#and you get separated and when you come back hes angry at you for having changed

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

[pierregazly]

soft for you ꨄ lance stroll

lance stroll x reader

warnings: disgusting fluff, mention of crash [1018 words]

request: could i request 3 & 4 from the 🫶🏼 prompt list with lance? [3. SMILING during a kissss >>>>> and 4. the gaze that softens as soon as it lands on you.]

note: lance taking after his dad >>> relationships come before f1 >>> this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

He was pissed. Even without hearing his words, or knowing the whole situation, you could see it in his face. His eyebrows were pinched, the sarcastic roll of his eyes after every sentence that left his mouth, both stark examples of how genuinely angry Lance was.

It had been a nightmare of a season from the first race, anything that could go wrong, having gone wrong. You knew nothing you could say or do would truly change Lance’s perspective. The car wasn’t great, the strategy was poor, and little mistakes had begun piling up, the damage to his car worse and worse almost every race.

And the first race of the season you were able to attend? Another crash, another early end to Lance’s race. You couldn’t help the grimace that overtook your face as you watched him argue with one of the engineers, his hands flying up in the air in exasperation as another eye roll was visible from your spot across the room.

Multiple people were trying to avoid looking at the conversation currently taking place, not wanting to overstep or get anywhere near the line of fire once Lance finally made his exit from the room. You couldn’t help but stare at the situation, waiting for him to finally look up, to finally make eye contact with you.

It didn’t take him long to do so once he realized he had multiple eyes on him, his brown orbs locating your own just seconds later. His face, his mere gaze, softened almost immediately, any comment from his engineer going unheard and ignored as he simply nodded his head in response to whatever he was saying. You couldn’t help the small smile that began to form on your face as he walked towards you, leaving his mechanics and engineers to stew in their own anger and frustration.

Just another little thing you could always count on. He could be livid. He could be whipping his steering wheel across the room, or shouting at whoever would listen; but he would never allow it to enter your relationship. It was one thing you admired, one of so many things you loved about him. His career, his job, it was separate from your relationship and always had been.

He didn’t talk about racing when he was with you, didn’t talk about how poor the season was going or how miserable he was beginning to become. He would talk about it when you urged him to, not wanting him to bottle it up, not wanting him to feel as if you didn’t support him when he was at his worst. But he never let it effect your relationship, never let the anger mask his love for you, or the way he treated you.

Pulling you into his arms once he was close enough, you felt his chin rest gently on the crown of your head as a loud exhale left his body. His back muscles were tense, his body practically shaking in frustration as he squeezed you tighter, trying to take advantage of all the time he could get with you.

Pulling back, you watched the corners of his lips curve as he gazed down at you. Your grip on his bicep not letting up as you observed the influx of emotions cross his features. The defeat, the frustration, the misery; they were so prevalent at first, so raw as he tried to contain them. But before long, the emotions of devastation began to melt away. The small grin on his face not wavering as he looked down on you, practically delighted to see you, regardless of the outcome of his day.

“Bonjour, mon coeur. You look beautiful, as always,” he murmured.

Smiling up at him, you stood on your tiptoes so you could press a small kiss to his lips in gratitude for his words.

“Bonjour, my love. How are you? Are you okay? Are you sore? You’re very tense,” the onslaught of questions spewed from your lips, unable to contain them as you began looking him over.

The soft grip on your cheek was all you needed to glance back up into his eyes. A faint smile still graced his face as he gently ran his thumb across your cheek. A smile still graced his face as he leaned down to press his lips against yours, prompting your own lips to curve upwards as he did so. 

“I’m fine, mon coeur. A little sore, nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I just have to deal with some media, and probably some more yelling, and then we can get out of here, yeah? I can book us reservations for somewhere, or we can just get room service back at the hotel? Whatever you want.”

“Lance… if you want to talk about the race, we can. You don’t have to be so nonchalant about it, I know you’re not happy,” you said.

Shrugging his shoulders at you, his only response was to lean down and brush his lips against yours again, the curve of them still so prominent. The softness, the gentleness, the simple adoration so evident in his every action with you.

His lips touched yours before moving on to the tip of your nose, your cheeks, the skin below your ear; a smile gracing his lips with every kiss.

“I’m not happy, but not much I can do about it. I’m not going to let it determine my time with you, though. Work stays at work, no need to bring it back to the hotel with us. So, reservations, or hotel dinner?”

Before you could answer, Lance continued.

“Dinner in the hotel sounds like a good idea, I think. Room service and some reality television sounds like a good time to me, maybe cuddle up a little and ignore the world. What do you think?”

Pressing your lips against his with a large grin, your only response was a squeeze of his bicep and a nod of your head. If he wanted to escape the world and hold you all night? Well, all you could do was say ‘yes’. 

just wanted to write something soft/loving so i hope y'all love this!!! thank you everyone for participating in my follower celebration and being lovely!!!

[deathblacksmoke]

the unbearable weight of tenderness

pairing: jolly karlsson x f!reader

cw: unprotected p in v sex, soft dom jolly, reader is a little bossy and jolls is a perfect bb angel, kind of hurt/comfort but mostly just comfort, all sweet tings

word count: 1.6K

author’s note: the first of my jolly requests for the baby boy’s birthday ❤️ this one for my dearest hedy @darksigns-exe who wanted something nice and soft and comforting. thank you @circle-with-me as always for the beta!! i hope i did it justice <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥀

It’s all been too much today — your heart hasn’t returned to its normal rate in hours and you can’t seem to stop the trembling of your hands. You don’t know how much more of it you can take, how many more of these days you can stomach.

You wait outside the door, unsure if you should go inside yet. He’s probably had a nice, relaxing day with you out of the house. He hardly gets the opportunity, and he deserves it. You don’t want to ruin his mood and bring him down with you.

But all you want is your bed and Jolly.

You imagine the welcoming sink of the mattress, the hold of your sweet boy, the weight of him on top of you as he kisses away all the bad. You just need him to fix it. 

The immediate look of concern you’re met with when you step through the door and let your bag thud to the floor does little to soothe you, but he’s at your side in a moment, holding you to his chest as you allow yourself to slump into him.

“Bad day, darling?” he asks, but he doesn’t need to. He always knows. He’s long been able to read you perfectly, sense every little shift in your moods.

“Yeah,” you whine pathetically into his chest. He places a kiss to the top of your head and you feel as his lips curl into a smile. It isn’t mean-spirited. You can tell his gears are turning and he’s thinking up a solution.

Just like always.

“Why don’t you get comfortable while I order us some dinner. Does Chinese sound good?”

All you can bring yourself to do is nod, still feeling miserable, but hopeful and comforted as he separates from you and heads into the kitchen.

The thudding of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothes you. You’re still shaky, but at least if you can’t stop the trembling of your hands, you can place them on him.

But there’s something more you need. It’s usually just right, a lazy night in with him, but you can’t seem to settle. Even resting your full weight on him, his hands running through your hair, there’s a nagging buzz beneath your skin.

He notices — enough time spent squirming and unsettled on top of him has him fixing you with a look not quite of agitation, but a mix of impatience and pity.

“Are you doing all right, doll?” he asks you, and it’s almost teasing. You know what he needs from you before he gives you what you need, but instead you find yourself whimpering, squirming more until he stills you with a strong hand gripping your side.

“Joakim,” you whine, your eyes meeting his with a plea. “Please.”

“You have to tell me what you need,” comes his immediate response, stern and unwavering, but the edge of softness in his tone lets you know he isn’t angry with you. “I’ll give you what you need but you have to tell me what it is.”

“I just need you,” you beg, burying your face in his chest. You know he needs more from you, but it’s all so much. “Need you to get me out of my head, Jolly, please.”

You watch as the pity flickers back through his expression. There’s an undercurrent of desire, but it’s overwhelmed by something more tender as he traces a finger along your cheek.

“Do you want me to take you to bed?”

You feel as the ease floods through you, grateful he takes it easy on you just this once. You gaze up at him and nod, pleased and relieved as a grin spreads across his face.

The anxiety slowly seeps out of you as his body weight presses you into the sheets.

The welcome sink of the mattress is nothing compared to the burn, the sizzle under your skin everywhere you’re touching him — everywhere.

“Baby,” you gasp, with hardly a grasp on what you’re asking for, but it doesn’t matter. He knows. He always knows, as kisses are trailed from your lips, to your cheek, down your neck, over your collarbones. “Jolly.”

A soft shh is pressed into the skin of your chest. You vibrate with it, still trembling but in a way that’s so very different, a pleasant disquiet inside of you as he kisses away all the bad, like you knew he would. Just like he always does.

“I always take care of you, don’t I?” he asks. A rhetorical question, but you find yourself nodding nonetheless, your skin hot and feverish as your shaking hands find purchase on his bare shoulders.

It’s always so much with him, overwhelmed completely as you’re naked in your bed and bent to his will.

It should always be this way.

The angle is awkward, cramped and a little wrong, when he slides his hand down through your folds, brushing a finger over your clit and smiling into your chest as he draws a gasp from you.

“Do you want me to get you off like this?” 

You consider it for a long moment, losing yourself in the feeling of his rough hands on you. The callouses juxtapose with his ultra-gentle touch and it dizzies you. It’s enough.

It could be enough.

He could touch you like this for hours, his full weight resting on you as he draws orgasm after orgasm from you with practiced ease, but —

“No,” you gasp, grappling with his shoulders and pulling him back up to you. His pupils are blown when his eyes meet yours. He could do this for hours, too. You can’t help but pull him down to your lips, grateful for the way he always takes such perfect care of you. “Can I have your cock?”

He’s been so good for you, so patient, so polite — focusing entirely on you rather than his aching hardness. You knew. You felt it pressed into your thigh, saw him grinding his hips into the mattress as you felt the shift of the bed beneath you.

It’s for you, too, as much as him, when you ask for it. “Please.”

He nods, out of sorts, burying his face in your neck once more. Every part of you is covered by him. He’s so affected that he doesn’t make you work for it and you’re so thankful.

It’s with one languid move, smooth and practiced, that he lifts his hips and slides himself into you. 

The stretch burns — always does for just a moment — but he’s right there to soothe you with kisses when you find yourself gasping.

“Be good for me, love,” he breathes into your open mouth, accompanied by the steady, shallow rock of his hips. It’s your favorite thing, being wholly surrounded by him, being picked apart and pieced back together.

You’re adjusted before long, lost in the slow drag of him inside you and his lips on your skin as you relax into the mattress once more, letting him take care of you.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, nipping ever so gently at your bottom lip. Your mouth curves involuntarily into a grin. He always fixes it.

There’s a long while spent like that, his spit slick lips never parting from you, finding a home on your skin. 

Your mind shifts to the realization you could spend your whole night like this, your whole life like this, when he lifts his torso off yours.

“Hey, no,” you complain, grabbing at his sides to try to drag him back down to you. The hand that had been moving towards your center stops its descent, and he stops moving, and you feel a little bit like you want to scream. You can’t have him stop.

“You don’t want me to get you off?” he asks, and the sweet look on his face would make you soft for him, if not for your complete displeasure with the space he’s put between you.

You shake your head, dragging him back on top of you. Your hands find purchase on his lower back, fingers digging into his skin, moving his hips for him. You know you’ll leave marks with how hard you’re gripping. You can’t wait to admire the marks for the days to come, knowing you did that.

“I’ll cum like this,” you tell him. He places a smile to your lips. It’s just the right amount of pressure, of friction. When you pull your knees up, wrapping your legs around him, it’s just right. “Just stay.”

It’s so much for so long that you can’t help yourself. You throw your head back but he follows, hands in your hair moving your head forward again to meet his gaze. “Eyes on me, darling.”

It’s out of your power when you feel yourself tumbling over the edge, gaze remaining on him, just like he asked. You knew he wouldn’t be far behind and you feel him stilling inside of you, bringing his mouth to yours to quiet his gasps against your lips.

And it’s everything you needed from him.

The moments pass and you’re so content to have him stay like that, resting on you, softening inside of you. 

“How’s a bath sound? Need to get ourselves cleaned up,” he says into your neck, but not making any moves to get up. You’re not ready yet.

“Just a little while longer?” you ask — the question not even finished before you swear you feel him rest more of his weight on you, sinking further into the bed, intent to keep fixing it.

Whatever you want. Just like always.

tags:

@concretenoah @circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @ladyveronikawrites @cookiesupplier

@bngurngheart @agravemisstake @iknownothingpeople @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@abiomens @baddestomens @collapsedglasshouses @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

Alrighty! @number-one-shadisper-shipper and I binged the Knuckles series today, so time for thoughts! SPOILER ALERT.

I'll admit the show wasn't perfect. I've seen the negative reviews, and I kinda get where they come from. BUT! I did enjoy this show greatly! And I'm not here to complain. Time for some happy thoughts, y'all! 💙🤩

I think you need to have a love, not just tolerance, for the SCU in order to properly enjoy this show. I do have such, so I had a lot of fun with it.

There were definitely scenes from every episode that had me either squealing, laughing, crying, or flipping out. But my favorite was likely the first episode, because come on, we saw the Wachowski family! Most of them, anyway! While I missed Tom's presence, I was grateful for that comment from Maddie about him being "out of town," so he wasn't just gone for no reason.

