#made his silhouette months ago as practice

[electricpez]

shockwave staring gleefully at. a 7-11 big gulp ????????

[junowritings]

WELL SINCE WE WERE TALKING ABOUT HIM can I get 'hey… no tears, alright? this isn’t goodbye.' for Epel? thanks girl nfgdhlk

HELL YEAH YOU CAN. I'm in a particularly angsty mood so this was perfect timing lmao.

I think way too much about how everyone would react to MC going home so this thing practically wrote itself.

=======

You’re leaving.

You’ve been in this world for so long that it’s almost impossible for Epel to remember a time when you weren’t there. You, that stubborn prefect who got dragged into everyone else’s problems, who butted heads with the world’s strongest mages with no magic of your own like it was nothing, and always managed to bounce back stronger than before. After all of these months of memories made, of friendships formed and bonds tested, Epel couldn’t see a Twisted wonderland without you in it. You’d become such an integral part of his life and everyone else’s whose hearts you’ve embedded with your presence. 

Yet just like that, you were leaving. And not a single one of those hearts could stop you.

There’s an eerie quiet in the hall, nothing like it had been just minutes ago when cries and sobs and shouts of protest and well wishes had echoed from the walls once occupied by all you’d come to love at the college. Some had left willingly, unable to bear the thought of being there when you inevitably departed. Others had to be strong armed to the door, still so convinced that this was all a trick and you were going to stay even though the tears that streaked their faces proved that they knew better.

It was just the two of you now. He watches you reach a tentative hand towards your saving grace home, fingers sliding carefully over the intricate framing like it’ll shatter beneath your touch. The mirror’s surface ripples in response, and for a second Epel’s so convinced that it’ll somehow drag you in that he has to fight the urge to drag you away from it. 

You must have noticed someone had stayed behind. Epel watches you pause in tracing the frame, looking back over your shoulder to find him glued to a spot across the room just a few steps away. You muster up a smile, one that on any other day would make his heart shoot up to his throat and his pulse race. But today he’s no fool - that smile doesn’t reach your eyes for a second.

“Epel-“

“No.” He cuts you off, knowing what you’re about to say. “I ain’t leaving.”

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though you’d expected his answer. He should hope you would - you knew him better than that. That smile softens into something more genuine, and you extend a hand towards him. “I know.” You mutter. C’mere.” 

The heels of his shoes drag across the polished floor, each footfall feeling more final than the last as he comes to stand by your side. From across the room it was easier to stave off reality, to suspend belief for a little while longer; but now the mirror looms, and it feels like if you so much as take a step it’ll swallow you whole and he’ll lose you for good. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, frustration settling like poison in the pit of his stomach watching you appraise the portal with such a wistful gaze, as though it’s finally dawned on you that you’ve found your ticket home, to your old life. 

A life without him.

Epel doesn’t want to understand why you want to go back, but he does. You had a life before twisted wonderland, before him; friends and loved ones who were no doubt tearing their world apart trying to find you and fearing the worst. He knows if he were in your shoes he couldn’t just leave his family behind if they were just a mirror away - god, what was he gonna tell his meemaw when you were gone? His whole damn village loved you to pieces. That world was waiting for you now, in the shimmering mass that lit up your silhouette as though welcoming you home; it would be selfish to get in the way.

But Epel wants to be selfish; he wants to be angry. Angry that you’re leaving everyone behind. Angry that that lousy headmaster actually kept his stupid promise. 

Angry that he’s not enough to make you stay.

He wants to break that damn mirror. Wants to smash it into pieces with his bare hands if it means you’ll stay. But he won’t - you’d never forgive him, and he’d sooner leave with your love than survive with your hatred. So he clenches his fists, nails digging into shaking palms until they almost match the burning he feels behind his eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes metal, but even that’s not enough to stem the tears that blur his vision and carve wet streaks into his face

Fuck, he can’t stop it-

Something touches him and Epel almost rips his head away like he’s been burned until he feels your hand cup his cheek. You tilt his head and he’s inclined to follow until you’re face to face and then he hears it. You laugh. You’re laughing. That goddamn noise that makes his heart rate spike and his face feel warmer. Epel opens his mouth to snap and demand to know if his misery is so funny to you. His jaw slams shut just as quickly when your fingers smooth over the thick tears collecting on his lashes, brushing them away before sliding a soothing hand through his hair. No doubt it’s to try and tame the mess he’s made of it, but sevens you must read him like a book because that simple gesture drains the fight out of him in seconds as you speak.

“Hey… no tears, alright? this isn’t goodbye.”

His face scrunches up, both at the frustrated tears he just can’t get to stop and at the watery smile you try to soothe him with. That laugh he’s learned to love so much is broken up into stuttered hiccups as you fight back your own sobs.

“Ha! Wh-Why’re you tellin’ me that when you’re blubberin’ yer’self?” Epel chokes out between sniffles, unable to resist making a jab. His hands fly up to chase the tears rolling down your cheeks with his thumbs, and your eyes flutter closed as you duck your head with a strained chuckle, resting your forehead against his.

The laughter simmers and moments pass, the only sound being the mutually shed tears and Epel’s deep breaths as he tries and fails to pull himself back together. He doesn’t know how long it’s been and he doesn’t care. He wants this to last as long as possible, because he knows what happens when it ends.

“I’ll come back.” You whisper into the space between you like it’s a fact. “And I swear you better be waiting for me when I do Epel Felmier or I’ll never forgive you.”

Epel can’t help but grin at how childish that sounds coming from you, and the hands on your face give a squeeze till your cheeks are rosy and you playfully swat him away.

“You better come back. Grim’ll kill you otherwise.” 

You don’t doubt it for a second. Though with how easily Grim is swayed by food you’re sure you could earn his forgiveness if you were a little late. Epel clings to the last moments of normalcy with you until it slips through his fingers and reality returns. His face drops, creasing his brow as he sticks you with a resigned expression. He won’t beg you to stay, though the words burn in the back of his throat; instead he demands something else.

“Promise me yer comin’ back.” Epel knows better, but he says it anyway because he needs to hear it.

You can’t promise that. Neither of you know if you’ll even be able to return once you pass through that mirror. But he can pretend; he’s gotten damn good at it too. 

The fondness in your expression makes his heart twist and his throat feel tight, but he doesn’t tear his gaze from you for a second as you lean into his touch, covering his hand with your own and tilting your head to brush your lips against him. A small kiss is pressed into his palm, and it takes everything in him not to yank you towards him, to never let you go as he feels the words whispered against his skin.

“Wait for me, Epel.”

And then you’re gone. The mirror surges, the surface disturbed by your departure, and Epel’s hands are left grasping at the air where you’d once been. 

You never get to hear the curses he screams into the empty hall. Never get to see the marks he leaves on his knuckles as a fist slams into the wall beside your mirror. Never get to see the hand he cradles close to his chest, chasing your lingering warmth long after it’s faded from his fingertips.

The mirror’s surface stills, and the only thing left in its reflection is the anguish of the boy you left behind.

[pearlypairings]

burnin' through my darkest night

pairing: patrick mckinney x chrissy cunningham tags: no vecna au, slow burn, pining to the max, mentions of abuse, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending summary: Patrick and the Hawkins' Tigers are on track for this year's basketball championship under his best friend, Jason Carver's leadership. And that's about the only thing he's looking forward to senior year besides graduating and moving far, far away for college.... Well that, and any chance he gets to see his neighbor, Chrissy Cunningham.....who happens to be Jason's girlfriend.

link to ao3

sneak peek for chapter one below the cut:

The slide of the deadbolt sunk straight to the pit of Patrick’s stomach. The lock clicking into place resonated, only adding to the lingering tension from the shouting match he had just costarred in with his dad. He clenched his fist, shoving it into his pocket, while blood boiled up his neck to spawn the instant headache he’d become intimately familiar with. It took everything Patrick had to not punch the frame of his bedroom door; he didn’t want to load any more ammunition for his father to weaponize against him. He had six months left. Six months until he picked up his life in Hawkins and moved into a dorm room six hours away. August couldn’t come soon enough. His hand trembled in his pocket, adrenaline pumping through him recklessly like a bursting faucet. He tried to ignore his father’s booming voice from downstairs, rehashing the scene to his mom… he’s ungrateful—how careless can our son be!  Same old song and dance, his mom had to pretend to be captivated by. This had to be the umpteenth time his father locked him in here this year, any chance to berate him subsequently became a good enough excuse to grab his collar and shut him away. He stopped resisting years ago. It wasn’t actually the muddy gym sneakers, the missed curfews, or the bad grades in Stats class. Patrick solved the mystery of the intense fights spawning up lately all on his own (no statistics needed). His father simply resented a single, undeniable truth. The strict control he’d exerted over the years was slipping. In a few months, Patrick would be eighteen—an adult capable and free to make his own decisions. These four walls would cease to double as his involuntary, solitary cell. And for the record, this prison was poorly-run. Patrick sniffed a deep inhale in an attempt to quell the surging tension beneath the surface of his muscles. He was a kettle close to boiling over, steam ready to fire hot and high. He pushed out a long exhale when he looked outside his window. The waxing moon washed the white picket fence in pale blue light, a sharp contrast to the row of  rhododendrons Mrs. Cunningham planted last year.  Chrissy’s light was on, glowing through the sheer rosy curtains to reveal the silhouette of her plush teddy bear on the sill. Her bedroom overlooked the same shared fence from the second floor, facing his room ever since they were kids. Patrick unclenched his fist finally, crescent imprints stinging the inside of his palms, and threw on his letterman jacket over his hoodie.  Chrissy set up their signal, and there was no way in hell he was going to stay cooped up all night, pretending he didn’t see it. The window opened without a squeak, courtesy of the grease he sprayed inside the tracks last week, and he propped up his basketball next to the window in case she was waiting for him to respond. With one last glance around his room—cleaned spotless and bed made with army precision—Patrick lowered himself out the window, traipsed over the roof, and climbed down the lattice with well-practiced maneuvering. Hopefully, no one unlocked his door during his jailbreak. Fuck Dad, he decided. Patrick stalked down the line of the fence, staying in the cover of its shadow in case of any curious eyes. Once at the treeline, he scurried into the woods and followed the faint path from years of late night venting. His fingers traced the rough bark of the broken pine tree, finding comfort in it. He turned left, ducking below the felled oak and into the tiny clearing hidden by the brush. Chrissy sat on their log, ankles crossed, writing in a notebook with her flashlight tucked under her chin.....

[bxwitched]

Waiting Eyes

Warnings: Explicit content, 18+ only. Stalking, non-con, dub-con, voyeurism, mental illness, delusion, PTSD, veterans, sexual assault, dark themes.

Character Pairing: Dark!Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Frank has watched and he's waited, but now his patience has run out.

A/N: I've had this in my drafts for a while. Comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated! You can find my Masterlist here.

Frank watches as you move around your apartment from his place on the neighbouring rooftop, his eyes locked on the way that the soft skin of your midriff bares as you stretch your arms up and loosen your hair from it's hold. 

He's been watching you for months, looking out for you he reminds himself. He'd been visiting Curtis at the VA the day that he'd met you, you'd been talking quietly with a vet in the corner when he first caught sight of you, the younger man had been visibly panicked, eyes wide with fear but you showed no fear as you had kneeled down in front of him, your eyes locked with his whilst you spoke softly and gave him calm reassurance.

Frank could see the genuine kindness as you eased his nerves, could practically feel the care in your voice as you had talked him down.

He'd decided then and there that he had to know more about you and had followed you home that night, careful to blend into the sea of strangers on the sidewalk as he tailed you for several blocks.

Your apartment building is nice, nothing too grand but the neighbourhood is decent and your fifth floor, one bed apartment is a good size. Frank knows because he may have climbed up the fire escape a few days ago whilst you were at work and taken a look around. He'd made a mental note to get you some better locks for your windows, he needed to make sure you were safe.

Since that first day Frank had been working on getting closer to you, often stopping by the VA a few times a week under the pretence of visiting Curtis, though he knew that his old friend wouldn't be there. It was on those days that you'd humour him, letting him uncover new little parts of you as you put him to work, helping you to set up for groups or restock supplies.

Frank's breath hitches as you move into your bedroom and start to peel off your clothes, revealing more and more of your supple skin to his hungry eyes. He can't withhold the deep groan when you turn away from the rain-spattered glass and reach back to unclasp your bra, the black fabric falls away and leaves the expanse of your back bare to his hungry eyes.

He refocuses as you bend down, disappearing from view before reappearing, he can't see below the curve of your waist but the the thought of you fully exposed is still enough to drive him mad. He grunts, his gloved hand flexing against his thigh as his cock twitches against the confines of his jeans.

The lamp on your bedside table casts a soft light over your silhouette, framing your body with a heavenly glow that makes you look like an angel, he thinks. Beautiful.

Frank wonders just how heavenly you'll sound when he finally gets you underneath him. 

You sigh as the heavy stream beats down on your back, the hot water flows down your body and melts away all of your tension, making you feeling lighter after your nightmare of a day.

First you had overslept your alarm which made you late for work, then you had missed your train which made you even later. Finally, to top it all off some Wall Street asshole had been so distracted texting that he had walked straight into you on the sidewalk and soaked you from head to toe in his overpriced coffee. He'd even yelled at you for it, ranting about 'do you even know how expensive organic arabica is?' whilst you did your best to fight back tears of frustration.

You switch off the shower and slip on a a long sleeved tee and some sweatpants. A chill sweeps over your skin as you draw your bedroom curtains, the cold New York air prickling your flesh as it seeps through the old glass.

You still as you walk into your living room. Something feels off but you can't place what it is, the room is unchanged, exactly as you'd left it and your door is locked and bolted as usual.

You shrug off the strange feeling and put it down to your frazzled nerves as you go about your evening routine. You make yourself a hot drink and settle down on the couch, cradling the comforting warmth between your palms as you indulge in some crappy tv.

You're several episodes deep into a comically bad crime drama when your eyelids start to droop and you relent, deciding to call it a night. You switch off the tv and lights and place your empty mug in the sink before ambling into your bedroom, half asleep.

You stop as you cross the threshold, a cold chill runs down the length of your spine.

You stumble as a hard body crashes against your back, nearly toppling you and a large hand clamps over your mouth, silencing your scream before it can escape. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, adrenaline flooding your veins as you struggle, trying to shake off the unknown person's hold on you.

"Easy, easy! Hey!" Their grip tightens around your body until you can do nothing but squirm in their grasp, your nails dig crescents into your palms as your pulse pounds loudly in your ears.

Your attacker presses their body further into you, moulding themselves against your body and you whimper, feeling the tell-tale bulge of male arousal against your ass. The man hushes you softly as he buries his face into your neck, inhaling against your skin.

"Shh, shh. It's ok." His voice is gruff but his tone is soft, soothing and you whimper as tears fill your eyes. It's a stark contrast from the rough flesh of his palm as it moves down, feeling along the bared skin of your stomach. He nuzzles into your hair, grazing his lips over the shell of your ear as a growl rumbles in his chest.

