#in this hour i do not believe that any darkness will endure????

[emyn-arnens]

look at this disgrace

[frodo-baggins]

“In this hour, I do not believe that any darkness will endure.”

20 years of The Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King (released in the US December 17 2003)

[reverie-starlight]

megumi loves…

a collection of things megumi loves about you.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. so sweet it’ll make your teeth rot tbh. he won the poll so here’s the fic as promised!! literally wrote this on the bus and train rides this morning after having this planned for weeks. I literally love him sm he is everything to me <3

megumi loves when you play with his hair. the feel of your nails running along his scalp, playing with the nape of his neck- it’s calming. you do it most often when you’re both in his bed, cuddling after a mission or a long day of training. he’ll flop down on top of you, plant his head on your chest and sigh. he waits for you to do something, drawing the sweetest sound he’s ever heard from your lips (a laugh) as he glares up at you when you don’t move your hands. you’ll mumble out a soft “aw I’m sorry, baby,” before giving him exactly what he wants. he’ll press tender kisses to any patch of skin he can reach in thanks. you’d never make him ask twice because you know he truly appreciates this time spent with you and you’d never want him to shy away from you. you’re each other’s safe space after all, who would you be to deny him?

sometimes you’ll do it in public, too, but far less often. these are the times that you just can’t hold back- he’s so cute, why would you? he grumbles about it a bit, especially if you’re around people you know (he’s shy, after all), but can he really complain when you look at him so softly as you play with his dark locks? he’ll endure the teasing and reassure you that he’s fine with it if you start to pull away.

megumi loves running his fingers along your facial features. over the bridge of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, tracing your lips… he just loves your facial structure. it sounds like an odd compliment to give someone, especially if it’s the first compliment you give someone (and in his case, it was the first compliment he managed to stutter out after you offhandedly called him pretty when you were in the transition stage from friends to lovers), but he’s thankful that you seem to find it sweet.

he loves your face when you’re awake, so full of life and excitement that he can’t help but match when you’re both alone in the comfort of each other. the pretty smiles you’ll give him make his heart pump just a bit faster, the lovesick in your eyes after he kisses you… he wouldn’t trade it for the world. he’d do anything to keep you happy.

he loves your face when you’re asleep, too. especially after you’ve had a rough day. you look so serene and peaceful. even if you do drool or think you’re less than flattering, he always thinks you’re the most stunning thing ever. he loves when you scrunch your nose in your sleep, and he always places a hand on your cheek to smooth it out. he adores the look on your face as you slowly wake up and blink at him before cuddling into him further and sighing as you fall back asleep.

megumi loves when you get a bit clingy. everyone is a bit surprised when they see how all over each other the two of you can be (at least, as much as he is willing to show in public- which isn’t much, but for everyone else it’s huge) he loves it when you can’t help but wrap your arms around him because you missed him (you probably saw him less than an hour ago).

he adores the way you refuse to let him get out of bed on weekends, insisting that you need your fix of “never-ending affection” from him before can start his day. and he loves giving it to you. he’ll start with peppering quick kisses all over your face, smiling against your skin when you giggle and wrap your arms around his neck, not at all tempted to squirm away, but rather to pull him in for more.

he’ll be convinced to lay with you for a bit longer, of course, and do it without complaining. because at the end of the day, he loves to feel needed by you. he likes having you close to him more than he hates getting teased by his friends and gojo for being all soft.

believe it or not, he enjoys it when you initiate play fights with him. neither of you go all out- you do that enough on missions- so it’s just the two of you rolling around in bed, laughing and pinning the other down. he’ll pick you up and throw you back down, he’ll summon his demon dog to jump all over you so he can have the upper hand, just to keep you smiling. he knows physical affection is important to you, so why would he deny you of that? he never wants to make you feel like you’re not getting what you need from him.

megumi loves when you tease him. this surprises even him to this day, because he doesn’t like the feeling of getting worked up at all. but his working theory is that he enjoys the intimacy of it. you don’t tease him about every little thing, you know he doesn’t like that, but you do tease him about things hyper-specific to your relationship. for example: that one time he messed up the pronunciation of that word in an argument? you never let him live it down, but you’ll also never disclose the inside joke to anyone else. you might be a nuisance on purpose, but you’re also his number one defender when it comes to anyone else teasing him.

you also like to fluster him. poking him all over when you want attention, blowing air into his face when he leans in to kiss you… it’s all so fun for you. you’ll get close enough to his face to make him blush, you’ll tease that spot on the back of his neck that he’s never told anyone but you about, and he hates how easily you get to him, but he’ll tolerate it because he knows you’re just as easy to fluster as he is.

he loves to tease you back. as soon as you’re back in your room after a full day of not letting up on him, he’s got his arms wrapped around you, and he’s walking you backwards until your laying on the bed, staring up at him wearily… and then you’re screaming because his skilled hands are all over your sides, your ribs and your hips. and once you’re spent, he’ll lean in close to your ear and whisper his own teasing remarks (normally compliments he knows you’d have trouble accepting otherwise) to get you whining and mumbling out laughter-filled apologies he won’t be accepting any time soon.

yeah, megumi just loves you.

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

hope you enjoyed!!! it’s a different format from my other fics so lmk if you’d want this with any other characters!!

[flowercrowngods]

thinking about time travel au steve meeting eddie in the school bathroom, finding eddie smoking and reading. and he doesn't mean to stay, but it's quiet here and he can see all the walls in case they start to move again with another monster wanting to break out and attack him, attack everyone around him.

and so steve joins him. eddie feels so awkward, because steve harrington doesn't hang out with him, doesn't hang out in abandoned bathrooms!!! and he wants to be obnoxious about it so he starts reading out loud.

it doesn't have the desired effect of making steve fuck off, though. instead, steve pulls his knee to his chin and watches eddie and listens. eddie is reading lord of the rings – somewhere in the third book. and steve finds himself in frodo, or in the wisdom gandalf brings, in the elves speaking of days long passed and the agony over war. in the nostalgia for days he cannot bring back. in the grief of peace lost.

he finds himself between the lines. asks eddie if they will make it, this frodo and sam. if these most unlikely heroes can succeed. because suddenly save needs to know like he needs to breathe.

and eddie just raises his eyebrows and says "if you really wanna find out, come here again tomorrow." and he does. eddie eventually finishes the book with steve, who pretends not to be crying when eddie gets to, "But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them."

and to, "In this hour, I do not believe that any darkness will endure." 

and, "Oft hope is born when all is forlorn." 

and he wonders, when frodo goes into the west and speaks of "white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise" if that is where eddie went, too. and robin. nancy, dustin, the rest of them. is that where you went? is it really not that bad?

just. steve and eddie as frodo and a very unaware sam. because "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!"

[ma1dita]

to love is to rest

words: less than 1k

summary: Regulus whispers sweet nothings to you as you sleep.

warnings: none :) regulus x gn!reader, sleepy babies in love, he is an overthinker poor baby, children at war

a/n: had to get this sleepy little regulus oneshot out of my head! thanks for the love & feel free to send more requests & yell at me in the comments ; barely edited sorry i just want to be HELD

(posted: 10/17/23)

—

Regulus doesn’t even remember falling asleep. It was hard to, with the war looming over the horizon. He’d lay awake in bed for hours, pouring over strategies on how to take down the Dark Lord until sleep would rob him of consciousness, without permission. He fights back with fists, wrangling it in his smooth hands with copious amounts of dark roast coffee and ambition. Sirius always said he was a fighter, but he moreso believes that he is one who endures. There isn’t much of a choice in it all, despite the fight he puts up. One must fall victim to sleep, and Regulus is familiar with having to endure the choices life makes for him.

“Baby? What time is it?” he mumbles, sleep still clutching at his eyelids.

The room is dimly lit and the candles are burning low. Blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the darkness, he observes his surroundings and notices that you are nestled into his side, nose against his heart and lightly snoring. Cheekbones framed in moonlight and a little pool of drool over the beating in his chest, Regulus would’ve never thought love to be so soft. Love has been portrayed to him as a scary, unsightly thing—proclamations that cut like swords, a fierce grip that bruises, a performance that marks one forever. But as he smiles and traces your spine over the shirt you stole from his trunk, he realizes he’s never known a love like yours.

“I didn’t know how much I could love until I met you.” he whispers.

Having you here in his arms with only the moon as his witness, he worships you as if you’re something divine. He believes this so strongly because loving you is easy, with no expectations to uphold the family name, no etiquette to perfect, or punishment other than the one he brings upon himself if he gets it wrong. He wonders what must’ve gone right in his past lives so that he can hold someone so closely—someone so angelic. He's far from religious but he’d do anything you ask him to, and you believe in him too much for him to fail. The faith you have in him could give him the strength to survive any unforgivable curse, any death sentence the Dark Lord orders him so as long as he can run home to you. There’s so much he has to do at 17, so much to more to live for— and it’s inconceivable how much he prays to survive long enough to see you at ease.

“You don’t even know how little I loved before I loved you. You don’t even know…”

Should his chest dare give in at this exact moment, he reckons he could make his bones a home for you to live in. At least you’ll have something to remember him by, and his love will be immortalized by you, echoing into the next lifetime until you find each other again. There is nothing more mortifying than to be forgotten. Your hand reaches his forearm and for once, he doesn’t flinch. Regulus presses kisses onto your wrist so that you can carry it with you tomorrow, until you ask him to replenish you with more. His nose glides along your hairline, pressing kisses so that your mind won’t forget. He hopes these acts of love reach your subconscious, that in every plane of existence, you know of him.

“I cannot wait to live the life I stayed for. This is all for you, my love. I promise.”

A sharp inhale comes from your nose as you shift, waking from a dream. Your lips carve another soft spot onto his chest, and he is utterly yours. Fingers reach to cradle his jaw, smiling sleepily as you settle back into his space. His mind is finally empty, finally at peace—even if it’s just for tonight, he can be just a boy in bed with the person he loves.

Sleep covers the both of you slowly, and gently. He shuts his eyes once more and lets it envelop him without a struggle. Yes, he doesn’t know much about love, but for you, he’ll figure it out. For now, Regulus Black is at ease.

—

Love,

you claim, comes close to this,

no space

between your words, a hand

over the other’s heart. How do you live

with this distance?

-Nick Flynn

taglist: @jsjcue

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[thelittlestoflives]

Thank You

soooo i sort of have a whole backstory to the Unravelling the Mystery fic and i just thought welllll i might as well post that too lol!! (i actually have lots of parts and stories)

again, very new to fic writing and i've thrown in some y/n lore in there too!! it's so vulnerable and scary to post stuff you've written (again i suck at proofreading so forgive pls)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sanji x strawhat!reader, or the story of how y/n became a strawhat and gravitated towards the chef

use of YN, afab reader

cw: stuff to do with horrible exes, forced eating of a devil fruit, being severely injured, slight angst to fluff but mostly fluff i think

wc: 2.7k

It was like a ritual. The breathing in the room evening out, slipping out from under the covers and creeping through the halls towards him. His arms were your salvation, every gentle kiss burning your skin with love, each touch so heavenly you could almost believe in a higher power.

You can barely remember how it began. It's like it's just always been this way.

But it wasn't.

Not when you were stuffed in that barrel, just you and the darkness and the splashing of the waves against the wood, the drip drip drip onto your already soaking clothes. You can't remember how you survived it, how you endured the minutes and the hours and the days you remained in there, physical wounds nowhere near the pain of the scarring on your soul.

And like words out of the holy texts, there was light. A piercing, bright light. But unlike the holy texts, soft mutters echoed in your ears.

"Shit. It's a girl."

"Dammit. So, it's not treasure?"

"She's injured."

"How long has she been in there?"

"Why does this always happen to us?"

“Get her out of there, for fuck’s sake! Why are you all just standing around?!”

Just like that, the light vanished and darkness returned.

When you came to you were in some sort of medical infirmary, the light streaming through the windows so intense that you could barely open your eyes. An assortment of smells hit your nose; disinfectant, bleach, salty sea air, and a bowl of rich chicken noodle soup that steamed as it sat on your bedside table.

Maybe that's when it started. The soup. You stared at it for god knows how long, tears streaming down your face at the act of kindness. The trauma of what you'd just been through vanished staring at that bowl, feeling the love of whoever made it poured into it. Your body had been wrapped in bandages and cleaned, and you wore soft pyjamas that weren't your own, your hair had been brushed, and someone had made you fucking chicken noodle soup.

A couple of days went by as your body slowly healed. The only interaction you had was with the ship's doctor as he tried to make you feel comfortable and safe. You didn't see any of the other crew, but each time you woke from a restless, haunted sleep, there was a steaming dish beside you. Before long, you were strong enough to walk around. Chopper held your hand as he led you above deck to meet the crew who sat around the kitchen table.

You felt shy and nervous. Sure, you'd spoken to pirates before, but always in a controlled environment, never on their turf.

But they were vastly different from the pirates you'd encountered, offering easy smiles and gentle words, coaxing you to tell them what had happened to you. You caught eyes with a man with a cigarette hanging casually out his mouth a couple of times, quickly looking away. Was this where it started?

You explained that you're a journalist on your home island. Or rather, were a journalist. Now? You were dust in the wind, not taking any sort of discernable shape, floating with no direction, no intention, nothing. You thought you had it all; a home, a job you loved, family, friends, and someone who you thought was the love of your life. In less than a week, it was gone.

