#trying to remember the little versions I made in my head before I started engaging with fandom a couple months ago for the first time

[aulerean]

Scarlet Pearl is like evil red riding hood. To me.

[sea-owl]

So I never posted the edited ao3 version of this post for the true mates au on Tumblr. And since I am currently working on the next part for this au I should probably fix that. Here you go. 

"You were avoiding Mama and Papa today," Maina said. "Does it have something to do with a certain alpha?"

Penelope winced. Damn, she was hoping Marina hadn't noticed. "I was not avoiding them. I was merely avoiding their unsubtle hints about me and Pip courting."

"Oh, Penelope why don't you want to marry Phillip? We could really be sisters then," Marina said, holding her cousin tighter. The two omegas were cuddling in Marina's nest. Marina's heat was due soon and it always helped if another unmated omega was there before and after the heat.

Because Pip and I only see each other as pack mates, Penelope thought. Because I would rather write my novels and Pip wants to study his plants. Because it would be the most awkward marriage and mating ever.

Truthfully the only real advantage Phillip and Penelope would have being married to one another is that they would let each other continue their passions and be left alone by others. Penelope couldn't say that though. Her cousins didn't even know she was the novel writer Lady Whistledown, it wasn't something a proper omega did.

But her romantic cousin did believe in true mates.

Penelope leaned in closer to whisper to Marina. "I believe I have found my true mate."

"Penelope," Marina gasped. "Who is it? Have I met him?"

Penelope shook her head. "Do you remember my pen pal Eloise?"

"Ms. Bridgerton?" Marina asked.

Penelope nodded. "Yes, one of her brothers caught my scent from a letter I sent her. He sent me a letter with Eloise's and oh Marina. I just know he is my mate."

"Which brother?"

Penelope ran through a list of names in her head, trying to remember Elosie's actual brothers' names so she didn't choose one of them. How many did she say she had again? Three? Yes, that sounds about right, two older and one younger. The Bridgertons were so well known, even out here, for their being many in their pack and for all looking so alike that half the time most don't know which one is which from a distance. Surly no would notice if she added one more, and Eloise would help surely help her if she knew Penelope was doing it to avoid marriage.

A name, she needed to pick a name.

"Colin. His name is Colin Bridgerton."

Later that night Penelope wrote two letters. One to Eloise, and one to the mate she made up.

Dear Eloise,

My cousins are once again trying to push me and Phillip to court, no matter how many times we tell them we see each other no more than as pack mates. I may have fibbed and told them I have recently started a long-distanced courtship with one of your brothers. Colin is the first name that came to mind. If you could please help me I greatly appreciate it.

with great thanks ,

Penelope Featherington

The letter she wrote to the made-up brother was shorter, adding in a few details she remembers Eloise said about one of her actual brothers.

Dear Mr. Bridgerton,

Thank you kindly for your first letter. You will have to write to me while on your tour around the Mediterranean. I have heard you could find really good tomato plants there.

yours truly,

Penelope Featherington

On the back of her stationary, she added some musings she had once written on new love when Marina and George first started courting.

Two weeks later Penelope found herself having a picnic with Marina and the Cranes. George and Marina were sitting on a blanket a little ways away from Phillip and Penelope, still in sight but far enough to where they couldn't hear their conversation. Phillip and Penelope were sent to keep an eye on the engaged couple.

Phillip rolled his eyes. "More like scheme to have us start courting too," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes, your. . .father and my guardians do seem rather persistent," Penelope agreed. "Which is a wonder since you'll be starting Cambridge soon Pip."

Phillip glared into the distance; the same one he used when thinking about Sir Crane. "Anything to make me proper alpha. I guess we should be grateful that your pack alpha has not given in to the arrangement Penny."

Which was odd, since it was her pack alpha, her father, Lord Featherington, that sent her live in Gloucestershire with her cousins in the first place. One would think he would make arrangements to keep her out here since to her knowledge neither of her parents knew what to do with an omega. Everyone else in her family was betas, from her parents to her three sisters.

"I still can't believe you made up a fake mate," Phillip whispered.