"Atta' girl. I'm gonna take my hand away and you're not gonna scream, understand?" Your tears are falling freely now and you nod shakily as his hand loosens over your mouth, testing the waters before it falls away completely.

You stutter an inhale, your breath shaky as the stranger runs his fingers along the line of your collarbone, his callused touch dipping just below the fabric of your shirt.

"There you go, good girl." His praise is unsettling, as are his gentle caresses and you let out a sob when his hips grind into your backside once more, a low groan leaving him at the contact.

"Please- who are you?" You choke on another sob. "Why are you doing this?"

He sighs and his hips still against you, his large palms clasp around your elbows and he turns you around slowly in his arms.

Your blood runs cold and you swallow deeply when your eyes finally settle on his face.

It's Frank.

Polite, quiet Frank who comes around the VA now and again to see his old friend, your boss, Curtis. The man who always holds the door open for you and calls you ma'am, who makes you laugh as he helps you to stack away the chairs after a session and volunteers to help you rearrange the supplies in the storage room, a task that would make you want to bang your head against the wall if it weren't for his stimulating conversation.

He had even come to your rescue the time that Curtis had been away and a veteran had had an episode at the centre. Despite your tactics and by no fault of his own, the man had lunged for you in the midst of his attack. Frank had heard your panicked voice and immediately ran in, he had pried the other man off of you and carefully restrained him as he had screamed and lashed out.

"Frank?" Your voice cracks. "I don't understand-" He looks different you think. Lost. Empty. His dark eyes rove over your face, studying your features as you try to even your breathing, to quell the feeling of nausea churning your stomach. "What are you doing?"

He chuckles then, it's deep and warm and if it weren't happening under the current circumstances you would find it endearing.

"It's ok, I'm here. I'm home, baby." Your brows furrow with concern and you push lightly against his chest, trying to put some distance between the two of you.

"What are you talking about?"

"First time I saw you I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Looked so soft and sweet and the way that you just took away all that man's anger and pain? Knew right then that you were the one."

You shake your head slowly and try to back away from him. His eyes are glassy as they search yours and his throat bobs as he swallows thickly. It's a look that's you've seen before on dozens of veterans, he's broken.

"Frank, you need to-" He lunges forward and silences you with his lips before you can finish. The kiss is bruising, desperate as his lips move against yours with fervour. You struggle against him, your palms pushing against his toned stomach as he winds a hand into you hair.

You're in shock and you shut your lips tightly as his tongue presses against them, begging for access. He makes a sound of displeasure then and lightly pulls on your locks, angling your head back further. You groan from the discomfort of it and Frank seizes the opportunity to force his entry into your warm mouth, letting out a low hum as he melds his tongue with yours.

When he finally pulls away from you his expression is one of awe. He moves his hands to cradle your face in between his rough palms and your breath hitches, his thumb moves across your bottom lip, tracing the plump flesh and his eyes follow the movement.

"Don'tcha see? You need me to look after you, like that day at the VA. Need me like I need you."

His gaze moves downward, his dark eyes settle on the dip of your shirt and he groans, his pupils are fixed on the way that your chest heaves with your frightened breaths. Warmth begins to bloom in your stomach and your core clenches involuntarily as you whimper, feeling betrayed by your own body.

"So fuckin' beautiful, needed you for so long."

"Please, Frank-" He hushes you and pulls your body closer to his, too close. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against you with every breath and you're sure that he can feel the frantic pounding of your heart against his as the fear courses through your veins.

"Don't be scared, baby. Gonna give you everything."

[metalheadcowboy]

Turning a Harringrove Cowboy/Farm AU I wrote A LONGGGG time ago into an actual multi part/chapter fic, so here's the first part, enjoy!

-----------------------

It was the spring of '84 when Steve Harrington first decided he hated Billy Hargrove with every damn bone in his body.

The beginning of that spring had been particularly rough in many ways. 

Steve's second senior year of high school was going quite a ways away from great, it seemed like no matter what his old man was pissed off about something or another, the calving season had only just started and it was going straight to shit. Oh, and on top of that, it was hotter than a witches tit outside, a record high in southern Indiana that year, great.

"Gah lee," Steve huffed as he fell flat on his rear, wiping the sweat off his forehead, with the part of his arm that wasn't covered in cow crap and god knows what, "That 'as one big son 've a bitch." The force of his collapse knocked his Stetson hat clean off, but he was quick to recover the rather expensive item he’d received for Christmas not too long ago. 

He slowly collected himself, pushing the medium tan leather down upon his dark, messy waves. He couldn’t help but blink his eyes a few times as he practically panted like a dog to will any form of cold into his body, "Yeah, 'll least this one's livin'," his dad remarked, and he couldn't disagree with that. Seemed like they'd had more still born calves than live ones this season.

" 'Ts only March, we've got a few months," The teen reminded, manifesting at least a shred of hope for the coming weeks. It wasn't that they didn't have calves other times of the year, they were just few and far between. Now was the time when they started raising a good sized herd to sell of at the beginning of next spring to support them most of the year round, besides the practical penny change they made selling their cows milk local, "Good job, mama," he praised the brown and white blotched animal next to him, already akin to new motherhood, licking her almost identical oversized calf like she knew nothing else.

Steve willed himself up off the ground onto shaky knees, this day had been one of his longest in a while. School on top of all the heifers seeming to want to calf at the exact same time. But as he looked past their property line, out into the marvelous bubblegum pink and creamsicle sunset, he found some sliver of peace.

Only the voice of his father snapped him out of his blissful moment of zoning out, seemed like he was doing a lot more of that lately "You best go wash up 'fer dinner, you know your ma ain't gon' have you at the table lookin' that way." He was right and Steve knew it, but he couldn't lie, a hot shower did sound pleasant on his aching joints.

He gave a quick "Yes sir," ending what was probably the tamest conversation they'd had in weeks, before making the short, yet long trek back to their homestead. He could see the lights on in the kitchen and living room, and as he got closer he came upon the silhouette of his mother washing her hands in the kitchen sink in the small window next to their side door.

He trotted up the last few stairs, smiling as he walked through the door to someone just as happy to greet him, "Well, look what the hot mess express brought in, my word sweetie," she said with no real malice, grinning at him like he was her pride and joy, which he was.

"Hi mama," he replied plainly, chuckling softly as she came over and pulled his nearly six foot frame down to her 5 '2 height for a kiss on the side of his head.

His chuckle turned into a full chested laugh when she made a fake gag of disgust, "You smell just 'bout right rank, son. You sure the heifers weren't the ones hackin' it up at your stink?" she teased and Steve just shook his head.

"Had my arm so far up one of 'em I'm prolly 'bout half cow any how," The brunette boy mimicked the struggle sticking his arm up the back end of a cow, to which Annette Harrington grimaced, "That's why I let you boys do your thing and I do mine," she gestured to the kitchen, which is what first alerted Steve to the smell of freshly made chicken pot pie sitting ready on the ceramic countertop. 

His eyes immediately lit up with pure delight, like a kid on Christmas morning, except he was nineteen and to some sad extent pot pie was the highlight of his week, “Mama you didn’t!” he exclaimed, about to go in for a big hug before remembering what he was covered in. 

Mrs. Harrington just shook her head, “Alright, go get cleaned up, the pie ain’t gon’ grow legs.” Within an instant Steve was racing off to his bedroom to grab a pair of pajamas and then to his bathroom to shower. 

And to say he was right would have been an understatement. Steve swore the hot stream of water that cascaded down his spine sent him into seventh heaven, easing out his jammed knee and stiff elbow with ease. 

He enjoyed his escape for about as long as the hot water lasted, a mere few minutes, but that was long enough for him. When he stepped out of the shower he shook his hair out like a wet dog, letting the towel he scrubbed his head with next catch the excess. Shortly after, he grabbed the comb up next to his sink, swiping the steam off the mirror to give his unruly mop a good brush through before quickly throwing on the pajamas he had grabbed prior. 

Steve practically burst through the bathroom door, following the promising scent of dinner, blatantly stopping in his tracks when he found something that was definitely not chicken pot pie. 

“Oh, Steven,” Oh boy, “We have someone we’d like ‘fer you to meet.” The smile on his moms face was sickeningly different from that she had on when welcoming him in from his chores. A lot less genuine and a lot more plastic, but still warm in the way it always was, it was just her nature. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a few seconds, taking in the atmosphere, his parents, that boy. He would be lying if he said the golden-haired figure standing between his folks didn’t look straight out of one of the magazines he’d seen the few times they went into the city. 

Striking icy blue eyes, rimmed with lashes that damn near put any woman’s to shame. Thick brows somehow shaped to perfection, lain a top skin so perfectly sun kissed and freckled with intent. Steve had to force himself to shake these thoughts, knowing how damn stupid he must have looked gawking like an idiot. But that didn’t push away the confusion he felt as his heart seemed to pick up at the statuesque mystery man standing before him. 

“If they’d ‘a told me we were having’ company I would’ve thought to dress a ‘lil nicer ‘n this,” he remarked, cheeks burning a bit with embarrassment, feeling almost stark naked in his pajama pants and plain white t-shirt. He huffed out a short breath when the guy in front of him gave him a rather unconvincing pity laugh, parents following suit, “Ain’t no skin off my back, ‘m sure we’ll see each other in worse,” the radiant boy replied, once again leaving Steve baffled, but maybe that’s just what he did. 

“Names Billy by the way, Billy Hargrove” the boy- Billy extended his hand for Steve to take and he did, taking the few steps forward to give his hand a proper shake before returning the favor, “Steve Harrington, pleasure’s mine,” he replied simply with a short nod of his head. 

His father seemed pleased enough by this interaction, though Steve could never really tell, he always had this sort of stone cold thing going on. 

There was a beat of somewhat awkward silence before Annette interjected, “How about some homemade pot pie?” she offered, with a prompt clap of her hands, sending her boys and their guest to the dinner table. Normally Steve would have been beaming, ready to talk and talk and talk about anything and everything under the sun, but suddenly he wasn’t exactly in the mood. 

“Well, Billy we really are glad to have ya here,” Mr. Harrington continued in the tone he only used around guests or, really, people he was trying to impress. The sickeningly sweet, layered on false happiness and enthusiasm that made Steve’s stomach hurt, “Yeah, ‘ll y’know my old man’s been rearin’ to get me out of the house since the second I stepped foot outta school,” Hm, so he was older, “Since I graduated early ‘n all, couldn’t happen fast ‘nough.” The lanky boy nearly spit out his water, choking in an awkward way to where it came halfway up his nose and made his eyes water. 

Steve coughed it out a bit before bringing his napkin up to his face, watery eyes of shame blinking themselves dry, “Y’ alright there cowboy?” Cowboy, Steve looked up at the smirk on the other boy’s face and had to hold back a sneer. The last thing he needed tonight was to get into it with his dad while they had company over. 

“ ‘M fine, thanks,” he mumbled, feeling the short- lived rage in his stomach settle when his mother brought the meal over just in time, “Shall we?” she chimed in a sing-song tone, that wasn’t anything like his fathers, hers was genuine. Because if there was one thing about Annette Harrington, she didn’t have a mean bone in her body for anyone, unless they messed with her family. 

Steve tuned out the prayer, forehead pressed solidly against his hands clasped so tight his knuckles were about ghostly white. He was just wondering when this Billy guy was going to leave so this night could be over. But of course, just when the brunette thought the topic might change, of course, even after the prayer, his father, John, had to dwell. 

“I’ll say that’s right impressive, y’know Steve here’s held back a year, he’s ‘sposed to have graduated by now, but,” Mr. Harrington shrugged as he dug into his dinner. His son sat there halfway gobsmacked, halfway offended, but he should’ve expected such. 

Steve scoffed, “Only ‘cus you got me doin’ half your work every day. I barely got time for anythin’ else,” he mumbled under his breath just loud enough for the table to hear as he stared down at his mashed potatoes. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel his fathers eyes boring into his skull like laser beams. 

Steve’s mom just looked at him with a disappointed expression, but didn’t interject because she knew good and well it was true, “ ‘F that’s whatcha really think ‘n you’ll be happy to hear you won’t have to do it no more.” Steve’s eyebrows practically shot up his forehead and through his hairline. 

What the hell was he talkin’ ‘bout?

“Huh?” Was all he could manage before his dad excitedly cut off whatever he was planning to say next, “Well what else do you think we got Billy here for, looks?” This gave everyone but Steve a good laugh, he didn’t see any reason to be laughing right now. 

“ ‘N just what ‘o you mean by that?” He was so blinded by anger that he couldn’t even think about eating the pot pie his sweet mother had made, but he’d get over that guilt. He couldn’t say the same for the fury burning deep within him. He looked over at Billy who looked smug as ever, chewing on a bit of his food, sneaky eyes peeking out of the rim of his rather ratty looking Resistol. Oh what he would give right now to punch that smug look right off that pretty boy face. 

John Harrington gave Steve the look, his signature look that said ‘I dare you to go testin’ me, boy’ and if there was ever a time for that it would be now, “Steve, you’ve been slacking lately ‘n we both know it, son.” Steve went to open his mouth but got cut off, again, “ ‘N I figured having Billy stay here ‘n work with me ‘d give you the time off to do sumn else. Like helpin’ your mom ‘round the house, you did always seem… better suited for those things.” 

This couldn’t be fuckin’ for real, “John-,” his mom tried to scold. 

There’s no way his dad just basically called him a sissy, not after-

“I had my hand up a cow’s ass ‘fer you today, ‘n then you’re gonna go sayin’ that- that bullshit?” Steve burst, knowing he would no doubt have to pay for these words later. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, not from guilt, not from shame, but of pure, unfiltered rage. But what really put salt in the wound was looking over at Billy, whose subtle smirk had far faltered, turning into something more innocent, more regretful. Like this wasn’t all his own damn fault in the first place. 

Everything’s so unfair, this is so unfair. Not only did he feel hurt, but he felt embarrassed, having his dad say those things about him, basically calling him a sissy, in front of his own mother. 

“Steven-” he heard his father try to reprimand, but Steve refused to take it. Instead, he stood up abruptly, the straightening of his knees sent his chair flying backwards against the wall. He would have cringed at the sound if he weren’t so genuinely pissed. 

He was able to hold the tears in until he turned around, then it was like the dam just… burst. He felt a whine work its way up his throat, but he willed it back down, swallowing what last bit of pride he had left down with it. 

Could a sissy do that? Maybe Steve didn’t want the answer to that. 

He didn’t know what was going on, he’d never felt this was, this upset, this angry. He didn’t understand. He practically glid to his room, socked feet moving so fast he wasn’t sure whether or not he was actually taking real steps. And, frankly, he didn’t care, just wanted to be away. 

When he made it to his room, he closed his door behind him and flopped down onto his bed, stomach down, choking on his own hushed sobs. It made him feel like a child again, pathetic, small, lonely. He turned on his side and curled in on himself a bit, clinging on to whatever little bit of comfort he could. 

Through wallowing in his own self pity, he barely heard the faint mewl coming from behind him. He just groaned, hoping maybe if he ignored it long enough it, or rather she, would go away. 