The SECOND it showed our three space babies hanging out together in their room?! I SCREAMED. THE BOYS!!!!

Tails sitting on his bed tinkering with one of his gizmos, Sonic rocking out to music with an air guitar, and Knuckles exercising from one of the ceiling planks. IT'S THEM!!! They're just hanging out, doing their thing, looking oh so much like brothers. And Sonic's narration at the beginning was GOLD. 🤣💙

Even though we didn't get enough of Maddie being a parent, we definitely got a nice chunk for it only lasting part of an episode. Maddie called Knuckles "one of our kids" (that had me SCREECHING). The angry mama vibes were GOLDEN. 🤣 The way she made breakfast for them, the "Boys, breakfast is ready!" I love the normalcy of it! Can't wait to see more in the future! (Her calling to them with "boys" is somehow just the sweetest thing and I'm melting.)

The poor mailman being like "I just wanna go home, man" 🤣

We were right, fellas, Knuckles had no idea what being grounded meant. 🤣 Although the way Sonic piped up with "Oh, I definitely know what it means," has me suspecting that Sonic himself has gotten grounded a decent amount before. 😂

Knuckles trying to talk back, and Maddie going, "ExCUSE ME?!" then just making those tiny, terrifying noises and Sonic being like "Bro don't mess with Mom when she's mad" (okay, he didn't say "mom" and that made me sad, but the mom vibes were 110% there so I'm here for it). 😂 And since Knuckles snuck out and later Wade said, several times, "Aren't you grounded?" seems to confirm that this entire show is basically what Knuckles does when he's grounded. 🤣 Although ... his comment about not being able to be grounded because he had no home made me very sad. 😭

I did not have an issue with so much Wade screentime! Sure, he isn't my favorite SCU character, but I love what this show did with him! I'd already seen his moments in the movies (like nearly shooting Robotnik in the face with an actual handgun). I like how they gave him actual family issues; a dad who abandoned him and his family, a realistic sister, a mom. Bad family memories. Awkward reunions. They could've made it a joke, but they didn't, and I greatly appreciate that. Especially since I've witnessed firsthand how painful family separations can be. 😔

All the emotional talks Wade and Knuckles had caught me off guard in the best way! The way they talked about their different family issues, the way they talked of betrayal from friends, and being left alone, hit way harder than I was prepared for. Especially that talk they had at the burger place in the middle of the night? Oof. Good talk right there.

Also, even though they took a "show don't tell" take with it, I loved how Knuckles relaxed more and more throughout the show. In the beginning, he couldn't rest, he couldn't sit back and have a genuine good time. But the more he hung out with Wade and his family, the more he learned. He learned about music and found "his jam" (that was literally amazing btw). He watched movies with Mrs. Whipple and ate snacks in the hotel room in Reno and watched more movies. He had his teenager moments of rolling his eyes and rebelling, but he was so well portrayed here, I loved it. I felt for him.

Despite the bizarre nature of the episode "Flames of Disaster," (we were cracking up so hard) I'm trying to glean bits of the truth of Knuckles's story from the crazy musical play that Pachacamac put on in Wade's dream. I mean, "Longclaw" and her tribe were there, and ... what the heck was that giant demon thing?! Iblis?! Does our Knuckles Wachowski have an actual history with freaking Iblis?!?! 😱🔥

I was deeply intrigued by the two main antagonists, especially at the implication that G.U.N. did seem to exist before the events of the first movie?! Did it exist, get disbanded after the Maria incident, then get reformed?! My brain is exploding. 🤯 I was even more shocked that they apparently died? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, the Wachowski kids don't seem to have much qualms about getting rid of the baddies for good as the game versions do. That was a terrifying phenomenon, what happened with the two rings. 🫣

And then the Buyer getting crushed by the giant glass ball 👀

Although in those last two episodes, I admit I was freaking out and legitimately near tears at Wade's seemingly having to "betray" Knuckles. Before the reveal that all was in good communication, all I could think was how relaxed Knuckles finally seemed, chilling in the hotel room, being excited about whatever Wade wanted to "show" him, questioning whether it was a song, him declaring that he was going to bring his favorite hat, 🥹 all I could think was of their previous discussions about betrayal from friends and family, and when Knuckles called Wade "my friend" right before the elevator doors closed, I just about sobbed. I was like "please, don't let him be betrayed, don't let him have come all this way and relaxed so much only to get 'betrayed' once again by someone he's come to consider a friend." 😭 We heaved a HUGE sigh of relief when it revealed he was aware of the trap the whole time. 😪

Maternal instincts went nuts when he got so badly hurt in that final battle 😭 I literally reached for the screen several times and was right back to almost weeping 🥲 And someone tell me I wasn't the only one noticing the parallel in that scene with Wade standing in front of his unconscious body the way Tom did with Sonic in the first movie. That, PLUS Knuckles's epic comeback, and his retrieval of his own power?!?! EPIC!!!!

The ending was abrupt, sure, but the pure joy on Knuckles's face after everything as he jumped up to high five Wade was just too sweet. 🥹

So yes, even though I would have loved just a little more, a return to Green Hills, a reunion with Maddie, Sonic, and Tails, I adored this show. It was a wild ride, full of laughs, tears, excited screeching, etc. 💙💛❤️ I don't care what anyone says, nothing will make me hate it.

[glxyaaandromeda]

Missing your presence

Pairing/s: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel x GN! Reader [Separated Established Relationship]

Warning/s: Angst / hurt / comfort

Summary: What would be their reaction when you left without a word… then came back again.

A/N: I stopped playing LnDs for a month and when I came back a few days ago, I received these messages from them and thought I should write something angst with a bit of comfort headcanon about it. The devs do be really know how to pull our heartstrings huh?

Masterlists | commission sheet + socials

—

Xavier

He missed you, like a lot.

Despite not getting responses from you, he continues to message you now and then. “Why are you so quiet?” “Did you go to the no-hunt zone alone again?” “Are you hiding from me or is something bothering you?”

Even when he sleeps, he sees you in his dreams, hoping someday you would come back again.

When there’s no Wanderer around, he goes to the places you and him enjoy each other's company.

Then you return – you saw him in the cafe that you and he visited often, he was sitting near the window and the drink that he ordered remained untouched then he saw you walking on where he sat.

He’s not dreaming, is he? He’s not dreaming. “So it’s not a dream? Can I pinch you, (Y/N)?” You gave him a small nod as you sit beside him and he did pinch you – not enough to hurt you of course but just to see if you are actually real, with him. Then without any word, he embraced you. “I missed you a lot when you were gone.”

Zayne

Busy as usual.

Though his co-workers noticed that he’s been checking his phone from time to time so often, “Respond when you have time.” “I saw a hunter wearing their uniform at the airport and… I thought it was you.” are some of the messages that he sent to you, waiting for you to reply, but nothing came. 

It’s a weird feeling from him honestly, he missed your presence, your messages – like any updates from you on what had happened on your day. He still hopes that you’re doing okay at least even if you missed your monthly check-ups from him.

He tries not to be angry at you, a bit disappointed but… maybe it’s a personal matter that’s why there’s no word when you left.

Then you return – It surely is a coincidence to see him on the restaurant that you and him had lunch together, you saw him making a snow replica of the cat that you’ve seen a lot here at the restaurant.

With the food that you ordered on hand, you walked over to where he sat. “Is this seat taken?” There was a minute of silence between you two, Zayne registering if it’s really you in front of him and yes it is you. “Is this your way of punishing me?” “No- I, absolutely not..” Then you explained to him what had happened for the past few months, he then gave you a head pat. “Hm, if that’s the case then, can we stop this punishment now?” 

Rafayel

He was frustrated for a week or so.

Why did you leave without a word? You are his bodyguard after all, shouldn’t you ask for a sick leave or something before you leave? But you didn’t.

He’s sure to himself that you are capable of taking care of yourself, so why is he worrying too much about you? He still continues to message you even though he knows damn well you won’t respond to him.. “... are you asleep?” “Come find me when you wake up.” 

He tried his best to enjoy the things he does every day even if your presence is not there, it’s not really a big deal really. (p.s: it’s a big deal to him to be honest.)

Then you return – His studio was a mess, Thomas already tried his best to cheer him up to tidy his studio but it was always different when you’re there and… there you are facing his back as he continues to paint a new art piece, you assume. 

“So you finally decided to show up, huh?” There is the sassy Rafayel you knew, now facing you. “By the way, I went to art exhibitions, sketching and painting alone, no big deal really.” He didn't even realize how much he misses you, with a sigh and giving him an apologetic smile you couldn’t help but laugh lightly on his antics – whenever he crossed his arms and pouts, you couldn’t help but offer him a hug. “... are you mad?” “Hmph. I can’t get mad at you and.. Welcome back my bodyguard.”

—

the messages I was referring to, like 😭😭😭

[raaorqtpbpdy]

The Only Way Out is Through (2)

Vlad overshadows Jack as part of a diabolical plan to get rid of him and win Maddie's heart. Unfortunately, the plan goes awry when Vlad finds he can neither take control over Jack, nor leave.

For the prompts: Vlad's murderous plan for vengeance goes awry when he finds himself unable to stop possessing Jack's body. Jack is very much still alive and complaining about the "insufferable spook inhabiting his form". He's forced to live Jack's life until he can come up with a solution. IF he can... [from Balshumet], Vlad wishes his friendships could go back to the way they were in college, little does he know that Jack and Maddie have similar sentiments. [from @half-deadmagicperson], and Jack wants to save Vlad, but he'll have to face the harm he caused twenty years ago in order to accomplish this. [from @kuzann]

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Chapter 2: Forgive, but Never Forget (Chapter 1)

[Warning for past trauma, guilt and blame, and mentions of death]

Jack stared.

Before him, he saw the rotten specter who'd tried to possess him and gotten stuck... and he also saw his best friend, Vlad Masters. And he had no idea what to make of it.

"I... I don't understand," he said.

"Of course you wouldn't understand, you oaf," the Wisconsin Ghost sneered at him. "I can't stand to be near you for even another second."

Then, with a flourish of his cape, the ghost flew through the portal and was gone, leaving Jack alone with his friend and no less confused.

"Vlad, are you alright?" he asked. He reached out to his friend, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Don't touch me," Vlad said, though there was little bite to it.

He looked... sad. Sadder than Jack had ever seen him, and he was overcome with the desire to help, though he still hadn't the foggiest idea what he needed to help with.

"Vlad... what's going on?" he asked, trying and failing to put all the pieces together. It just didn't add up.

Had the Wisconsin Ghost possessed Vlad before coming to do the same to Jack? But... how would it have even done something like that? It was impossible. Still, Vlad would know better than Jack, he always did, so it probably would be best to ask.

"Did the Wisconsin Ghost overshadow you, too, Vlad?"

"I wasn't overshadowed by the Wisconsin Ghost," Vlad muttered darkly. "I am the Wisconsin Ghost. Or I was, anyway. Your device seems to have separated me from my ghost half, and now it has apparently abandoned me in its disgust. I hardly blame it for wanting to get away from you."

"I don't understand—"

"I told you, didn't I?" Vlad replied. "You killed me. I came to get revenge. It's as simple as that."

Jack shook his head, still as confused as when he'd first dispossessed himself of that ghost and seen Vlad standing there, if not more so. It certainly didn't seem like anything about this situation was at all simple. Actually, it seemed quite confusing. Most confusing of all, however, was that, even though Vlad's words should have sounded angry... he just sounded sad.

"Is... is something wrong, Vladdie?" Jack asked. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? The man I once called friend betrayed me by stealing away the woman I love, sending me to an early grave in his incompetence, turning me into a half formed freak, neither truly human nor truly ghost, trapped me in his body for a week, and then split my two sides apart from each other, leaving me a broken man in every sense of the word."

Jack wasn't always the best at picking out sarcasm, but he didn't think Vlad was being genuine when he claimed he was fine. He actually sounded rather displeased and depressed about the whole thing. But Jack knew the cure for that.

"Come on, old chum," he said, grabbing Vlad by the arm despite his protests. "I'm taking you upstairs for some hot-chocolate and a warm blanket and we're going to talk this out."

Too bad Jack didn't know what to do about any of the rest of Vlad's problems. He didn't even know what Vlad was babbling about when he said half those things. Stealing away the woman he loved? Jack didn't know Vlad was dating anyone, or even crushing on anyone. And the only person Jack had dated since meeting Vlad was Maddie. By all accounts, it didn't make sense.

Once they got upstairs, Jack sat Vlad down on the sofa, grabbed a blanket from under the coffee table, and threw it over his friend's shoulders. It was a good blanket, thick, and warm, and soft. Jack knew because he'd knitted it himself, and he said as much. Then he told Vlad to stay put while he made some cocoa.

While Jack went through the familiar process of warming the milk, and mixing in the powder, and hunting down the marshmallows from wherever Maddie had hidden them this time, he tried to think over what Vlad had said before. There was something about a woman, and a half-formed... something, and a ghost? Or rather, not truly a ghost.

He felt like he was trying to put together a puzzle when he had only been given every other piece, and he'd gone and lost half the pieces he did have. It was, admittedly, rather frustrating, but Jack had done many puzzles with missing pieces—because he had a tendency to lose real puzzle pieces as much as metaphorical ones. He never gave up until he could see what the picture was, missing pieces or no.