You had been investigating a cult on your island and stumbled across a giant conspiracy involving the World Government. You had written a tell-all piece, ready to blow the whole damn thing wide open. But you made a mistake, you told your then-boyfriend about it. Turns out he wasn't who he said he was, he was one of them. Sent to keep an eye on the local journalists, he’d pretended to fall for you to keep you close. The cult that terrorised truth seekers from the shadowy underworld was an unstoppable and dangerous force and he was one of them.

They'd captured you, and when the darkness was lifted there was no heavenly bright light. Just a dank basement dimly lighting up your boyfriend's face, grinning from ear to ear as he told you in laborious detail what was about to happen to you. You would eat a Devil Fruit, they would drug you, and you would be forced to do their bidding. No choice, no control, this was it. They’d already done this to every other person who had been investigating them. They had a small army now, he informed you. An army of ‘nosey bastards who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into’. Despite your pleading, he laughed and said that you better get ready for what’s about to happen.

And so they did it. They had it all figured out. They forced you to eat the Devil Fruit, and as its powers flowed through your veins you realised that perhaps they didn’t have it all figured out after all. They didn’t account for the fact that you would be damned rather than be bested by a man.

Your powers erupted out of you, flowing with such a force that all you could do was let out a silent scream, as the shadows wrapped themselves around the foundations of the building they held you in and it collapsed into rubble. 

An arm roughly grabbed you, pulling you out of the wreckage. It had stuffed you in a barrel, and an unfamiliar voice hissed the words: “It’s better if they think you’re dead. If you survive, never return.” 

As soon as the last word of your tale left your mouth, a straw hat was placed on your head, and that’s how Luffy obtained another stray to add to his collection. You became the Strawhats’ Chronicler, your job was to forever immortalise the crew’s journey towards the One Piece and to document how Luffy became the King of the Pirates. Although it was a difficult adjustment at first, you became fast friends with the crew. Robin in particular was a huge help for you, as it was she who understood your plight the best.

Sanji kept his distance at first. You were so beautiful that he knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from flirting, and that was probably the last thing you needed right now, so he resigned himself to being helpful in the background, finding out information about you from Robin and Nami and incorporating it into his cooking. But the two of you were like magnets, unexplainably drawn to one another and soon neither of you would be able to stay away.

You were ripped from your nightmare with such force that you shot upright, sweat dripping down your back. It was the same as always, but tonight you didn’t want to wake up Robin with your tears.

And that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen, face-to-face with a certain chef. He tried not to make a fuss as he saw your hunched, small frame in the doorway, tear-stained cheeks and sleepy eyes. Really, he did. But he’s only a man, after all. He gave you a warm hug and sat you down, making his own special sleepy tea (“I promise you, you will be knocked out after this. No bad dreams for our sweet Chronicler!”).

“I meant to say thank you,” you said quietly as you sipped your tea.

He arched an eyebrow, a gentle blush on his cheeks. “For?”

“The food. When I was in the infirmary, your food made me feel…” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Made you feel what?”

You look up at him, an amused expression on his face. 

“Your chicken noodle soup made me cry,” you admit softly. “It was the first thing I saw when I woke up, and it’s my comfort food. And I cried. I was so touched that I forgot everything else. I can’t thank you enough for that. I could’ve lost my mind, but that small act grounded me.”

The blush was no longer gentle but furious as his eyes diverted from your face. “Ah. Well, it’s an honour to cook for a pretty girl like you, and even more so that it makes you feel something. So really, I should thank you for your high praises.” 

Your mouth twitched into a smile. “No, thank you!”

His mouth echoed yours. “No, no, thank you!”

And you continued like that, thanking each other more and more dramatically through laughs. The silliness wore off, and Sanji’s face turned slightly more serious.

“Look, I wanted to say something to you too,” he began. “I’m sorry that your ex betrayed you like that. No beautiful lady should ever have to suffer at the hands of a man, much less a man who should love her.”

You blink, suddenly remembering why it was you were here in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you say with a small shrug. “Well, no, it’s not okay but… I dunno. What else can I say? ‘My ex gave me up to an evil cult and altered my life forever and because of him my family think I’m dead and I didn’t even get the t-shirt’? I appreciate that though. I appreciate all of you.”

He blew air out of his nose softly as you tried to make light of what was clearly a horrific situation. 

“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.” “Thank you, Sanji, same goes for you,” you smile.

He grins back. “No, no, no. Thank you!” 

You laugh and lightly hit his arm. “Cut it out or we’ll be here all night!”

His grin widens. “Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do.”

And maybe that’s where it starts. Those late nights in the kitchen when you both couldn’t sleep, sharing easy conversations and trying to make the other laugh. Warm mugs of tea and knees touching each other under the table. A bubble you created with just the two of you, a sacred space, with none the wiser as to these secret meetings of yours.

It would become routine for a couple of weeks. The nightmares jolt you awake, so you pad through to the kitchen for tea, smiles, and chats. 

“You know, I reckon you’re the beating heart of this crew,” you say as you blow on your tea to cool it down.

Sanji scoffs in derision. 

“No, I’m serious! If Luffy is the soul, then you’re the heart. I see everything you do for the crew, Sanj. You’ve got a kind soul.”

You wished you could frame the look on his face to cherish forever. A mix of gratitude, embarrassment, confusion, denial, and something else. Something you couldn’t quite place. 

“In saying that,” you continue, sipping on the now-cool beverage. “You look tired. If you’re looking after everyone else, who’s looking after you?”

He froze.

Your eyes are trained on his. “Look, there’s a reason we’re both here in the dead of night. You can’t sleep either, can you?” 

He looks down.

“Let me in, Sanj. Let me look after you.”

And he does. He tells you everything, and now the bond runs so deep you’re afraid. After all, the last person you fell in love with lied about it and broke your heart. You couldn’t take much more. But this was different, somehow.

Maybe it started the first night you slept in his arms. 

It was just a normal night. As usual, a nightmare ripped you from sleep. It was a particularly bad one this time, your cheeks wet with tears as you made your way to the kitchen. But when you got there, the lights were off. Panic clawed up through your chest. You’d come to rely upon the chef in the dead of night, and now that he wasn’t here, you were scared to face your demons alone. So, fuck it, you thought. I’ll just go to him.

The men’s quarters were loud. Zoro’s snores cracked through the room, and general grunts and smells and sleepy noises were prevalent, but it didn’t matter. He was there, and he would make you feel okay again.

And once you’d crawled in beside him, and his arms automatically wrapped around you, you knew that there was no going back. You woke up in your own bed, having slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

That night when you met in the kitchen, there was a slight awkwardness that hadn’t been there before.

He cleared his throat. “Did you, uh, did you sleep okay last night?”

“I did. Best I have in a while, really. I’m so sorry if I overstepped or-”

“No! No, I’m sorry for not being here at our usual time-”

“Don’t be stupid!”

“Thank you for-”

“Thank you for-”

You both stopped and he cleared his throat again, cheeks bright red.

“Well, honestly? That’s the best I’ve slept in a while too. So, thanks. And I…” He paused as if building up some courage. “I wondered if you would maybe want to… Do it again sometime. But, you don’t have to and I don’t want you to feel like I’m coming on to you because I know you don’t want, like, romance or anything because of the situation with your ex and-” He began to ramble anxiously, bringing a small smile to your lips.

“Sanji, Sanji, stop! It’s okay! I… I would like that a lot. And so thank you.”

He stopped blabbering and clasped his hands together. “Really?” There was a sparkle in his eyes.

“Really,” you nodded. 

You both built a little routine together. If Sanji wasn’t already in the kitchen, then you’d go to him. Otherwise, you’d meet in the kitchen for your cup of tea, before retiring to his hammock in the men’s quarters. The noises of the sleeping crew around you didn’t bother you at all as you lay entwined in Sanji’s long arms.

One night, you made your way into the kitchen and stopped quietly in the doorway. Sanji had fallen asleep at the table waiting for you. You took in his sleeping figure, the way his sleep shirt clung to his arms and revealed some of his chest. His face was relaxed and peaceful, and god, was it beautiful. Shit, you thought. I’m in way too deep now.

You gently woke him up, and the look in his eyes when he saw your face sent your stomach dropping and mind shortcircuiting. 

“It’s you,” he whispered.

You nodded. “It’s me, Sanj. Let’s go to bed, hmm?”

He had that look on his face again, the one from before when you couldn’t figure it out. But now? Now you knew what it was. It was love. It was adoration. It was ‘you’re my comfort, my safety, you feel like home and I’m at peace’. He stood up and pulled you to his chest, groaning softly as he rested his chin on top of your head. You looked up at him, fondness in your eyes.

“Sanj?” You whispered.

“Yes, my darling YN?” His sleepy voice and eyes were too much. You stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a soft, swift kiss to his lips.

He stiffened, eyes wide. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered. 

You nodded.

His face brightened and burst into a lovesick grin, one hand settling at your waist, the other snaking up to hold the back of your head. He nudged his nose against yours as your lips met, the world melting around you both. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

“I want to promise something to you right now,” he murmured. “I promise to protect you, to keep you safe, I promise I will never do anything that could possibly hurt you, and I will hunt down anyone who does. Thank you, YN, for showing me what love could be.”

“No, Sanj… Thank you for showing me.”

His eyes were brimming with tears too, but he laughed softly, unable to resist the urge to say:

“No, no. Thank you.” 

And with that, you went to the safety of Sanji’s hammock, entangled with one another as you pressed burning kisses to each others’ skin, his heavenly touch making you forget what life was like without him. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you know this will never end.

[elliespeach]

tear you apart mini chapter | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"because you need me." ´ˎ˗

pairing ellie williams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. wordcount: 1k warnings: ellie manipulates reader a bit, readers depressed, other than that nothing. this is lowkey soft. an: so sorry to do this to yall, but have this while i take my leave! short but sweet :)

a week had passed, and ellie’s plan had worked better than she expected. being with you that night had formed some sort of bond between you and ellie. you never wanted to leave her side, and ellie had to keep reminding herself to not show that she was over-the-moon about it. ellie mostly stayed at your place, allowing herself to finally tidying up the small apartment. she also got you blinds. 

you didn’t protest to any of it, you didn’t do much of anything actually. you slept, a lot, ellie waking you up for meals and to stretch your legs. but you’d always find yourself back in bed within the hour. you spoke a few words at a time, slowly like you were trying not to sob with every movement of your mouth. if ellie hadn’t known the extent of your relationship with suzanna, she’d be more concerned. 

you have barely reached out to shauna, who has been texting you every day, each text sounding more condescending than the last. ellie usually deleted them while you slept. you didn’t need to be bombarded while you grieved, and ellie knew you were in no position to talk with anyone but her. last night, you even said as much. 

ellie was finally curling into the soft sheets, after finishing the dishes from the dinner she had made for you both, which you barely pecked at. you turned over from the endless stare to the wall and looked into her crystaling green eyes, “why?” 

it was so soft, so innocently spoken that ellie choked back the lump building in her throat. her callosed hands reached up, softly brushing back hair from your face, “because you need me. because i want to.” 

the lines have been blurred, as to what ellie felt was appropriate. if it was up to her, she would kiss you until she stopped breathing but she knew it wasn’t the time. that you’d likely stop her advances and finally tell her to leave. but now that she knew what is was like to kiss you, to taste you on her tongue, to feel your hands rustling through her hair, it was torture. her own specially devised torment, one that she would endure for you. 

anything, for you.

you nuzzled into her, as you did every night. this is as far as you’ve gone with her since that night in the bar. allowing ellie to feel the warmth of your skin, but nothing further. she relished in it in, fearing that after your grief subsided, you’d discard her. no. no, you wouldn’t. 

ellie pondered in your silence, your head resting lightly on her chest, likely feeling her heart beating for you just under her skin. ellie knew she shouldn’t know about suzanna, and what she meant to you, maybe it was in her best interest to ask. casting a line out, and she hoped you’d latch onto it. 

“what was she like?” ellie said into the darkness of your room, brushing a hand over your back for comfort. you sighed, and ellie opened her mouth to apologize for bringing her up, for shattering whatever walls you had spent the last week building up. you beat her to it, and ellie was relieved when your voice was still soft, warm even. 

“motherly, in all the ways that mattered. my own mom was a wreck, cared for my siblings more but suzanna, she always made me feel like i mattered–” 

“you do matter,” 

“i know. but, to be told and to believe it is different. she made me believe it.” your hands resting atop ellie’s stomach started to fiddle with her shirt. 

“you two must have been close, then.”

“more than you know,” you exhaled with a quick chuckle. one that ellie had not heard in days, a smile tugged at her lips. “can i tell you a secret?” 

ellie prepared herself, of course she already knew your secret but hearing it come from your sweet mouth was different. you explained everything, how you and suzanna came to be the way you were, how she had made you fall in love and then discarded you when once she was done. how she toyed with your emotions but still, you loved her. ellie bit back anything she really wanted to say. 

she tricked you. she knew you felt abandoned and still pursed you, only to leave and come back as she pleased. used you for your body, your kindness. 

“i could never tell shauna, and i think hiding it from her was part of it. the fun. it sounds horrible, i know. but i really did love her.” 

ellie chose her words wisely, “i’m sure you did.” and then, an idea. “what would shauna do, if she found out?” 