“Meooowww.” He should’ve known better, it was his fault for locking her in there with him anyways. 

“Oh, Ginger,” he sighed, stuffy nose making him sound all nasally. And it was as if that was the permission the rather plump orange tabby needed to jump up on top of him like he was her human pillow, “Cain’t a man even have a few seconds alone.” To that, of course, she meowed at him in protest, ever the chatterbox. 

Steve quickly accepted his defeat to the tubby cat when she somehow still gracefully jumped off his ribs and onto the empty spot in bed next to him. The pale light of bright stars shining through his window, reflecting off of Ginger’s big round saucer eyes were the only thing giving his room any light. But it didn’t matter because soon after he shut his own eyes, focusing on the purring of the seemingly content cat next to him, half wishing to disappear, half wishing to go back out there and beat Billy to a pulp. Even if only for existing.

Billy, stupid Billy and his stupid white teeth and his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid everything.

Fuck this dinner, fuck this day, and most importantly fuck Billy Hargrove.

[glitchtricks94]

Ache

Gyokko x Reader

I feel like crying, so I made him cry too. This is an angst post, hurt/no comfort I am wanting to make him bleed right now and since I can't sort my other fic, this is how we're doing it. Yes, I know I'm just having a bad day but if I'm gonna be sad, I might as well put it to use! Anyways, kick back, relax and enjoy the pain~ -Glitchtricks

He didn't think the ache would be this strong.

He never thought that humans could hold so tightly to a feeling, he thought them to be as fleeting as the clouds in the sky on a warm summer's night. Never once did he expect to miss you so dearly. Gyokko sat at the foot of the lake he found all those nights ago, strange, honeyed eyes staring at the water’s glasslike surface, sorrow washing over him as he looked on. Where he would normally be thinking of ways to cloud the liquid in a myriad of colors, his mind only focused on  the being that had enchanted him so many moons ago, how he had found them on their knees simply gathering water for their own needs. The Upper Moon remembers how wide you smiled at him, kindness blinding you. He remembered how excited you were to simply meet a demon like him, explaining how his kind fascinated you. You were unusual, but not quite unappealing.  He liked that. Your warmth stuck to his mind so annoyingly well, like an ink stain that cannot be removed. Gyokko didn’t think he’d long for it after you were gone. He recalls how for ages, each night, you’d be here, waiting, even calling out for a demon to approach you. Strange, but he supposed your tactics worked as less then a moment later, the Upper Moon Five found himself before you again, a delighted squeal leaving your lips. Gyokko was at a loss when you threw your arms around him, cheering about him coming back to you. He swiftly moved out of your arms, glaring at you. “Don’t touch me like that!” He spat. If only he knew how much he’d miss that familiarity.

Gyokko shook his head when he realized that tears were dripping down his chin, spattering on the vase that held his usual form. No, no he can’t think of you, he can’t lose himself like this, not over a human. He was a being of divinity, of talent and breathtaking skill, a being that…felt empty. So very empty since he saw you last. He clenched his fists, trying to shove away the pain, the agony in favor of rage, resentment. No, he can’t mourn you, you and him were far too different! So why did the bittersweet memory of you guiding him to your home come to mind? That affectionate smile of your beaming at him the entire way as you nattered on about your own life, your own form of art that took shape in the words you scribbled down in empty books and scraps of paper was all he could see, all he could hear. He couldn’t forget that, especially not the joy that you exuded from just showing him the meager poems you wrote. He didn’t know when he had shown up at your abandoned home, looking up at the sad structure from his pot. He knew you weren’t inside, so why did he cruelly hope you’d come out, greet him like you always did? He’d always found himself drawn to your presence after you began discussing a hopeful romantic novel of star crossed lovers, your inspirations being the Shakespearian tragedy of Romeo and Juilet. You had many inspiring ideas, ones Gyokko would take back to his own sanctuary to create his own art from. The way your eyes lit up when he first presented a vase to you, painted with the silhouettes of the lovers from your story was etched into his demonic heart. You were practically screaming with utter delight at the gift, being the most enthusiastic person to ever accept such a thing from him. Not even the ever so carefree Douma had ever come close to emulating such joy, however, yours could never be emulated, you were far too genuine for such a thing. Your scent still clung to each corner of your home, despite months having passed. Gyokko felt a pain in his chest as he wandered through your home, the memories of your sweetness tormenting his brain wherever he looked, the lights that used to illuminate the halls and rooms now like that of a fleeting dream. Changing to his true form, Gyokko found it easier for himself to get lost in everything that was encasing his senses. Looking to the ground, he saw one of the many bits of scrap paper you used to write your poems of love and infatuation upon, still stained with splotches of ink. He couldn’t resist, he was always weak for you. Plucking it from the floor, he began to read. “Stepping through the mist, like midnight’s spell

He afforded no opportunities to fleeHer mind was encapsulated by him, her heart his to control

Fate so harsh on the pair, he was ripped away

The tides of time carried the maiden far As night always intertwined with day.” Tears settled on the paper in his webbed hands, sorrow crashing into him at full force. Was this how you viewed him and yourself? He wished he could ask such a thing, he wished he could just hear that sweet, fluttery voice of yours just one more time, to hear you prattle on about why you chose the words you did, how you planned your tales. He just wanted you back. Gyokko carefully traced the kanji of your handwriting, your name falling from his lips in a whisper, soft and desperate. Part of him wished you’d appear before him, lovingly wrapping your arms around his large frame with a joyous titter. Wishful thinking. Slithering deeper into your home, your scent grew stronger as he reached your bedroom, which remained empty, and well kept, thanks to the care he found himself putting into the place. It was almost like a monument to you now, a tribute of sorts, perhaps even a way to say sorry despite you having vanished out of his life forever. Another wave of agonizing sadness filled the demon’s chest as he moved to your large, western style bed, a stack of old journals laying at its side. Gyokko got onto the bed, coiling around himself as the smell of you flooded his senses, new tears cascading down his face as the more painful memories began replaying in his mind like they always did on nights like this. The cruel words he spewed at you, the tears that flooded down your soft cheeks, the look of utter betrayal in your eyes as he brought down the hammer of his misguided wrath upon you, tearing away at everything you loved, everything you cherished. He remembers ripping up your pride and joy that was your novel, screaming at you about how you were nothing but a sniveling worm, how he couldn’t understand why he wasted his time with someone like you, and overall just ripping your heart to ribbons. Your pain screams still rang in his ears as you cried out, yelling at him to leave, leave and never come back, how cruel he was to you after you simply wanted to connect, how you thought you had connected with him, forging a friendship of sorts. All of it filled Gyokko with so much sorrow and regret. He never meant any of what he said, he truly would even go as far to say he didn’t wish to break your spirit like that, not when you managed to become so much to him, not even batting an eye whenever he’d appear after feeding, fresh blood staining both sets of teeth. No, you always welcomed him with open arms, telling him your stories, speaking to him enthusiastically and listening to him so intently. And he just drove you away after everything. He couldn’t stop himself from beginning to sob as everything replayed in his mind, bowing his head in shame and regret. “My sweet muse, I’m sorry…” He wept, shoulders shaking, chest aching in his remorse. “I never meant to say such things to you, you were never a worm, you were a goddess, something as divine as I…And yet, I ripped you apart…My heart, please let me apologize, please come back, please. Every moment without you is pure agony.” He pleaded, voice now breaking as he sobbed harder, knowing that you would never hear his pleas, knowing that you had vanished from his world. Gyokko was left alone, aching for you, longing for your sweet touches and honeyed praises. All he saw when he closed his eyes was your smile, and it burned him like fire. All he heard in the silence were the memories of your voice, which stung like a slice of a sword. Everything about you that was left behind tormented him mercilessly. Deep down, he knew he had earned this, he had earned such a drastic loss. Everything was dreary for him, nothing truly sparked his enthrall anymore, nothing that didn’t feel like you would have liked. The ache in his chest would never leave, for you had carved a hole in his heart, leaving a chasm that can never be filled.

[intoloopin-archive]

A PRELUDE: THE OTHER NIGHT I CRIED THINKING ABOUT HAVING SEX WITH YOU.

TWs: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. An intrusive thought about committing sexual harassment gets troughfully examined (it's 100% an intrusive thought, Haruki does not act on it at any moment). Very direct references to past sexual abuse of a character. NSFW in general. Panic attack symptoms such as crying, shaking and depersonalization. Invasion of personal space and disruption of sleep (yes. that’s important.). Also some internalized homophobia, but only if you squint. Also, it's sad, very very sad. If any other warnings flew over my head, don't hesitate to tell me.

word account: 1,152 words.

characters: Fukunaga Haruki. Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. Choi Sangwon.

dated from: mid 2022.

author's note: So, I am experimenting with style a lot these days, and this was supposed to be a private writing exercise for me and me only, but I believe it turned into a pretty insightful character study, and that it'll be pretty useful moving forward to have this piece out. It sets the tone of the blog well enough (a problem I had with my old blogs was that the writing and the vibes always felt so disconnected, it was lowkey hilarious), so if similarly themed writing to this is not something you want to see, feel free to block/unfollow/non-interact, no hard feelings at all. Also: english is not my first language! This text in particular was originally written in brazilian portuguese and translated by myself to english.

You're vaguely aware that there are more decent ways of going through 'this sort of thing'. 'This sort of thing', in your book, translates to falling apart, coming undone, having a small death, as most things in your book tend to circle back to as of lately.

If you were locked inside a bathroom with the shower running cold, resting your forehead against the cooler tiles, it would be all fair game, and you could get done with it, freely liberating tension off your shoulder blades without acquiring any new guilt, without being watched.

But there's a living breathing person near your space. They could hear you making noise, see you, take note of you, join you, leave.

All fair game, as well, up until they leave.

You're thinking about crying just as much as you're thinking about sex. You've learned some years back that often enough, one follows the other in Siamese fashion. You've been made fully aware a week ago that they're not as intrinsically connected as you make them out to be.

It doesn't have to always be like this, your brain reminds you through a vivid thought. The thought keeps on going, takes a curve: but it has always been like this, with you, so this is how it'll go.

The situation your mind constructed is as it follows:

You would have your own cock on your right hand, left hand shoved into your mouth, eyes set on the silhouette by your side, separated by five steps and a half and another bed, both your expressions blank, the world quiet, compliant.

Chihoon would look asleep, but he would be awake. And you would know that because you have watched him sleep every night for months, and his shoulders and brows don't tense when he's even lightly napping. It would make you feel nothing. 

Now, he breathes through his open mouth. In your head he stays silent, plays dead, plays you.

When you changed roommates, you chose to stay with the side of the bedroom that used to be Sangwon's. You told Dylan your legs got cold and you didn't like being so close to the vents, and that was all that was, all there would ever be – but in actuality, you have cultivated a morbid curiosity in putting yourself in Sangwon's shoes.

You understand that's not what your therapist had in mind when she suggested you practiced empathy, but that's what you do now: you change thought perspectives as if they were TV channels.

You blink and think that Dylan is now you and you're so many different people you might as well not have a face. (So this is how you saw me, you want to tell them, one by one. You saw me small.)

You blink and you're close to crying, ugly crying, head shoved in your pillow crying.

Sex with you was never good, but sex with you was never about being good, or about getting there, getting someone there. It had always been something taunted sinister by the fact that it was you inside your own body – a dead cat wrapped in gift paper.

You could never make them laugh with their full chest, but you always made them hard, made them wet.

You remember, like one would remember a hazy dream, the feeling of being taken over by love and fear for the very first time, always love&fear, a conjoined act, sweaty palm interlinked with another sweaty palm, bigger than yours.

You had always been the sort of kid that held their breath under the bathtub water until some numbness hit you. No interest in learning how to swim or how to keep your nose high, out of risk of drowning. Not swallowing any medicine to keep the aftermath headache away, having it sit at the crown of your head proudly, like a tiara.

People that have been carved out of precious stone and molded into sculptures, human looking but not human being things like you, were made for drowning underwater. That to you had always been factual.

That kid side of you breathes deep inside you still, hangs inside your chest somewhere you can't reach, unless provoked. He tends to jump front when you let yourself be at mercy of other people, when they hover; that part of you that knows your destiny and the sinking hurt that's integral to it.

Everytime you let a tiger come close to your open cage, you flash your neck so they can pick you up by the nape, like an animal cub, and drag you away to eat you alive in whatever area brings them privacy.

No one has ever asked you where more than once. One time you sucked a man off in a parking lot, saw cars and bikes coming in and off the corner of your eyes, and now you no longer feel like driving.

Your very own conception of privacy is even more cloudy than a dream, stripped bare of any value, rest in the same way your physical exterior has turned into rest. You outgrew this coat. You learned how to live out in the cold and can't let yourself miss feeling safe in the warmth. Can't deal with the hanging thread of the wind blowing this candle out, rain falling over it.

You take a hold of yourself by the arms in a straitjacket shaped hug, nails sinking deeper into the meat of your elbows as you abandon the covers. You feel yourself rising up almost supernaturally, sitting at the edge of the bed, feet glued to the icy ground. You feel yourself walking until the distance between you both is more or less of a single foot.

You can never sleep near someone and not marvel and bitch and get nauseous at how easy it is to choose not to hurt them.

(In the dark, nothing ever happens. You spent half of your life like this: on your knees, snot running down your nose, hidden away from the sun and all it touched. Someone somewhere told you were a night creature once, half-bat, and you still believe them.

A tree that falls where no one can see doesn't make any sound, and you used to find comfort in that, back when you knew what was making you out of breath. Back when you didn't know they'd always be someone watching.)

Hand taunted with sweat, you see yourself wipe it on his hair through astral projection, as if someone else did it. And then you start shaking and getting down, almost as if you were in front of an altar, and you press your non-working nose against his scalp. You don’t move even when you feel him move. You’re a marble structure crumbling down again, ruinning someone’s peace by reaching.

When you plead for forgiveness, your voice is an echo of the one belonging to who had you by the neck first.

[ginger-snaps014]

Just been thinking about all the Snow White/Rachel Zegler controversy, and I can’t help getting annoyed at all the pop feminism takes that seem to disregard the value and cultural impact of older female representation

1. Cultural Impact Remaining

This film came out in 1937. Nearly a century ago. Roosevelt was president. The new deal was being negotiated. Amelia Earhart disappeared. The Hindenburg went down. Ernest Hemingway was around. The Golden Gate Bridge opened. The Spanish Civil war was happening. Picasso was still alive and painting. The Great Depression is ongoing. Would War II just started in Europe with the Nazis invading Poland 3 months prior to Snow White’s release date. All these thing feel historical. Old. No longer directly related to our everyday lives. They are just history. Yet- Snow White is their contemporary. And it was so well done that it remains a current cultural touchstone in America and the majority of the western world (if not the entire world). Everyone can recognize Snow even if they never saw the movie. More kids recognize Snow White than the president.