Penelope looked down at her letters. She had received two from Eloise. One smelled of Eloise's warm scent of honeysuckle, the smell becoming more potent as she opened the envelope.

"If I had not Sir. Crane," Penelope spat the name, " and my guardians would certainly have us engaged to be married."

It was almost too easy for Penelope to spin the tale to her guardians of a long-distance suitor who she believed to be her true mate, and that her mama was help coordinating back in London. Neither really wrote to Lady Featherington, Mr. Thompson exclusively only wrote to Lord Featherington.

Penelope pulled out the letter.

Dear Penelope,

Yes, I shall help you at once! We still have accomplishments we must achieve and how are we to do that when they try to marry you off when you are not even out in society yet!

Though really Penelope, Colin? Of all your choices, you chose Colin? I suppose it is better than Gregory.

you friend,

Eloise

Penelope smiled. "Oh, this is wonderful Pip, now you can continue your studies at Cambridge and . . .Pip?"

Phillip sat next to Penelope in a daze, his body shaking, and his unfocused eyes staring at the letter in her hands. "Lonicera," he muttered, breathing in deeply.

"Phillip!" Penelope yelled.

Whatever scattered her friend's mind stopped it's control. Phillip blinked a few times before coming back to himself. "I'm sorry Penny. I'm not sure what happened."

"You're not about to go into a rut are you?" Penelope asked, leaning away.

Phillip shook his head. "No, I'm not due for a while."

Penelope stared at her friend for a few moments before turning back to her other letter. This one didn't contain Eloise's scent; she must have sprayed some sort of perfume on it. The perfume gave off a scent of an ocean breeze with hints of citrus. It was the most wonderful scent Penelope has ever smelled. She must remember to ask Eloise what perfumed she sprayed it with.

Dear Penelope Featherington,

I thank you for your well wishes and will make sure to write to you on my travels. You say there are good tomato plants in Greece? I shall be eagerly awaiting to see if that is true.

yours,

Colin Bridgerton

Over the next few years Penelope kept sending letters to her Mr. Bridgerton. She must really commend Eloise for her dedication to keep up the charade, even if she still hasn't told Penelope what perfume she sprays the letters with. If Penelope was not the one to make up Mr. Colin Bridgerton she would have sworn he was real. Eloise put so many details in of a young man traveling to different parts of the world that Penelope wonders where she learned them. She even pretended to send gifts from those travels. Penelope busted out laughing when the first one of tomato plant seeds came in with a note.

You were right Pen, there are good tomato plants here.

yours,

Colin

Penelope wished things went as smoothly with the rest of her life. When she was 17, George had went to battle and died, leaving behind an unmarried and unbitten pregnant mate. Phillip was dragged home by his father who had died two weeks after George. Now the lord of Romney Hall Phillip tried to honor his brother and look after Marina and her unborn child. They had married when Marina was three months along, but never mated. No one dared spoke about how Sir Crane and Lady Crane had no mating marks.

Marina was never the same. During the last months of her pregnancy, she had become snappy with Phillip, and demanded that Penelope not leave her side.

"Penelope will move in with us!" Marina ordered. "She will be my companion and my child's governess!"

Phillip and Penelope had hoped that once Marina gave birth she would calm, but no such luck. After the twins were born Marina had become despondent. She never left her rooms and allowed very few to enter.

"Penny how is she today?" Phillip asked one morning, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think she would like to see the children?"

"She barely has spoken, nor eaten," Penelope relied. "She only stares ahead of her. I fear brining in the children would send her into another fit."

For two years they lived like that before the sickness took hold of Marina and she allowed it to take her.

Phillip and Penelope were reading over condolence letters when she got the rare letter from her mother.

Penelope,

I am sorry to tell you this but your father has passed. Come next season when we go into half mourning, I will need you in London. It is time for you to be serious about your suitor.

Penelope stopped reading. Her father was dead. She supposes as her official pack leader and sire she should mourn his loss. She's sure her sisters in London are.

Penelope read over the letter once more. Still she felt like she was reading about the death of an unnamed character in one of her novels.

Penelope puts down her mother's letter and picks up the one from her fake suitor.