“i’m never telling her–” you started, a little defensive. ellie knew she was pushing it, this conversation, but she was hopeful you’d forget it in the morning and only remember that she held you till you fell asleep. 

“no, i know. but, if she did, i mean how would she even react?” 

“she’d likely never speak to me again. i don’t think any of my friends would. i mean, i’m a homewrecker.” your voice cracked and ellie pulled you closer to her. 

“technically, you’re not. no home was wrecked by you.” because it was me, i’ll happily carry that burden for you. a yawn escaped you, and ellie pondered how you could be tired after laying in bed all day, but instead of questioning it, instead of pushing further, she nuzzled down into the bed with you. “don’t worry, your friends will never find out. get some rest,” 

so you did, feeling safe in ellie’s embrace. while you slept, ellie formulated her plan. your friends would indeed find out, if ellie had anything to do with it. your friends, especially shauna, had to go. they didn’t care about you, not in the way ellie did, not in the way you needed someone to care about you. she knew the risks, the fallout of you losing all your friends, but she’d be here for you. she would be enough for you, she’d make herself enough.

-----

taglist: @aouiaa @kissmxcheek @spaceshipellie @strgrlxox @machetegirl109 @uraesthete @mousymaven @ucannotcompare @imahallucination11 @thatgiraffefromtlou @cjrights @sc0ttstre3ted @nicolicht @p1llowthoughtss @ellabsmasc

[vanillacreambunny]

dottore x reader

genre: fluff, hurt & comfort

words: 1950

warnings: reader wears a dress but their gender is not stated, dottore is zandik, most likely ooc, wordy

notes: I wanted to write fluff with a side of hurt and comfort; forgive me if he's ooc. This took me an embarrassingly long time to write, but the fatigue and brain fog made it difficult. I doubt it's quality. As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

No matter how well you play the part, you never seem to fit in, the smile on your face failing to reach your eyes and your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. Those who seek you out are not interested in you, but in the one you serve. You exchange pleasantries with feigned interest as they attempt to sway you with words of flattery that only leave a bitter taste in your mouth, enduring fake smiles, and judgmental gazes for your Harbinger’s sake. To them, you are merely his assistant—a means to an end—and although you know better, doubt and uncertainty creep into your thoughts as hours pass, names and faces blurring into one another, and you lose all sense of self.

When the lights become too bright, and the voices too loud, you find yourself missing the comfortable silence of the lab, buried in work, and hidden from eyes that now seem to follow your every move as you excuse yourself, disappearing into the shadows that gather at the edge of the hall. In here, the air is stifling, a heavy weight on your shoulders. They hunt you down like prey, their laughter ripping into you akin to claws would your flesh. He dreads these gatherings as much as you do, however, both of you are subject to Her Majesty’s will. You simply need a moment to breathe.

Shoving your arms into the sleeves of your coat, you step outside into the bitter Snezhnayan cold, enjoying the way the snow freezes to your skin and washes away your worries. The ice glitters in the moonlight—as beautiful as it is dangerous—encrusting the roses in the garden from their petals to their leaves, which serve as a reminder of one’s fate if they are not careful. You prefer this, the howl of the wind as it sweeps across the drifts of snow, while the glow of the aurora shines down upon you, familiar and comforting. The stars are so bright, that a part of you believes you can reach out and scoop them out of the sky into the palm of your hand.

Snow crunches underfoot, the intrusion sending a chill down your spine. You turn, your Vision gleaming in the darkness, elemental energy gathering at the tips of your fingers. No longer in the mood for their games, the sickening stench of alcohol clinging to their every word, and how they watch you, waiting to pounce the second they think you have let your guard down . . .

The Doctor himself stands before you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His cloak billows around his ankles as he bows at the waist and extends a hand to you, beckoning you forward. “May I?”

His voice is deep, rich, a mere whisper on the wind. Your heart leaps into your throat, yet you do not hesitate to place your hand in his, heat flooding your face when his lips graze your knuckles, and the tension eases from your body. His other hand rests at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, his scent flooding your senses; crisp and clean, reminding you of the forests of Sumeru following a heavy rain. You shiver, but not from the cold.

A soft melody floats from the hall into the courtyard, and he falls into step with the music, his movements gentle and unhurried as you sway to the tune. The voice—befitting an angel—rises and falls in song, echoing off the palace walls and resonating with your very soul; beautiful but melancholic, the notes weaving themselves into your heart. Tonight is meant to bring the people of Snezhnaya together, to boost morale, and celebrate the accomplishments of the Fatui thus far, though you’re simply reminded of the uncertainty of the future as you look up into the face of the man you love. What is there to celebrate, you wonder, when death looms overhead, threatening to take away all you hold dear.

A tear escapes your eye, your chest tightening and breath catching in your lungs. This could be your final dance, and you wish to commit every second to memory, his warmth and the gentleness of his caress, something reserved for you and you alone. Will there come a day when you no longer feel his arms wrapped around you, his presence nothing but an echo of the past; you fear he may slip between your fingers at any minute. Imagining a life without him by your side is a fate worse than death itself.

“Enough.” He stills, hands dropping to your hips and holding you close. You shudder in his embrace as he catches your tear on the tip of his tongue, his breath hot on your skin. “Do not fret, little bird. Simply follow my lead.”

He gives you no time to respond, spinning you out and then back into his arms in one fluid motion, the star-studded skirt of your dress fluttering at your feet. The music swells, reaching a crescendo, and he dips you, your fingers touching the ground. Snow swirls around you—a mesmerizing sight—falling onto your face and clinging to your lashes, the world coming to a standstill. Closing your eyes, you allow him to guide you from the dark recesses of your mind into the beauty of the present, a contented sigh leaving your lips and a low chuckle slipping from his own. These are the moments you cherish, the happiness that accompanies them enough to last a lifetime.

You smile a genuine smile, your gaze flickering up to his masked face, snowflakes in his hair and a halo of moonlight circling his head; a far cry from the monster people accuse him to be. His breath curls in front of him, chest heaving as he lifts you up into his embrace and brings you in for the sweetest of kisses. Tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you delight in his affections, forgetting about the party and the isolation you felt among the guests. You belong here, by his side, your Harbinger quick to remind you of your place—he sees you, and though he may not always understand you or you him, there is plenty of room to learn and grow, for yourself and for each other. He accepts you, and that is enough.

The cold begins to seep between your lips, sealing the kiss with a layer of frost, and you find you’re not opposed to the idea of spending an eternity in his arms.

Pulling back, he nips your lips, grinning all the while, the sharp points of his teeth glinting in the light. His expression—what you can see of it—is smug, an air of arrogance about him, but the blush creeping out from beneath his mask, and the way his tongue licks at his lips, does not go unnoticed by you. This close, you can hear the way his breath hitches and feel his heart thumping wildly against the palm of your hand, both a testament to his love for you.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and he inhales, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His smile falters, albeit briefly, the Doctor hiding his emotions behind a satisfied smirk and a quiet laugh, one that reverberates through his chest and bleeds into your bones.

He utters your name, softer than expected; you think you may have imagined it. “I—”

Clapping echoes throughout the courtyard, loud and sharp, shattering the peace. Lord Pantalone stands poised on the balcony above, the rings on his fingers bright and lustrous in the darkness, the Harbinger swathed in shadow as if it’s the finest of silks. His saccharine smile leaves little to be desired, and you can’t bear to hold his gaze for long, your face flushing from the interruption. He raises a wine glass in your direction, a mockery of a toast.

Dottore huffs in frustration, unwilling to entertain the Ninth; at least, not now. Without another word, he lifts you off the ground, disregarding your protests.

“Zandik!” you gasp as he swings you over his shoulder, the blood rushing to your head, and the feathers at his back tickling your nose. Lord Pantalone’s smile widens, his golden-eyed stare the last thing you see before Dottore carries you gracelessly into the palace, an arm wrapped around your waist.

The halls are silent, unusually so thanks to the festivities taking place. You pass the occasional Fatuus standing guard, their masked faces stony and backs straight as their Lord Harbinger walks past. Heat continues to rise to your cheeks, your mouth dry and heartbeat ringing in your ears; he never ceases to surprise and fluster you. When you squirm in his grip, he simply tightens his hold, muscles flexing ever so slightly. He could snap you in half if need be, yet you do not fear him. These arms have embraced you countless times, his hands—despite the blood that stains them—have touched you with a softness that is unbefitting of the Doctor, protecting and loving you in the only way he knows how.

Inside your shared chambers, he slips your shoes off with ease and sets you down, the soles of your feet aching. Sliding your coat down your shoulders, he tosses it aside to work you out of the bodice of your dress, large hands massaging the stiffness from your muscles and joints. Warmth floods your body, and you lean into his touch, humming as he buries his face in your neck and presses a kiss to your pulse point. The day proved long and tiring, your nerves frayed and stomach in knots, but the reward is worth the torment.

“Your efforts are commendable, my dear,” he murmurs, removing his mask and setting it down on the foyer table. Eyes as vibrant and precious as Agnidus Agate stare down at you, framed by dark circles and pale lashes. You tenderly trace the scars that web his face, and he nuzzles into your hand, kissing your palm. Standing chest to chest, his hands caress the curve of your back, pushing your dress over your hips until the fabric pools at your feet like stars in the sky. “You have my undying gratitude.”

Your lips brush his cheek, and he angles his head to catch them in a kiss, short and simple but lovely all the same. “I’ll brew a fresh pot of coffee and meet you in the lab,” you murmur, twirling a tendril of blue hair around your finger as you draw him into another kiss, the Harbinger practically purring in response.

“Oh. You speak to me in ways others do not.” His gaze alights with excitement, your heart fluttering at the sight. “Do not keep me waiting long.”

The remainder of the evening is spent in the lab, a place you’ve come to consider your second home. There’s no feeling comparable to this, watching him work, nimble fingers handling Ruin Guard components; a simple project—one that is familiar—to unwind after a busy day. In turn, the lingering stress fades away into a calm that envelops you like a warm blanket, or perhaps it’s the weight of his coat around your shoulders. His voice takes on an animated tone the longer he speaks, detailing his current projects and future ideas, his passion infectious, so much so, that your entire being thrums with excitement. A deactivated core sits in his hands, and your arms encircle his neck as you place a kiss atop his head, your heart full. This is where you belong, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tvccreator]

Shadow Milk Cookie Headcanons

I've been working on a few stories with Shadow Milk, so I thought I would compile some of my headcanons to share with you all. Hope you enjoy! (It's a bit of a long read, so I apologize. ^^')

Personality:

Shadow Milk is a massive theatre nerd and poetry buff. He constantly makes theatre metaphors and will sometimes be caught quoting famous poets and plays.

He's dramatic as all hell. Shadow Milk thrives on being the center of attention and gets insanely jealous if cookies aren't paying attention to him. He'll often create havoc with his puppets just to get someone to notice him.

Shadow Milk's emotions tend to jump wildly between extremes if he gets worked up. He can easily go from calm and collected to raging psychopath in the span of milliseconds.

He loves to terrorize cookies. If he believes that he can get a reaction from you, you'll quickly find yourself being targeted by the Beast of Deception and his mind games.

His greatest weakness is his pride. He's completely egotistical and sees himself as above other cookies, especially due to his status as one of the five Beast Cookies. Flattery and praise will immediately distract him from what he's doing, and he's a sucker for discussing literature and theatre with anyone who approaches him asking for advice.

Shadow Milk is a naturally baked storyteller, and it shows especially when he's interacting with children. He can easily entertain children for hours on end if need be, and he'll even team up with Eternal Sugar to lull the rowdier children into sleep. (Although you really shouldn't have your kids near Shadow Milk in the first place.)

He's extremely stubborn. While not necessarily the leader of the Beast Cookies, the other four can't tell Shadow Milk what to do or when to do something... with a slight exception.

Eternal Sugar is the only cookie Shadow Milk will listen to, but even then, she only really ever tells him to calm down when he's going on a rampage.

On rare occasions, Shadow Milk will lock himself away in a private space and spend hours simply writing poetry or creating new screenplays. If you haven't heard from Shadow Milk for over thirty minutes, he's most likely working on a project. However, do not disturb Shadow Milk under any circumstances when he's writing. Whenever he gets interrupted, he has a 90% chance of losing his train of thought and will immediately attack the person who interrupted him.

In Battle:

Either a Bomber-type or a Ranger-type, in the Middle position. He specializes in hitting multiple times and in quick succession. While he's not all that strong physically, he makes up for it with his speed and stamina.

Since Shadow Milk used to be the Virtue of Knowledge before his corruption, he is insanely smart on the battlefield. He doesn't like going into battle personally, though, instead opting to sit on the sidelines and relying on strategy and his own silver tongue rather than brute-forcing it (like Burning Spice.)

Shadow Milk will try to use his power to send the entire battlefield into darkness. After all, it's a lot easier to lie to other cookies if they can't see the truth.

If he's rendered desperate enough, Shadow Milk will join the battle himself. However, if he does, consider yourself crumbled. He's not known as a Beast Cookie for nothing; his strength, speed, endurance, and stamina are inhumanely (un-cookie-ly?) high thanks to his former power as a Virtue, and once he enters the battlefield, Shadow Milk won't hesitate to drop all of his lies in favor of bashing cookies' heads in with his staff.