2. Film Impact

Have you ever enjoyed a single animated film in your life. Thank Snow White. She is the first animated film in history. Snow was called Disney’s Folly while in production because no one thought a feature length animated movie could succeed. It was considered impossible. Disney and his team figured out how to create scenes that could be zoomed in on by separating different layers on individual glass plates that could be focused on or blurred by a downward pointed camera. This also made it possible to avoid redrawing a background for every image. They had to create new filming equipment for this to even occur. The film was a masterpiece in innovation. And that was just looking at the technical side.

3. Artistic Value

While the art cannot be separated from the technical aspects, it deserves its own bullet point. The character design was so well done that Snow is still singular and recognizable today. We can even see when just her silhouette is used for inspiration.

The art is so beautiful it still looks good today. Unlike other films which feel like they belong in a different era due to degrading. This 1930s classic still feels as it could have been during my childhood with the Disney renaissance movies. It hasn’t aged poorly like a lot of CGI films have. It’s art. Age means nothing.

Disney and his team created new artistic techniques. Analyzing how movement of clothing did not stop swaying when the character stopped. Creating the ball emotion practice where an artist had to give a ball a full span of emotions with no facial features. They changed the style of animation to be more realistic (at the time, the look was more similar to Betty boop).

Just watch the scene when the Dwarfs hold the candle while walking up the cottage stairs looking for the person who broke into their home. The way the shadows flicker and cling to every surface. As if alive. As if real. It is one of the most gorgeous pieces of 2d animation I have ever seen. And it was the first.

4. Bad Pop-Feminism Takes

Pop feminism became popular in the early 00’s and focused on bringing down cultural touchstones that failed to bring girlboss energy. While some of this analysis was helpful, most was rooted in snap judgement and internalized misogyny. Snow White is the story of a young heroine who is about to be considered a woman. She is a victim of physiological and emotional domestic abuse at the hands of her guardian. A guardian who is not only the most powerful person in th household, but the whole kingdom. A guardian who tries have the girl brutally killed. Snow is forced to leave the only home she knows, with no friends, food, water, shelter, etc. While on her own and lost, she finds a home. She finds a place that has a need to fill. And proves her value. Yes it’s a domestic role. But this character creates for herself a job, and earns shelter, food, water, and allies. Her value is so undeniable that Dwarfs take her in despite the most power person in the kingdom hunting her. A person so influential no one even has the ability to confront her so long as she is not in disguise (and likely do not have the bravery either). Yes Snow is beautiful, but that alone did not get her safety. She never lets what she suffered stop her from living with kindness. When this victim of abuse is targeted again, her allies come to her aid. So what if a domestic abuse victim needed outside help to win? Why is it wrong to ask for help? Shouldn’t we want people to be able to ask and receive help when needed - without being thought of as less? Also, why is domestic labor less valuable than swordplay? It’s a necessity in life. So long as media portrays multiple types of femininity (domestic and not), why should one be worth less other? Because it is not historically male? What crap. Domestic labor has value. And that value should be made clear when both men and women perform it. The non-consensual kiss is a valid criticism. The rest seems like an excuse to hate recognizable aspects of femininity.

5. Personal

I will admit I am biased. This was the film I watched every time I visited my grandmother. It holds a special place in my heart. But I doubt I am the only one who has an emotional tie to the film. And love is always important

6. Timeless Tale

This story ahas been retold and updated many, many times. That would not happen if it had no value. To disregard Snow as a whole because you don’t connect to the 1930s version seems foolish and small minded. After all that is a mere retelling itself.

[cassius-blackwood]

[ Closed RP ]

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Cassius had been invited to go out tonight by Jacob, who had pretty much been his only friend since he'd moved to Forks a few months ago. The guy had been desperately trying to get him to come meet some of his friend group, although Cassius wasn't thrilled about the idea. He was the introverted type, preferring to be by himself to recharge — things like video games, movie nights in, and smoking a few bowls to relax brought him a sense of peace. Alternatively, he found himself anxious and sometimes more aggressive in larger crowds, loud places, and with people he didn't know well.

Needless to say, it made making friends a bit harder for someone like him — not that he cared much to do so to begin with, mind you, as people tended to drain his energy quickly. Every once in a while, however, he would find someone he could spend endless days and nights with, someone that seemed to understand him for a brief moment in time. Most of the time, they would move on with their life and drift away, the connection fading back into the vast streamline of energies in the world. Cass didn't mind anymore, as he'd grown used to that over the years, but it made it difficult to find any point in befriending anyone anymore.

He sighed quietly to himself as he moved about his home, getting ready to meet Jake — and most likely his friends — out at Third Beach in La Push. They were having a bonfire, he recalled Jacob explaining; he had been told he didn't need to bring anything, that his 'presence would be enough.' He'd heard that all his life, that he didn't have to do anything but show up. Still, Cassius often couldn't bring himself to arrive, and it wasn't because he didn't want to go. More than anything, Cass wanted to connect again, to not feel so... empty. Hollow. Alienated.

It took him a little while to get dressed and make sure he had everything together. Phone, wallet, keys — the works. The skyline was already a soft rose color, shades of plum and aureate swirling into one another behind massive and sporadic gray clouds. La Push was about half an hour outside of Forks, and so by the time Cassius had arrived at Third Beach, the sun had just dipped below the horizon and on the sand, there were four silhouettes against the fading light.

He sat in his car for a long moment, his pulse picking up lightly as he observed the boys. Cass pursed his lips briefly and then gradually climbed out of his car. Crisp, salty and smoky air greeted him, enveloping him in a hint of uncertainty and anticipation. It didn't take long for Jake to notice him, who had been waiting for his arrival.

As he joined them on the beach, two of the boys were still horsing around and didn't seem to realize what was going on. Jacob half jogged over to meet Cassius, a wide grin on his face. He gave a small smile in return, his gaze flickering toward the other guy that had accompanied Jake, then back to meet Jacob's gaze.

"Hey, Cass," he said warmly, practically picking Cassius off the ground as he hugged him. Jake was warm and the scent of pine, firewood, and a hint of musky cologne clung to him, causing Cass' smile to widen a little more. The familiarity eased some of his awkwardness and evident discomfort, and Jacob went on as he released Cassius and took a step back. "Glad you could make it, man. This is Embry," he introduced, gesturing to the guy that stood a few feet away.

"Nice to meet you," Embry chimed in, his demeanor laid back and a friendly grin on his face. He gave Cass a small nod, lifting his chin to acknowledge him. "Jacob's been talking about you nonstop, you know. We were beginning to think he'd made you up."

Cass shifted his weight slightly, his gaze flickering between Jake and Embry for a moment, arching his brow imperceptibly at the unexpected comment about being discussed with the group. Jacob, on the other hand, shot Embry a look and rolled his eyes, grinning once more as he returned his focus to Cassius. His cheeks were tinted a faint pink as he shook his head, meeting Cass' gaze, "It's not a big deal, really — don't mind Embry, he'll blow it up into something it's not. Let's get you settled in."

He followed Jacob and Embry back toward the bonfire, where large driftwood logs encircled a pit dug into the sand. The flames were dancing and crackling, combining with the waves that crashed against the rocks further out and adding a soothing ambiance to the area. Cassius took a seat next to Jake, while Embry sat on the opposite side of their mutual friend. While they got comfortable, Cass glanced up and observed the other two figures that were racing across the beach, though he couldn't quite make out what they looked like as it was getting dark.

"That's Paul and Jared," Jacob informed him gently, his gaze switching subtly between the two silhouettes and Cassius, "They should be joining us shortly. Are you hungry or anything?" He gestured toward the small cooler next to Embry, which had metal pokers sat atop of it. "I can make it for you, if you want. We've got hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken — we also have marshmallows, if you're looking for something sweet instead."

Cassius shook his head a little in response, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew that Jacob was trying to take care of him and make sure he was situated, and he appreciated it, but he was still on edge about being there. "I'm good for now, thanks," came his reply, his voice soft and tinged with a hint of appreciation. Jake shrugged lightly, and after a few moments, Jacob and Embry had struck up a conversation, giving Cass a bit of space to process and get adjusted to the new energies.

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[theimpossiblescheme]

“ i find myself in this position of finally being able to do things the right way. “ + whatever you'd like!

“Stubborn old thing isn’t going to leave, is she?”  Socrates could tell that Bustopher Jones was tracking the same familiar silhouette behind the window, and his voice was as steely as he’d ever heard it.  It was almost frightening to hear out of the old tom.  “Here now—take the lads and get under the counter.”

Between that and the feeling of Gareth and Carbucketty suddenly squeezing his tail, Socrates felt as if he’d been pulled from a trance.  “But what are you going—?”

“Don’t fret over me, just get out of sight!”  His tone was sharp and urgent—another jarring novelty—and Socrates had no choice but to obey.  He couldn’t risk an open fight, not with two Trainees with him and certainly not in the middle of a crowded club, and there had been too many close calls with Macavity’s goons even closer to the Junkyard.  If that wasn’t even safe, and neither was the Stage and Screen of all places, then where was?  What was he going to tell Munkustrap when they made it back—if they made it back?  There had to be a fire exit somewhere in the room, he just had to find it—

“What’s she gonna do?”  He almost didn’t hear Gareth’s question, soft as it was in his tiny crackling voice, as he yanked the three of them behind the bar, and the shape from the window grew and gained flashes of red, green, and white amidst the black of shadow.

“Hopefully nothing,” he whispered back, wrapping both arms around the kittens and drawing them tightly to his sides.  “Her bark’s always been worse than her bite.”  The one consolation he had was that Zephyra didn’t have the ferocity of someone like Cesare or the stamina of someone like Pallas.  None of Macavity’s little passel of showcats did.  They were more like sticks of dynamite—a great deal of buildup, but only a quick flash of action to show for it.  He just hoped Zephyra hadn’t picked up any new tricks since he’d been gone.

“Think we could take her, then?”  Carbucketty tried to sound brave and determined, but he was trembling too much to be convincing.

Zephyra was through the door now, so all Socrates could do was shake his head, close his paws gently over the boys’ mouths, and hold his breath.  The henchqueen’s fur stood on end like a Pollicle’s hackles under her shredded silk bow, and he could hear the knife’s-edge click of her unsheathed claws on the tile.  A few months ago, she could have fit in here perfectly, but now… she didn’t resemble a former showcat so much as a hyena anymore, and Socrates felt his own blood run cold.

Jones, on the other hand, was all smiles and open paws, any trace of his earlier tension gone as he stepped toward her.  “Evening, dear lady!” he boomed cheerfully, stepping closer like he hadn’t a care in the world outside of serving his guests.  “You’ve caught us at a bit of an awkward hour, but I’m sure we can still accommodate you!”

Zephyra wasn’t having any of it.  “Where is he?”

“Who?”  Socrates could practically hear Jones blinking innocently at her, even all the way across the room.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” she sneered. “That big patchy tom that just came in here—where’s he hiding?”

“My dear, there are multiple cats who fit that description here tonight, so you’ll have to be more specific.”

A growl rattled in Zephyra’s throat, and the next thing Socrates heard was a loud thud against the wall as she slammed Jones against it, claws wrenching through the fabric of his suit, his back feet dangling just off the floor.  There was a low gasp across the club, a screech of chairs and a clattering of silverware, but all Socrates could do was clutch Carbucketty closer as Gareth stiffened against his shoulder, fighting the instinct to bury his face in his mentor’s fur.  “Now you listen to me,” the henchqueen was hissing, teeth bared inches from Jones’s whiskers.  “You’re not as smart as you think you are, so I’m gonna be crystal clear.  That tall bastard with the patch over his eye—I’ve got a score to settle with him, and I’m not gonna let some old creampuff get in my way.  So unless you wanna be a smear on the wall, I suggest you tell me where he is.”

“Whatever score you two have is no affair of mine,” Jones retorted, not a hint of fear in his voice.  If anything, he sounded like he was merely scolding one of his nephews for tracking in mud.  “What’s more, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re—”

A paw clamped around his throat stole the end of the sentence.  “Think harder,” Zephrya snarled.  “Or do I have to go through every tom in here to find him?”

“By y-yourself?”  Jones had just enough air to scoff.  “Hardly.”

There was a horrible yowl of frustration and disgust, and Jones was thrown bodily to the ground as Zephyra folded over like a jackknife in anticipation, claws scraping even louder.  This was the final straw for the clubgoers, and Socrates could see many of them starting to rise from their tables in outrage.  Carbucketty tried to crane his neck to see, but Socrates hurriedly nudged him back down.  The first to reach Zephyra was an enormous tabby queen who could have easily given Pallas a hard time just from muscle alone.  Within moments, she’d swiped out with one massive paw and sent Zephyra skidding across the floor.  Howling like a fury now as many onlookers clapped paws over their ears, Zephyra charged again, but her opponent was ready for her.  The two queens struggled across the foyer, slashing and throwing and filling what had once been a peaceful space with a hellish din, until finally Zephyra was forced to retreat, holding one front leg to her chest.  She tore off into the night with a warbling caterwaul, weakly promising revenge, and Socrates heaved what felt like the biggest sigh of relief of his life when the sound faded.  He couldn’t tell how long the fight had lasted, but he could feel himself aging five lives every second… thank Heaviside they were safe now.

A lull of shock lay over the Stage and Screen for a moment.  Then a few stray whispers grew into full volume, and everyone went back to their meals and conversations, determined to act like nothing had happened.  Jones rose very gingerly from the floor, wringing out his tail like a wet towel and readjusting his monocle.  “I do despise making a scene like this,” he muttered before drawing himself up to his full height.  “Thank you, Phaedra… oh, dear, your eye,” he exclaimed, reaching up a paw to an ugly-looking scratch under her eye.

Phaedra merely brushed it aside, her touch surprisingly dainty.  “It’ll heal.  And we won’t be seeing her around again, don’t worry.  You all right, Jones?”

“Nary a scratch except for this poor shirtfront,” he replied with a wry chuckle, pulling down the torn garment under his jacket and giving it a swipe as if to clean off some dirt.  “Thank goodness I have more than just the one.  You boys can come out now,” he added, calling out over his shoulder.  “The coast is well clear.”

Socrates had to peel his back from the underside of the counter, but Gareth and Carbucketty wasted no time running over.  Gareth got to Jones first and grabbed his paw in both of his as if trying to comfort him, concern radiating through his little frame.  “You sure you’re okay, Mister Jones?  We could go get Cori and Tanto if you need them.”

“Yeah, she really could have kicked your—” a quick reproachful look from Gareth, and Carbucketty changed tack—“I mean, she really could have hurt you just now!”  Both Socrates and Phaedra couldn’t help chuckling, and Phaedra gave the kitten’s shoulder a little scratch before returning to her perch.

“Oh, I’ll be quite all right, lads.  You don’t get to be my age—or my size, for that matter—without learning how to take a few knocks, eh?”  He patted the front of his still-pristine waistcoat in satisfaction before raising his head to Socrates.  “And thank you for the warning, my boy.  Not a moment too soon, I should say.”

Socrates shook his head, still feeling both very heavy and very lightheaded as he put a paw on his Trainees’ shoulders.  “I just wish we could have gotten here faster.  I’m sorry you got mixed up in all this, sir—it wasn’t yours or anyone else’s battle.”