When he returned to the living room with two cups of cocoa—he'd made one for himself while he was at it, just because—he saw Danny standing across from Vlad with an angry expression.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Vlad, but I want you out of here. Fly home. Now," he said in a low, growling tone.

"I would love to, Daniel, but alas... I don't have my powers." Vlad replied. "I won't be flying anywhere."

"What do you mean you don't have your powers?" Danny hissed. "You've been overshadowing my dad for like, a week, you're telling me you've lost your powers in the last ten minutes?"

"He used something called a 'ghost catcher' to separate us." Vlad shrugged.

Danny cringed hard. "Oh."

"Worked a bit too well, it seems. My ghost half flew off who knows where. I'm sure it'll come back for me when Jack's asleep."

"Fine, but I'm watching you, Vlad," Danny told him. "If you try anything funny, I'll dropkick you into the Ghost Zone and let you flail. Play nice with Dad, don't flirt with mom, and generally don't be such a fruit loop, or you're done here. Got it?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good."

With that, Danny turned around and left Vlad sighing behind him.

"What was that all about?" Jack asked as he entered the room, at last, two mugs of hot-cocoa in hand.

"You really have no listening comprehension, do you?" Vlad sighed, accepting a mug of cocoa, but not drinking it yet.

"Or maybe you haven't explained anything very well," Jack replied, starting to get a bit huffy.

Vlad couldn't put this all on him, when Vlad had just been saying things that didn't make any sense and expecting him to just know what they meant.

"Like that thing about me stealing the woman you love," Jack continued. "What's that all about? You never told me you were dating anyone. I didn't even know you liked anyone. And the only person I've dated since we met is Maddie, so how could I have stolen the woman you love?"

"Maddie is the woman I love, you utter buffoon," Vlad grumbled, then took a sip of his cocoa.

"Really?" Jack asked. "But... you never said anything. You never told me. How was I supposed to know?"

"I would have thought I was rather obvious about it."

"That's not fair," Jack replied. "With the number of times you've talked about how oblivious I am, it's not fair of you to assume I know things just because they're obvious. You know more than anyone how bad I am at noticing things. You're my best friend, if you liked Maddie, you should have told me."

"And what would you have done if I had? Hm?" Vlad asked. "Let me have her?"

"Well... no," Jack said obviously. "I couldn't do that. Maddie's a person, not something you can just have. If I knew you liked her too, we could have told her together and let her decide. At the very least I would have wanted us both to have a fair chance, instead of just making a move on my own. In fact, we can call her down now and ask her what decision she would have made."

"Really?" Vlad asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "And what happens if she says she would have chosen me?"

"Well... then maybe we can work something out," Jack said. "I'll always support Maddie a hundred percent, no matter what she chooses. And no hard feelings from either of us, whatever she says, right?"

"Very well."

Maddie was reading a book in bed when Jack went to get her, telling her Vlad was here and they had an important question to ask her. She grimaced.

"Something wrong?" Jack asked.

"No, nothing," she said, putting on a smile. "Oh, is that ghost still attached to you?"

"No, I used the ghost catcher to separate it, and it flew off into the Ghost Zone," Jack said. "Then Vlad showed up, which... still not sure how that happened, but I'm working on it."

"The ghost catcher!" Maddie put her palm to her forehead. "I can't believe I didn't think of that. I totally forgot we made a ghost catcher."

"Don't feel too bad. I forgot, too. Now come on, Vlad's waiting downstairs."

"Right...." Maddie got up and followed, but she was walking slower than usual.

When they got to the living room, she took a seat on the armchair and Jack sat next to Vlad and started to explain.

"Did you know V-man also had a crush on you in college?" Jack asked. He opened his mouth to continue his speech, but Maddie interrupted him.

"Yes, I knew," she said.

"You did?"

"It was obvious," she and Vlad said in unison.

As much as he loved them both, they sure knew how to make Jack feel stupid at times.

"You and Vlad were both ridiculously obvious about your crushes on me," she continued. "At the time, I wasn't sure if I liked either of you, or who I liked more, so I decided that whoever asked me out first, I would go with, and if it worked, it worked, and if it didn't, it didn't."

"So... what if we'd come to you at the same time to confess our feelings and asked you to choose?" Vlad asked. "What would you have done then? Who would you have chosen?"

Maddie's eyes widened in surprise. "I... I don't know."

"Humor us," Vlad insisted. "Imagine that that had been what happened."

"Well... I suppose there are two possibilities," Maddie said. "You were both very good friends, and I wouldn't want to alienate either one of you by favoring the other. Either, I would have turned you both down to avoid hurting one of you so much that I would have lost him. Or I would have proposed an experiment to go on one date with the both of you and see which one I liked better as a boyfriend and which I preferred as just a friend."

"You always were very scientifically minded," Vlad commented.

"If you'd done the experiment, who do you think you would have picked?" Jack asked. More curious about her thoughts than actually concerned about whether she loved him or Vlad more.

She sighed. "I don't know. I really don't. It would have depended entirely on how you both met the challenge. But I was young, and naïve in college. I'd never dated anyone before, and I didn't know what to look for to know if a relationship would last. What I would have done back then, with the knowledge and experience I had back then, it doesn't really matter now, in the present.

"Knowing what I know now, I know I chose the right guy back then, even if it was just coincidence, or luck... I'm sorry Vlad. You were a good friend then, and I wish our friendship hadn't fallen apart, but the way you are now... you're pushy, and controlling, and I couldn't be happy married to a man like that. I know you both love me, but Jack understands me, and supports me, and even though he's forgetful, he cares about me as a person, and doesn't just want me, like you seem to.

"I just... I just wish we could all be friends like we were before," she said. "Before the accident, before all the resentment, and the pain, and separation. Before you turned into such a creep," she tacked on. "I miss those days. But it's too bad we can't just ignore all the time that's passed, and everything that's happened."

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Vlad agreed miserably, then took another sip of his cocoa.

"Well why not?" Jack asked. "Why can't we just go back to the way things were between us in the old days?"

"Because you killed me!" Vlad snapped. "Because you were overeager, despite our warnings, and by your incompetence, made me spend two years in a hospital, suffering poor care and constant mistreatment in addition to extreme pain as the ecto-acne simultaneously killed and healed me.

"Did you know, That ectoplasm can do that? Kill someone and resurrect them at the same time? I found that out the hard way. Guess who else found that out the hard way, twenty years after I did?"

"Danny," Jack breathed out.

If the ghost really was somehow Vlad, like he'd claimed to be, then that thing he'd said about Jack killing his son and not even realizing it was starting to make sense.

"In the portal accident," he realized. Killed and resurrected at the same time.

"What?" Maddie asked.

Jack just shook his head. He couldn't explain now. He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't even imagine how horrible something like that would be to experience. The way Vlad put it, it sounded like agony.

"Vlad... it was an accident," Jack said.

"That you caused."

"I never meant to—"

"But you did, didn't you," Vlad said. "You pressed that damned button and I didn't hear from you again for twenty years."

"We tried to visit you in the hospital, Vlad," Maddie said. "We tried so many times we were permanently banned from visitation there. They wouldn't let us see you because we weren't relatives. We didn't even know if you'd survived."

"And what about after?" Vlad asked. "After I left the hospital, I became a millionaire. I was all over the news. Why didn't you reach out then?"

"I tried!" Jack told him. "Your receptionist said she was told to screen all calls from me."

"You killed me," Vlad repeated. "Why the hell would I take your calls?!"

"He's only trying to say that we're not the only ones to blame for losing touch," Maddie intervened, leaning forward, though she didn't have the reach across the coffee table to put herself between them. "You shut us out because of your bitter resentment. How were we supposed to reach out to you when you put a wall between yourself and us?"

A wall. That was a perfect metaphor, Jack decided. Ever since they'd reconnected with Vlad, it had felt like there was a brick wall between them, as much as Jack tried to ignore it, and pretend it wasn't there, even he wasn't so oblivious that he didn't notice.

It felt like a Cask of Amontillado situation, except that Vlad was both the one who'd built the wall, and the one trapped behind it, isolated, stuck, and suffering. Jack had burst through many a wall, but he couldn't break down this one. He wanted to help his friend, to save him... he just didn't know how.

"I... I'm sorry, Vlad," Jack said.

It didn't feel like the right thing to say after everything, after what he'd done, intentionally or not. Especially now that he realized the true extent of the consequences of his poorly-thought-out actions. It wasn't strong enough to express his remorse, or tangible enough to fix the damage, but he'd realized, out of nowhere, that he'd never actually said it.

In all these years, he'd never actually apologized. Or, if he had, he didn't remember, which wasn't exactly unlikely. Still, it couldn't do any harm to say it again, if he had said it at all.

"I know I can be overzealous, and clumsy, and thoughtless," he continued. "I didn't choose to be like this, I don't do it on purpose, but I know I do it, and I'm sorry. I don't know what I can do to make it up to you, but say the word and I'll do it."

"You could give me Maddie—"

"No, he couldn't," Maddie cut in sharply. "I am not something that can be kept or given away. I thought I already made myself clear about all this."

"Worth a shot."

"Wasn't," she scowled.

"I can't do that," Jack said. "But I will try to do better. Jazz is always suggesting things I can do to help with my forgetfulness, and I never remember to try them, but I'll work with her to start doing that. I'll find ways to stop me being so impulsive. And I'll try to think more. You're always getting on my about how I don't think enough."

"That'll be a real challenge for you," Vlad replied.

"I know," Jack replied with a short laugh. "But I'm willing to do it. Whatever else you are, dead, alive, even a ghost—you're my best friend. And I hurt you, and I want to make amends. If you'll let me."

Vlad looked down his nose at Jack, and sipped his cocoa once more. Jack realized he hadn't even touched his own drink during all this. It was probably lukewarm by now.

"I'll consider it," he said finally. Then he put his drink back down on the table and added, tersely, "It's late, you should go to bed. I'm sure I'll be gone in the morning. I'd like to be left alone for a while... to think."

"Of course," Maddie said. "Come on, Jack, let's leave him be. I'm sure we've bothered him more than enough for one evening."

She stood, and took Jack by the hand to lead him upstairs to their room.

"So... what exactly happened?" she asked once they were alone in their bedroom and Jack was changing into his pajamas. "Why was Vlad doing here? And what happened to the ghost that tried to overshadow you and got stuck? And what did you mean about Danny and his accident with the portal?"

"Slow down, Maddie, I can only answer one question at a time," Jack replied. "I'll start with Vlad and the ghost. Vlad was the ghost."

"What?"

"When he said the ecto-acne killed him and brought him back at the same time..." Jack trailed off to swallow back the discomfort at that mental image. "I think it made him a ghost... but also not a ghost?"

"What, like... a half-ghost?" Maddie asked, he eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Jack imagined he must look like that pretty often. Confused, that is. He knew he didn't look anything like his wife.

"I guess so," he agreed. "When I used the ghost catcher to get rid of the ghost possessing me, it separated me from him, but it also separated Vlad's human self from his ghost self. That's what he said, anyway. Then his ghost self said he couldn't stand to look at me and flew into the portal."

"Rude."

"What do you expect from a—uh..."

Jack had been about to say 'what do you expect from a ghost', but he reconsidered when he remembered who he was talking about. We half-ghosts completely different from regular ghosts? Or were he and Maddie completely wrong about ghosts altogether.

"He was just upset," he said instead. "I think he'd been poking around in my memories, and he saw some things that upset him. He confronted me about my brother."

"I didn't know you had a brother," his wife said.

"I don't anymore," he looked down at the floor and tried not to recall to much and upset himself. "His name was Johnny, but he died falling through ice when we were kids. I... I was supposed to be watching him at the time, but I got distracted."

"Oh, Jack..."

"It was a long time ago," Jack said before she could try to comfort him and only made him linger on the guilt he still felt. "We all made mistakes that day. I should have learned from mine, and not let anyone else get hurt because of my negligence, but I guess I didn't learn well enough."

"How old were you?" she asked gently.

"I was ten," he replied. "Johnny was seven."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. It wasn't something he liked remembering, let alone talking about.

"You had other questions," he said, redirecting the subject back to what they'd been talking about before. "I'm sorry, I can't remember what they were...."

"Oh, Danny," Maddie said. "You said something about Danny when Vlad was telling us about what happened to him. And his accident with the portal?"

"Right... I think Vlad was trying to tell me that Danny was like him. Half ghost, I mean," Jack explained. "He told me I'd killed Danny, before I knew it was him. And then he said that thing about ectoplasm and—"

"Someone else found out the hard way, twenty years after he did..." Maddie realized. "Oh, Danny."

"Should we say something to him?" he asked.

She shook her head, although he wasn't sure if she actually meant 'no', or if she was just thinking.

"Why wouldn't he tell us?" she asked.

"Maybe... for the same reason as Vlad?" Jack guessed. "Maybe he blames us for what happened."

"Do you think so? Or maybe... maybe he doesn't feel safe telling us?"

"What?"

"We're ghost hunters," Maddie reminded him. "What if he's worried that our feelings for him might change if we knew he was a ghost."

"Oh no... what should we do?"