If he's fighting alongside the other Beast Cookies, he tends to tag-team with either Eternal Sugar or Burning Spice. When he's with Eternal Sugar, he uses his powers of deception to get cookies to lower their guard so Eternal Sugar can ambush them. When Shadow Milk and Burning Spice team up, Shadow Milk uses his reality-warping abilities to manipulate the landscape for Burning Spice to cause as much destruction as possible.

[robinsdearest]

Time is everything we may not have

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

“You better not stay too late.” You glance up from your computer, smiling at the man in your office doorway. Lucius Fox has his jacket thrown over his shoulder. He taps on the glass door, most likely making a note to text your husband to check on you. 

Your laugh bounces across the room. “I promise. It’s not even ten, Mr. Fox.” You make a few unnecessary keyboard clicks for emphasis. 

“Well, Mrs. Wayne,” he pauses as he puts his jacket on. “It’s a Saturday. We shouldn’t have been here to begin with.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you laugh again. Bruce had forgotten to submit a few government reports earlier this week, forcing you and a few select others to work overtime.

Being married to Bruce Wayne definitely had its overall pros and cons. Pro: wonderful, dutiful, and caring husband. Con: tasteless vigilante at night; you know, normal things. All bats aside, you loved your life. You helped raise some pretty amazing children. You worked at Wayne Enterprises alongside Lucius, one of the few sane people in your life. You and Alfred even had special weekly tea nights. The Dark Knight barely reared its ugly head on your side of the story.

You exchange a few more pleasantries before goodbyes, promising Lucius to text him whenever you head out. The morning light still illuminated your area, cascading to the corners of your top floor office. You finish all that your husband failed to do within the next two hours or so, swearing to yourself that you’ll have to keep him more accountable next time. You pack your bag, putting your heels back on before heading out. As you walk, your mind wanders to what tea Alfred has potentially left out for you.

You make it to the elevator when the lights start to flicker. Quite odd, there shouldn’t have been any maintenance scheduled. You pull your phone out to check the employee website. You truly become worried when you notice there’s no signal. You know damn well you paid to have enough Wi-Fi and cell service to power a small city. You sigh, shoving your phone back into your purse. No text to Lucius today. A sudden tremor shakes the skyscraper, forcing you to grab ahold of the nearest wall. The lights flicker again, and you make a beeline for the stairs. Fear and adrenaline course through your veins. At this height, an elevator ride to the bottom very well could be a death trap. There’s no immediate explanation for earthquakes in Gotham, but you don’t have time to question anything. 

Tremors continue to shake the ground as you run down the stairwell. The stairs appear sturdy enough even with the shaking. You drop your bag and shed your heels on the next landing. Workouts with your kids can help train for this type of endurance, however you don’t believe this exact scenario has been practiced. 

A few dozen flight of stairs later, an explosion rattles the entire building, and you’re sent to your knees. The blast seemed close, but the stairwell you were in seems untouched. Your breathing is labored, and your heart is beating in your ears. You check your phone again with no luck- still no service. You attempt to stand back on your feet, yet you’re stopped by another discharge. This blast is much closer as it tears down the walls around you. Individual stairs are rattling, breaking into pieces. The ground caves from beneath you and you’re sent plummeting. Your screams are drowned out with the sound of falling debris. The last thing on your mind is that your husband and children are safe, they have to be safe. Their lives flicker through your memories as your world goes dark.

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

You wake with a cough. It feels as if a terrible weight has settled on your chest. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can barely make out your surroundings. A few steel beams create a makeshift roof, sheltering you from what you assume is the rest of the building you were just standing in. You can barely move your limbs, shaking a few pieces of destroyed building off of you. Thinking of Bruce and your birds, you know the pain now would pale in comparison to their’s if you were to stay here. Scanning your options in the darkness of wreckage, you finally spot a small glitter of light off to your left. Dragging yourself through the smashed concrete, you army crawl your way forward. 

The smoke outside is still settling as you inch from the rubble. The sun is visibly lower than it was before you fell, signaling that you had been out for quite a few hours. 

You look back to the path that you created, a trail of blood left in your wake. Peering down to your legs, the daylight finally illuminates your wounds- your clothes are torn and speckled with your own blood; glass shards litter your body; and a few pieces of concrete are embedded in dirty skin. You probably look as terrible as you feel. The only thought that crosses your mind is Bruce. 

You’ve crawled well enough away from the building to get a better look at the destruction. Wayne Enterprises- or at least what it used to be- is entirely reduced to rubble. The force of the explosion has leveled a block, only several other buildings are seriously damaged. Your corporate brain goes to the paperwork involved with repairing this Gotham district. You force yourself to stand and choose a direction to walk. A few cracked bones, maybe a broken rib or two, at maximum you decide. It explains the inability to breathe. You’re pushed forward by the sheer will to see your husband and your kids. Thinking of their lives without you brings tears to your eyes, leaving a clean trail down your cheeks. 

Despite your injuries, you make it surprisingly far. After several agonizing blocks, you finally see the mob. There are dozens of ambulances, several fire trucks, and more police cars than you can count with a blurry head. You’re acutely proud of yourself for choosing the correct direction to go. You can barely make out the metal barricades separating the emergency crew and the civilians. With the way things are situated, the citizens of Gotham stand between you and a much needed wellness check. Your mind drifts to think of where Bruce might be.

A traffic cone being thrown catches your attention. You strain your eyes and could collapse in relief with what you see. 

Batman has a finger in a police officer’s face. His other gloved hand is resting on another orange victim. You might need to remind him to mind his tantrums. This level of anger seen on the vigilante is quite uncommon. Your eyebrows furrow as your foggy mind attempts to find the reason. Beyond the need to smother Bruce, you know he’s exactly who you need right now. You’re alive and you have to reach him. 

You’ve finally made it to the large group of onlookers; startled gasps cause a path to be made for you. Your eyes are getting heavy and your legs are starting to slow. The adrenaline is wearing off, most likely, and there’s a particular large piece of concrete you can feel is digging into your thigh. You’re trying to not pay attention to the eyes on you. The finish line is right in your reach, the only place you want to be. The only place where you know you can be safe. This damn barricade is right in your way.

Superman’s hand is on Batman’s chest now. Wonder Woman has a hand on his shoulder, most likely speaking in hush tones in an attempt to calm him. Bruce’s cowl is not enough to cover the exasperation on his features: fighting back against Clark’s hand, he’s obviously yelling even if you can’t hear him exactly. What could Bruce be so worked up about? 

Scanning the other first responders, you eventually find Dick speaking with a fireman a dozen feet to your right. The boy you’ve helped raise is still in his Bludhaven police uniform. He looks like an old man with his brows scrunched together like that. You swear quietly, you’ll have to lecture him on his wrinkles later. 

Your ankle gives out as you take another step, launching you into the temporary barrier. The metal clangs too aggressively for your sensitive ears, and it has you swearing louder this time. Your bones seem to be getting heavier with time, and you lean more into the barrier to release some of the tension. 

Suddenly, you hear your name being shouted. Painfully, you raise your head to make eye contact with your favorite policeman. Dick is running towards you, speaking into his transceiver. He reaches you after a few seconds and is grabbing your shoulders to lift your head to meet his eyes. You decide to not call out the wetness of his cheeks, not in front of all these people anyway.

“Oh my god, where were you? You haven’t been answering your phone. God, B has been going insane. Why didn’t you pick up? Where have you been?” Dick’s questions hit your ears, but your brain is slow to process. Concussion, at minimum you decide. He’s still crying as he continues worrying. You mindlessly wonder if Dick’s reasoning for being upset is the same as your husband’s. 

You lift a hand to smooth down the wrinkles on his forehead. This seems to ease his mouth to a slow tremble as the tears continue. 

Dick finally takes an assessment of your current physical status, the tears stop and his eyes go wide.

“Mama.” You smile falters at how serious he gets. “You don’t look so good. W-we have to get you out of here.” He motions over to a pair of paramedics who rush to your side. Before you know it, you’re being carefully lifted over the barrier to be placed on a gurney. 

“No, Dickie.” You grab his hand so he doesn’t leave your side on the way back to the ambulance. Your throat aches but you continue, “I gotta see your dad. I gotta see Bruce.” You can feel the blood rushing to your head from laying down. Things are getting incredibly blurry. You just want to see Bruce, injuries can wait, they’re really not that bad.

Dick is shaking his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead turns his head as his name is being called. You crane your neck to see Barry speed to your side. The EMT’s are loading you in the car as Dick and Barry speak on the ground. You smile weakly at the speedster as the he turns his head to call the others.

At the height in the back of the emergency vehicle, you finally catch Bruce’s eye. 

Batman pushes off Superman’s hand. He breaks out into a sprint just as the ambulance doors close. Dick raises both hands to slow the bat down. Bruce is gesturing towards you and continues to yell. Barry is holding Bruce back this time. Even though you wouldn’t encourage how your husband raises his voice at your kids, you understand the anger, a lot is happening. You wish you could hold B’s stare longer, but your exhaustion takes over.

An oxygen mask is placed over your head as you slowly lose consciousness for the second time today. Realization hits you in the same wave finally: Bruce was worried about you. Bruce was ready to fight Clark, Diana, and Barry to come find you. The lack of service, the explosion, the hours that have ticked by. How long did Bruce think you were dead?

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

When you wake again, it’s dark. The antiseptic smell of a hospital room is what you first notice as the rest of your senses follow. You hollowly feel the morphine in your system, a good solution to any potential pain. The beeping of the EKG fills the room, but is intermittently interrupted by slight snoring. Looking down to your side, there’s a small boy curled into you, his hands fisted tight into your hospital gown. The tuft of black hair tells all: Damian. Slowly wrapping an arm around your smallest bird, a gasp startles you. Whipping your head towards the sound, the sudden motion makes you flinch and swear once again.

“I told you we have to work on your language.” 

Your free hand goes to rub at the back of your neck as you relax. “And I told you to not yell at your children in high stress environments.”

You can make out the outline of a man standing from his chair, making calculated movements towards you. His weight settles on the other side of you, causing you to lean into him, Damian rolling forward as well. Bruce gently cradles your head, kissing your temple. There’s another beat of silence before he speaks again.

“Three hours.” You make a puzzled sound. He kisses your forehead. “How long you were missing. How long I thought you were dead.” Your sharp intake of breathe lets Bruce continue. “Kent threatened to fly me across the world if I didn’t calm down. Diana tried to convince me you weren’t at the office building when it collapsed.”

You stifle a laugh- he very well could have fought Superman to find you. You take his hand to kiss the calloused knuckles. Your head falls into the crook of Bruce’s neck as he explains the event. 

Low level punks thinking they weren’t going to do much damage to Wayne Enterprises or the surrounding business district. Too stupid to know what they were actually doing. You don’t know if it warms your heart or breaks it that you could have been lost to petty crime, not even a big name villain. 

Bruce is running fingers through your hair, the other hand drawing small circles on your hand with his thumb. He tells you about the first call to your phone, the second call to the boys, and finally the third call to the Justice League. He knew where you were; he instinctively knew by the twisting of his gut that you were there and he couldn’t do anything about it. Bruce mentioned how helpless he felt. Something about how Clark needed to check for more explosives before any rescue team could make headway.  

The freshly showered scent of your husband is almost enough to put you back to sleep. He whispers all his feelings and his fears from the day, kissing your head and holding you close. 

It’s an overwhelmingly tender moment. Damian eventually wakes up, hugging you and almost immediately crying upon seeing that you’re awake. At one point, the baby bird leaves to retrieve your other boys. This allows a small moment between husband and wife. 

Bruce cups your face with both hands and kisses you fully. His lips are soft and sweet, a bit salty from his or your tears you’re not sure. He rests his forehead against yours. 

“When I saw you being pulled into that ambulance, I wanted nothing more than to run to you and do just that.” He kisses you again for good measure. “I almost knocked down everything in my path to get to you.” You hum into his lips. 

“I was gross and dirty. You wouldn’t have wanted to kiss me then.” 

It’s Bruce’s turn to laugh. “No.” Another kiss. You can hear your boys on the other side of the door now. Bruce’s smile brightens your room and sends butterflies to your stomach. “Absolutely not.”

[barcalover86]

You and me, was any of it real?- Pablo Gavi

ANGST

Masterlist

He was still there..After all this time, he was still hoping, praying..looking for you.

-----------

"How long will you stay there, Pablo? It's been hours! You are going to get cold, it's already dark"

"Aurora, leave me alone, ok? It's not your business"

She laughed sarcastically.

"Do I have to remind you that she was also my friend!?"

"No, no, don't talk like that!"

Now he turned to look at her. Angry with tearful eyes.

"Like what?" asked his sister, confused.

"In the past" he said with a sob escaping his mouth.

She sighed.

"You have to except it, hermano. It hurts me as well".

After that, he didn't reply, not like he would have wanted to. He remained silent, looking at the stars, waiting for the sun to come out, again.

There he was alone, standing on the beach, looking at the ocean, hoping for you to come back.

You disappeared weeks ago, no one knowing where you went. You had to go meet Gavi after his game, but since dinner, no one saw you ever again.

People looked for you, hoping to find you. Some say that you died and other that you just ran away with a boy, leaving Gavi alone.