“Just consider it a favor repaid.  I, ah…”  He suddenly looked a bit bashful, at least as much as his pride would allow.  “I suddenly find myself in a position of… being able to do things the right way, after a fashion.  Seems only fair, doesn’t it?”

So that’s what this was all about…  “We don’t expect favors from family, sir.  Old Deuteronomy would tell you that, so I’m telling you that.  Just you coming to see us is favor enough.”

“Yes, well… don’t you lot stay away long either.  You know these doors are always open.  Especially for more pleasant circumstances.”  He cleared his throat, visibly regaining some of his composure.  “But I suppose you’ll be moving on for the night?”

“We have to, I’m afraid.  I have to get these two to bed, but we’ll be back soon.”

“We promise we will, Mister Jones!” Gareth piped up, still holding his paw.

“I’ll be holding you boys to that.  And please, just call me Bustopher—family needn’t stand on ceremony, after all.”  And with an affectionate pat to both kittens’ heads and a paw reclaimed and laid on Socrates’ shoulder, Bustopher escorted them both out of the club in a much friendlier manner.

[radioisntdead]

Writers block? Quick write about something you're passionate about

InFoDuMp

I personally have been learning to embroider and repair clothes, What about you?

-Oldie 🧶🧵

Good evening Oldie 🧶🧵!

EMBROIDER AND REPAIRING CLOTHES SOUNDS SO COOL, I tried my hand at embroidery but it hasn't gone too well but practice helps ya get better bit by bit!

I like to jokingly refer to myself as an Ace of many hobbies [like jack of all trades but with Ace and hobbies]

I HAVE MANY THINGS I'M VERY PASSIONATE ABOUT, Art, yarn, crochet, candle making, as one could guess from my blog writing and other things I can't remember at the moment

Most recently though I've been trying to crochet a plushie for my online friend who's flying down this summer, they have a OC who has a pet pig and I'm crocheting the pig! The yarn I'm using is soft but it has like an odd texture to work with so I have to wear gloves or I'll want to cry, but it's worth it for my friend I've been crocheting for almost a year now but I still can't do too much like certain stitches or a magic circle, MAGIC CIRCLES ARE THE WORST RAAAAA, I really want to learn how to make a strawberry stitch

Strawberries are lowkey my whole brand on my main blog and socials and I love em' a lot, don't tell my friends but I actually prefer mangos a little bit more then strawberries. THE STRAWBERRY STITCH CAN ALSO BE USED TO MAKE PUMPKINS, I love pumpkins, anyways IMAGINE A LIL' BAG WITH THAT PATTERN IT'D BE SO CUTE

granny squares are also the bane of my existence I'm making a sweater that uses them, it was supposed to be for my birthday, my birthday was months ago, maybe I can wear it for my 19th! It took me a bit to learn all the abbreviations for crocheting, for example this list

I usually [pardon my wording] bullshit my way through making plushies or anything really.

So far I've crocheted two dinos, a several octopuses [I've given em' to my family, my dad keeps one in his car!] A shark, a standing cow, a couple of blankets [two completed and one incomplete, the last one was supposed to be for my late dog but unfortunately he passed away before I could finish it and I haven't quite worked up the confidence to finish it but we're planning on adopting another dog soon so maybe I could finish it for them? I don't know I don't want my dog to think I'm betraying him or anything.] I made two pillows, a few of those little mini crochet Pinterest ghosts for some younger family members of mine [they loved em'!] And an among us character that appears and disappears at random

Here are some of them! The dinosaur is a present for my best friend's birthday, they haven't picked it up yet [Moony if you're somehow reading this, don't mind the weird parts of this blog and also DO NOT PROCEED THIS IS A SURPRISE]

[Don't mind my nails, I have a bad habit of biting]

As you can tell they aren't perfect but I'm improving! I liked crocheting the hooves for the little cow.

I'm also making a mushroom hat for renfair! I'm cosplaying one of my OCs and she's a mushroom themed fay/elf thing that sells shady stuff from her stand. I burned my finger while working on it like a second degree burn [DO NOT LIGHT GLUE STICKS THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO GO IN A GLUE GUN ON FIRE, BAD IDEA.] So until I'm healed it's on pause but it should be done by the end of the month so I'm excited about that! I used cardboard as a base and then bendable wire to get the shape I wanted and then I put fabric over it, glued it and put the bottom layer of fabric on the bottom and then covered it with pearls, white spots and little details I'm gonna add more when I'm healed.

I got this candle making kit for Christmas that has a little transportable stove and I haven't gotten the chance to use it yet so I'm planning to make some candles this soon I'm gonna make some themed off of characters to give to my friends! I made my best friend a Silco from arcane themed candle for Christmas last year I think? Or the year before that, I cut a silhouette of the character into vinyl and stick it on the glass part of the candle, Might make a Stardew valley themed one for me, my friend likes blue lock [I think that's the name?] So might make a blue lock candle or one based off of their OC, and might make either a bluey one for my best bud or a game character they like,

I tend to use soy wax as it's the cheapest I can get and it's highly recommended I think, be careful on what you put in your candles [like dried flower petals, leaves etc etc] they can and will catch on fire and BAM SOMEONES ON FIRE.

This is more rambling then info dumping, I don't know how to info dump properly, I remember rambling about Flappers ago, I would copy paste it here but the majority of it is me referring to the wikipedia and taking bits from it to quote and then telling my friends that I got it from the wikipedia.

Anyways thank you for listening that helped a bunch! Time to write!

[testing4kate]

start of a vincenzo plot drop idea.

Summary for Kate; Vincenzo finds out Grace, a model he got into the fashion industry has been selling drugs even though he warned her and now the Sovrani know. His friend, Eliska, is called to ‘remove’ her. However, the Italians see this as a way to make a point to the Russian’s and Rutherford’s in attendance that the French are not alone. - More would be required to be added, such as a second part to the plot drop. What would they do with Grace’s body? Place her in one of the glass boxes where the garments are meant to be held after the show, dead, with a message for the Rutherford and Russian Organization. ;) 

‘’Grace’’ Flavia called, waltzing in with that undying grace, shoulders back, head held high and the free-flowing grey locks that fell to the mid-section of her back. The room was alive, girls screaming with laughter, others who were too serious (or self-obsessed) to talk to anyone else. And Grace? She was a woman who’d been brought up with strong family roots, whose mother had taught her to be kind yet straight forward and a father who’d loved her fiercely.

Grace De Luca had wanted to be on the catwalk for as long as she could remember, it’d clouded her dreams and had been the reason she’d worked endlessly to get to where she was. And the excitement could be seen in the grin that tugged at both corners of her mouth.

‘’Flavia’’ Grace retorted while shaking her head. ‘’What time did you get in last night?’’

‘’You mean this morning?’’ She snorted, to which she simply rolled her eyes. ‘’Five am.’’

‘’You’re fucking wild.’’ Grace stated mouth ajar in disbelief. Today of all days, her friend had decided to party until the early hours of the morning, and yet, she looked right as rein. It may have been to do with the little pink pills they’d both been popping since they arrived. While Flavia used hers to keep going, Grace simply used hers to perform better at her job. She wanted this more than any of them. And she would do what it took to keep it.

Anything.

‘’You’re boring.’’ Flavia muttered under breath playfully, and Grace was quick to reach across slapping her arm back. Only a second passed before the girls were giggling together. They’d been close since they moved into their crappy apartment, making ends meet at what ever job they could get until the modelling gigs had began pouring in some five months ago.

Little did either know that it wouldn’t be the modelling gigs that would get them where they needed to be, but the Sovrani’s. Neither talked about it around here, and others hadn’t clocked in on the arrangements that had been made for the girls.

They knew best to keep their mouth shut.

‘’You won’t be saying that if you fall flat on your ass out there because you’re too hungover to concentrate.’’ Grace dropped into the makeup station that had been hers for the last two days.

All Hallows Charity Fashion Show. She couldn’t believe she was here. She could practically feel the burning eyes of other model sin the room, but she did her best to ignore it. Grace had never been one to worry too much about what others had to say.

That was why Vincenzo had noticed her. She could practically feel his eyes on her right now, from where he stood across the room. He was there with Giordana Rossi. The most terrifying woman that she’d ever had the pleasure to meet. She wondered if he was here for his own benefit, or to see what their talents were before he did them a favour in the future.

Flavia dropped into the seat beside her before murmuring under her breath.

‘’He keeps watching you..’’ And even Grace couldn’t help it as her eyes connected with his in the mirror. It held there, both of them, and she wondered if time moved slowly for him too or if this was simply because of how utterly gorgeous he was.

Vincenzo stood tall; hands delved deep within his tailored pockets, the deep shade of the midnight blue fabric of his suit seemed to have a sheen of glitter deeply imbedded within which outlined the shape of his silhouette, his hair gelled into place for such an event. Tonight, he wore a lazy smile which was usually reserved for his close friends but even he couldn’t keep a straight face when so many beautiful women waltzed past him, they were even happier than Vincenzo to be in this position. He could see that for some nerves were beginning to take over, shaking hands and catty remarks being shouted across the room --- how he loved Fashion, but more so how he loved the women.  

He cocked his head to the side with an inquisitive eye. There were so many to choose between, they were models for Christ sake --- and he knew how to play the game. But his gaze was trained to one. Grace De Luca. Half-Italian, half-English with almost near perfectly unblemished skin, expressive eyes, and long legs. She was a sight to behold. But there was more to her than just that.

He’d had the joy of meeting her that night.

‘’Keep staring and you’ll really look like a creep.’’ Giordana murmured, too busy to even look up as she examined her nails with such intensity. All Vincenzo did was scoff, pushing off the wall while shaking his head.

‘’Jealous?’’

‘’Of these?’’ Her smile was sinister, flashing a grin. ‘’You’re joking, right?’’

Vincenzo couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at the corner of his eyes, not saying another word as he took off in the direction of Grace. To most he looked like a handsome man with the ability to make most swoon. But Grace couldn’t help herself as she stiffened in her seat when he approached, keeping her eyes locked on him, like he’d disappear if she looked away.

Once beside her, she swallowed thickly, peering up before turning her chair around.

‘’Grace, you look as lovely as ever.’’ Vincenzo offered his hand out, to which she took it instantly and he pulled her to her feet. She wasn’t expecting that. He took a second to look around before cocking his head in the direction of another room. ‘’Join me for a moment?’’

She was like a deer in the head lights, nodding slightly. ‘’Of course, I can’t be too long though as they need to get me ready for the first walk shortly.’’

Vincenzo smile turned predatory. ‘’We won’t take too long. Plus, I put you in the show. I can take you out just as easily.’’ And just like that, a drop of a hat, and the atmosphere changed as she stilled in her spot. This wasn’t flirtatious at all. Grace opened her mouth once, twice and then closed it all together before nodding her head and sliding her gaze to a startled Flavia.

‘’Of course, Mr Vespucci, please lead the way.’’ Grace’s voice shook as he began to lead her away from the bustling crowd, into a quieter and more secluded part of the venue. This couldn’t be good, she noted, as he brushed a curtain aside for her, to which she slipped into the section broken away from everyone else.

The noise now a distant rumble.

A second passed, and nothing but silence continued, her back still to him as she clenched her fists at her side, sucking in a deep breath as she turned on her heel to face him and she jumped back in a second when she found him directly behind her.

‘’Vinny.’’ She almost screamed, hand flying to her chest, he chuckled in response.

‘’Mr Vespucci, really?’’ He asked, cocking his head to the side, and Grace rolled her eyes throwing her hands up either side of her.

‘’Well, you made a whole scene. I thought I was in trouble.’’ She began to relax before him, but it lasted only a moment before she caught the expression on his features, eyes downcast on the floor. This was not the man she’d come to know and instantly her heart sank into the pit of her stomach, so much so, that she knew.

She knew he knew.

And she knew she was going to die.

‘’Grace--- tell me you didn’t.’’ He asked, his voice was not weak but stern, so much so that she almost flinched, and she bit down on her bottom lip. ‘’Tell me you aren’t running some kind of stupid supply and demand bullshit.’’ His voice could have been mistaken to show hurt, but his face was now cold, looking up and staring her down with the fire of hell.

‘’I won’t lie to you.’’

‘’You already did. When you promised me you’d leave that fucking shit behind, Grace!’’ His voice now bellowed, and she took a protective step backwards, to which he only rolled his eyes. ‘’You’re scared of me? After I told you what would happen if they found you doing this? It’s not me you now need to fear, Grace, it’s whole of the fucking Sovrani.’’

And with that, she knew her life was over. She wasn’t just shaking now, but her eyes were lined with silver as she looked left, and then right.

‘’Vinny---‘’

‘’It’s Vincenzo now, Vinny is reserved for those that I trust.’’ It’d hurt him because Vincenzo very rarely, if ever, let people in. And he’d allowed Grace to see that side of him, that he wasn’t a cold-hearted killer. ‘’I can’t save you now…’’

She knew who was coming.

‘’Is it…’’

‘’Eliska?’’ He barked, but all she did was stand there wide eyed, and he .sighed running a hand down his face. ‘’Yes’’ And with that she began sobbing, and usually he’d have comforted her. But he couldn’t anymore. This was his family, and he wouldn’t betray them. Vincenzo Vespucci wanted this life too much and he wouldn’t jeopardize that for a girl.

‘’Oh god…’’ She whispered. ‘’Oh my god.’’ Because she’d just realised all of the hard work that she’d done over the last three years to get to this moment was for nothing. He’d brought her in here so she could die. Flavia, her eyes snapped up. ‘’Flavia---‘’

‘’Will be taken care off, we’re aware she had no involvement.’’

Her shoulders slumped, hearing the crowd in the distance erupt as the music began. She was meant to be the show after, she stared off, wondering if this was really how her life was supposed to have turned out. But that didn’t matter anymore.

‘’If it’s any consolation. I tried to stop it.’’ Vincenzo was stoic, but hurt lingered in those orbs, from her betrayal but also what he knew was to come and yet, here he stood wondering if this was the right decision. But it didn’t matter. In a second he was gone, and Eliska appeared like night had suddenly arrived.

And Grace De Luca’s screams could not be heard.

[buckys-dollface]

𝑴𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑴𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒊𝒕𝒚 [𝑩.𝑩.]

Pairing • Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary ● You are in a loveless marriage that has made you bitter, until you met Bucky. Two souls connected, they say misery loves company, well you and Bucky mold perfectly together, seamlessly, trying to escape your demons and search for anew.

Warnings ● 18+ MDI. Infidelity, depictions of manipulation, possessive!bucky, mentions of murder/violence, the husband is literal trash, oral sex, unprotected p in v (this is fiction ur life isn't), voyeurism, allusions to DA.

A/N ● I will most definitely write a follow up to this. I have an idea in mind, so if you enjoyed reblogs and comments are appreciated.