"I think... we should let him come to us when he's ready," she said. "Can you imagine how scared he might be if we brought it up to him now? We should wait for him to feel comfortable telling us, and in the meantime we can have some fun reexamining all the research we've ever done on ghosts in order to draw new, differently biased conclusions so Danny doesn't think we think he's evil just because he's half ghost. If he's half-ghost."

"And if he's not, we can reexamine our research so Vlad doesn't think we think he's evil," Jack enthused. "Should we start tonight?"

If reexamining their research and studying ghosts even more carefully than before was the worst thing that came out of this whole situation, than they really were on easy street.

"No, let's start tomorrow," Maddie suggested. "I don't think we should bother Vlad any more for tonight, and no offense, sweetie, but I don't think you'll be able to sneak past him to the lab without being noticed."

"I am pretty hard to miss."

"So come to bed for now, Jack," she said, patting his side of the bed invitingly. "A good night's sleep is a good start."

"Right you are, Maddie!"

He climbed into bed, and the two of them fell asleep cuddled up in each other's arms.

—

That night, Vlad paced the lab, waiting for his ghost half to decide to come get him. Lousy, good-for-nothing spook, leaving him behind. He'd examined the ghost catcher, and discovered that, for whatever reason, one of the sides separated people from ghosts, and the other side merged the two. Why it would be designed that way, Vlad couldn't fathom, but it was certainly convenient.

While he waited, blanket still hung round his shoulders because it really was quite comfortable, he considered all the things he'd learned, both from Jack's memories, and from the conversation he'd had with his two old friends upstairs.

They missed the old days as much as he did. All three of them wanted their friendship to go back to how it had been. But they all knew now why it couldn't.

Perhaps... perhaps that didn't mean they could never be friends again, even if it could never be like back in college. Perhaps it wasn't too late to forgive and move on.

Finally, Vlad's ghost half returned, as expected. They weren't meant to be separate, after all.

"There you are," Vlad said. "Come now, we can use the device that separated us to merge us back together."

"Good," Plasmius replied. "I scared the butler half to death when he saw me."

Together, they went through the merge side of the ghost catcher.

It wasn't as seamless as Vlad would have hoped. It seemed his ghost half had taken much of his anger with him when they'd been separated, and having it back made him less willing to forgive.

But the reflection stayed with him to. The sting of Maddie telling him off for being possessive and controlling, of both her and Jack pointing out that he wasn't treating her like a person, but a prize. Was he really that awful? He'd never thought of her that way before he'd developed feelings for her.

Perhaps it would be better to just let those feelings go, after all. She'd made her decision, and she didn't regret it, or want anything other than she got. Maybe he should cut his losses and give up before it further ruined a good friendship on the verge of rekindling.

Perhaps he should forgive Jack, too.

He would never be able to forget what had gone down between them. For years he'd tried to erase those bad memories from his head, of his accident, and his long hospital stay, and his slow and painful death. He'd even gone so far as to get plastic surgery to remove the pitted scars all over his skin, but even though he couldn't see them, he couldn't forget them either.

Jack was giving him a second chance, even though he'd tried to kill him, and steal away his wife and children, and even though he was a ghost, the very thing Jack hated most in the world. Perhaps Vlad could extend the oaf the same courtesy... for old times' sake.

There was much to consider as he flew, whole again, through the Ghost Zone to his own portal, and his home.

[dreamtinblackandwhite]

bloodlines and boundaries - the notice

summary: You gave up everything for a normal life; your inheritance, your friends, your family. Was it enough to truly separate you from the dramatics of the mafia families littering New York's skyline?

pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x ex-Mafia!female reader

series warnings: minors DNI, eventual smut/NSFW, violence, assault, death, toxic parents/childhood

a/n: here is ch.1 of bloodlines and boundaries! if there is ever another language, i used google translate - so sorry if anything is incorrect! reblogs, comments, likes are all always appreciated ~feel free to reach out with your thoughts as well :)

series masterlist | full masterlist

Your hands shake as you read the letter in your hand, blinking in a foolish attempt to convince yourself this wasn’t happening. Rent wasn’t exactly cheap in New York, less so when you had to be so picky about which buildings you were able to run your business out of. You’d been careful, two years ago when you signed this lease, to stay just outside any of the family territories but close enough that your studio would still get foot traffic.

You should have seen this coming, you scolded. He was too nice when you walked away…

Your father, who adopted you when you were less than 2 minutes old, was the Carter Gibbs. One of the biggest names amongst the mafia world; a world that you had left behind nearly six years ago now. You still saw your Carter on occasion, he’d insisted on a monthly ‘family’ dinner that consisted of you, him, and whatever bimbo he was banging that month. The conversation was always the same condescending questions about your business and empty offers to help you grow if you publicly rejoined the family.

You should have guessed he’d do something to force your hand, though buying your entire building and doubling your monthly rent seemed a bit drastic. It worked, you had to scoff at yourself as you watched the numbers climb on the overly ornate elevator of Gibbs Builders Inc. You were walking directly into his trap but you were too angry to care; your blood was boiling as you storm towards the receptionist’s desk on the 30th floor of the building.

“Oh,” the barely graduated sorority blonde squeaked when you stopped at her desk. “M-Miss Gibbs, Mr. Gibbs is booked the rest of the day but I’m happy to schedule you an app—” You cut her off with the flick of your wrist, turning back towards the lobby with an eye roll. One glance around the room was enough to remind you of how severely underdressed you were in the present company.

The same stained and torn denim overalls you’d been painting in for the past ten years clung to your body, barely covering the blue granite-patterned bikini top you’d tossed on after avoiding your dirty laundry pile for another day too long. You couldn’t tell if it was your sudden appearance on the floor or the way you’d dressed, but every suit and pencil skirt in the room now had their eyes trained on you.

You sighed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up before you connected with the steel blue orbs of none other than your ex-fiancé, Steven Grant Rogers. God, what you’d do to smack that stupid smug grin off his face. He sat on the couch on the opposite side of the room along with a handful of his men. You rolled your eyes and let your shoulders slump slightly; the universe was punishing you for something today.

“Well,” Steve’s annoyingly calm timber mocked as he crossed the room towards you. Every person in his path seemed to cower and turn their eyes to the floor as he passed them. “If it isn’t little miss ‘too good for money’.” His smirk never faltered for even a second as he carefully flattened his hands down the forearms of his suit jacket – a don should always be presentable and wrinkle free.

“Rogers,” you grumble in response, turning towards the window that looked out over the Hudson River.

“We all thought we’d seen the last of you…” Steve continued, ignoring the way you obviously tried to cut the conversation off. “But, you’re not you anymore, are you? Poverty doesn’t look good on you, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, you don’t know the first thing about what real poverty looks like. “Careful,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest. “You never know what mamas are listening – you wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re consorting with the disgraced Gibbs.”

Steve snorted, “please… nobody would believe that I would give the time of day to someone who would turn her back on her family.”

“Can I help you with something, Rogers?” You finally turn back towards him, glaring as his eyes scanned up and down your figure like an animal looking at his prey.

“Tell Gibbs he has two minutes to honor our meeting before I walk,” he raised his voice slightly higher, looking away from you for a short second to glace at the receptionist. “Can you do that for me, doll?”

“Pathetic,” you grumble under your breath as the blonde starts to stutter out words followed by stuttered apologies for stuttering… then apologies for apologizing.

“What was that?” Steve hissed, grabbing your elbow harshly. “Chose your next words carefully, traitor.”

“I thought the Roger’s family were big bad scary men,” you challenged, pulling your arm from his grasp. “But that must have only been your father, it seems all you know how to do is flirt and bat your eye lashes to get what you want.”

“Don’t make me show you the big bad scary side,” he threatened, his eyes darkening enough to make your breathing hitch. “You’re just jealous that I never tried to flirt with your pathetic ass, fiancé.”

“Ex—” you grumble back, preparing to fire off another insult but the swing of a door and a chorus of goodbyes echoed through the lobby as the previous meeting finished with your father.

“Y/N, darling!” Carter’s typical condescending tone cheered when he saw you. You rolled your eyes before taking the glare off Steve and tossing it towards Carter. “I see you got my letter.”

You tightened your fist around the paper in your hand. “Is this some sort of joke?” You hiss, fighting the urge to pummel his stupid face with your fists.

“It’s only business, dear,” Carter brushed you off, barely hiding his smirk as he watched your face redden further.

“Business?” You scoff, finally crumpling the notice into a ball.

“Now, Y/N,” he chastised, stepping towards you. “I will expect all my tenets to pay the proper rent. You won’t get any special treatment, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” You roll your eyes before tossing the crumbled ball at your fathers’ face.

“Go to hell,” you groan before storming off towards the elevators, shouldering Steve out of your way and ignoring the way each of his men reached for their guns when you touched him. 

You anxiously fidgeted with the pleats on the skirt of the white strapless-knee length dress you wore while pacing in front of the small bar at your studio. You couldn’t afford to be stuck so close to your father, you knew you needed to leave and find a new studio. Of course, Carter wouldn’t make even that easy for you. He threatened litigation unless you paid a half-years’ worth of rent to break your lease early.

“And remember, you’d be responsible for finding your own lawyer,” he reminded with a knowing smirk. “No using my name to get you out of this.” You finished the rest of your scotch in one gulp before replacing the empty glass with a champagne flute as guests started to arrive.

You’d never be able to afford the outrageous $21,000 fee and a deposit on a new studio, so you needed a little more of a cushion. A cushion that required you to sell every piece you’d planned to hang onto for yourself. You looked around the room as the posh fakes with deep pockets conversated, paying your art very little attention.

Thankfully, you’d had your fair share of charity events, galas, art auctions, and parties in your life to know how to host one perfectly. Your tray-passed appetizers were a hit, along with the fully stocked bar and free champagne; everyone was starting to loosen up enough to care less about their money than they normally did.

“This is beautiful,” a soft voice compliments as they hug you tightly.

You laugh softly and return the gesture. “MJ,” you breathe as you pull away. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” You babysat MJ Watson when you were in school still, she was like a niece to you and was one of the only people who hadn’t alienated you after you publicly denounced your father’s business.

“Are you kidding me?” she scoffed, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” You roll your eyes and open your mouth to thank you but a tall skinny figure approaching forces a scoff out instead.

“Here you are, caro,” [dear] Peter Parker mused as he handed MJ a soda. He smirked over at you when he saw the scowl you’d given him. “Don’t worry, Gibbs; I won’t tell dear dad.” Parker was the youngest don any family has seen since coming to the states; after his parents died when he was just a kid and then the recent passing of his aunt and uncle, Tony Stark was named as his guardian.

But, Stark works for Roger’s which means… “Yeah, how about your boss?” You shoot back with raised eyebrows, taking the beer bottle from the underaged teenagers’ hand and replacing it with a water from the passing tray.

“I don’t have much of a choice in that,” he grumbled in response, glaring at you. “If it means anything, I didn’t know this was your gallery until MJ told me when we got here.” He slung his arm over MJ’s shoulders and kissed her temple lovingly. How is it that two kids found such a pure form of love in a world like this?

You aimlessly wandered the gallery, answering the occasional question about some of the art, when a deep voice sounded behind you and sent a shiver down your spine. “When Pete mentioned going to an art studio tonight,” you didn’t miss the mocking edge to his tone. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Gibbs.”

Steve rounded towards you, placing himself close enough that you’d need to tip your chin upwards to properly see him – even with your heels, he still towered over you. “Quite the selection up for auction,” he noted with a smirk as you did your best glare forward at the piece on the wall. He chuckled softly as he drew a sip of his scotch. “You know, I’m in the art business myself.”

“Barely,” you scoff into your own drink, glaring up at him for a moment. Steve Roger’s was the most powerful man on the east coast, even the NYPD was on his payroll. He was cunning in every deal he made, he was creative in every transaction, and he was downright terrifying when threatened. He famously created a system for the larger drug sales he profited from where he’d host auctions for high end art pieces and hide the drugs within the frames and canvas’. You were pretty sure he promptly tossed the historic and iconic pieces in the dumpster after they served their purpose.

Steve smirked at your reply, you hated how easily he could weasel his way under your skin. It’d been nearly ten years since your engagement had broken off, ten years since you’d had any type of conversation with him; and he still played you like a fiddle. “I’ve been looking for a new piece to hang in my living room,” he mused, stepping forward to face the painting more squarely and put his back towards you.

You glanced at the painting again, oil on canvas depiction of Grecian ruins with children dancing around. You’d been inspired by seeing MJ, Pete, and Morgan Stark playing as children – it was one of your favorites. Your heart dropped to your stomach and you quickly grabbed the inside of his elbow. “No,” you gasped, looking up at him. “I do not want your money.”

Steve spared one glance at your hand before looking at you with his brows raised; a silent warning. You quickly took your hand away from his arm, shaking slightly. “I don’t think you are in the position to be picky about where the money comes from, bambola,” [doll] he grumbled, looking you up and down with a look that you couldn’t read. You winced at the Italian nickname and made a mental note to look it up in the safety of your own home later but you could tell he didn’t mean it kindly.

The auctioneer’s voice drew the two of you apart as Steve made his way towards the beginning of the auction. Your heart was pounding so loudly you barely heard the introduction of the first piece before cards were thrusted in the air. You stumbled towards the bar, switching your empty champagne glass for a stronger scotch again before leaning back to watch all of your best and most personal works be bought off.