My darling Pen,

I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are going through right now. It is never easy to lose one member of your pack, much less two. I hear you are to come to London next season. I shall be waiting for you here. Mayhaps we shall finally see if we suit for marriage.

patiently waiting,

Colin

"My mother expects me to return to London next season. I am to join the marriage mart," Penelope said.

Phillip nodded. "I will accompany you. We will both be in half mourning and be able to begin courting others."

Penelope looked up, her confusion leaking into her scent. "You will come to London with me?"

Phillip smiled. Penelope could smell his smugness at shocking her in his pine scent. "I figured we would both like someone we would know there when taking on the marriage mart. I need to find the children a new mother."

"You should find yourself a mate," Penelope muttered under her breath.

Penelope was 20 when she stepped back into London for the first time since her parents decided they could not raise an omega. Her dress was lavender and her gloves black.

Phillip stepped out of the carriage beside her with his black gloves and coat.

They are greeted in the Featherington drawing room by Penelope's mother and three sisters, along with two unknown alphas and an unknown omega.

That familiar smell of ocean and citrus hits Penelope so hard she's thankful Phillip has given her his arm to escort her in. She's not sure she would be standing if he didn't.

"Penelope, Sir Crane" Portia said. "This is Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Lady Violet Bridgerton, and Mr. Colin Bridgerton."

Phillip shot Penelope a look. I thought you made him up.

Penelope shot Phillip a look back. So did I.

[steveskafte]

EVIDENCE IN YOURSELF It's so hard to admit you're passionate when you're shy. Too often in this culture, we believe that those who feel most deeply are the loudest ones about it. As a kid, being an introvert wasn't exactly a choice – I was just too awkward around people to be anything else. But I remember seeing examples of heartfelt humans, most in books or on the screen, and knowing that it was something meant for me. There's an emotional connection in observing who you'd like to be, a sudden and obvious awareness despite the evidence in yourself. I remember watching movies with a strong romantic element, an intense passion depicted between a man and a woman, and feeling like it was an ideal I could live up to. Turned out much harder in practice. When I was nineteen, I had a short-lived engagement to a girl (let's call her Celia) who was just as shy as me. Truth be told, I never felt much attraction for her. But she was a good friend, and I'd spent my teenage years single – slowly wondering if my childhood dreams of romance were childish after all. It only took a few months to see how the relationship was a chore. I never got excited about spending time together, didn't feel much when I looked in her eyes, and the thrill of conversation never seemed to materialize. In short, we weren't in love. You'd think that'd be easy to recognize, but when everyone in your life seems stuck in shallow attraction or locked in monogamist apathy, who's your example for falling in love? We broke up just before Christmas 2006, a little negative present to end the year. When I was single again, I thought back to fictional romance as an example. Even if those stories were all an illusion, I chose to chase that level of intensity, or remain alone indefinitely. So I spent the next few years trying to be a more genuine version of myself, aiming to get what was inside of me out. I started writing, and bought my first camera, then began this daily journal in the fall of 2007. My main resolution was to look at myself more honestly. What did I hate most? Self-portraits, my image in the mirror. So I made it a goal that at least one of my daily photos would feature me in some way. The hardest thing to overcome was disinterest in myself. In short, I was aiming at becoming the sort of person I'd admired on the male side of imaginary relationships. Now, I don't believe for a second that people are meant for each other. But it didn't take much time to recognize Susy when she showed up. We met through my poetry online, in the early days of 2009, and quickly started messaging daily. Our first phone conversations went so long and late than we'd had less than a dozen before they eclipsed the entirety of my verbal interaction with Celia. Every time she picked up the line, it felt like that buzzing you get just after your ears pop at altitude, light-headed and suddenly focused. Susy was outgoing, extroverted, and so full of heart that it almost scared me. The next year-and-a-half seemed like a build-up to the exact kind of hope a much younger and quieter version of me has once held close. Susy landed at the Halifax airport in the summer of 2010. Everything was electric with her on that first visit, from spinning in the darkness under starlight to climbing waterfalls in the blinding sun. Even though I'd seen her in photos and brief videos, the very last step in falling for her was visual. Sight and touch meant a lot, but her voice came first. All these years later, from our wedding here on through, I still feel that heavy hiccup of being next to the one I love the most. There's no fading novelty. She's the presence I imagined, but better in every sense. Not at all what I thought, nothing that I planned, like the puzzle piece discovered sideways and upside-down – still the perfect fit once you get it all straight. It's important for you to understand that Susy is why I'm still writing now. She made me brave by believing. If one dream can come true, why not another? October 31, 2023 Avonport, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5833 of my daily journal.