And feel free to send asks about this mini series 💕

You should feel bad. Any normal person in your situation would be wretched with shame and guilt, but you aren't any normal person. Your relationship with your husband has been long forgotten, just two strangers shackled together with wedding vows and a commitment. If you could get away with it, you would have tossed your wedding ring in the ocean like you've seen in movies, but people talk in your small suburban town.

To much of your dismay, it's a constant reminder that you are his and that's final.

Until recently, of course.

You hadn't always felt this way, you would like to remind yourself. You tried to remember what it was like to be in love with your husband but it seemed like everything he did rubbed salt into the already deep wound. There were too many fights and harsh words layered on top of the “I love yous” you used to whisper at each other entangled, lustfully.

You recall one night about six months ago, that your husband had actually agreed to attempt date night. There was a swanky new jazz bar downtown had caught your attention and you had mentioned it to your husband. Being the good husband he was, he wanted to take you out purely for appearances.

You had guessed, though when he was a 1 hour late, your ‘doting’ husband had recalled where he needed to be for the evening but sent you a sorry-ass excuse by text.

“Sorry babe, working late.”

You sighed and took a sip of your vodka soda. You nodded your head at the bartender in gratitude as he departed. Your face twisted in the bitterness of the alcohol and how this evening was going. Not that you were expecting a happy evening. Hell, you've played pretend for the majority of your life at this point, it's gotten to the point where myth and reality were jumbled, and it's hard to tell which was which. You sneered at yourself.

"Too stiff for ya?" The brunette man down the bar remarked. You chuckled to yourself as you lifted your head at the sound. His voice was gravelly and sent a tingle down your spine.

You snickered. "I guess you can say that."

Your eyes glanced down the bar and you practically gasped. One of New York's most well known mafia bosses was speaking to you in the dimly lit jazz club.

"Ya know, if he fucked up your drink, it's not a problem to get it remade." He said almost as if it was a decree.

It was then that you became a little too aware of your surroundings. Your eyes darted around and noticed well-dressed men stationed at every exit. Those must be Mr. Barnes’ men. Your anxiety started to rise as you felt the intensity of his stare. You don't know this until later, but this wouldn't be the first time Bucky took notice of you. He knew your husband was a piece of shit and a sweet little angel like you needed takin’ care of.

"I have to be honest, Mr. Barnes-” Your words began to tumble out of your mouth quickly. You were shell shocked and mesmerized by his silhouette begin a few feet from you. Bucky got up and strode over to you. He stood behind you and you took notice of his hot breath on your skin.

“Bucky, please, sweetheart.” He insisted as he took notice of your face in the mirror by the bar. Your eyes never left Bucky’s intimidating steel blue ones. You wanted to be swallowed whole by them and wade in his oceanic irises. "What's a pretty girl like you, doing here all alone?"

Your breath almost hitched. "I was supposed to be meeting my husband." The words lingered in the air for far to long and begged for an explanation. "But he told me he was working late, it's cute that he turns a blind eye to the fact I know he's sleeping with the secretary."

Bucky tsks at your revelation. Disappointment caressed his features, you deserved better. You will get better. "Oh is that so?"

"Uh, yeah." You mumbled. You began to feel soft sultry kisses on the side of your throat upwards to the shell of your ear. You could feel the scruff of his beard brush your skin as he nibbled your ear lobe. “Good because that means you're free this evening, and I can't wait to spend it between your thighs.”

“Oh-I” You quivered. This is wrong. You knew it was wrong in every way but your brain didn’t want to argue, or maybe it was your pussy taking over the reins.

“Sweetheart, if you wanna play the good wife, you can, but you ain't foolin’ me.” He whispered in your ear, his gruff voice made you shiver. You noticed his hands gravitate to your thighs as your red sequin dress rides up. Your breath hitched as you felt him press in the backside of you, his erection hard and thick.

“Get your courage up and drink this down.” He lifted your rock glass to your lips and you drank from it without hesitation. “Let's have some fun.” Bucky insisted, his hand awaiting yours. You shouldn't go, you know you shouldn't. But where is your husband to stop you? He hasn’t given you enough reason to stay, and you were sick of playing pretend for a man who never treated you fairly. It's almost as if you were rigged from the word go. A smirk grew on your glossed lips as you rose from your seat and grasped his hand.

“Good girl.”

It's been six months of secrets. Your illicit affair was your lifeline, while the rest of your world was poisoned with delusion; your relationship with Bucky was the most fundamental thing you had endured to date. You felt safe and secure with him, despite the fact he was a mafia boss. You never had to question his loyalty to you, he ensured that. It took him great lengths to get you, so he wasn’t going to risk losing you now. But you still were scared, you were ready for the other shoe to drop. You knew something this wonderful couldn't last forever.

Even more so, your husband is growing wary and suspicious of your whereabouts. As much as he is dismissive of you, these emotions are privately contained. He acts like a good husband in front of friends, family, and public spaces. It's almost like your husband was putting on a mask and would interchange them depending on who you were around. If you thought about it too long, you weren't sure if you truly knew who your husband was as an individual. You did know he withheld darkness, but at what depth it went to, you weren't sure.

It's almost like you're married to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

A couple of days ago, Bucky called you, and insisted you spend the night at his townhouse in Manhattan. “C’mon, and meet me in the city.” He whispered to you. “I need you, angel.”

And in typical fashion, you went— like always.

What you didn't realize is that you had been tagged, and a PI had been following you during your entire trip. Your husband had hired one of the most well respecting PIs behind your back and ordered him to document any incriminating evidence that could deem you as breaking your wedding vows. Your husband was very wealthy man and if his money was going to anyone it sure as hell wasn't you. He had his suspicions like you did yours, but he need to solidify it with cold hard proof.

You had a key to the townhouse so you slipped right in. It felt like a nice release, a fresh breath of air entering the townhouse. You shuffle in the kitchen and notice a handwritten note on the island.

Be back soon, my angel. There is a present for you on the bed. Love, Bucky

A smile gleamed over your face as you read his note. You almost floated into the master suite, and saw a sleek black box wrapped in a red ribbon. You unwrapped it carefully and admired what was inside.

A blue set of lace lingerie and a note that says “wear me.”

A smirl spread across your lips and you slipped into it without a second thought. The way your fingers grazed the laced as your admired your figure.

Damn your tits look great in this set.

Inspector Barber shuffled in the bushes trying to master a good angle. Awaiting, watching what it seemed like a pot begging to boil, he stayed crouched down, his eyes lingering, admiring your beauty. He had almost the nerve to fuck you against the California King-sized bed himself. You were tempting, like the apple in the Garden of Eden and the longer he watched, the more his cock twitched. Almost out of no where, the garage door opened and your mafia boyfriend sautered in almost carelessly. Bucky couldn't wait to get his hands on you.

Bingo.

Andy huffed out a long breath. Partially relieved to have his target in sight but also grateful he didn't get caught with his hand almost down his pants.

"God the way you devaste me, doll. You're like a damn hurricane and I'm a simple boat at your mercy." Your eyes glanced up at the daunting silhouette peering in the doorway. All you could do was chuckle; what a charmer, you thought.

You slowly shook your head, “Alright, killer. How do you want me?” You teased as you strolled towards him, your eyes never left his steel blue ones. His firm gaze was broken into a sudden smile.

“With a glass of wine in hand, lounging on my couch as I make you dinner,” he suggested as a smirk spread across his lips. “There will be plenty of time for us to play later, babydoll.”

“Or so he says.” You retorted, as you playfully roll your eyes.

“Alright, angel, don’t start actin’ hellish.” He chuckled as he led you into the living room. Fifteen minutes later, you were found lounging on his plush sofa, a glass of róse in hand as you and Bucky spoke about each other’s days. It was nice and peaceful. You breathed in the aroma the spaghetti bolognese he was making. It smelled divine. It seemed as though you were in a trance as you gazed at Bucky humming; your feet floated to the kitchen.

“Oh my god this smells so fucking good, Buck. Who taught you how to cook?” Usually, you and Bucky would go into the city while you were with him. As a mafia boss, Bucky had connections everywhere it seemed, and you would enjoy your time with him a private club as an form of escape. Typically wearing his favorite dress— the red sequin one you met him in.

But tonight, Bucky insisted on cooking for you; he told you, you deserved a lovely meal prepared for you, just as long as you brought dessert. He gets pretty needy for something sweet and tasty after dinner and you are more than happy to cure his insatiable cravings.

A smile graced his lips. “My ma did, she was fantastic at cooking, well she was fantastic at everything to be honest.”

You were flush against Bucky, his back against your front, hands roaming around and making light work of feeling his corded muscles. You began to press light kisses on back and traced upward his spine making Bucky flutter from the inside out. A small smile broke out and spread across his lips.

“Just couldn’t wait, angel?” He muttered as you began to untie his Kiss the Cook apron. It unraveled beneath your fingers and feel briskly to the ground. You soon found your hands grazing his prominent bulge. You always found it ironic that Bucky called you his angel because you truly were the devil most of the time. Especially when it came to teasing your brooding mafia boss. A shiver wracked through him as he let out a subtle hiss. Within moments, the stove was off, dinner long forgotten. His chest was flush with yours as your fingers found his zipper with ease and went to tug his dress pants down. You both made quick work of removing his clothes until he was just in his briefs. Your lips molded with Bucky’s, never missing a beat.

“Let’s run away.” He insisted between heated kisses, sucking your skin allowing for bruises to start to bloom. You felt your fingertips caress the cheek, and your eyes met him, “Need you to be with me always, doll.”

“Why?” You murmured. Your eyes widened as you felt his movements come to a halt. The moment the word leaves your lips, you regret it. Remorse began to fill your heart. Your stomach twisted slightly in the wake of his words. He owned all of New York. Men would bow down at his feet, begging, pleading for his mercy. Why would he leave that all behind? It couldn’t just be because of you?

“Because I don't want to feel like you need to hide in the shadows anymore. I want to be with us to be together, openly, freely.” Bucky knows the situation. He understands your husband isn’t a saint, but he also understands the gravity of your marriage to him. He could kill him. He always had that wild card in his back pocket, but at the end of the day, Bucky realized that he needed you to trust him no matter what. He couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes with you divorcing your husband. He wanted you to have it all, which also included his money as well, even though you would never need it. Bucky would always provide for you without a second thought.

So he had to be patient with you and your feelings, as disheveled as they may be, but his patience was wearing thin. How couldn't go much longer seeing you unhappy.

"You know I can't do that." His hopeful expression faded almost instantaneously. Your words shock his nerves, you couldn’t go back to your husband, he won’t let you.

"What's holdin' you back, angel? I need to know." He insisted, his calloused fingertips grazed your arms and hooked around your neck.

“Bucky, I’m still married. You know that,” It was taking everything in his willpower not to roll his eyes at your absurdity, “I’m cheating on my husband and before you say anything, yes, I know he isn’t a good man but what we are doing isn't any better.”

Bucket kneeled before you; his eyes gleamed as he took in your figure. He kissed his way up your long legs to your delicious thighs. His kisses whispered things he didn't dare utter were felt on your heated skin. Your lace panties were soaked when you felt his hot breath on your clit. You ached for his touch, it almost made you want to surrender your inhibitions.

“Really? If our love is so wrong, tell me, why does it feel so right?” His eyes peered up as he began to lap away at your arousal. It did feel right; Bucky was the missing puzzle piece you had been searching for your entire life. Moans began to escape you; you could feel your clit throb as two of Bucky’s fingers plunged into your needy core. God damn it.

“Am I not the one you're dreamin’ of, my angel? Am I not the one you wanna love forever?” The words swirled in your ears and took residence in your mind. Bucky was everything you had dreamed of and more. You couldn't believe this figment of your imagination actually existed and was sucking the soul out of you at the moment. You were quaking in pleasure. His movements were hypnotic as he sucked and nibbled on your clit and pounded you with his digits. His pace almost seemed inhuman as he was attempting to lay claim on you somehow. The pressure was becoming overwhelmingly impactful, and with three simple words, you lost all your wits.

“Cum for me,” He grunted and your hot arousal soaked his fingers.

Oh, how it was painfully delicious to be submissive for you mafia boss, but something or someone was holding you back. As you came down from your high, he peered you at you with soft baby blue eyes.

“Let me fix it. Let me protect you.” He insisted, his glance became soft and self-assured.

“I don't know if you can,” You began to look away as you murmured.

“He threatened you.”

“No. I didn't say that.” You tried to reassure, your words coming out quick, almost as an automatic response you had committed to memory, “You didn't have to.” In an instant, all the composure he had withheld was swept away, with the glimpse of his favorite antique gun slipped from out of a kitchen drawer and into his hand. He went to retrieve his clothing when you shouted for him, “Bucky!”

Your voice echoed and his eyes darted up, “Please.” You begged, for what you, you weren't sure of, but you knew you needed him, here with you.

“You don't have to protect him anymore, he was a mistake, dollface.” He grasped your hands carefully and interlocked his fingers. You could feel the faint tracing on your wedding band that was glistening on your ring finger. “Don't let this wedding band chain you away forever, because I'm not going anywhere.”

His phone rang, and a hush feel over the room. Bucky’s eyes stayed locked onto yours as he went to answer his cell phone. You could hear a man’s voice muffled, front where you were standing. You guessed it was one of Bucky’s men but you couldn’t be sure. There was a small shift. The once intense passion that glistened in his steel blue irises had shifted to pure possession and feral protectiveness in overdrive. It was utter chaos.

You noticed his breath slow, “I see, thank you.” He mumbled. His tone thick and gruff.

And for a moment, a split second, Andy thought he locked eyes with the mobster. His breath became shallow, and his mouth almost agape as he scrambled to find his wits and his sanity at the moment. Shit. He clutched for his camera and made a clean break before your mafia boyfriend could smash and break his face in.

“You wanna finish what you started earlier, angel?” He asked in a teasing tone. A small giggle escaped your lips as you went to hop on his lap. Bucky made quick work pulling his leaking, red cock out. “Do you understand what you do to me angel? You have me at your mercy, always.” He slipped in with ease, and you couldn't contain the unwavering urgency to be filled by Bucky.

“I love you. So much.” You breathed out between pants, your tits bouncing with your momentum as his cock hit all the sweet spots within you. His eyes widened and he gave you a lopsided grin. It was a breathtaking sight to see you working yourself on his cock and taking what you needed, and rest assured Bucky had plenty to offer. His calloused fingertips tweaked your nipples as you clawed his muscular back. Red lines in the wake of your passion filled frenzy.

“Please-“

“Please, what angel?”

“Need you fill me with your cum.” You moaned out, the thought sending shockwaves to your core.

Bucky’s eyes met yours and you could see the shock and how unsure he was. You have never let him cum inside you before, but now? He saw the shift in your features. The determination and insistence that came with it. “You sure?”

“Please, James. I need to feel all of you, baby.” And that's when Bucky lost it. Entirely and wholeheartedly falling into a euphoric abyss with you wildly rutting on him. He quickly laid you down and entered inside you from a deeper angle as your calves both gripped his torso, begging for as much closeness as humanely possible. Skin slapping skin, Bucky trying to touch you everywhere at once. You felt your hands tug at his locks as he sucked bruises on your collarbone. His hands grabbed the meat of your thighs as he drilled into you. Your whimpers and cries filled the room and only got loud with the closer you felt yourself explode with immense pleasure only Bucky could give you.