Steve would occasionally make an offer as the auction went on, each time sending a cunning smirk over his shoulder to where you stayed against the bar. You didn’t want to owe him anything, and you hated the idea of your work being used as an illegal suitcase in and out of the country. You tried not to focus on him, or even what works were leaving your personal inventory, but instead on the amount of money you’d made after the first six paintings: $12,000. $3000 for the food, $2000 for the liquor. $14,000 more until you can be free from your father.

The biggest piece was next; affectionally named after your home town, Ballinaboy, Ireland. It was another oil on canvas that depicted a landscape where the rolling hills met the mountains and the ocean threatened to take over. The bottom right corner where a signature should rest being left as bare canvas – it was incomplete. MJ came to stand by you now, intertwining her fingers with yours tightly.

You didn’t think much of it, you were too focused on the painting as it was being introduced. The auctioneer went off script to give some sort of deep art-jock explanation for the unfinished status of the piece in hopes it would encourage people to spend more on the painting than what it was worth; he was wrong. Your face burned as the crowd murmured with a renewed understanding but it was wrong.

The painting was simply incomplete. The intention was to finish it, but you never even tried. You’d started it with her when you were 12 and traded it back and forth until she died when you were 16. You couldn’t finish it – it was her turn.

Your ears rung as the auction numbers rose, your knees threatened to buckle when it hit the new high of the evening. “$5500, can I get a five-six. Five-six going once,” you glanced around the room, tears brimming your eyes. “Five-six going twice,” Pete raised his card into the air. “$5600, can I get a five-seven?”

“$6000!” Steve called out with his card raised high. You stepped forward with a small gasp as you realized what was happening.

“No,” you croaked, your hand going limp in MJ’s grasp. “What are they doing?”

“I’m so sorry,” MJ whispered, obviously being sent by Peter to make sure you wouldn’t stop the bid at any point. You helplessly watched as Steve and Pete went back and forth, spewing out numbers a thousand dollars at a time until you saw Steve give the smallest glance at Pete and MJ tugged you back as you tried to step forward.

“Fifteen thousand dollars, ladies and gents,” the auctioneer announced, seeming shocked himself. “Can I get a fifteen-one? Going once, twice… SOLD to card 54 for fifteen thousand!” You felt your lip tremble as Steve turned towards you with a proud grin plastered across his face. Asshole, you screamed internally as a single tear slipped down your cheek. You finally pulled out of MJ’s grasp as Pete walked back towards you and made a b-line towards the backdoor.

You managed to wait until the door closed to let a strangled sob leave your throat. When you decided to sell that piece, you’d wanted it to go to a nice posh home where it would adorn their office wall or maybe rest above the fireplace. This was much worse. You sat on the cold metal stairs of the fire escape nearby, not caring about what the butt of your white dress likely looked like now because of it, and held your head.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, the only thing you could feel was numb; though you couldn’t be sure if that was because of the event or the cold air stinging your bare shoulders. “Fai girare la macchina,” [pull the car around] Steve’s stupidly perfect accent from the exit nearby pulled you from your head and had your blood boiling.

He passed you with no acknowledgment until you stood up and took a purposeful step towards him. “Rogers,” you grunted trying to keep your voice even. He stopped in his tracks, looking back at you in confusion as you continued your path towards him. There were just five more steps between the two of you when all of his men snapped their guns out and trained them on you.

You stopped in your tracks with an eyeroll, not intimidated or scared – just annoyed. Steve smirked before raising his right hand, his rings catching the dim light as he waved his fingers. “Giù, ragazzi,” [down, boys] he ordered. He kept his eyes on you as each of his men retreated towards the SUVs that pulled up in front of the alleyway. “What can I do for you, Gibbs?”

“Look, if you want the painting that bad, I will sell it to you for the $5600,” you sighed; you lost some of the anger you’d felt moments before 15 guns were threatening you. Steve rolled his eyes and shoved one hand into his pocket.

“Don’t insult me, Y/N,” he replied coldly, barely looking you in your eye. “I will pay what everything is worth, even if it’s paying out a traitor like you.” You open your mouth to reason with him further but he cut you off. “Just take the fucking compliment,” he hissed before turning abruptly.

When you finally found your way back into the gallery, the auctioneer was the first to speak to you. “$48,500 in total, miss,” he grinned, handing the final count to you with the name and contact of each buyer. Your eyes burned with tears when you looked at Steve’s signature next to Ballinaboy – even his handwriting seemed to mock you. You chewed your cheek, barely listening to the man in front of you as your mind raced with questions. What would Steve expect of you now?

tags: comment below to be added to the taglist @krirebr

[homesickturner]

Homesick - Ch. 1

plot : childhood best friends Gracie and John are separated when join joins the war. Both are dealing with their own problems…will they cope with such distance between them. Most importantly, will the friendship (or more than..) stand the test of the war?

Dara speaks : hi hi! I’m overjoyed to finally be releasing this first chapter 🥹 I just could not keep these two to myself anymore 🫶 pls comment if you enjoy…any constructive criticism is welcome also. My asks box is wide open for any and all thoughts you have after reading this chapter so please send them my way !! The idea for this series came to me while listening to my favorite song ever homesick by dua lipa…give it a listen if you have not it’s too good!

warning : will be historically inaccurate at times for the sake of storytelling. Mentions of anxiety.

Gracie and John grew up together. Their parents often say that it was not often throughout their lives that one was seen without the other. Once they reached hugh school, things certainly changed although they still remained very close.

Gracie has been an exceptional student for all her young life and had future hopes of become a nurse. John and Gracie spoke often of their future plans and although there was a chance they may end up hours and hours from each other they knew they would be alright.

“So John,” Gracie spoke up, John sitting opposite her at the dinner table at her home. “I was thinking of doing some traveling before I head to Washington in the fall…where is it that you confirmed again?.”

“Gracie-.”

“Don’t worry though it’ll be way before college so we’ll have time to work and-.”

“I’m joining the air corps,” he blurted out, setting his knife and fork down.”

“You’re…what. John you’re going off to the war and you didn’t mention it.”

“No Gracie because I knew how worried you’d be-.”

“Damn right John.” She shot back, a hurt expression clouding her face. The girl was lost for words. “I’m coming with you-.”

“Like hell you are,” he scoffed. “Quit talking crap Gracie.”

“John! I was going to be a nurse anyway at least this way I’d be helping.” She pleaded.

“Gracie..you don’t want to see what some of the nurses do in the war,” John said softly. “You have so much going for you, go to college and have fun-.”

“While you’re getting shot down out of your fucking plane John!.” She shouted back at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Grace I’ll be ‘aright. I’m not letting you throw your future away for me…for this stupid war.” He insisted.

“John you’re my best friend. I can’t let you go out there.” She stood from the table and began pacing the small dining room. “If I do, I’d bet money that there’ll be a letter landing on my lap in Washington in a few months because you’ll-.”

“Gracie,” he yelled, strolling to where she was in front of him and laying both hands firmly on her shoulders. “Please…you’re breaking my heart. You gotta let me go.” He choked out, getting the slightest bit emotional seeing her eyes filled with tears.

Gracie felt like the life she’d planned had been ripped from beneath her. Some may say, she indeed had the world at her feet, everything was in her favor. Her family were wealthy, she had friends and she was headed to one of the top nursing programs in the country. Gracie never in a million years expected to hear that news from John. She was so crushed, so angry that this war was going to take away her favorite person from her and maybe never give him back. Gracie knew that boy better than she knew herself, so she knew that there was no changing his mind.

Although she was deeply upset, she knew John and had every belief he was doing this for the right reasons. Gracie knew that John had a big heart and truly just wanted to do what he could in such a horrific situation.

She wished she could be mature and think clearly about the situation. At the end of the day, Gracie was 18 years old and about to potentially loose her best friend to this war. So, she certainly was not thinking clearly.

As much as Gracie tried to persuade him, John’s decision was made. One week later he and Gracie stood at the Wisconsin harbor to say their goodbyes.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered quietly into this ear, both her arms wrapped around his neck. “I can’t loose you Johnny…you’re my other half.”

Gracie couldn’t believe John was finally leaving her. She wasn’t sure she could live without him. Unfortunately for her, she was about to find out.

“It’ll be alright Gracie, I promise you. Just trust me alright?,” he muttered to her softly, he hands rubbed her back slowly.

John knew no matter what he told her, she’d worry. He knew that they were two halves of the same coin, and they balanced each other out perfectly. John brought out her wild side and Gracie kept John’s feet on the ground when he got overexcited. They certainly brought out the best in each other.

He might have been going off to war, but the only thing he was worried about was how Gracie would cope when he was gone. She’d always been an anxious girl, and it has only worsened in her late teens. In recent years, her friends and family realized that it was only John who seemed to truly help her. They would watch the nerves and worry melt off her face and her body relax when John and Gracie were in company togther. When she was with him, it was as if all the voices in her head were quieted and she felt herself again. John could only hope a constant stream of encouraging letters would keep his Grace happy.

As they broke apart John kept his hands on her shoulders. The two kept their eyes locked for a few moments, the words that were not said danced in the air between them. The moment neither of them ever thought would come had finally arrived.

Gracie watched as John turned and slowly began to walk away from her, and into the unknown. Right before boarding the boat, he turned to her once more as she called out to him.

“John?,” she asked. “Yeah Gracie?,” he called back, a small smile forming on this lips. “

“Please take care of yourself Johnny….and I’ll be waiting for my letters.” John could see her eyes lighting up as she shouted out to him.

“I will Grace, I promise I will. You’ll have plenty of letters don’t you worry.”

Gracie watched as her best friend boarded the boat. Moments later he appeared on the top deck, finding himself a spot next to the railing and stood waving to Gracie. A smile graced her lips as she watched him waving to her, and she would laugh when every so often he would do a salute. John noticed these laughs, and did them twice as much when he noticed she enjoyed them.

Gracie’s heart broke as she watched the boat sail away slowly. She stood and waved the John until she couldn’t see him anymore. Once the boat had sailed far enough, she let some tears finally fall down her cheeks.

[piss-pumpkin]

🍳Blasphemy and Boiled Eggs🪽

(Older)dipper pines x reader, chapter 16 of Douce amere, ~3.1k words Masterlist Prev

Dipper Pines hates Bill. Dipper Pines loves Y/n. Those were two fundamental truths of his universe, two pillars of his psyche that so much of his mind was formed around. All the time he spent scared and angry because of what Bill had done, all the time he spent happy and pining because of you, it was the clearest line to draw for him, separating those ideas. But today, that line was blurry. 

You fell backwards, stumbling just slightly before hitting the ground, and Dipper didn’t have the strength to stand up and catch you. He barely had the strength to breathe. He laid on his back, heaving breath after breath as his eyes darted from your body, to the statue. Bill. From back when it happened. How did they even manage to do this. He could almost laugh. If anyone could fuck up this bad, it was you. He would probably laugh if he wasn’t in shock. 

The journal was left open on the ground beside you. He hadn’t even realized he let go. Fuck. He threw his head back onto the grass, and dug his palms into his eyes until his vision was blurry when he opened them. Holy shit. Holy fuck. Somehow, all at one, a million thoughts were running through his head, but not a single one was coherent. Vague panic, wanting to scream, heart pounding, caught in a vice. Fuck. Later. He had to deal with that later. 

Dipper sat up. Once more he looked at you, then at Bill. One and the same, now. He sighed, standing up on shaky legs, leaning on the top hat of the statue to get his balance. Better to move fast until you come too. 

He looked down at your body with a face contorted with emotions he never thought he’d feel again. He knelt, he hesitated, and then he heaved you up, with shaking arms carrying you like a princess. Back to the shack. Where bill can’t get in. Thank God for the unicorn hair. 

He trudged through the forest, often needing to break to set you down and rest. And the bruise on his wrist wasn’t helping much. On one of his breaks, he tiredly banged his head against a tree, any pain like that being a better alternative to… whatever he was feeling. His heart was beating like a hummingbird, but he had to put it all aside to get you to the shack, clutching you with white knuckles. 

How’d you even get in this situation? Did he even want to know? Your eyes were shut, he couldn’t see your pupils, and a shiver ran down his spine when he thought of the yellowish haze on your eyes. Yellow eyes. It’s summer, it shouldn’t be so cold.

How could you do this? How did this never come up? How could you have… he shook his head. As much as he knew Bill tricked people… you? Of all people. Had he not told you enough? Not what he was, what he looked like? He should’ve have. He should have. He could have. He had plenty the opportunity. To tell you what you needed, what could have saved you. Everyone. Fuck.

He reached the edge of the woods, and more than anything worried for you. Concussions weren’t good, and there was a solid chance he gave you one. It wasn’t good for you to be out cold like this. 

He tripped out of the forest, dropping you for a moment as he fell to his knees. Shit. He cradled your head as you both fell. Fuck. Keep it together. Just a little bit more. Don’t move the head. 