What does Gavi believe? He hopes that you ran away with someone rather than thinking that you don't live anymore. He wanted you to text him and judge him, shout at him, telling him that you don't love him anymore and that you found someone knew.. he just wanted to know something of you. To know that you are still alive.

He would have understood if you didn't love him anymore, he would have let you go.. but the reason you disappeared was so off.

You weren't like that. You were the most sincere person he met, the most sweet girl..his sweet girl ...that wouldn't hurt anyone. Anyone

His was standing on the sand. Now he didn't even know who he was talking to, you or himself.

"We would have fought together. And if you thought that you couldn't do it anymore, I would have waited for you! I would have waited thousands of years and hundreds of lifes. Just so in the end to be with you.."

"I could have endured the fact you love someone else. I could have stayed with you and let you cry in my arms whenever he made you cry. I would have been the one that held the door open for you.. every single time you needed to be home.. I would have let you in"

"And we were supposed to make it work together. You loved me, and I love you... and if you hear me right now, come home. Come home and just..be"

He fell asleep at your favourite place. Your favourite view of life. He stayed there in the cold one day more, hoping that he'll find you somewhere in the stars or see you in the sunset and sunrise.

He cried and cried and cried. Begged you to come back, begged you to be ok. Save, healthy, happy.

"Just let go"

For once, he thought he heard your voice, turning around only to see his sister. She gave him a blanket and covered him before handing him a cup of coffee.

"Sometimes, you just have to let go.. if she was really-"

"Is" he corrected.

She smiled sadly.

"If she is meant to be, she'll come back. She'll eventually come back to you"

"And if not?"

"Then she would be a lesson to you. She made you capable of love. After that, you'll find another that will cover the empty in your heart"

"I don't want another, Rora. I only want my girl"

Tears were all over his face, his eyes red and puffy. Aurora put her hands on his cheeks and calming, saying "why don't you want to expect the loss and heal for the future?"

He stayed silent before talking with a shaky voice.

"Because I think this is the last thing I have of her. Somehow, I don't want to heal, knowing that I'll forget her voice and touch. Healing is like forgetting her and if I do it, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for it"

I so love angst-

[callsigns-haze]

Pretty like a crime

Chapter 9

Pairing: Agent Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Singlemom! Agent Y/n 'Cobra' Y/l/n

Summary: Cobra is finally back on the agency and is finally back in the job. With Kai at home she has to jumble being a mother and a agent. She's sent to her first U.C mission but never thought that she would meet a blonde, green eyed Texan...

Warning: Mentions of gun use, ptsd, mentions of death, mentions of shooting, flirting, mentions of abuse, description of dead body, death, blood, undercover work, alcohol use, smut, kissing

Prologue/ Part 1/ Part 2/Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8

The crisp autumn air filled my lungs as I stepped out of the unmarked car, the scene before me bathed in the eerie glow of flashing police lights. Yellow tape cordoned off the area, marking it as a crime scene. As I approached, the faint scent of blood mingled with the scent of damp earth, a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded here.

My gaze swept over the scene, taking in the chaos of scattered evidence markers and the hushed whispers of forensic technicians. A knot formed in my stomach as I knelt beside the lifeless body, the victim's eyes frozen in a silent scream, their expression a haunting echo of the horror they must have endured.

The puzzle stretched out before me, a labyrinth of clues and half-truths waiting to be unraveled. I knew that behind every shattered life lay a story waiting to be told, and it was my job to piece together the fragments of evidence until the truth emerged from the shadows.

As I surveyed the scene, a single thought echoed in my mind: In a world stained with darkness, it was my duty to seek out the light, no matter how faint it may seem.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the crime scene. My partner, Detective Miller, approached, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

"What do we have, Agent?" he asked, his voice low.

I rose to my feet, my mind already racing with possibilities. "Looks like a professional job," I replied, gesturing to the neat arrangement of evidence. "No signs of struggle, no witnesses. It's like they vanished into thin air."

Miller nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Any leads?"

I shook my head, frustration gnawing at the edges of my mind. "Not yet. But we'll find something. We always do."

Together, we began to comb through the scene, each piece of evidence a thread in the intricate tapestry of the investigation. As the hours stretched on, the night seemed to grow darker, the weight of the unsolved mystery pressing down on my shoulders like a leaden cloak.

But I refused to give in to despair. I had seen the worst that humanity had to offer, and yet still, I believed in the power of justice to prevail.

And so, as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, I made a silent vow to the victim lying cold and lifeless before me: We would find the truth, no matter the cost.

---------

The family dinner meetings with the Chevaliers was quite a different kind of game. Alexandre was back in the family but instead Romain left. It wasn't an upgrade but it wasn't a downgrade either. You didn't want to be here, neither did Matthew.

The two of you had put time aside to talk but marvelously his father calls you into a family meeting before you could get any say.

"Where is dad and that whore!" Joris exclaims as you shake your head in disappointment but also since you feel lightheaded. You've been feeling off recently.

"Joris, stop. Your father respects her that's all that matters," you say out of frustration that he blames and calls the other woman wrong things. You lean against the railing as Joris screams at you. "Whose side are you on Y/N?!? Pull yourself together!" You don't even flinch but what's worse is that Matthew doesn't even stand up for you or defend you but instead his brother Alexandre tells Joris to control himself.

What is truly going on.

--------

Today was a day that nobody in the mission force and organisation wanted to experience. The day that a worker is killed. These days every single accomplishment feels useless, especially when a person is a fellow teammate.

Jake was….well devastated. Having a dagger get killed in the streets is something that never should have happened. Jake was close with the squad and so where you but this is something that affected him more.

"I'm sorry babe," you say sitting beside him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling Jake in close as he sat on the couch for ages just staring at his feet. You kissed the top of his head as he leaned into your chest and you wrapped around him more.

"Why Bob though, why in such a way." You didn't know how to answer that question. Bob's body was found cold dead this very early morning in the bin containers outside his house. His neck was twisted, which must have caused the death.

You were on the night shift last night so when they called you to check it out if it was him you wanted to throw up. His skin is all purple and glasses smashed. He had two big prints on two sides of his head. It was a disgusting sight to see.

He must have been drugged. From behind they believe. The person must have snuck up on him the previous night as he was throwing out some trash and treated him like some. After being drugged they could have done anything to him but it seems that the death occurred while being awake so he was on drugs and still awake before his neck got snapped.

"It's ok. Just a little longer, ok? Then this will all be ok." Your small words of encouragement meant a whole big wave of reality to woosh over Jake. Just a few more days until everything will be ok.

You knew that Jake needed this. He needed a sense of that everything will be okay and that he won't be alone. He needed to have the sense that his family will never leave him alone. His family is you and Kai.

------

You were at the base today with only Phoenix and Rooster. Jake took the day off and anyways someone needed to take care of Kai after all. Phoenix looked wrecked, she had just lost her partner and closest friend.

Bradley didn't look any better. Hair messed up and no cocky smile was on his face. You looked at the two of them in pity. You didn't know bob well but you could tell that people cared about him and his death will be something that won't go past without a second thought.

"It doesn't make sense," Phoenix lets out, breaking the overwhelming silence and you look at her to see what her point was. Bradley began to look at her now but you didn't look, you inspected. You weren't sure what this was about but hopefully it was what you meant.

"Bob was looking into one of Justin's cases and boom, dead. And it is his style of murdering!" Phoenix may be on a track here. Bob recently started pulling out files to do with Justin and now magically he's dead. That's wrong.

Justin was a mad man and was trained to be an agent but when an agent became a murder of another that is one thing that'll never be forgiven.

Phoenix had a plan and it could actually work. If the three of you got up and stood in Justin's way, he'd pay for the pain and misery he brought upon agent Floyd.

"Accusing is a one way gate to hell, Phoenix," you warn her as the three of you enter the fight area where a case just has begun to be carried out. She looks at you in doubt but simply nods. Your opinions were tolerance. They were purity and adapted by everyone and she knows that you've been in severe cases so it is better to trust you word to word.

------

"So you want them all gone?" You ask Olivia as she goes through all her plans with you. She trusted you and you respect that but she wants all the Chevaliers gone, things you learned today were horrid.

Olivia knows the Chevaliers because of the accident that happened ten years ago. The Fortuny family were….not so fortunate. Firstly, father drowned and his body washed back to shore and then his wife and two kids. The mother and two kids were killed in a car accident. The car was pushed off the cliff road and burned that way, it was done with purpose.

It was not an accident.

The only one who made it out with life was the daughter Emma. She managed to survive the car explosion. She was also Alexandre's girlfriend back then but the incident was one of the reasons he left the family.

She died in the hospital a week later.

But that was all a lie. She didn't die. You didn't know much about this case because ten years back you were just a fifteen year old girl living back in America with Tom and Sarah, so french incidents didn't even reach you.

Emma didn't die that week though. The incident never killed her. She was sitting right in front of you. She wanted revenge as well. Olivia is Emma.

-------

You're running, the case escalated instantly. You didn't know how to get out or how to run from this but it was getting serious. You had only seconds to get out of her and survive. You grab your gun from your left hand slot in your belt and you point it at an angle once you sprint. You had to know every way of possible consequences. You needed out.

The antagonist that the three of you were meant to confront ran for it but had a load of artillery on him making him more dangerous than possible. You sprint and see him. He doesn't see you, that's the magic of this situation. You could pull any string, play any game but the one that comes out of this is you.

All you had to do is point your gun directly at that silhouette of the figure, all you had to do is pull the trigger. All you had to do was shoot.

You pull the trigger.

You never did it so fast in your life. Your bones trembled in fear. You had to get back to your squadron. You couldn't even check the body, you had to get back, being out in the open with no bulletproof jacket or proper protective gear risked your life.

You turn left, left and then right. It was like a maze but it had to be completed. You weave your way back and soon start to realise the familiar landmarks as previously. You don't know what it is but something like this scares you.

Missions like your previous one that you and Jake did together did not bother you but this one scared the sack out of you. You never knew what it was but it always trembled in your veins.

You finally see the squad and see Bradley standing there, he looks pale, as if his life was crushed. You take your gun out of the right pocket and walk over to the gear technician that takes your weapon off you and counts the left bullets.

With slow easy steps you make your way to Bradley's side to notice him crying. You had no clue what had just occurred. You never seen the grown man cry and out of instinct you wrap your arms around him as a comfort mechanism.

"They shot her, Cobra. She's gone too." He whispers that in between sons on your shoulder. It takes you a good second to figure out the situation but you finally understand.

Phoenix got shot to death.

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[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

The time had come for a purge — a leadership so rotten to the core that it had bled into and sullied the earth where it took its roots. Teeth gnashed and the growl of a prowling pack of wolves was near, and they were bloodthirsty.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ➣ Bodyguard!CW!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader x Bodyguard!Winter Soldier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ➣ 4.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ➣ Fluff, angst, dark themes, familial physical abuse, descriptions of assassination, a lot of their past is uncovered with a surprise visitor

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ➣ Well, here is the start of a whole new arc for these three — the moment I have been planning since the very beginning and working out how it would happen, is finally here. ➣ @smutconnoisseur had a huge part in the basis of this, all those months ago, and I can only hope what I have done has given her idea justice — buckle up and enjoy!

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ➣ Hunt You Down by The Hit House, William August Hunt, Scott Lee Miller, Ruby Friedman ➣ Sinners and Saints by Andrea Wasse ➣ Deadwood by Really Slow Motion ➣ Holding Out for a Hero by Nothing But Thieves ➣ Burn by 2WEI, Edda Hayes ➣ We Know What You Whisper by Busiswa Gqulu, Ludwig Göransson ➣ How Villains Are Made by Madalen Duke ➣ Go To Hell, for Heaven's Sake by Bring Me The Horizon

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ ��𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ➣ @allcapsbingo 𝗡𝟰 — White Wolf — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was dark. Your first glance around the room left you that conclusion, and the door stood only slightly ajar. The hallway was dark, too — no light from the kitchen, nor were there any lights on elsewhere. 

Bucky and James, ever the tacticians, had set their home up in a way that wherever you were in the house, you would know if a light was on, or you would hear even the slightest creak. 

You called them paranoid, they called themselves practical. 

Which, with the truth of things and all of what they had seen, not to mention their line of work, you couldn’t blame them. 

What stumped you, however, was that you could hear the low murmur of voices. Russian curses and words, and was that a laugh? Dark and hollow, void of humour, and far too dangerous to be considered friendly. 

After the day you had endured, the yelling match with your father and the backhanded slap that had sent you reeling, you wanted nothing more than just to curl up with both Bucky and James — content to sleep the winces of pain and the vicious slither of anger away. 

It seemed they had other ideas, of which included bringing a stranger into their fortress of an abode. 

You shuffled to the edge of the bed and threw one of Bucky’s shirts on, then walked slowly to the bedroom door. The voices were a little louder, more discernible. A male’s voice, a low tone that hummed with implicit threat. “And just how do you expect this to pan out?” 

“A blood bath,” Bucky replied, just as dangerous. “They’re making their move. It’s not like they believe the bullshit of feigned innocence. He has to go, whether it’s by our hand…” There was a pause, followed by the sound of a low grumble and shuffled movement. Then a growl of, “Or another’s.”

“Mine,” James said just as quietly. 