“All mine.” He groaned in your ear as he spurts loads of hot cum inside of you. It was almost a cathartic experience, as the feeling overwhelmed you. Feeling so utterly full and constantly fulfilled as he still rutted into you through his orgasm. A wail escapes your lips as you felt the pressure snapped and stars shimmered behind your eyes. You were floating in serenity.

“My beautiful, beautiful angel.” He whispered as light kisses were peppered on your face, “So proud of you, doll.”

You don’t know how or when, but that bastard they call your husband won't know what's coming. Resistance was fleeting, and whatever comes to be you, you would be ready, swinging. Hard and heavy. You refuse to lose Bucky.

Sometime later, Inspector Barber had finally arrived back to his office after a job well done, for the most part. His SD card filled with evidence of your affair lingering there. As he stepped inside, he gave a curt nod to his receptionist who was answering a call. She smiled in response, “Inspector Barber’s office.”

"Put it on speaker," he mouthed to her.

“Who’s speaking?” The gruff voice questioned. Annoyance was relevant in his tone but it went beyond that. A reckoning was brewing.

“Mary, his receptionist.”

“Ah. Well, Mary please tell Inspector Barber if he wants to keep his life, he’ll destroy that hard drive. I won't be fucked with.” The line went dead without another syllable uttered. Inspector Barber's eyes widen and his blood ran cold.

This for sure wasn't going to end well.

Tagged: @writing-for-marvel, @gutflorizt, @tshsbitch, @ccmarvelxx, @cutelittlenightmaresworld

[clovermarigold]

Daggers and Daffodils Chap.16

Dagur x Reader

See end of chapter for my hour-long apology about how long it's been since my last update

Enjoy the chapter!

"What are you doing my love?" Dagur stepped towards you slow and heavy, as if approaching a cornered animal. The room was dark, so you were unable to make out his face. His voice sounded happy, in a cat and mouse sort of way. But something told you he wasn't as amused as his tone would have you to believe. He was starting to get a little too close for comfort. As quickly as you could you grabbed the cage, knocking a number of crates down behind you to slow him. The ship's hull was large enough that you could use how cluttered it was to hide. The lock wasn't hard to pick, using the small pick and knife you had asked Tuff for before you split up. " Are we playing hide and seek now" he chuckled, swiftly looking behind a stack of crates. Dagur called, kicking the side of a box not too far from you to check if that's where you were hiding. The chances of you breaking out now were slim, but as long as Scabbard was able to get out, you'd consider this a win. She would be safe, and Dagur wouldn't have anything to hold over you.

"My love, I understand you're upset. If you come out now, I won't lay a hand on the rodent". Dagur searched closer. Kicking smaller crates across the floor, whistling a marry tune, as if this were a game.  You ducked behind a beam when he began to walk in your direction. If you could just make it to the exit. Having been forced further into the hull, the already faint light emanating from the doorway was practically gone. This left you slightly grateful for Dagur's heavy steps and unnerving whistle. A part of you thought that he was likely doing it for this purpose. As you backed further away from the sound of Dagur your back collided with the cool surface of wood. 'Crap!' you had backed yourself into the side of the ship and had made a quiet yet still audible bump. Dagur's whistling stopped. If he was walking, you couldn't tell, his heavy steps absent.

......a creak to your left. You grabbed Scabbard off your shoulder and threw her to the right, you take off forward. A loud crash sounded behind you as Dagur made the quick turn to follow you. Being careful to jump over any silhouette you could make out in the near darkness you sprinted as fast as humanly possible. Dagur barreled behind you less carefully, knocking over and through stacks of crates. The sound of him laughing echoed behind you making your heart hammer and a chill be sent down your spine. That sound would have caused your face to go red a few months ago (probably a few hours ago, though you wouldn't admit that). You were making it to a point in the hull where it your surroundings were slightly better illuminated, when Dagur crashed into you pinning you beneath him.

"Got you" he smiled looking down at you. To your surprise his smile wasn't taunting or deranged (in a malicious way anyways), it was excited and childish, as if he really thought you were playing a game together. He beamed at you panting a laugh. It began to fade however, as the panicked look on your face reminded him of what you had been doing down here. "We're you trying to run from me, my love?" you gulped, his face was serious and cold. It was a look usually reserved for others, and it made you feel a strange guilt and uncomfortable weight to have it directed at you, causing you to look away. In response your ack of response, one of Dagur's hands wrapped around your jaw to make you look back at him. His eyes ran over you, hand releasing your jaw in favor of lifting and cradling the back of your head. "As much as I love 'games', you should still be resting from this morning" his voice was bitter and a tinge sarcastic, making you realize he was playing dumb. Or at the least, letting you know he was going to let this event slide. Your relief was short lived as the sound of a loud roar from above you paired with a firm shake from the ship.

"Wha-" Dagur laughed a deranged smile spreading. "Oh, I forgot to mention, we're leaving early" Dagur said helping you stand up. "Dagur, what did you do?". "I simply took back what belongs to me" he looked to you. Exiting the hull, you were met with a very upset and chained up Skrill as the ship was sailing off. 'Please, tell me Hiccup knows about this' you begged internally. "Braun, take Y/N to our room. No one goes in or out unless it's me" Dagur wasn't looking at you, instead smiling derangedly at the Skrill.

And so once again you were back in Dagur's room. There was a small port hole in the room that allowed you to see the ocean. The sky was grey with clouds making your already uncomfortable and on edge mood worse. You had been locked in that damned room for a couple of hours when the yelling sounded, and through the porthole you could see the Outcast ship. Lightning flashed overhead along with the roars of the Skrill. Locked in, you were left to listen to the sounds of clashing steel and the Skrill's roars. And you couldn't help but hate the deep seeded worry you felt in your gut for the stupid Berserker.

Dagur POV (Holy S*** it's been a while since I've written in 1st person... I still hate it)

I had smiled as I watched the electricity disperse completely through the water, Alvin was dead. A laugh made its way through my entire body, causing me to hunch over with small tears pearling at the tips of my eyes. I was one step closer to having complete control over the archipelago and marrying Y/N. At once my laughter stopped, irritation filling me at the sound of suck-up Berserkers laughing despite having no idea why "Shut up!". I quickly made my way to my quarters to give Y/N the good news.

I knocked three times on the door to let her know I was coming in, After all, I'm no animal. I opened the door to see her in the corner of the room next to the porthole. She looked me over once, as if checking for wounds and I felt my face heat. Thor, every moment I spend with her I start to want to give up conquering Berk ad just run away with her instead. But no, we would only truly be safe once I removed Hiccup from the picture.  

"Y/N, I'm happy to say that our little Alvin situation has been dealt with" her eyes widened and her breath hitched. I held my arms out slightly in case she wanted to hug me, but it never came. In fact, she instead took three steps back. "Aren't you happy?" no response, I sighed, "My love, are you still upset with me? I swear I just kept you down here because I couldn't trust you not to run away. I have no doubt you'd be able to hold your own in a fight-". A loud familiar screech of a dragon drew both of our attention. "Nightfury!" a Berserker called. A small smile found itself onto her face and I felt my mouth turn sour. Well, if Hiccup wanted to play, they would. But I'd like to see him go toe to toe with a Skrill. Y/N's smile faded at the familiar sight of my quote unquote Deranged grin.

Hi everyone, I am so sorry for the late update and how short the chapter is. I've been going through some s*** with my mental health and school is a nightmare. I am absolutely not abandoning this work, and I'm also Not going on hiatus. Writing is very therapeutic for me, and you have all been so kind and supportive. I am working on the next chapter; however, I will be updating less frequently. As I don't want to turn this fic into a chore. Thank you all for your support and reading my cringy fic <3

Due date/Max: 10/5 (may be subject to change)

[gotnofucks]

Midnight Adventures

Pairing: soft!dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: He thinks you’re trying to escape him, even though he’d made it clear who you belong to. Though the truth is far more innocuous than that.

Words: 2.1k

Warning: Dub-con, past non-con implied, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, smut, language. 18+ ONLY

A/N: Inspired by this ask I got . Finally getting back to writing in more than a month. 

He was going to tie you to the bed and never let you free. Anger flowed through his veins as he sneaked into the museum, looking around for you. Sam and Bucky snickered behind him, and he resisted the urge to flip them off.

“Cap, can you see any heat signature?” He asked Sam. Sam looked around, turning this way and that until he pointed at the hall on the right.

“That’s your girl right there Steve.” Sam answered, his shield reflecting the dim lights of the museum back. Steve nodded, asking them to stay back and hold off any cops who came in while he went in and got his girl out. Bucky had disabled the alarms you had triggered, but he was sure the place was about to be swarmed with authorities any second now. He had to get you out before that happened.

His feet barely making a sound, he entered the room Sam had pointed and glanced around. The only light streaming in was from the windows, and Steve could see your silhouette moving against one. You were muttering to yourself, stumbling over your own feet as you moved about. He let his gaze wander around the room before fixing it on you again.

You hadn’t realized he was there yet, too lost in your own world. Stepping closer, Steve stood directly behind you and turned his flashlight over you, clearing his throat. You screamed, turning around to look at Steve with a frantic and guilty look in your eyes. Steve opened his mouth to set you straight when he finally caught sight of what you were doing, and he stood there dumbfounded.

It seemed like you were stealing soil. One of the display cases was smashed open and you were transferring the grey soil in there into a glass container in your hand. You stilled, stopping midway in taking more soil as Steve stared at you in utter confusion.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, flabbergasted. You gulped, tentatively sealing your jar and putting it back inside the small bag on your back. You stood before him, guilty as small child caught sneaking cookies from the jar. Steve turned his head a little as distant sounds of feet reached his ears. The cops were here.

Without waiting for your answer, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him, his eyes narrowed at you. His arms went around your waist, tugging you right into his body as he silently maneuvered you both towards the exit door at the end, peeking out. Two armed cops were coming this way, the faint sounds of grunts telling him that Sam and Bucky had a few others engaged out in the hall.

“Hold on, and don’t scream.” He whispered in your ear and you nodded, holding him around his neck. He walked over to the window and looked down at the deserted street. Pressing your head into his chest, Steve took a deep breath and jumped out. The wind rushed through your hair and you muffled your scream into his shirt, nails digging in his flesh as he landed swift as a cat on the road.

Without wasting a second, he took you and jogged away, the dark not deterring his steps. You tried to keep up with his large strides, dread and thrill of the chase coursing through your veins. A minute later, a familiar black car pulled up before you, Sam grinning at you from behind the wheel.

“Oh honey, you are in trouble.” He smirked, letting you and Steve in the backseat. The police sirens faded away as you all drove back towards the Avengers compound, Steve’s hand still wrapped around your arm. You chanced a glance at him, shuddering at the sheer anger on his face. Shit. You were a goner.

Steve dragged you back towards his room, ignoring his giggling friends behind. You ducked your head and followed him in silence. It was never a good idea to argue with him. Once inside, he locked the door and turned to you, a frown deepening the lines on his forehead.

“What the hell have I told you about trying to escape?” He growled, body tight with tension. It had been a while since he’d been this pissed at you, and you shivered.

“I wasn’t escaping.” You said, nervously shifting on your feet. Steve came closer to you before tilting your chin you, making you look him in the eyes. His eyes were dark and hard, a promise of punishment rolling in them like waves in an ocean.

“Then what the hell were you doing in that museum? You ran away!”

You shook your head desperately, clutching his shirt in your hands. It had been months since you last tried to escape. You knew how futile it was to keep trying. You could never overpower Steve, not with Bucky and Sam always by his side. You’d made peace with your situation a while ago. Steve had snatched you, had kept you by force. And you accepted it as your life. You’d almost come to…enjoy it even.

“I promise you Steve, I didn’t run away.” You implored, looking deep into his eyes so he could see the truth in yours. Unless you did something really drastic, Steve rarely ever got angry with you these days. It was scary to have him so pissed again.

“What were you doing in that fucking museum?” He asked again. You bit your lip before pulling out the jar of soil from your bag, offering it to Steve. He looked at it and then your face, which curiously held embarrassment along with guilt there.

“I was stealing Lunar Soil.” You admitted, shaking the jar slightly so the fire particles in there shifted. Steve blinked at you before taking the jar and examining it, confused.

“Why?” He asked, putting it aside. You didn’t answer and he scowled, stepping closer and closer until he backed you into the wall and stared you down. Running a finger down the side of your face, he brought his lips to yours in a dangerously soft kiss, his other hand balanced beside your head. “You know I have ways to extract information from you. Would you rather I resort to them?”

You gulped, half in fear and half in anticipation. Steve’s punishments were as much a torture as they were pleasure. He was your captor, but he was also the man who would scale every corner of the earth to give you what you want. His body had a way of making you crave his touch, an intimate solace for whenever your mind turned to how helpless your situation really was.

“I – I wanted to –” You stuttered, suddenly shy and mortified. Steve hummed and urged you to go on, his hand gliding down your side to cup your ass. You slowly peered into his face, scrunching yours nose. “I wanted to use it to make moonscreen.”

Whatever he expected you to say, Steve did not expect it to be that. He raised a brow at you, silently asking you to elaborate and you flushed, pressing your face into his chest to hide from his screening gaze.

“Moonscreen, it’s like, you know, sunscreen but for werewolves.” You said at last. Steve’s hands stilled from kneading your ass, a sort of stunned silence between you both. And then he growled low in his chest. He pushed you away to face you, incredulously staring at you.

“Did you run away from my bed in the middle of the night to steal something for a mythical creature?”

You pouted, playing with the button on his shirt to avoid looking in his angry eyes. It was all Peter’s idea anyway, but he was too much of a wimp to steal the Lunar soil himself. It wasn’t fair how you were bearing the brunt of Steve’s anger alone.

“They are not.” You counted softly. “Werewolves exist.”

Steve gave a strangled groan before crashing his mouth on yours, digging his fingers in your soft flesh as he carried you to the bed and dropped you on it. You moaned, kissing him back as he tore through your clothes like a man possessed. His hands were everywhere, mouth leaving a trail of sinful fire as it moved from your shoulder to your chest.

Your hand went behind his head when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, back arching as you urged him to go faster. Wiggling, you untangled your pants from around your knees, wrapping your legs around Steve. He sat up and stripped quickly, covering your naked body with his again. There was a frenzy in his actions, an urgency to have you closer.

Quickly checking if you were wet enough, he entered you in one practiced thrust, tearing a cry from you. You whined, yours arms pulling him closer as he went in and out of you, roughly breathing with each stroke.

“You idiot girl!” He snapped, entwining your hands with his and pinning them beside your head. Sweat glittered on his hairline, his body rocking hard into you, sweet pleasure running down your spine and settling as heat in your womb. “You fucking dumb bitch!”

It seemed like he had a lot to say but just couldn’t. So, he showed you. He kissed you like he was sucking your very soul from your body, he fucked you as if branding you from within, he held you as if he could merge you into himself. Panting, softly cursing, Steve took you hard and fast, eliciting mewls and cries from you that fell like music on his ears.