[barnesafterglow]

how it was

summary: glimpses into your life with bucky, and how it all fell apart

pairing: bucky x f!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: part two to 'this isn't a love song' so make sure you read that first! this is just more all too well (10 minute version). allusions to what could be viewed as an emotionally abusive relationship. bucky is not a great guy. if you're wondering if there's a happy ending, please remember who you're talking to xx

a/n: surprise! two posts in less than a day. popped this baby out in about an hour, no shame. this is pure angst and i'm not mad about it. i've toyed with the idea of this since red (tv) came out and today inspiration struck. enjoy xoxo

not weeping in a party bathroom

It was supposed to be fun, a good night, Steve and Nat’s engagement party. But good nights were rare these days.

It started out small, like it always did. Bucky didn’t like what you were wearing, so you had to change, so you were late.

“Late to my best friends’ engagement party, are you fucking kidding me.” He didn't say it to you. No, he said it loud enough for you to hear. There was a difference. Everything meant something with him.

And for a moment, you were struck with clarity.

“Our best friends, Buck.” His head snapped in your direction, and your clarity vanished behind the tears clouding your eyes.

“Not your anything. Not tonight.” You were so tired of fighting, so tired of living like this, so you nodded, and followed him to the car, and didn’t say a word for a little an hour.

But Wanda could see right through you. You were getting Bucky another drink in the kitchen when she cornered you, asking what’s wrong? and what happened this time? And you were so embarrassed, convinced that everyone knew your relationship was crumbling, that you were crying before Bucky even made his way in to check on you - to see where his drink was.

When he saw the tears pooled in your eyes, he correctly assumed it was because of him, and took the cup from your hands before pulling you to the bathroom. Wanda opened her mouth to say something, to try and stop him, but you just shook your head at her before he could see.

You could handle this. Or that’s what you told yourself.

You folded before the door was even fully shut, Bucky asking what you were saying about him, and how he knew he should have left you at home tonight, and how no one else better ask what happened.

And then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind, and you could practically hear the smile creep back onto his face as he waded back into the party.

As your knees hit the ground and the tears flowed freely, here in this bathroom where no one could see but your reflection.

You cleaned yourself up, telling everyone the red rim around your eyes was from a cold, that you weren’t talking much because you didn’t feel well. Everyone offered their sympathy, Bucky giving not so subtle eye rolls every time. But no one noticed, he made sure of that.

He made sure you stayed right by his side the rest of the night. No conversations he couldn’t hear, no more tears until you got home.

Not until you cried yourself to sleep as he disappeared out the door just as soon as you had made it inside.

The tears lulled you to sleep until you heard the door slam, the shower run, the weight in the bed shift. As he wrapped his arms around your waist and murmured an I love you, you looked at the clock.

2am, earlier than usual.

At least you could be grateful for that.

the idea you had of me, who was she?

“I don’t even know who you are anymore!” He shouted, getting angrier by the second, in disbelief that you had decided to stand up for yourself, for once.

“That’s rich, coming from you. You’re not the man I want to marry, James, not anymore.”  It was like your words broke something in him. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked, his apology coming out in a shattered whisper as he sank into the couch. With his head in his hands, shoulders hunched over, you already knew you forgave him. That you would always forgive him as long as he still loved you.

You made your way to sit beside him, and he flinched at your soft touch as if you had burned him. You pulled away, but he grabbed your hands, bringing you back to him. He buried his face in your neck as he cried, apologizing over and over, not stopping until you lifted his face to yours and pressed a kiss to his lips.

You tasted the salt from both of your tears, not even realizing you had been crying until that moment. He melted into you, and you did the same, holding each other until the sun had set and the night sky was a deep blue, reflecting how you both felt.