You blanched and placed a hand on the door when that same hollow laugh bounced off the walls again. “Well,” the voice said in a loud scoff. “You really have it out for him, huh?”

“He is dangerous,” James growled, and you heard the slither of poison in his voice. You pictured him on the edge of his seat, a snarl on his lips. “I will not have him hurt her, not again.” 

Your mouth parted in shock. Slowly, you opened the door, careful to keep it from creaking, and you padded down the hall when the conversation abruptly stopped with the last words of, “He will be on the move in a few hours. I have set up-”

Silence followed, but you still crept forward. The stranger’s voice suddenly called, “She’s awake.” 

You peered around the corner and found Bucky and James looking at you from over the back of the couch, and the stranger, remarkably stoic and intimidating, sat on the chair opposite. He stared at you with calculating eyes — just as cold and intimidating as James had been when you first met him. 

“Kisa,” James said softly, and he twitched a smile. “Are you alright?”

Frowning, you stepped closer and Bucky let out a sharp exhale. The bruises left behind from your father’s rings had bloomed and decorated your cheeks like a stain. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered. “C’mere, come sit with me.”

The three men watched you like a hawk; two of them concerned, one intensely curious. 

With a wince of pain twisting your face, you sat down on Bucky’s lap sideways, grateful to feel his arm cradling your sore back and the other resting over your thighs. “I’m just sore,” you whispered. 

Bucky kissed your forehead and rested his cheek there, his hand moving up and down your thigh to soothe you. “You took a hell of a hit,” he rumbled, and the stranger raised a brow. 

James breathed a heavy sigh and put a hand on your shin. “It is alright, darling. Do you mind if we keep talking?” You shook your head and burrowed into Bucky’s chest, placing a hand over his heart and mindlessly fidgeting with his shirt collar. James looked at the stranger and began again, “As you have said, he will be on the move in a few hours?”

The stranger nodded, his focus shifting from you to James. You realised they looked eerily similar. “Yeah, he’ll be out to finalise something or rather.”

“Be specific,” Bucky snapped. 

“A contract came up with a new import opportunity. His company secured it. I don’t think I need to fill in the details,” the stranger deadpanned, eyes boring into Bucky’s face. You shrunk under the heat of such a stare. 

“Enough,” James said quickly. “Kisa, darling, this is… Wolf. He is an old accomplice.” 

“And an arrogant fucker,” Bucky edged in, voice dark. “You forgot to mention that.”

James glared at Bucky and he finally simmered down, the tenseness of his shoulders melting away. You decided to speak up. “What are you doing here?”

Wolf blinked, glanced at James, then, “They called me to organise intel—maybe I should hear the story for myself, since these two get close to flying of the handle at the mention of your-”

“You say one more word and I swear to fuck, Wolf, you’ll eat through a fuckin’ straw for the rest of your miserable life,” Bucky growled, teeth bared. 

James rolled his eyes. “Moy Bog, Yasha.” Bucky tensed and looked at James, frowning — much like a kicked puppy. James raised his brows and gestured for you to move towards him, and you followed, settling between the two of them on the couch. “Will you just swallow your pride for just one moment?”

There was a low grumble and Bucky slouched back in surrender, fuming, but quiet. 

“Now,” James started again, resting a hand on his knee while the other pointed at the scattered documents on the table in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed them. “Kisa can tell you what happened, and then we can move on, yes?” He looked back up at Wolf and snarled his next words. “Yego neobkhodimo ustranit'. Slishkom mnogoye visit na voloske. Nam ne vazhno, kak, no segodnya vecherom on ispustit posledniy vzdokh... Konets istorii.”

Wolf smirked, a sly thing. “You are slipping back into old habits…” A knife was suddenly embedded into the back of the seat, right next to his head. He cast his eyes towards Bucky. “You missed.”

Bucky was staring straight back; vitriol and fury twisting his features to be inhuman. “Choose your next words very carefully.”

With a sigh, Wolf sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, lowering his head. That same stare James had perfected looked much more menacing on his pseudo twin — though, with the shorter hair and his stubble, he looked more rugged. “Go on then,” he said, looking at you. 

Both James and Bucky reached for you — Bucky rested a hand on your lower back, and James held your hand. “Tell him what happened, dorogya. What he did to you.”

You blinked, and casted your mind back to the beginning of your day; where it all went wrong.

There was a text from your father, from not even five minutes ago, when your phone insistently rang in your hands. Bucky was driving the car and James was sat in the passenger seat when you answered the call. 

The bellowing voice of your father in a fit of rage made you drop the phone in shock, and James looked back at you, stony-faced and cold. “Give it to me,” he said softly. You handed it to him and shivered at the rage in your father’s voice as he spoke to James, while James only replied curtly. 

He ordered you to his office within the next half hour, and you had no choice but to obey — helpless against the tidal wave of fear for what awaited you behind those giant office doors. Even Beth seemed hesitant to send you through, but you assured her that you would be alright. 

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Bucky and James had followed behind you and waited at the door. You hadn’t wanted them to experience first hand just how volatile your father’s rage could be — an explosion at best, a decimation at worst. 

The moment you walked through that threshold, you knew you had made a mistake. 

He was pacing back and forth behind his desk, and his fists were clenched so tightly you were sure they would be akin to steel. When he looked up and saw you in the entryway, he glared furiously before spitting, “Where have you been?” 

You steeled yourself, took a deep breath, and squared your shoulders. Lying would only make the situation worse, so you elected to be truthful. “I was out. James and Bucky were with me–it was just errands.”

“That is bullshit,” he snapped, and he rounded the desk to stand right in front of you. In his fury, he hadn’t been thinking with his sound mind — not like he ever did when it came to his perceived slights on his intelligence. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I told you,” you said, standing your ground. “I was just out with James and Buck-”

He swung. The pain bloomed across your cheek and you yelped with the intensity — studded diamond rings left indents on the soft tissue and you felt a trickle of blood begin to fall. The second hit to your other cheek was a shock and you stumbled to the floor, landing painfully on your hip with a gasp. 

The ringing of your ears blocked out the sound of his furious tirade, but you watched his mouth work furiously around insults and insinuations of incompetency and deceit. 

It was then the office doors burst open. Wood splintered and rained down as both doors bounced off the wall, leaving two large dents behind on the plaster. 

You looked over at James and Bucky — their gazes flickered between your tear stained face and slumped figure on the carpeted floor of the office, and the reddened, twisted face of your father. 

James was the first to speak, and his voice, behind the mask and muffled as it was, dripped with such vitriol that even you shied away. “What did you do? Why is she-” He looked at you again, and those eyes, normally filled with warmth and adoration, were cold in his anger. “She is bleeding.”

The room became tense with furious energy, and you whimpered from the pain of your face. “Get out, you’re not needed right now,” your father barked, ignoring James as he pointed towards the door. 

Neither James nor Bucky moved, instead, they slowly advanced. Their steps were careful, calculated and sure. 

“I said get out!” your father boomed. “I am not paying you to-”

“You are paying us to watch out for your daughter.” Bucky stepped forward, his shoulders high and broad as he planted himself right in front of the blustering man. James sidestepped to stand in front of you, shielding you from the two men fit to come to blows. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Laying hands on our girl!”

Your father swelled in his anger; face ruddy with rage. “She’s my daughter, the fuck you mean ‘your girl’?” Bucky’s fists clenched and you watched, frozen in horror, as your father squared his own shoulders and swung, hitting Bucky in the shoulder. 

“You will never lay a hand on her again, you fucking bastard,” Bucky growled, his voice so deep it reverberated off the walls with it’s implicit threat. “And we will make fucking sure of it, you son of a bitch.”

James was suddenly in your vision, his eyes blank and void, but his hands were soft as he grabbed your elbows. “Up. We need to go.” 

The yells and shouts between Bucky and your father had drawn everyone’s attention — clerks and assistants watched you stumble from the office with James who stalked determinedly away from the scene, low murmurs of comforting words keeping you grounded as the lift took you down to the parking garage.

“Breathe, kotenok,” James whispered, holding you to his chest as you shook. “I have you—Bucky will be down soon, and we can take you home.”

In the car, you watched Bucky drive with a stony expression while James spoke on the phone — rapid Russian and commands, none of which you could make out until he hung up and looked at Bucky. “He will meet us tonight.”

Bucky nodded stiffly. “Sooner the fuckin’ better.”

The regalement of the events left a sour taste on your tongue, and you sniffled. “And that’s what happened,” you concluded. The pain in your cheek and hip throbbed in tandem, and you sobbed. “I don’t know why-”

“Well,” Wolf cut in, staring at you, his gaze focusing on the blooming bruises on your cheeks. “No man should lay a hand on a woman. Let’s just state that fact first.”

“Something we can agree on,” Bucky mumbled.

Wolf rolled his eyes. “My intel is as good as you can get. Who’s taking the shot?”

“Wait,” you said, freezing in place. “What do you mean–?” No one answered your question for a moment, and your heart raced. The tension in the room skyrocketed and became unbearable. “What do you mean taking the shot?” you repeated, staring at Wolf.

James leaned forward and pointed at the documents on the table. The one directly on top was a piece of paper, with a fancy header and signatures lined the bottom — it looked official, something from a legal team. 

“Your father,” James began quietly, hesitating. “Well, he is… He is not as good natured as everyone else believed.” You couldn’t help the snort of laughter at that observation, and James smirked slightly. “He has been lying to his whole legitimate company, and he has upended the goings of many, many street gangs and he has flipped them into loan sharking. Worse things.” He shuffled the paper to show stills of surveillance footage. There was a body, and your father stood over it. “He has been dirtying his hands.”

“What,” you breathed, looking closely at the picture, then the documents. “Is that a- A will?”

Bucky shuffled forward and pointed at the bottom of another document. “And he is signing his fortune over to you. The legitimate part of his business, anyway. Your father will be going down with the corrupt side of his ventures, and Wolf here will help us.”

You blinked and looked from Bucky, to Wolf, to James. “Are you meaning to tell me that my father, the man that has kept me under his thumb for my whole life, is… He is going to be shot?”

“Yes,” James said simply. “And I am the one that is going to do it.”

Heavy, tangible silence followed James’ statement. Something akin to disbelief forbade the words from settling in your mind — it did not feel real. 

“It will be marked as a hit, yes,” Wolf explained, and he leaned forward to pull a case out from underneath the table. “But your father is a real piece of work and he is no way near a fucking saint, I’ll say that much. James here will pose under the guise of a rival mob, contractor, whatever we feed the cops, and you will be able to walk away with clean money and a new life.”

The news of your father’s assassination by the hand of James made you frightened beyond belief, but not for the reason you had expected. No love was lost for the man that had raised you – he had been tyrannical and quick to call all of your shortcomings, that was not what made your stomach roil, nor for your body to break out into a sweat. 

“But, what if–if you get caught?” you asked quietly, looking at James. 

He smiled. “Kisa, I may have been away from that life for many, many years now, but such skills never leave.” There was a sigh next to you, but you didn’t look at Bucky. “I cannot and I will not stand for what he is. And I would also like you to be free. I have seen how you feel constrained and trapped.”

“The world will be better off without that bastard,” Bucky sneered. “Much better off.”

A thought occurred to you. If your father wasn’t alive to keep them employed… “What about us? I mean,” you rushed, blinking the sudden burn of tears away. “What if he goes and- And I-”

Bucky arched his brows in shock. “Doll, do you really think we’d leave you?” he asked, astonished. 

“I don’t know, I-” 

“Never,” James whispered. “It will never happen. You are our girl, our sweet Kisa—nothing that happens from now on will change that. We swear to it.” Both men leaned into your space, James kissed you on the temple and Bucky kissed you on the cheek. 

“This is lovely and all,” Wolf sighed, gesturing at you. “But the clock’s ticking-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky snapped again, glaring at Wolf. “Just because you’re a lonely son of a bitch does not mean you can come in here-”

“Please don’t fight,” you whispered, and both men looked at you, surprise etched on their faces. “I can’t take it, not tonight.” 

Wolf and Bucky looked sheepish, but they continued their plan, involving you in every discussion and every step. It mostly flew over your head, the logistics and placements, but when they concluded, and James stood from the couch to grab that case, you rose with him. 

“Be careful, Jamie.” Your arms went around him, and he hugged you back just as tightly. “I can’t lose you.”

“You will not, darling. I am a tough cookie, as you say,” he replied softly, smiling at your small giggle. “Now, you will stay here, with Wolf, and he will update you. It will just be Bucky and I out there.”

You nodded against his chest, and pulled back where he kissed you on the lips. “YA lyublyu tebya, Kisa.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. 

Bucky then stood next to you and embraced you both. “Let’s go take care of this fucker—free our girl.”

It was half an hour later when both James and Bucky emerged from a room down the hallway. James wore his full tactical suit, mask and goggles included, while Bucky wore his own tactical vest and pants – the flood of black brought out his eyes and since both of their gleaming arms were covered, you guessed they’d be hard pressed to be found. 

“Watch our girl, and don’t be a dick,” Bucky warned Wolf, pointing at him. 

Wolf raised his hands from his set up on the table, a laptop and comms device next to it. “Scout’s honour.”

You watched, full of trepidation, as they walked out the door, sniper case in hand, towards the car that awaited them under the cover of their garage. Fear coiled up your spine and set your heart racing, a beat against your ribs that you swore would break them. 