“Mine. You are mine!” He said, but more as a statement than anything else. “You don’t leave me ever again. Never.”

The coil in your gut tightened, Steve letting one of your hand go to bring his to your bud and flick it with expertise. His eyes were fixed on yours, holding your very being hostage with his power. In a moan that echoed off the walls, you succumbed to his will, shattering below him and falling limp, floating in a haze of glittering pleasure. He buried his head in your neck, thrusting a few more times before finishing inside you, his cum flooding you within and warming your core.

You panted, sweaty and sated, wearing his marks and covered in him. He rolled over, taking you with him so you rested above, your ear over his chest that thumped with his strong heartbeat. Crazily, you found peace. In the hailstorm of your fucked up life, Steve was the one you held you together. He was the one who pushed you down, and he was the one who caught you as you fell. Your sanity, your insanity.

“If I ever wake up to you gone again, I’ll shackle you to me. You get it?” He murmured, running a hand over your back. You nodded, shifting closer into the warmth of his body. He grunted in approval, pulling a sheet over you before he got up to bring a cloth to clean you.

Kneeling before your legs, wiping gently and softly tracing your folds, Steve murmured soft words of love and praise and apology. He kissed your abused hole, the inside of your bruised thighs, the mass of your belly and the softness of your breast. He kissed your eyes and your nose, reaching your mouth the last.

“What is my truth?” He asked, dressing you into soft pajamas and cradling you into his lap. You relaxed into his touch, head on his chest.

“That you love me, and you’ll never apologize for that.” You answered. In the most bizarre way, you did believe he loved you. And though his love wasn’t perfect or without pain, it was what got you through his darkness that confined you here by force.

“And what is your truth?” He asked, lips on the crown of your head. You closed your eyes, listening to the beating of his heart that matched yours.

“That I am yours.” You said, sleep creeping over you in a beautiful embrace. Shifting you in his arms, Steve laid you down and spooned around you, hands covering your own. You wiggled, pressing your bum into Steve’s groin, and smiling at the catch in his breath.

You floated towards oblivion, a dream already encroaching over your consciousness when you sleepily called out to Steve. He hummed, squeezing your hands gently.

“Werewolves are real.” You muttered and before he could so much a snort out a laugh, you were snoring.

Steve smiled into the darkness, running his thumb over the back of your hand. The panic of your disappearance earlier was replaced by fondness, his heart full of love for you. No, he would never apologize for how he had taken you. Just like the lunar soil sitting on your nightstand was still a part of the moon, no matter how far apart, you were always going to be a part of him. That was your truth, both of yours.

[justwritedreams]

Welcome to the Kingdom | Jeno

Chapter Three: Roses and Rumors

Prince Jeno x Princess Reader, enemies to lovers au!, royalty au! Word count: 2758 Genre: drama Author: maari Warnings: Literally one joke about have the head cut off Note: I decided to split this chapter so I could post it soon since the last one is a month ago, so that's why it was a little shorter than I wanted. But I promise the next one will be bigger. Summary: What do roses and rumors have in common? Both remind you of Jeno.

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Y/N was in the most famous rose plantations in the kingdom. The most beautiful, lively and fragrant roses came out of there. But it had been a while since she had visited the place and so she looked around confused in search of what made her go there and the only thing she could feel was an unusual anxiety, the heart was pounding against her own ears and looking at the horizon ahead, she saw a still silhouette. She strained her eyes against the glare of the sun and took the hands to her face to cover it and try to see who was there, first she saw the all white clothes. The not-so-tight, high-waisted pants that demarcated the slim waist very well, the long blouse and as white as it had the first buttons open and left the pale skin exposed along with the silver necklace. She looked up to his face, and seeing the familiar features, the maddeningly neatly combed black hair, she felt her jaw drop. She hadn't expected to see Jeno there, so well dressed and almost attractive. In perfect contrast with the roses it was very strange. The smug little grin was there too, but Jeno's intense eyes were staring at her and even though she didn't want to, her legs moved towards him, almost as if asking her to get closer to him. She wanted to ask him what he was doing there, in a setting so beautiful and too perfect for him to spoil, but unlike all times she didn't have the strength to be rude to him. Unusual, was what she could feel. All the strength she usually had to respond to his provocations at the time was concentrated on keeping her gaze fixed on his. The princess felt a shiver run through her body as he came down to take a closer look and a kind of glint was born in his dark eyes. It wasn't fun like she was used to. It was something else. The princess felt the long dress she wore fly as the wind beat against her body and a shiver dance across her skin, she just didn't know if it was because of the wind or because Jeno raised his hands to reach her face. Whatever the reason, it didn't stop Jeno's wide hands from finding the back of her neck, the exposed and icy skin was touched by Jeno's warm palm, and it practically absorbed the heat in an instant. Her body was suddenly hotter, as hot as the way he was staring at her, not even blinking. Jeno brought his face closer to hers, touching her forehead and Y/N who couldn't take her eyes off him, there was something that made him terribly irresistible. When noses met, the princess sighed. "This is not real." she spoke quietly, as if didn't want to break the moment and she didn't even understand herself. It wasn't to like the touch or the approach of her body with Jeno's. She should push him away, smack him on the shoulder and turn her back on him, if this was real maybe she would. "No." Jeno grinned, amused, and brought his mouth close to Y/N's ear to whisper against it. “For now, princess.”

Y/N woke up suddenly, sitting up in bed with wide eyes as she surveyed the four corners of the room. She brought her hand to the chest, which rose and fell at an unusual speed, as felt herself coming back to reality. She blinked a few times and realized it had been a dream. A bad dream. She took a deep breath before throwing her body back complaining as grabbed one of the pillows and placed it against her face, as if she could erase the dream she'd had. Damn Jeno and all his cheap seduction tricks. Y/N angrily pushed the pillow away from her face, the strands of hair in front of, she remembered the night before. In which she unintentionally snooped around Jeno making out with one of the castle maids. Of course, that was what made her dream about that… idiot. It was then that remembered the other details and felt a pang in her head when remembered that she and Jeno were supposed to be engaged in a month. Frustrated, took her hands to her face and rubbed it, pushing the hair out of her face and decided to get up from the bed. She would talk to her father and try to talk him out of the idea, although felt as she changed clothes that this was a losing fight. The princess quickly went down to the dining room, her parents were already having breakfast and she blamed the dream she had for being late, wished them good morning as she sat facing her mother and next to her father.

"Listen to this, dear, they are saying that yesterday's ball will go down in the history of both nations as a sealed peace agreement without involving a war." the queen spoke and the king smiled tightly. Y/N watched her parents, they both seemed very happy about it and in part she was too. They would have buzz in the media but they wouldn't be that relevant. “Glad the Lees agreed, so the media forgets a little about border fights.” the king spoke and the princess seized the moment. “By the way, I wanted to talk to you.” she said, dropping the spoon and receiving the curious looks of the parents. “Say it, daughter.” the queen encouraged and Y/N took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me about the wedding?" the intention wasn’t to sound like an accusation but the guilty way in which the parents looked at each other, made the princess notice that that was what it actually sounded like. "Daughter-" “I had to find out from Jeno!” she made a disgusted face and the mother sighed, looking at her husband who was calmly waiting for his daughter to finish. “When did you guys think of this deal and why didn’t you consult with me sooner?” "Because we knew you hated him." The queen started. “I hate him.” the princess corrected automatically and seeing the two take a deep breath, she decided to speak more calmly. “I always knew I would marry someone for the good of my nation, I was never deluded by the idea of ​​love. I just wish I had heard it from you.” “We intended to tell you later.” the king began to speak and suddenly the whole room was silent. “As soon as Taeyong took the throne, after his father died, he got in touch and said he would like a truce. He had promised that he would withdraw half the troops on the border if we did the same.” “So that meeting here at the castle was about that?” Y/N asked and the father nodded. She still didn't understand why she hadn't been informed that the Lees would come to her kingdom, if she had known she would have stayed in the room with her father instead of training. And from the way the king looked away from her eyes, he was hardly going to tell her everything he knew. “A marriage between our families was suggested so that the kingdoms could be united.” “And did it have to be Jeno?” “Taeyong is already married and marrying a king from another kingdom wouldn’t be the most sensible in our position.” the queen spoke. “Parliaments could understand that we would be unifying and nobody would agree with such an idea after our independence.” the king continued and the princess nodded. Well, she never thought about marrying Taeyong anyway. “Ten has already found a bride, they will announce it now at the end of the month.” “Before your announcement.” the queen looked at her daughter. "Haechan, we don't need many reasons to explain why he wasn't chosen." The princess laughed as her father grimaced. Haechan was a great person, a lot of fun, but he wasn't the trustworthy type for such an important job. He was an adventurous and free spirit, he liked to do what he wanted and sometimes that didn't please the nobility. Although he was an excellent tactician, he was impulsive. Maybe because he was one of the youngest, Haechan knew he wouldn't be king so he didn't act like the crown was his main goal in life. He just wanted to enjoy it. “We considered Mark, I must confess.” the king continued and the princess looked at him hopefully. “A fine guy, centered, true to his duties. However, he will enlist after the weddings and you know that marrying a soldier is not the best advertisement we could have for our family.” Y/N sighed, looking away from her plate. No, another scandal involving the sole heir to the throne with a military man would be the doom many nobles had been waiting for. They couldn't give that reason. So really only Jeno was left. “And well, things got a little easier when Jeno volunteered.” the king finished speaking and the princess pondered, she wanted to know why Jeno was suddenly so nice, there must have been a reason for this sudden good mood. Her mind accepted the fate but her body refused to believe she was destined for it, which is why it was so hard for her to get the next words out. “Alright, I accept.” She wasn't trying to convince her parents, after all, even if she said no, it wouldn't make any difference. But she tried to convince herself that was her duty, even if she hated her fiancé, she would have to learn to live with him. The king nodded, proud of the answer and the queen smiled widely. “By the way, daughter, Ten’s wedding will be the first event that you will officially attend as Jeno’s bride.” Excellent.

[...]

"You what?!" Y/N closed her eyes for a moment as she heard her cousin scream. "Yeah, Yeri, announce it to the whole world." the princess complained and the cousin laughed in her face. "What?" "I'm sorry but you’re the luckiest person I know and also the most ungrateful." Y/N looked at her offended and crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation. “You’re going to marry hottie Jeno, with all due respect of course, and you're still complaining?” The princess snorted, throwing herself on the bed with her arms outstretched. “If you want to trade places with me—” “You bet if I could, I would.” Yeri spoke with such conviction that the princess only lifted her head to face her with a raised eyebrow. "Just because he's handsome doesn't mean I should celebrate that I'm going to be stuck with him for the rest of my life." she complained and saw Yeri looking at her with a mischievous smile. “Did you just admit that you think Jeno is handsome?” she asked and Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as she sat up in bed again. "What-I don't… you're the one who said he's hot, I just- went along with your thinking." the fact that the princess stuttered and blinked more than usual made the cousin laugh even more. She was embarrassed. “Stop laughing, Yeri!” The cousin raised her hands in the air as a sign of redemption. "Anyway, I could never fall in love with him." "And why not?" Yeri asked curiously. Y/N sighed before speaking. "I made a bet with him." she admitted, making her cousin get up from her chair and sit next to her. “Whoa, wait a minute, you didn't tell me about this. When?" "On the day of the party." Y/N scratched behind her ear, avoiding looking at Yeri. “Yes, that's been a week now. Why didn't you tell me?" “Because I was angry!” the princess took a deep breath. “It was a lot to digest, the party, the rapprochement with the Lee family, my engagement, the fact that I saw him kiss one of the maids at the castle and—” "WHAT?" Yeri screamed again and Y/N covered her ear. “Could you stop screaming for a second?” "You didn't tell me anything about what happened at that party by the way!" Y/N looked at her guiltily. It wasn't because she didn't trust her cousin, in fact she knew that as crazy as she was, she was one of her best friends. “A lot of things happened, I just needed some time to understand.” she shrugged and her cousin crossed her arms. “Okay, so tell me. He’s a good kisser?” Y/N stared at her, surprised. "How am I supposed to know if it wasn't me who kissed him?" she returned the question, in a tone of obviousness. “Come on, Y/N, we're not twelve anymore. We can see it in the way the guy holds it, in the way he moves his lips.” Involuntarily and contrary to everything she had done in the last week, where she had decided that would no longer remember when she had caught Jeno making out with one of her maids, she remembered the way Jeno had held the woman's waist. He didn't seem to use all of his strength but still it wasn't in a delicate way, not least because the woman's groans said the strength was too good. And then her mind traveled to the memory of his lips shaping the woman's in a thirsty, even angry way, as if Jeno needed it more than breathing, his eyes closed so tightly as he devoured the woman's mouth. Y/N felt a chill down her spine and tried to hide it by shaking her head. If her cousin noticed that she had reacted differently to the memory she was screwed. "I think the way the maid moaned answers your question with a yes." "Were they just kissing?" Yeri asked and Y/N just nodded. “Wow, well, not that this is a surprise. You know most maids are gossips and I've heard several of them talk about how Jeno is a man with an attractive strength.” Y/N laughed lightly. “Funny, none of them say anything around me. I never heard dirty rumors and gossip in the castle.” Yeri rolled her eyes. "Of course, they're all afraid of having their heads cut off once you assume the crown." "Is that why or because you mix with the servants so you can make out with that cook?" Y/N raised an eyebrow and Yeri just brushed her hair back from her shoulders, with an expression of mystery and pride. "I have no reputation to uphold, I’m not the future queen." Y/N laughed at her cousin's answer, shaking her head. It must be nice to have that freedom, she would never know. "But don't change the focus, tell me about the bet." Y/N rolled her eyes and looked at her cousin as if questioning if she really had to do this, and seeing her keep the smile on her face with no sign of surrender, she almost regretted bringing it up. “Jeno practically challenged me, he suggested I was scared of falling in love with him and you know how I get when I feel challenged, I said that would never happen and he could bet whatever he wanted. And he accepted.” "That simple?" Y/N nodded and Yeri frowned. “Did you even stipulate what that “whatever he wanted” would be?” "No." Yeri looked at her suspiciously. "I'm not afraid of Jeno, Yeri." “I know that and I think it's great. I just think you gave him too much leeway by not stipulating the ultimate prize for this bet.” "I don't understand." “You two have been in this game for a long time and if the bet is about heart, I wouldn’t be surprised that if he wins, he asks for something that will be difficult for you.” “Just to tease me even more?” Yeri agreed. "This will not happen." “Your naivety borders on blindness, you know?” Yeri smiled wryly and Y/N snorted. "You're just missing one detail, my dear cousin." "And which one is it?" "Your marriage to Jeno is to ensure that the next line of succession takes place." Y/N paused for a second, feeling a pang in her head from worry and panic that she hadn't remembered that. "You mean-" “Heirs, Y/N. You and Jeno will have to give heirs to the throne as soon as possible.”

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