He got you to the shack, and stared at the door for a good minute. Then down at your face, still out like a light. He winced, and looked back in front of him. When he opened the door, he’d have to explain. He’d have to tell Ford everything, probably. He might know what to do. When Dipper opened the door, he’d have to be ready, get serious, and know what to. Deal with this… situation. He almost felt dizzy, his head spinning and getting light. But he couldn’t put you down to steady himself. Dipper sighed, his head halfway throbbing as he focused on breathing. Okay. He carefully maneuvered his carry of you, and opened the door.

Wendy and Soos said hello. Wendy was behind the till, feet up on the counter, and Soos was on the other side, dressed in his suit. They said hello, then then promptly realized that there was something wrong, with the both of you.

Dipper quickly handed you to Soos, and stumbled, leaning on a wall as the only thing keeping him up. The the trek through the woods felt like a hike across the world now. His legs were buckling, and Wendy offered her support. He leaned on her. They both had questions, most of which he didn’t want to answer, several of which he tuned out, his ears ringing and mind buzzing. Most asks though, they all had one answer in common. “Bill,” he sputtered. And Soos and Wendy went silent.

”But he’s gone,” Wendy said matter of factly. “Dipper, Ford erased him out of Stand mind.”

Dipper just shook his head, sweating, neatly all his weight resting on her. 

“Dude,” Soos managed, you still passed out in his arms. “Did he hurt them?”

Dipper shook his head again, and finally buckled under the weight, face contorting. “He’s in there,” he said shakily, nearly taking down Wendy with his poor balance as he pointed to you. “I had to…” he sputtered.

They looked at each other, then at the marks on Dippers wrist. Wendy sucked a breath in through barred teeth, “You should put ice on that,” she said, trying to prop him up. 

Her attempt wasn’t working, and Dipper was slowly sinking. Sighing, she decided to help him to the floor. Where there was nowhere left to fall. She shot Soos a look, a nod, and went to find one of the Stans.

Soos set you down and sat beside Dipper. He patted his back gently. “It’s okay, dude,” Soos sighed. “We’ll figure this out.”

Dipper grumbled, hiding his head in his hands. Y/n was still out. He must have hit them pretty hard with his journal. He wiped his eyes aggressively, seeing spots of greens and reds on his eyelids. “I don’t know how he’s back… or how I didn’t notice earlier,” he sputtered. 

Before Soos could say another word, both of the grunkles were bursting through the doorway. Mabel must have been out. Dipper could barely hear them. 

                                              …

When you woke up, it was with a throbbing headache. Before you could even open your eyes, you felt it, a dull ache accompanied by even duller pounding with every movement you made. It was cold, weirdly so for summer. You grumbled, shifting around on the… couch? The cushions you seemed to be resting on were soft, but worn, and you could feel the loose threads on your feet. 

You opened your eyes, and promptly froze. You were not alone. Ford always kept his basement rooms cold, made it easier to keep the turtle neck on in the summer. It was him that was pointing a gun at your head. Not just any gun, but one that looked held together by duct tape and a prayer, a makeshift invention thrown together on the fly. It showed in how Ford held it, not only by the handle but with a protective grip on the sides, as if that could stop it from falling apart. You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. There was Ford and Stan. 

“Can you open your eyes all the way?” Ford asked cooly, the gun steady in his hands. 

You complied wordlessly, and slowly sat up. The moment he saw your pupils, the gun dropped, and he sighed in relief. He turned, and nodded to Stan, who walked tiredly to the elevator. Then you were alone. “Y/n, what exactly happened?” he asked, much kinder this time. 

You winced, and looked dejectedly at the floor. “I don’t know,” you sighed. 

“Can we start from the beginning?” He said, drawing your eyes back to him. He had a small and warm smile, doing his best surely. “When was the first time you met him… or, his statue, I guess?”

From the start. The very beginning. From when you saw the statue, to when you shook his hand, and when the nightmares started. Ford nodded along gravely, six fingers tapping against his cheek as he purses his lip or hummed with thought. Every last detail.

He stayed silent, pondering, even when you were finished, staring at the floor intently. You could practically see the cogs of his brain turning. You swallowed, ”So…?” 

“So,” he nodded, and sighed. “Are you okay?”

You wished he’d ask about Bill, or the situation, or a solution. Any of those were be easier to answer. “Well,” you started, scratching at your knuckles. Hmm. You sighed, and that seemed to be enough for Ford. He knew.

“I get it,” he sighed, crossing his arms, “We’ve all been there, Y/n, it’s alright.”

You winced, that was true too. At least you weren’t the only one. Or no, actually, it would be better if you were. Then at least you’d scare them less. “Is Dipper okay?”

Ford nodded, and a twitch of his cheek gave away that he was hiding something, “He’s fine.”

You waited, but Ford didn’t say anymore. Sighing, you clenched a fist, then released. Then pressed all your fingers to your palm, and released, cherishing the feeling of being in control over every little movement. Not like before. “Is he around?”

Ford paused, “He’s upstairs, but…” 

But. But but but. Ugh. You winced, looking up at him, hoping desperately that whatever he said next wouldn’t hurt. 

“But…” he continued. Incredibly slowly, brow furrowed like he was thinking carefully about every word. “I’m sure you know, his thought on him, that is,” he said. “He got you here okay, but he’s…” another pause. The basement made the silence worse, occasionally broken by Fords humming as he thought. “He’s processing, right now,” Ford finally managed. 

“So,” you said, a little quieter than you meant. You cleared your throat, trying to get your voice back. “So, should I… go?”

Ford sucked a breath in through his teeth, grimacing. “About that,” he started. “You can’t. The shack is the only place you’re safe from Bill, it’s the reason why you didn’t get nightmares when you slept here,” he said. He sighed, pushing up his glasses, “He can’t get in your head while you’re here, so you have to stay until we figure or a plan.”

“Ah,” you said, dejectedly nodding your head. So you just shouldn’t have left. That was your mistake. One of several. 

Ford hummed back. No words. None needed, maybe. A moment of silence, maybe grief. “We’ll come up with a solution, Y/n.”

Another headache was brewing. Different than before, different than when it was him. All you this time, that was at least comforting. It was your brain that hurt, that seemed to fight you. It was a sharper pain, rather than a dull throb. Right in the front behind your eyes. You nodded, staring at the floor. Fuck. 

                                             …

Yesterday, the kitchen in the Mystery shack felt like yours. Not like you owned it, but that you had as much a right to use it as any of the shacks regular residents. Because it was your home, too, for the most part. You lived here enough. 

But it was off, today. Something about it was different. The lights still shined warmly, the same way they always did and always would thanks to Fords invented lightbulbs. Everything was in the same place, the spoons, pots, pans and such. Water still boiled the same. Same speed, same slight burning smell as the burners warmed up. It was all familiar, but alien as you moved through it, grabbing supplies, food. There wasn’t much good in the fridge, it must be Stans shopping day. 

Your eyes landed on a carton of eggs, and that somehow seemed like the best option. A soft boiled egg wasn’t amazing on its own, but today you were feeling spicy. Or rather, particularly bland. It dawned on you, reaching for the egg, that it wasn’t the kitchen that was alien, but you. You were what changed. What was different. The alien, if you will. You gently dropped the egg in the water. 

You stared into the pot. The pot stared at you. The water was bubbling, and the egg swirled inside. It bobbed and bounced over the ceramic, but didn’t break. Lucky you. You held your hand over the pot, and felt the steam, which was condensing on the cupboards above. A sigh escaped your lips as you felt the heat on your hand. 

Thumps. There was someone in the doorway. You froze, leaning over the stove. You shouldn’t look. It could be anyone, but you knew footsteps well enough, and they seemed to stop in the doorway when they saw you. You had a good enough guess. But you had to look anyway. See him. Just to check, maybe.

Dipper was as frozen as you were, with a hand clutching the door frame. His eyes were wide, knuckles white. He looked terrified. 

“Dip?”

”Hi,” he said curtly, jerking his head to look at the floor. Anywhere but you. 

You lifted a hand, halfway towards him, and then retracted it, pulling close to your chest. He flinched. Maybe reaching out wasn’t what he needed. “Hey, I-“ you started, but trailed off. And then he left, without a word. 

You sighed, and turned around to hop up and sit on the counter. You leaned your head against the damp cupboard, and glanced down to watch the egg. The stovetop sizzled as a drip of water fell on the burner. 

Your mouth fell open, staring at the boiling pot. The water wasn’t high enough to spill. The condensation wasn’t heavy enough to drip. Your hand gently tapped at your face. Wet. You blinked, and a tear fell. Oh. You dabbed your cheeks with your sleeve, trying not to get red and puffy as more tears fell. Oh. 

They shouldn’t see you like that. They were already kind enough to let you stay, despite everything. Because they have to. You shook your head, and stared with blurry vision at your boiling egg. You sniffled, and more tears started to fall. Fuck. You tried to wipe your eyes as quietly as possible, wetting your sleeves and scrambling to find something to blow your nose on. 

Your eyes landed on a roll of paper towel by the sink, and you hopped from  the counter. Nose nearly dripping as a few stray tears turned to crying, you grabbed for it. Nose blowing wasn’t quiet. But you tried. And even worse, you wiped your eyes with the dry side of it. Wouldn’t want them to be able to tell you’ve been crying by looking at your clothes. You grabbed a few more paper towels for the road as you went back to your soft boiled egg. 

It has mostly settled into a place in the pot, no longer dancing around it. It still wiggled with the water, though. You sighed, leaning on the countertop next to it, and grabbed your phone from your pocket. This feels like too much time. Tapping the screen, you realize you never set a timer for your precious soft boiled egg. 

Soft boiled eggs were nice. If done right, the centre of it was gooey, warm, tasted alright. And it paired so well with noodle soup, or maybe stir fry. Not that you had that. But sometimes just the soft boiled egg was enough. 

Eyes wide and with haste, you grabbed the handle of the pot, desperately hoping you still had a soft boiled egg. Hot. It nearly hurt to hold. You quickly and carefully poured the boiling water into the sink, and flooded the pot with cold. Your thumb thumped on the handle as you waited only a moment for it to cool. 

The eggshell was hot, too. You gently cracked it on the rim, and blinked away tears as you began to peel it. Difficult with shaking hands. Falling tears plinked against the metal of the sink as you did. 

With the shell discarded safely in the pot, you eyes the egg. Nothing about the white gave away whether or not it was overdone. You squeezed it. A couple times. And with a sigh, and a leap of faith, took a bite off the top.

The first bite never reached the centre. It never does, unless you’re hungry enough to finish the egg with that. You looked again at the white, seeing the yellow shadow where you bit. Leap of faith. You bit again. 

You froze when your teeth hit the centre, and slowly, you released your jaw, leaving a bite mark in the egg. It wasn’t soft. Not even close. Your hands were already shaking, and you carefully dropped the egg back in the cold water pot. You sighed, and used your paper towel to wipe your eyes. Your lips were trembling now, too though. 

Hard boiled eggs didn’t taste as good. The texture was weird, it didn’t go well with the egg white, nor a good stir fry. Maybe a good soup, on a good day. But you didn’t have soup. And it wasn’t much of a good day.

You sighed, and choked back a sob. Why the fuck did it have to happen like this? You clenched your jaw, and face fell into your palm. It didn’t have too. Your legs were shaking, whole body really. I could have done anything else. You sucked a breath in through closed teeth, lips quivering. Fucking anything. You sank to the floor, back against the bottom cupboards, and head in hand. Anything. Fucking. Else. The thought.  just echoed through your head as you sobbed. Anything. 

But you overdid the egg. You overdid the egg. And the cold tiled floor was under you, and your feet slid out in front of you. And your head was in your hands. And you weren’t holding back your tears anymore. And you weren’t trying to spare your face anymore. You overdid the egg. And quietly sobbed on the floor of the kitchen, of a home that didn’t feel like yours anymore. 

Next

Fellas I don’t even like angst. Like reading or writing it. Like I don’t know why I did this or how I got here. Like the writing process has been so slow cuz of it 😭😭

Also fun fact I wrote the egg bit like September when one of my Guinea pigs died and I was sad.

I’ll pick the tone up again later trust me 😭

Taglist: @dead-esque @cipheress-to-k-pop

[arthurtaylorlester]

so like do you ever think about john doe

[ashfae]

The thing about romance is, it makes a good story.

As soon as Neil described season 2 as "quiet, gentle, romantic" I figured we'd be in for it, because as he's the first to point out, writers are liars. And the best way to deceive is with truth.

Season 2 is romantic. The trappings of romance are everywhere. Crowley tries to set up Nina and Maggie by trapping them under an awning during a rainstorm, a classic cinematic bonding technique. Aziraphale's chosen method comes from his beloved books: the ball, the dancing, appearing as a pair in public, hands held as you twirl gracefully with your heart thrilled and racing. If they can set up a sensational kiss that will unlock the happy ever after. They've lived on earth, they've studied the tropes, they know how romance works.

The problem is a story is only a story.

Nina and Maggie had the classic romantic setup completely by accident before Aziraphale and Crowley ever began trying to interfere with them. They get locked in Nina's coffeeshop. They can't escape or communicate with anyone else, they end up talking by candlelight because there's no electricity, Nina offers wine. Maggie mentions how she'd hoped for a chance to talk to Nina, and now here they are. It's every bit as much a standard as what Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to arrange. Blanket scenarios galore exist because of that starting point. We love that story. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's still only a story, it's not enough. Because once that moment of connection is over, however lovely it was, all the rest of the world comes flooding back in in the form of dozens of angry text messages. Nina's messy entrapping relationship hasn't magically gone away just because she and Maggie shared a romantic encounter.