“Relax,” Wolf said quietly from behind the laptop. For the first time, he looked kind; sincere in his reassurance. “Those two are the best at what they do. They’ll be fine.”

It was a while before you managed to speak once more — too afraid of your voice cracking with the waves of fear that held you like a vice. 

“How do you know them?” you asked, curious about their origins. You took a seat next to him and looked at the laptop, it was then you realised it was the live feedback from James’ goggles. “James and Bucky.”

There was a long, long silence before Wolf sighed. “I knew them from another life. James—he was my associate back when… we were not so lucky. He pulled me out.” The computer beeped and the feed changed to be from some kind of scope. “Ah. They’re almost there, James just switched on the rifle,” he explained, pointing at the corner of the screen where text stated where the footage was from. “Anyway, Bucky came back for me at the insistence of James, I guess. We never liked one another but he still saved my ass.”

“I know that they haven’t always been what they are now,” you hedged, fidgeting with your fingers as you watched the split screen of James’ goggles and the scope while he assembled the rifle. “God, I’m so scared, what if they’re found?”

The grin that Wolf sent you made you even more on edge. “Don’t you worry.” He looked back at the screen where you could see James looking down an extended barrel and scope. “James was my mentor.”

Another beep sounded from the laptop and the comms at the same time. “Go for it,” Wolf said, and then there was static. 

Bucky’s voice came through, as clear as though he was in the room right next to you. “Target spotted, line secure—are we clear?”

Wolf held a finger to his lips to stop you from cutting in and he said, “Go for it. Position?”

“Intel was correct. Lining the shot,” James replied, and you heard the monotonous tone; felt it in your bones. “Base, are we clear? Where is she?”

“Right here,” Wolf replied. He nodded at you once — an all clear to talk.

“Jamie? Buck?” you ventured, voice small. “Are you two okay?”

“Better than okay, doll,” Bucky replied quietly. “Goin’ dark soon, just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

There was a heavy breath from James’ line, then, “You can leave the room, darling. This will not be pretty.”

“No,” you said sharply. “I want this to be done. I want to be free.”

“‘Atta girl,” Bucky whispered, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Target approaching. Black.” 

Bucky’s line cut, then James’, and then a quick succession of events happened all at once. The screen, green and black from the night vision, centred on a lone man walking towards the entrance of an opulent casino. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw the scope shudder from the action of the bolt. 

Freedom was seconds away; milliseconds. 

“Something’s not right,” Wolf said suddenly, and he pushed the comms device with such force it sent feedback through the lines. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late. 

The gun in James’ hand fired and the bullet flew towards its intended target, when it happened. Thugs came up behind your father, but the bullet connected with his temple before they could either land a hit or pull him from harm’s way. His body crumpled, landing awkwardly against the blood splattered wall.

You could see the thugs raise their guns and search for the shooter, when they pointed their sights towards an alley. “Fuck,” Wolf hissed. “Bucky—that’s his- Fuck.”

The scope feed became blurred with movement, and you could make out James’ black boots and thigh holsters as he ran from his perch atop the building and into the streets. 

“No, sit down,” Wolf suddenly ordered, and you blinked. You hadn’t even realised you had begun to stand, nor had you realised your mouth was open in a silent scream. “Just stay here. They’ve got this. Something must have given Bucky away.”

You watched, heart in your throat, as the feed from James’ goggles showed he was sprinting to the scene where Bucky was locked in a firefight with the thugs. It happened so quickly you didn’t even have time to blink when there was the muzzle flash of James’ Skorpion, and bodies fell, toppling like dominoes. 

“Oh, my god,” you breathed, shuddering. “They’re okay, please—they have to be okay!”

Bucky came into view of the camera, and he appeared unscathed. He didn’t even have a limp in his gait or a trace of blood on his face. Static came from the comms machine and then James’ voice came through. “Clear, unharmed.” The cam showed James stalking towards your father’s body, and you closed your eyes.

“He’s checking that he is down,” Wolf said quietly, and you nodded, not needing to see the moment James checked for a pulse. 

“Target down. We are headed back,” James said monotonously, and the laptop beeped once more. You glanced at it to see the feed cut, leaving a plain screen with lines of numbers and letters. 

It was a heart wrenching wait for them to come back. You stood at the door, pacing back and forth while Wolf cleared up the paperwork and packed away his tech. A low rumble of an engine came into earshot and your heart picked up at the nearness, when it cut out. Footsteps followed straight after, and then the front door opened. 

Bucky was standing there, nonplussed and not even scuffed from the fight, and James was right behind him, sniper case in hand. His goggles and mask were off, too. 

“You’re back.” You launched yourself into Bucky’s arms and he staggered. “You’re back! Oh god, you’re back!”

With them back within reach and safe, your heart seemed to leap and bound in relief. You could only repeat the mantra in between kissing them; ever grateful for the last chain to be cut from your wings, allowing you to spread them. 

You turned to Wolf and smiled. “Thank you for this, for keeping them safe.” 

He shrugged and held out the paperwork, and you took it, the very top document being the will that you realised was no doubt forged, but it left you with clean, indisputable funds while his business crumbled. His time had come, the double life he had led would no longer hurt the innocent. “You’re welcome. Enjoy being a free woman.”

James and Bucky walked him out, and James handed the case back over. “You will not hear from me again.”

Wolf only grinned and walked out the door, calling back over his shoulder, “I doubt that.”

The door slammed closed and James collected you into his arms. “I think it is time to relax.”

“Agreed,” Bucky huffed, cracking his neck. 

After showering and setting up a marathon of movies, the three of you laid in bed together, mulling over the events of the night. 

The loss of your father you would have expected to hit harder, be more painful, and the lack of sorrow worried you. You voiced as such, and the two men were silent for a time. 

“You will feel it when you least expect it,” Bucky offered carefully, a thoughtful furrow in his brow. “Kitten, he was a piece a’work, a vile man. And while he may have had his time coming, there was no way on heaven or earth were we going to let him walk free after laying a hand on you—his own fuckin’ daughter.”

The words were comforting, and you burrowed closer to them when James turned to you. 

“You are free now, Kisa,” James whispered, holding you close. His thumb brushed your cheek and there was such affection in his gaze that you couldn’t help but preen. “Free to be who you wish, free to be you.”

Bucky shuffled closer — effectively pinning you in place between them. “And we’re always goin’ to be here, doll,” he whispered soothingly, and James hummed an ascent. “Don’t you worry about that. Now you’ve got a new life to lead, and we’re goin’ to be there every step of the way.”

You decided then, in that moment, that you were excited for what laid ahead.

yego neobkhodimo ustranit'. slishkom mnogoye visit na voloske. nam ne vazhno, kak, no segodnya vecherom on ispustit posledniy vzdokh... konets istorii = he needs to be eliminated. too much hangs in the balance. we don't care how, but tonight he will take his last breath... end of story.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[southfarthing]

Happy Tolkien Reading Day! Today is the day the One Ring was destroyed, but more importantly, it is the day Faramir and Éowyn's hands met and clasped, though they did not know it, and still they waited for they knew not what, and Faramir said, "In this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!" and he stooped and kissed her brow, and their hair, raven and golden, streamed out mingling in the air

[smok3r7]

Is Leaving Even An Option?

Joel x F!reader

Explicit, 18+

Four: Relief

Series Masterlist & Main Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: Your days have become one in the same, even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?

Chapter Summary: The same night you meet Joel, Nate becomes aggressive and does something way out of the norm. This causes you to reach out for help to your new neighbor, Joel. How does asking for help change your life?

Word count: 4.5k

⚠️Warnings: fear of husband, running and hiding from him, mentions of rape (no description), mentions of beating, self-hatred

—

“Go away!” You scream as you sprint to the dark gray bedroom door and slam it behind you, locking it immediately. The jar of pickles you had is now shattered somewhere on the stairs from you dropping them when you heard Nate get up from his recliner to follow you.

“You bitch!” He slurs as he starts to pound the other side of the door with both hands. You back up to the bathroom connected to the room and slam the door shut, locking it too, then jump in the porcelain bathtub, lay on your side, and you start to cry, muffling it with the fabric of your sleeve. You can still hear him hitting the door and his now muffled voice, still yelling about something you can’t make out.

How did you end up here? How did you become so weak? Why don’t you stick up for yourself more?

The sound of the bedroom door breaking sends a terrifying chill through your cold body, and holy shit, you think to yourself, he’s gonna kill me. “C'mere you whore,” he hiccups now on the other side of the bathroom door and slowly knocks on it, then he drunkenly sings, “Ooh Mrs.Rossi, come out come out, wherever you are.”

Your mind is racing as he continues to slowly knock, taunting and playing with you, and you almost wish he would lay his hands on you instead of this mental torture he loved so goddamn much. You would rather take his hands over his words any day, because the wounds left on your skin can heal. His words, however, leave an imprint on your soul like a steaming hot brand on cattle - it’s there forever.

The knocking abruptly stops, you sit up with your knees in your chest as you wrap your arms around your bent legs, and you look towards the white door, seeing the shadow of his feet through the sliver between the floor and the door. “I said,” his tone changes to a serious one, “Come here, my dear Mrs.Rossi.” A beat goes by and you stay silent, even holding your breath, trying to make yourself disappear like a magician doing his rabbit in the hat trick.

A sense of desperation forms in your core and flows through your blood, you wish you could ask for help, but you’re inevitably fucked.

Still no noise has come from either of you, eyes zoned in for any kind of movement. You then watch how his shadow stumbles away from the door, and you finally let out that breath that’s been trapped in your lungs for what felt like hours. You don’t dare move out of the tub, because the smallest noise could bring him right back to torture you and, to be honest, you’re not sure if you’ll make it out of this beating.

Flipping your right wrist over to look at your watch - well, Rosa’s, one of her personal items you grabbed - and you put together that an hour has gone by with you in the bathroom, an hour since the last time you heard any sort of noise from Nate. He’s gotta be passed out by now, you think to yourself, trying to make yourself believe it, but you decide to wait another hour, just to be safe, because if he is sleeping, you can run over to Maria’s for the rest of the night and deal with Nate tomorrow when he’s sober.

While you wait and stare at the little black hands on your dainty silver watch to move to the nine and twelve, nine PM is all you need to anxiously wait for. You are in disbelief about how your life has come to this; you hiding in the bathtub in the bathroom you share with your husband, from your husband.

The overwhelming feeling of loneliness and self-hatred starts to slowly consume you from the inside out, because you used to be an expert about seeing through men and their evil twisted lies. However, for some irrational reason, you were and still kind of are, blind when it comes to Nate. Even though he hurts the hell out of you, in more ways than one, he knows exactly how to lasso you and pull you back into his warm arms.

It’s pretty infuriating and ironic how he is the reason for your pain and yet, he’s the one who helps to make you feel better, for the small time being. Shit, it’s honestly pathetic that you keep allowing it to happen, there’s absolutely no reason why you should still be married to him; you don’t have kids, you’re not dependent on him anymore, and lastly, Maria and Tommy told you that they would let you stay with them until there was a home available.

Tommy was actually the one who pulled you aside not too long after Maria put the pieces together last year and he had gotten extremely emotional when he said, “I put Nate on patrol with Daniel. I’m so sorry for all that you’ve been dealing with by yourself, I am disgusted with myself for not having noticed. I want you to know my loyalty stays with you, a million times over. Please don’t hesitate to come to me or Maria for help, okay, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t believe that Tommy, who had been Nate’s right hand man since the beginning of Jackson, had written Nate off entirely and favored you in this matter. It gave you some sense of hope for something good to happen, but in the end, you’re still here a year later, in the same situation, but now you hold your own a little better.

The sudden urge to pee hits you and brings you back down to earth. Fuck, you glance away from the silver faucet you were staring at, and as you flip your wrist again, your eyes widen as you notice the hand's location, ten fifty-three PM stares back at you like a hawk eyeing its prey.

Please please, you repeat in your head as you carefully put your hands on either side of the edge of the tub and push yourself on your feet, and both your knees pop, echoing through the silent, tiled bathroom. You curse to yourself as you step onto the white bath rug, praying that he doesn't hear you. All you have to do is unlock the door, open it quietly, and get downstairs then sprint out the front door. Should be easy, right?

You tiptoe to the door and unlock it, wrapping your shaky hand around the cold knob, taking a deep breather for a moment to spark a bit of confidence in yourself to sneak past him, wherever he is. Your heart is beating rapidly, enough where you think it might leap out of your chest, your stomach doing flips, making you jittery.

With your hand still on the knob, you slowly turn it with your free hand on the door itself to keep it quiet. The pleading in your head is still there as you silently and slowly push the white door open. Before you fully open the only thing keeping you alive, the first thing your eyes notice is the gray door that leads to the hallway from your bedroom, and the bottom half of it has been kicked in.

Seeing this makes you swallow heavily - this has never happened before so you really don’t know what’s in store for you. You quietly push the door just a little bit more and as you step out onto the navy plush carpet, you turn your head to the left and you’re greeted with Nate eyes wide open, his tall statue-like figure sitting on the edge of the king size mattress you share.

You’re frozen in your tracks. Both your hands drop to your side, your breathing starts to become erratic, your chest heaving up and down, and sweat beads start to form on your skin. No fucking way, you panic, how is he still up?

