then it was the atmosphere, which is directly related to the books...and to you. And then it was only you.“ I pause before cringing and adding, “Please don’t make me elaborate. You can guess what I mean.“

He gives my outburst a slow, indecisive nod. “I see.” He mumbles, “Well, you can always find me here, Y/N. And while I do understand what you mean, I in no way encourage it. However,..” He makes a pause as if asking of me to look at him which I end up doing. Why is beyond me, but as I said, he has an effect on me I cannot describe, “I won’t discourage it either. Who am I to tell you how to feel or not to feel. We’re all human, after all. Except me, of course.” That has become an ongoing joke of him not being human, but I never pay much mind to it. “You deserve better than me, Y/N. Trust me, I know myself and I know you. I advise you let it go.”

The sympathetic look he’s giving me fills me with both shame and comfort. At last I got it off my chest. Sure, I made a fool of myself, but I now feel ten pounds lighter. “Then I’m inclined to listen to you. As of now...” I reach for the book he was reading me minutes ago, “You’ll be listening to me.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair once again, “I have nothing against it.” 

I feel at peace, reading a story that I was an idiot not to pay attention to the first time. I’m once again reminded that the more a mind wanders, the more frightening things seem. I am now determined to never take my focus off the present. Because that’s the only way to truly live life: In the moment, with a clear head and a chest with nothing to weigh atop it.

[gemsofgreece]

Has any politician of power ever called out Merkel, about what it's like to see Germany -former Nazi Germany- with it's recent history in Greece & the world, backing Turkey -former Ottoman empire- with its recent history in Greece Cyprus, Armenia & the world? When Hitler rationalized the holocaust because "who after all remembers the Armenians" & Turkey still has to answer to the genocides it committed, & gets more & more entries written about it in Genocide Watch??

This answer can go wrong in so many ways and I am afraid it might. I sincerely tell you my intent was to be analytical and not judgemental. I am not sure I succeeded but if this answer makes you bombard me with hate anons, please note I will not answer.

What politician would dare say that... Certainly not a Greek. And the rest of EU also mostly obey Germany so nobody would say this, not even a French because that sure is a very bold thing to say.

I had a thought sort of similar to what you say though. I was thinking that it’s interesting how slow true change is, even if it is already completed in theory or nominally. For example, Germany has done - let’s say - everything to leave its past behind and redeem itself and yet, even though the violent days are fortunately over, Germany is now accused of a different form of expansionism via the EU and financial relations. So even though the method has changed dramatically, the intent of controlling Europe remains. And to connect this exactly to your ask, Germany and Turkey have been allies in both World Wars I think. Even though Germany denounces its past, it retains friendly bonds to countries that assisted it at evil times. This happens because everyone rushes to put all the blame to basically one sinister man alone but national memory and conscience, even unintentionally, can not change rapidly. Germany and Turkey are historical allies and this is engraved in memory no matter what. And also, we all know that South Europeans often report cases of discrimination in North Europe. This doesn’t apply only to Germany but it certainly includes Germany and I have two stories from very close friends that took place in Germany and helped me realise it. You can also see it through the Greek crisis which worked as a great excuse for the German media to unleash inexplicable hate and propaganda against the Greek nation. To be sure, we have shitty politicians but how did this give the right to random Germans to equate our identity to a joke and our ancestry to a lie? Well it didn’t. This hate propaganda had made quite a few young Greeks to feel ashamed of their ethnicity a few years ago and I knew quite a few that were glorifying North Europe beyond belief and reason. Thankfully this is dying but you see what kind of effect it could have?

Turkey supposedly tried to leave the Ottoman past behind in the previous century although this is entirely up to debate and right now it is more than clear that the country has Neo-Ottoman aspirations. Moreover, apart from some short periods of friendliness, Turkey has followed an aggressive and at times downright hostile and violent policy against neighbouring nations. So, as much as I would love to say I totally believe Turkish people who speak for peace and love, I have my doubts, forgive me. Yes, I do include some people because of a) personal experience and b) someone does elect all those politicians that follow the aggressive strategies right? Last time I checked, tensions did not start with Erdogan. It’s just that a bad idea simply needs one unstable man to become truly terrifying and destructive like Germany has already proven.

Germany and Turkey understand each other because they are both expansionists still. They will work together until time comes that one will get into the other’s lane. Right now Greece is a mere annoyance to Germany which is why Germany doesn’t know what to do and how much patience to show. But someday their interests are bound to collide.

To any readers, do not get this answer the wrong way - this is not a hate post against German and Turkish people or their culture. It is though my genuine understanding of the strategies these countries follow. Don’t come to me with a “not all Germans, not all Turks” because I already know that. I don’t know if I can make myself clear enough with the term “national conscience”. What I mean is that I truly believe Germans feel totally ashamed of Hitler but that doesn’t mean Germany as a country isn’t controlling over others or that there isn’t a thing like VERY white supremacy still infesting the country. I am sure that every Turkish family wants to live in peace and tranquility but that does not change the fact that the massive collapse of the Ottoman Empire has been a shock to the national memory that Turkey can’t get over yet.

This applies to every nation. Greece is not an exception. Just so we’re fair, that damn national memory is the reason Greece (and probably the Balkans too) has so much trouble progressing. Nominally, Greeks are proud and fiercely protective of their heritage which they wish to imitate and match. For the time being, they can not do it. This is because, on the exact flip side from Turkey, Greece hasn’t managed to get rid of the syndrome of “raya” yet meaning Greece hasn’t got over the centuries long slavery (and imagine if we also add the Romans!) and the way people worked and competed against each other to ensure their own survival only, with little interest in the greater good or how they frequently relied on foreigners and oppressors to decide for their sake.

In short my answer is that change, even with the best intentions, is very very slow. Things do not change because you announce they did.

And my Greek answer is:

Όλα τριγύρω αλλάζουνε και όλα τα ίδια μένουν - Μανώλης Ρασούλης