And it's so tempting think oh well, that's easy. We'll just give them more romantic encounters and eventually those will overwhelm the rest of the baggage. Must do, because it'll make them fall in love, and once they realize they're in love that trumps all other considerations, right? So it'll be fine. Love Conquers All.

Neil also mentioned Pride and Prejudice.

Darcy knows he's in love early on and makes a disasterous proposal that shows that he has no understanding of Elizabeth's perspective, possibly hasn't even thought about it. They've been meeting in forest lanes for walks, conversing, had tete-a-tetes in the sitting room, danced at a ball. And while his turn of phrase isn't as flattering as he thinks, he's still offering her everything he thinks she wants and needs: affection, security, his good name, wealth, an escape from the embarrassments of her situation, the world. How can there be anything to object to? Why would anyone ever refuse so much of value?

Elizabeth quite rightly cuts him to pieces. He lashes back with a few hard truths of his own and they separate. During that separation, he thinks and he learns. He takes to heart the criticisms she offered, re-examines his assumptions, opens his eyes. Thinks about her perspective and how sometimes the only difference between pride and arrogance is where you're standing. He does the work. When they meet again he tries to demonstrate that he's learned--not in order to court her again (yet), but because the only real apology he can offer, the only one that would have weight, is to show that he's grown, he listened to her. He changed.

Elizabeth of course has her own journey, accepting that many of her own conclusions about Darcy were erroneous because they were formed without her having the full picture to hand, and once she's done that she has to apply it to her own situation as well. She loves her family, but they do place her at a disadvantage on a number of levels, leading eventually to full-out disaster as her younger sister carelessly ruins all of their reputations. It's hard to admit, it's mortifying, but Darcy was offering her a great deal she needs. His offer did have worth for all that she dismissed it as an insult. And as she learns to value his own character more highly, and then as she sees that he did listen to her even though she insulted him so thoroughly...well, she grows too. And when they do eventually come together it's not because of courting and balls. There's a big romantic gesture in his rescue of her sister but even that isn't why they'll get their happy ever after. It was just the catalyst for the conversation. They win because they've learned how to understand each other and how to communicate for the future. How they can strengthen and support each other, how to balance their strengths and weaknesses. The films leave them at the wedding, but the book shows a bit of their marriage too, and during it they keep learning from each other. Their relationship is held up as a superior love story for good reasons.

The end of season one was romantic too. Crowley stopped time rather than face a world where Aziraphale would never speak to him again, Aziraphale walked into hell to protect Crowley, they dined at the Ritz and toasted the world. But then they stopped. Sure they spent time together, talked, enjoyed each other's company. But if they were talking about important things would Crowley still be living in his car? They had a bit of respite but all that real world baggage that exists outside of the romantic moment hasn't been faced, none of it. Four or five years sounds like a long while but for beings who are quite literally older than the earth? That's just an intermission.

Nina's relationship ends, leaving her with a tangled mess; Maggie realises the sweet dream of love she's been longing for isn't as important as the real Nina. They talk. They plan. Nina will sort through her life, get closure, figure out what went wrong with Lindsay and what she wants from a relationship, learn how to ask for respect instead of just bending under her partner's demands. Maggie will support Nina the way Nina needs, which sometimes means helping her get oat milk for the shop and sometimes means giving her processing space. They're on the same page; they're going to do the work. That's why most likely they'll succeed. To quote one of my favourite fanfics: it's not happily ever after, but it's a chance. It's all going to be okay. (The Profane Comedy by Mussimm, who absolutely nailed this theme)

The romance is nice, it's lovely. We need it to keep ourselves going. To give ourselves the dreams that help us get through the days and nights. But it's not the relationship. It's not enough on its own. The wedding can be the grandest most beautiful ceremony ever with doves flying and sweeping music and bells ringing, but that doesn't guarantee the marriage will last.

Crowley and Aziraphale have had their romantic gestures, oodles of them. One wing raised to protect the other from falling stars, another from rain. Shared ground, shared interests, hands offered in friendship and held on a bus. They've tried to get to the same page, they really have. They just aren't there yet. The biggest most important things still haven't been talked about, and season 2 showed there are even more of those big important things than we'd realised.

The show paints Maggie as Aziraphale's foil and Nina as Crowley's, even to the point of Nina casually calling Maggie 'angel'. But Aziraphale's baggage is Nina's. The toxic relationship has to be processed and understood and closed, and it hasn't been, despite season one. Lindsay never really liked Nina very much, for all that they tried to keep her trapped; Heaven never really liked Aziraphale very much for all that he believed in it. They both let themselves be used. But Lindsay left Nina and went to their sister's, whereas now the head of Heaven has reached out to Aziraphale and said here, we can fix this, you can fix this, don't you want to fix this? Others are already writing about that and maybe I'll add to it later, not sure. And Crowley, like Maggie, has had a sweet dream that he has to set aside. Maybe he'll be able to pick it up again eventually, maybe not. But sometimes you offer support by buying oat milk or rescuing your beloved from the legions of hell, and sometimes you do it by standing back while they sort through their shit.

Quiet, gentle, romantic. It was.

But that's only part of the story. Now they have to do the work. They thought they had, but they were wrong, because there's so much they just hadn't touched yet and tried to cover over with relief and sleight of hand and alcohol and forgiveness. The apology dance doesn't mean much without showing that you listened and learned. They've faced so much trauma already and that should have been enough, we wanted it to be enough and so did they and it's such a blow for it to turn out that there's still more to do, that the baggage hasn't just gone away and can't be hidden under blankets or soothed with cocoa. The texts are still coming in and demanding answers.

But it'll be okay. It will. It's still a chance. And one that in the long run makes them better, builds something real that lasts.

The best stories, the ones that last longest and become classics, are the ones that don't end with the kiss under the awning or the blanket scenario or the wedding. They're the ones that heal us while the characters heal themselves. It's hard to accept that there's still more to do. Harder to imagine how it can possibly work out. And yes, bloody frustrating to wait and see.

And we'll get through that interim by telling even more stories. Because the story is never just a story. It's how we get through the work, it's what we tell ourselves so we can do the damn work. Stories are what we cling to and how we remind ourselves we're human and connect. A book is a person you can carry with you. We're not alone, none of us, stories connect us because we love them and see ourselves in them, which means we see each other.

Aziraphale's back up in Heaven to deal with his unfinished baggage; Crowley left his behind long ago and it's clearly going to come back and bite him in the arse however much he tries to go his own way. And they can't help each other with that. Not yet.

But they'll get there. So will we.

[yourmidnightlover]

forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents. 

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place. 

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely. 

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be. 

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite. 

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady. 

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light. 

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much. 

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life. 

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together. 

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door. 

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe. 

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight. 

-

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting. 

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls. 

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile. 

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline. 

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun. 

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting. 

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you. 

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway. 

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men. 

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips. 

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates. 

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned. 

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes. 

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with. 

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often. 

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip. 

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be. 

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband. 

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins. 

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away. 

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you? 

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this. 

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think. 

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted. 

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly. 

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.” 

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident. 

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth. 

and then there was a knock at the door. 

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting. 

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements. 

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft. 

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was. 

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again. 

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.” 

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you. 

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing… 

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed. 

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point. 

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad. 

[devotedlystrangewizard]

started post- sb you know what that means!! [insert repetitive & flawed 5 hour rant about the depiction of parents in ffxiv here]

[kiyinian]

Getting closer to the lieutenant

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Simon has never been one to believe in fate, much less would he believe it if someone told him that he would be head over heels for someone, he would say it was a lie. But that had to change when he met you, at that very moment, the fate of the two of you was intertwined.

He met you for the first time when you joined the base, a simple rookie recruit who would be trained by Simon. No big deal, just another part of his job. Little did he know that within a few months, you'd have him wrapped around your little finger.

It all started in training, the way you obeyed his every command, without hesitation or anything like that, hell, even when you didn't understand what you were supposed to do properly, he couldn't get angry with you.

If it had been any other soldier, he would have yelled or complained, but when you looked at him with those little eyes of yours, your eyelids fluttering as you focused on his every word.

"Hold the gun more firmly." Simon murmurs, in the same thick, husky voice as always.

You nodded hesitantly, aiming at the target, you concentrated, knowing that Simon was looking at you. You focused, concentrating on the target and trying to hit it - you narrowly missed.

If it had been any other soldier, Simon would have been rude, too strict. But with you, he couldn't get angry, watching you poke your cheek, your lips pressing together in a thin line.

It was impossible to get stressed with you.

He stopped frowning, took a few steps closer to you, positioning himself behind you, keeping a respectful distance.

"Relax, keep your elbows here." He says, holding your elbows underneath, straightening your posture.

He had never, ever, done this with any other recruit, but something about you made him do it.

After a few attempts, you managed to hit several shots on target, in sequence, and this drew a few murmurs from him. Apparently he was complimenting you, in his own way.

Maybe he was being too gentle with you, maybe he really should be stricter, but he couldn't make himself do it. He was probably treating you too well to be just a recruit.

In the corner he could see Johnny smiling, the bastard knew Simon perfectly well. Something was brewing there.

It definitely was.

Little by little you got closer, and it became more and more obvious that your relationship wasn't just one of superior and subordinate. He couldn't deny the concern and closeness he had for you, it was just unconscious.

He was always giving you tips on how to take better care of yourself, teaching you defense techniques, giving you clear and precise instructions so that you would follow them to the letter, all for your protection.

On missions, he was always on the communication device with you, asking every now and then if you were all right, always keeping in touch. You often didn't speak to each other, but just the fact that he could hear you breathing, or even giggling at something he said, was enough for him.

And that became even clearer during your last mission. Because of a mistake by one of the soldiers, things went wrong and you had to separate.

Simon despaired, he thought he would never see you again, or that you had been taken by the enemy, or something worse. He felt as if he had stopped breathing, and he only thought straight again when he heard your faint voice on the communication device.

"Sir...?" You mumble, and Simon almost falls to his knees and thanks whatever God kept you safe.

"Where are you? Hurt?" He asks in a hurried way, ready to come at you anyway.

"Just scratches, sir. I'm down south, in the abandoned blue house." You explain hurriedly, hoping he'll understand.

"I'm coming." Simon didn't wait for your answer, he knew where you were, and he wouldn't stop until he saw you again.

Once he found you, he held back every urge he had to hug you, to keep you safe in his arms. At that moment, he realized how much he had grown fond of you. The fear he felt at the thought of losing you. You'd taken up space in his heart. You'd done so much.

That day he realized that you were much more than a teammate, you were much more than he wanted to admit.

Even after promising himself that he would never fall in love again, he found himself breaking that promise in a conversation with you.

It was meeting day, you were sitting next to Simon, Gaz and Johnny were in the corner smoking a cigarette. You were waiting for Price, and then you started playing with a hair tie.

Simon looked at you, taking a sip of coffee, he even had an intrigued expression for you.

You then wrapped the elastic around your ring finger, admiring it.

"I think I'd look nice with a ring." You say, looking at Simon with a smile.

He raised his eyebrows, his lips threatening to form into a smirk.

"You want someone to put a ring on you?" Simon says with a certain amusement, looking at your finger.

"Ah, maybe so..." You say, starting to whisper, "I don't know, I think Riley would be a great surname."

That's it, you left him speechless, all giddy over a simple sentence. He was nervous to speak.

"Don't you agree?" You teased once more, giving a silly little smile.

He grunted, pulling down his mask, hiding the blush that appeared on his cheeks, as well as the grin.

At that moment, he knew it was you.

[simplyholl]

Reckless

Summary: When you act recklessly on a mission, Bucky gets mad at you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI.

See My Masterlist Here

You had really done it now. You made Bucky so mad, he couldn’t even look at you. You were paired together for a mission, and you acted recklessly. You got separated from him and instead of waiting for him, you found the Hydra bunker where they were hiding.

You burst in without a plan and they would have most likely killed you. But Bucky came in and saved you. On the way back, he wouldn’t look at you, speak to you, or even acknowledge your existence.

It took a lot for him to get angry. So you didn’t know how you could fix this. You were such good friends, and he always made time for you. It was going on three days and he ignored every text, call, FaceTime, and knock on his door. You didn’t even know why he was so upset with you. You had done stupid stuff during missions before.

Finally you had enough of the silent treatment, so you waited until it was his normal time to train. He liked to work alone, so you didn’t have to worry about anyone else being there and interrupting you. You made your way to the gym, disappointed that he wasn’t there, nobody was.

You were just about to leave and come up with another plan when you heard someone in the men’s locker room. You hoped it was Bucky as you entered, the smell of soap filled the steamy room. Your sneakers squeaked with every step on the wet tile floor.

You heard Bucky singing some old fashioned song. Following his voice passed the lockers, you step over Thor’s discarded shorts. You shake your head, feeling sorry for the cleaners Tony hired. You see Bucky’s head peaking over the shower door. For a split second, you debate turning around. But you want your friend back more than anything, so you continue all the way to the showers.