“There she is.”

—

Hold on, hold on! You hear Ellie on the other side of the oak door. You’re back standing on the cream porch you had been on hours earlier, but instead of being here to show them the new home, you’re now there for any source of help.

The door swings open, “Who the he-“ Ellie starts but as soon as she sees you standing opposite to her, she stops. All you’re dressed in is a black tank top, plaid sleep shorts, and a pair of gray socks that are soaked from the snow when you walked over. You stay silent as you watch Ellie’s eyes gaze at your bruised and broken body, you don’t doubt that she knows what went down.

“Fuck, um- come on in, please, please,” she rapidly tells you and welcomes you inside the home that is almost identical to yours, without that distinct gloomy, unsettling aurora floating around. It’s actually an incredibly welcoming feeling that wraps around you as soon as you step foot inside.

“Here,” Ellie runs over to the closet across the room and grabs a smaller blanket out of it, “wrap this around you, go sit down, and I’ll go grab Joel.” Still not having said anything, you reach your arm out to take the blanket she has offered and you nod your head.

Your body is on autopilot as you drag your frozen wet feet across the hardwood floor to the open living room and plop your heavy feeling body on the tan colored couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and bringing your knees to your chest, curling into your comfort position.

Joel. Joel. Joel. He’s all you desperately crave at this moment, and even though you don’t know a thing about this man, you still desire him and his comforting atmosphere. You’re so out of it that you don’t even hear Ellie run upstairs or the noise of Joel’s heavy footsteps sprinting down the steps to quickly aid you.

Suddenly the shape of Joel’s body is in front of you, then he shrinks down to sit on the wooden table, his gaze now meeting yours, and you watch as his beautiful eyes are full of concern, darting all over your meek body, making you tighten your arms more.

“You’re staying here for a little bit, sugar,” Joel states, trying to keep his anger from taking over from seeing you like this. Hearing him say that with such ease and honest concern causes you to finally let go of all the tears and anger you’ve been holding onto for all these years.

“Than- Yo- I-” you sob between words, trying to say anything but you simply can’t make anything out. Shh, Joel hops off the table and sits down on the cushion next to yours, softly grabs your trembling body and pulls you to sit in his lap as he cradles you like a newborn baby.

You’re violently weeping into his chest as he slowly rocks and shushes you. The way he holds you in his safe arms makes you feel more loved than ever before.

You’re not sure how much time has gone by but you have stopped sobbing, though tears continue to roll down your cheek, your face still. “You don’t have to tell me now,” Joel’s voice makes your body vibrate as he speaks, “But I wanna know what happened.”

The way his voice sounds, you can tell he is aggravated but upset by seeing you hurt. You’ve been staring at his chest, the way his dark blue T-shirt clings to his body, you’ve memorized the pattern of his breaths and yours matched with his. But now that he’s asked and with such clarity, you figure that you have to tell him. It’s the least you could possibly do right now with him and Ellie being nothing but helpful.

Slowly, you lift your face to look at him and you notice that he’s already gazing down at you with the same whiskey eyes that make you swoon just by looking. The shame you’ve been experiencing flies away in a second just by seeing how much he truly cares. It’s not like Nate’s face when you initially met him, no, this is different.

“Okay,” your voice hoarse from the yelling and crying, you sit up still in his lap, “um, so-” You’re trying to find the right words to really showcase what happened to you tonight. “I got home and he was waiting for me, he’d drunk the rest of the bottle and started to chase me upstairs. I locked myself in the bathroom for, like, three hours, and you’d think he’d be passed the fuck out right?”

You’re starting to become loud and hysterical, your hands are now animated as you talk with them because you have so much to try to get out, but you can’t really communicate it all. Joel is just listening and watching how worked up you’re getting, his arms still latched around your body but it’s not like a possessive hold, more of a let me take care of you kind of grasp.

“Well, apparently I was wrong, because as I walk out the bathroom, I am immediately met with Nate just staring at me sitting on the bed. And I just freeze, like a fucking deer in headlights. Dumbass. If I woulda ran I wouldn’t be bruised to hell, no black eye, no hair ripped out.” You wait for a beat before you finish your story, “And I wouldn’t have been raped either.” The last part comes out in a defeated sigh, but you never shy away from his eye contact.

He’s stunned into silence, his eyes glossy, a tear breaking away from his eye and rolling onto his cheek, one that slides down and gets lost in his messy beard. You bring your hand to his lined face and wipe away the stain from the tear, and the two of you stay like that for the rest of the early morning before anyone else is awake in Jackson.

—

It’s been about six months since you ran over to the safety of Joel’s house, and for all intents and purposes, you’ve been living there since. The only times you go back to your shell of a home is when Nate is out on patrol, but you don’t even stay there, you only grab a couple necessities like clothes and toiletries. Nate really believes that you’re staying with Maria and Tommy - he has no clue that you’re only a couple of yards away from him and you’re gonna keep it that way for a little while longer.

Ellie now has come to help you at the stables alongside the three sisters, who gracefully accepted Ellie into the group, and you couldn’t be more at peace about it. Joel has been by your side whenever he can, but not in the sense of trying to keep an eye on you. It’s more for your safety and the fact that you told him that you feel safe and loved when he’s around.

You’ve finally been able to live peacefully. You haven’t had to deal with any Nate drama, no new physical or emotional pain, and you haven’t had to walk on eggshells anymore. Truly, you feel more secure than ever in the last two decades, and it’s all because of Joel.

“I think Tommy and Maria are coming over for dinner tonight,” Ellie tells you as she continues to brush her horse, Shimmer. You smile over to her, “what do you think they’re gonna make?” She takes a second to really think about her answer, she suddenly stops brushing and excitedly goes, “I think Tommy is making his famous chili. Joel had brought up to me that it was his absolute favorite meal, well, whenever Tommy cooked.”

“That sounds delicious,” you laugh as you finish the last of the hay so Jinny can grab it and put it with the others. “Oh my god you have no idea!” Andrea yells from outside the barn, you turn your body and give her a confused face. “Wait, so you’ve had it but I never have?” You question playfully putting your hand on your hip and popping it out.

The girls chuckle at your stance and they start to talk about how they had to beg Maria for him to make it, since the ingredients can be hard to come by a lot of the time. Somehow the three sisters got him to make it a couple years ago and they say he hasn’t made it since then, so they also believe that he’s making it tonight.

“Alright ladies, I’ll believe you. However, if you’re all wrong,” you take a second to think about what playful punishment to give them, a little smirk grows, “you all have to switch jobs for a week.”

The four girls all groan in unison, fine, but Ellie is quick to say, “that won’t be happening.” She winks at you and you chuckle as you shake your head. These girls have your whole heart.

—

“Let’s go, old lady! I’m starving,” Ellie drags out the last sentence as you lock up the barn for the night, the rest of the day went smoothly. “Girl, if you don’t wait a fuckin second-” you banter back while laughing. You turn around finally and you see Ellie making a snowball that she fires at you, and hits you right in the thigh.

You slowly lift your head with a sharp grin, “Oh, you’re so in for it now!” She has the biggest smile, from ear to ear, as you bend down to grab a clump of dense snow you hear her yell, “You gotta catch me first!”

You laugh, oh, just wait, because little does she know that you’re actually quick on your feet. It’s how you survived so long alone before Jackson, when you had no choice but to be quick, especially considering you never stayed in one place for too long.

After making a ball out of the cold white snow, you pick your head up and scan for Ellie. You spot her running down Main Street just past the Tipsy Bison, and you knew you could catch up to her in a second but you have another idea. There’s a shortcut to your neighborhood behind the grocery store next to the stables, so you decide to take that path and you’ll meet her just after Maria and Tommy’s house.

You take off towards the snow covered concrete path with the singular snowball in one hand and your set of keys in the other. The cold breeze hits your face with a stinging sensation, but right now you really don’t care, you’re actually having fun and there will be no consequences to you simply enjoying yourself. So you ignore the aching of your feet, the coldness of your face, and the stiffness of your knees all because you can finally do what you please.

You’re just about to Spruce St. and you see Ellie walking past the secret pathway and you smirk, perfect. You stop your moving feet and wind your arm back as you whip the ball of snow at her figure, she’s too busy looking behind her to even notice you’re only about fifteen feet away from her. The snowball hits her directly on her shoulder and she quickly turns her head in your direction, “How the fuck?”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You wink as you walk up to her and put your arm around her shoulder, you both start to laugh as you make your way to the beautiful navy blue house for the night.

—

“Knock, knock!” You hear Maria come in, followed by Tommy and his greeting. You’re currently upstairs finishing up your hair, just something simple to keep it out of your face. “I’ll be right down!” You yell, putting in the small golden hoops that you still have from Rosa, and you smile as you look at yourself in the full length mirror on the backside of your bedroom door. Joel told you that there was a guest bedroom that you could stay in until everything worked itself out, and he didn’t care or mind how long that took.

You stare at your reflection with awe, the light blue jeans hug your curves perfectly, and the green flannel Joel gifted you hangs open so your black T-shirt fits your upper body comfortably with a little bit of cleavage. It’s nothing crazy, but you look like yourself again. The woman you were before Nate - shit, before the apocalypse even, even the weight you had lost because of him is now coming back, and damn, you look astonishing.

As you take one more full look at yourself, and it hits you that you’re not covered in bruises or blood, a small gloss covers your eyes but you quickly wave it away. No, not tonight, it’s a good night, you repeat. Because it truly is; you’re actually happy and not playing it up for visitors. This is real, your emotions are raw and real.

“Old lady, c’mon!” Ellie yells from the bottom of the steps, and you yell back to her as you take one last look at yourself. Hell yeah, you mumble with a nod to yourself, putting your fingers on the silver handle, shaking off whatever jitters you have, and pull the door open. The sound of people talking fills your ears as you enter the hallway, closing the door behind you, the stairs are lit by the lanterns hanging on the wall.

This feels like an actual home.

As you reach the hardwood floor at the bottom of the steps you're met by Joel’s figure, about five feet away from you, stopping your feet to gaze at him. He looks beautiful, his hair is wet from the shower but combed back, and you’re taken back when you notice his shirt - it’s the same green one that he gave you.

You raise your hand to point at his chest, making you now only inches away from touching him, your other hand now on your hip, “Miller, are you trying to copy my style?”

“Darlin’, I invented this style,” he chuckles at you with such admiration in his eyes, now stepping closer, letting your hand palm his chest. Yet again, it feels like you two are the only ones in the world, the only two souls left alone just dancing around each other like flames in a fire.

The sound of Tommy clearing his throat shakes the two of you out of the trance, your hand still on Joel’s chest as you turn your head towards the kitchen and you see Tommy with a smirk on his face as he says, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Be right there!” Both you and Joel chirp at the same time, causing both of you to flip your faces back to one another and you both just start to laugh, so much that the top of your head falls into his chest and his lips lay a gentle kiss on your head.

“Ladies first,” he mumbles into your hair as he moves his hand to guide you towards the kitchen. You smile, lift your head back up to meet his gaze, and all you see is pure love. You want so badly to kiss him and feel that passion that you desperately miss, but you don’t because you still have this weird loyalty to Nate, all because you’re still married.

Some part of you won’t allow the happiness you know you’d receive and deserve from being with Joel, because even though your husband is an absolute monster, marriage still has meaning to you. Marriage isn’t just something you cheat on - your mom instilled this in you after Roy because she never wanted you to end up like her.

“Okay,” you say with a cheesy smile. You feel drunk off of him, off the smell of his sweat mixed with body wash, and his looks have you feeling butterflies erupt from your belly again. Your feet start to mindlessly walk away from him towards the sound of people having fun towards the kitchen, and he’s planted in the same spot as he eyes you up and down as you walk past Tommy, giving him a smile.

As you pass Tommy, you’re met with Maria at the stove stirring what you can only imagine is, indeed, Tommy’s famous chili. Ellie mutters it at the same time you think it, and you turn your head to see her sitting at the dining room table with a shit eating grin on her face.

“I told youuuu,” she sings to you as you walk over to sit next to her at the wooden table. You give a glance to her and she sticks her tongue out at you, which you reflect back to her with a laugh. Ellie starts to laugh with you as Maria brings the big pot to the table and sets it on top of a heat resistant mat, the strong smell of delicious chili fills your nose as Maria sets across from you.

By now, Tommy and Joel have walked in the dining room and sat down in the wooden chairs, Joel at the head of the table next to you, and Tommy sitting next to Maria across from Ellie. You couldn’t feel more at home than you do right now, this just feels like it’s meant to be, like all what you have been through is worth it since you’re here now.

“Dig in, sugar,” Joel softly says to you with a gentle smile, the warm feeling starting to grow in your belly again just from his words, and you grin as you grab the ladle and fill your bowl. “Thank you, Tommy,” you state as you take a spoonful of chili in your mouth. This has got to be the best meal you’ve had in god knows how many years.

He says a quick thank you as everyone else gets a bowl of the yummy chili, and you can’t help but feel insanely happy and relaxed at this new lifestyle you have. It truly is the most beautiful experience you’ve had in awhile, and you can’t believe that you have been actually happy.

The thought of Nate hasn’t popped in your head in weeks, and you couldn’t be anymore grateful about that.

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