“James, we need to talk.” Bucky jumps at the sound of your voice. “What are you doing in here? This is the men’s locker room.” He rolls his eyes, turning towards the spray of water. “You wouldn’t talk to me, I didn’t know when I’d be able to catch you.” He doesn’t answer, instead he picks up the shampoo bottle squirting some into his palm.

“I’m sorry for what I did. I just want you to talk to me.” He reaches up to wash the shampoo out of his hair, eyes closed. “I know you can hear me. Bucky, please?” You beg him but he continues ignoring you. He could be a real asshole when he wanted to. You set your phone down on the bench beside you. You reach down to take off your shoes then your socks.

You grab the handle to the shower door, letting yourself inside. Bucky’s eyes widen as he sees you in the shower with him. He makes an awkward attempt to cover his self. “Get out of here!” You walk over to him, “No! This is the only way to get you to pay attention to me!” You walk closer, “Tell me why you’re so mad at me.”

Bucky watches as the water sprays you, making your already tight workout clothes cling to your body. His throat bobs as he finally answers. “I’m not mad, I’m furious. You weren’t thinking. You never do. You went by yourself when you were told to wait, and if I hadn’t been close by, you would be dead.”

“I do stuff like that all the time, Buck. Why did it make you so upset?” Bucky takes a step toward you, removing his hands from his hardening cock. “Because I care about you! If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after that stunt you pulled.”

That was just the answer to send all your worries about crossing boundaries out the window. You press yourself against him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. When his lips met yours, it was like you were the only people in the whole world.

His metal hand makes quick work of your sports bra, ripping it right off you. The warm palm of his flesh hand meets your breast. He groans against your neck as his hands travel lower. He jerks your leggings off in one swift motion, throwing them to the side with a wet thud.

You were never so thankful that you didn’t wear panties as you were today. He reaches between you, long fingers dipping into you. You were so wet just from arguing with him, and he knew it. “All this from fighting with me, doll?” He smirks, knowing the effect it will have on you. You clench around his fingers as he curls them upward, his palm gently brushing your clit. “James” you moan, grasping his shoulders for support.

He removes his fingers from you, turning you around so fast that you don’t have time to register how empty you feel now. Bucky presses his body to your back, trapping you between him and the shower door. The cool door makes your nipples harden against it. You feel Bucky’s hard cock rub against the curve of your ass. You try to move to create some type of friction between you, but you can’t. His big body doesn’t budge. He uses his leg to spread you further.

You gasp as he thrusts into you, not giving you any time to adjust to his size before he plunges deeper, bottoming out. You claw at the shower door, as his thrusts grow brutal. His metal arm wraps around your waist, holding you where he wants you while his flesh hand grabs your chin. He tilts your face to look at him, “Are you going to do anything that stupid ever again?” He asks, his cock brushing that spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry.

You can’t form words, it feels too good. “I expect an answer when I ask you a question.” Your eyes are glossy, you try to answer but you only make sounds. “My pretty baby, she’s too cock drunk to talk. Is that it, doll? Is my cock too much?” You manage to whisper yes, sending his ego into overdrive.

“That’s right, nobody will ever make you feel like I do. I’ll never touch you again, if you don’t follow orders. Am I understood?” Visions of his old army days flood your mind, the band in your stomach threatening to snap. “Y-yes sir.” You stutter. He seems satisfied with your answer, holding you closer to him. His fingers dig into your hip, no doubt leaving bruises, marking you as his.

He snaps his hips one last time, burying his face into your shoulder as he comes inside you. He stays like that for a minute, catching his breath before turning you around. He checks all over your body, his forehead wrinkling as he notices the multiple marks he left behind. “Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just so caught up in the moment-“

“It’s okay. I really liked it.” You confess. Bucky sighs in relief, bringing you back under the water, he starts to wash you. “Hey what about me?” Bucky smirks, “What about you, doll?” He washes down your arms. “I didn’t get off.” You state matter of factly. “Oh, I know. Only good girls get to cum.”

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @crimson25 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @lokidokieokie @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @yeaiamme2 @pigeonmama @yeehawbrothers @lokischambermaid @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck

[gaysindistress]

What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man?

a/n: This is technically part two for this list. You could read them separately but I really think you should read them both so you can fully feel the angst.

non-mcu characters masterlist

Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries this is one is for you girl

Price stalks over to him and grabs him by the front of his vest, not caring that everyone can see what’s going on. “You call and apologize to her right now, ya hear me? It’s unacceptable for you to lie to her like that and I should have your balls for it. You fix it before she does go off and find herself a better man.”

Now let’s say that when Simon got back, things were….different. You rarely fought but now you’re bickering about every little thing and having full on battles of the will that leave you crying in the bedroom while he’s storming out. The connection between you two feels strained and distant where’s before it was warm and comforting. You barely look at each other and sometimes you think he’s straight up ignoring you.

Even the dogs have started to notice that there’s something off about mom and dad. Most nights you’ll sleep alone with the dogs by your door while Simon is on the couch. It feels like they’re laying in wait, ready to spring into action if anything were to happen. They don’t go to him as much as they did before and your female dog, Echo, refuses to leave your side. She’s become glued to you while your other dog, Zade, keeps you within eyesight at all times. It really pisses Simon off because Zade is supposed to be his dog and the mutt won’t even look at him (Simon’s words, not yours).

It all comes to a head though one night when Simon is trying to get Zade to come with him on a walk and the dog just stares at him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He just stares into Simon’s soul and judges him for how he’s been treating you.

“Zade! Come here now!” Simon grumbles in a half shout but the dog doesn’t move a muscle. You’re in the bedroom with Echo at your feet and she glances over at you with a look that says ‘let’s go’.

What happened next is a blur. Echo barely makes it into the living room before she’s growling and placing herself between you and Simon. Zade is up and stalking closer to his sister’s side while Simon is growing more and more angry. You don’t think you even had the time to say anything before Echo and Zade tackle Simon to the ground. You know they wouldn’t hurt him but it’s still a terrifying sight and you’re doing everything you can to get the dogs off of him. You manage to get them off but they refuse to go to their kennels and keep tucked behind you, still ready to protect you if needed.

“Simon, oh my god are you okay?” You ask him in a panicked and high pitched voice as you try to help him up. He shoves your hands off of him and accidentally uses too much force which sends you to stumbling into the dogs.

Everything is absolute chaos with his anger, the dogs trying to protect you, and now you’re crying while trying not to tell him off. At this point you grab the dogs by their collars and pull them away as tears are streaming down your face. When they hear your sniffles, they immediately give into you and let you pull them to the bedroom. You don’t hear Simon as you start to pack as much as you can. The weeks of being on edge have finally gotten to you and you’re done.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who isn’t willing to communicate with you.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who used to be the most loving and devoted man you’ve ever met but now he can’t acknowledge your presence.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who’s come so far and has forgiven himself for the things he’s done but now he’s slipping back into his old self destructive ways.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who can’t be honest with himself and admit that he’s wrong.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who’s become Ghost.

You’ve tried having faith in him after he broke up with you but it’s rotting you from the inside out. It’s eating away at your heart, gnawing at your ribs with your flesh stuck in its teeth. This faith is liquifying the kindness and patience you once had. It’s changing you into an anxious shell of a coward who can’t stand up for yourself. Change is alright but this is not. This change is making you cruel and hopeless while it waits for you to become a faithless savage who devours whatever light touches you.

It’s only when you come back into the living room with your bags packed and the dogs ready to go that Simon says something to you.

He questions what you’re doing.

He doesn’t apologize.

“I’m leaving. We’ll figure out everything tomorrow,” you tell him as you find your keys.

“What do you mean?”

You stop. You stare at the front door with completely blank eyes. They flicker to him over your shoulder.

“I’m leaving you. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can figure out how to make it a clean break then.”

He doesn’t say a word. Neither do you after that.

He lets you walk out the door. You don’t ask him to fight for you either.

He lets you leave him. You don’t turn back either.

You meant to drive to your friend’s place but somewhere on the way there you pull over and cry until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Zade and Echo watch from the backseat of your car with their heads on your center console. They want to comfort you but there’s not exactly room for two 100 pound dogs in the front seat so they stay put. Your friend calls you frantically because she’s not home but tells you that you should come meet her wherever she’s at. As nice as it might be to get away, it’s not appealing to you at the moment so you call the only other person you know you’d be comfortable with right now.

A part of you knows it’s a mistake to call him and if Simon finds out, he might very well almost kill his captain a third time. The other part of you knows that John would be understanding and the calm presence that you want right now. He already checks on you regularly so would it be a huge surprise if you showed up on his doorstep?

As if he’s been waiting for this moment, John already has a guest room for you and has the back door open for the dogs to run around outside. They’ve met him before so they feel more secure with leaving your side although they both give him a warning look.

Now it’s important to remember that the entire time you’ve known John, you’ve been with Simon. John thinks himself a gentleman, albeit a bit gruff, but a gentleman no less so you’ve been off limits. Obviously he can’t ignore the initial attraction he felt towards you because you are an utterly breathtaking person and it would be impossible to not notice that. He’s tried to lock away the yearning that tugs at the marrow in his bones when he sees you but it’s difficult. It’s like asking a dog to stop begging; they might listen for a moment but they go back to it within seconds. Also during the course of your friendship, he’s come to know the absolute amazing person that you are and seen that you have the kindness soul he’s ever known. It didn’t used to hurt when he saw you but after that night you texted him to keep Simon safe after he broke up with you, it’s damn near unbearable. Simon told you to find yourself a better man and John knows he could be that man. He wants to be that man but only if you come to him. He won’t approach you or even hint at it with you. It needs to be you who seeks him out. It needs to be you who wants him. It needs to be you who asks him to be that man otherwise John would never be able to forgive himself if it all went wrong.

Nothing happens that night or at all for that matter during your stay with John. It was meant to only be a few days but with losing your house so suddenly and trying to navigate a world Post Simon, it ends up being a few weeks. You feel awful about it and promise that you’ll be gone as soon as you can. John always laughs it off and tells you to stay as long as you need. Secretly he’s growing accustomed to your calming presence and gentle ways. He adores how thoughtful you are when you have to work early and barely make a sound. He appreciates how you make him a plate and leave it in the fridge if he comes home late. He’s thankful that you’re comfortable enough with him to tell him about everything that’s going on.

John made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t bring up anything unless you said something first. Even when he wants desperately to know why you’re crying when you came back from Simon’s tonight, he won’t. Instead he offers you a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and some space while he busies himself in his shop outside. It absolutely destroys him to even think about leaving you alone in the living room but it’s the right thing to do.

Just as he’s getting ready to leave, your small voice stops him.

“Can…can you stay?” It’s unusual for you to not be confident in your words. It causes him to freeze to hear the uncertainty. “If..if you want.”

He smiles at the ground before turning to look at you and nod. You’re curled into a ball on the couch with your dogs at your feet but there’s space for him next to you. You lean away from the arm of the couch and he takes the hint. Settling into the space between you and couch, he tosses his arm over the back and lets you decide how to proceed. Against your logical head, you tuck yourself into his side with yours pulled around yourself and your head on his shoulder. His fingers itch to play with the ends of your hair but they stay tightly closed around the couch cushion.

“Thank you…for everything.”

“No need for that.” He murmurs with bated breath. He knows you can feel the tension, how could you not when you’re practically laying on his chest?

“One day you’re going to accept my thanks. It might not be tomorrow or the day after, but you will,” you say with a snort. He says that every single time and you reply with the same phrase every time as well.

John’s hand betrays him and starts to play with the very ends of your hair. You feel it just like you felt his strained breathing. It’s strange to feel affection from anyone else but from him, it’s…. welcomed. You don’t acknowledge it and he knows that you’re doing that for his own sake.

“Maybe,” he tosses back and his breath catches when you move closer to him. Your arm moves to wrap around his waist and stills when he tenses. It’s your silent way of asking for consent to hold him. “Love,” he starts and moves his hand away from your hair.

You move to look at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. He’s looking at you with such tenderness and warmth it makes your stomach flip.

“Do you have feelings for me?” You ask him directly, unwilling to be tossed around again. It’s abrasive and you know there’s a better way to have asked but it gets straight to the point.

John looks sick and a tight lipped smile pulls across his face as he tries to come up with an answer. “I…love I think you need to rest. There’s been a…”

“No. Answer the question.”

He glances down at your lips and that’s telling enough.

“Now isn’t the right time,” he whispers more to himself than to you. “You’ve just gone through…”

Cutting him off, you say firmly, “and that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

He can only stare at you with half lidded eyes and pray that he doesn’t break in front of you. His resolve is crumbling and it’s only thanks to his military service that he’s not throwing himself at you.

“I told him it’s over.”

John tries to interrupt you but you silence him with a pointed look. “I told him that I will always love him but that doesn’t mean I want to be with him anymore. I won’t wait around for him to figure his life out. I don’t deserve that. I deserve a man who knows what he wants and will communicate with me.”

Honestly it feels like his world is crumbling around him. You’re here snuggled into his chest and saying all these things which he knows what they mean but he can’t believe that you know what they mean. He can’t trust his own understanding of you and believe that you’d mean that.

“I need you to tell me what you want…now.”

You.

He wants you. More than anything in the world, John Price wants you and you’re asking him to confess that secret.