It was in that moment you truly knew you would do anything, be anything, as long as you could still have these moments in each other’s arms. As long as you could still have the few good days that would come after this. As long as you were still good for him.

As long as he still loved you.

When you settled into bed that night, you felt a subtle shift in your relationship, as if you had finally relinquished power, every last shred you had, to Bucky.

Maybe he knew, maybe that’s why he slept so soundly that night. Maybe that’s why the jabs got softer, until they stopped altogether.

You couldn’t decide what was worse: being hurt or being ignored.

And still, you tried so hard. To be good for him, to be what he wanted you to be.

And it still wasn’t enough. He changed his mind everyday, and you struggled to keep up.

But he still loved you, and that was enough.

That had to be enough, or you would fall apart. You couldn’t fall apart, or it would drive him farther away.

Never needy. Ever lovely. You made sure of it. Made sure for him.

He was all you had.

when your brooklyn broke my skin and bones

Brooklyn wasn’t the same anymore. It didn’t have the magic and charm as it first did, when you first moved here with Bucky. Now, as you walked the streets alone, every step felt like a punch to the gut.

There was the restaurant where you had your first date.

There was the jewelry shop where you picked out your wedding bands.

There was your heart, scattered along the sidewalk. You couldn’t put it back together again if you tried, not when half of it was missing, tucked away in boxes that were not yours.

You still felt like a shell of who you were, just months ago you had walked this block with his hand in yours, when the future still felt exciting. Before you realized your future was crumbling all around you.

You weren’t enough. You told yourself that everyday. You weren’t enough for him.

Be enough for yourself. It was like Wanda’s voice was drilled inside your head, there to correct your self deprecating thoughts every time they made an appearance.

But here, today, in the heart of Brooklyn, her voice was quiet. Compared to your own thoughts flying through your mind, hers got lost in the wind.

Maybe that’s how you ended up outside the first apartment you ever shared.

No one lived there anymore, they hadn’t since you all had moved into your house together. It sat empty, windows cracked, the rotting wood of the front door, and you could still see your initials carved into the concrete just by the steps.

You remembered the day they poured the new sidewalk, and Bucky said you all had to leave your mark.

He had said that sealed you together, forever. And he had sounded so sure, as if there was never a possibility of you drifting apart. As if the thought of leaving you could never begin to cross his mind.

As you stood there, tears leaking into that misshapen heart, you left the last shreds of your own right there beside it.

If Bucky ever came back, they were his too. You didn’t want them anymore, not without.

Never without him.

taglist *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@mrsbarnesinmyimagination @ducky2104 @demongirl1917 @writing-for-marvel @zbutx @asgardwinter @thesneakylittleminx @winth0rsoldier @carrotfantasimp @cutelittletwistedhorror @enchantedbarnes @tlcwrites @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @subwaysurf45 @intrepidacious @ambrosiase @riverevelations @nexusnyx @buckydaddy @babycap @aquariusbarnes @gray-reads @starbuckie @lovinggbarnes @igotnoname4thisblog @signofthebarnes @cupidsbarnes @lostyx  @silentkiller2374 @blossomedfloweroflove @red42985 @bennibabie @thesneakylittleminx  @theokatz @fyeahatised @smokeinherperfume @miyadarling @awaywithtime @fandoms-writings @povlvr @pellucid-constellations @sweetdreamsbuck @clementinesjourney @beefybuckrrito @pineprincess @scxrletrecsmarvel @vivalakatee @dihra-vesa @peachyprism @emmabarnes @goldustwomun

[voiceless-terror]

I am so completely enamored with Danny as jons ex and I would be forever in your debt if you finished that

i wasn't expecting people to like this idea so much, its definitely one of my weirder ones xD since im not sure when i'll get around to actually finishing it (if ever) you can have a very rough chunk of it instead. you'll have to forgive any mistakes, im not up to editing it.

In a surprising show of athleticism, Jon ducks under Sasha’s chair before the specter of his past manages to see him.

Sasha swears at the action, backing up in her chair and peering down at Jon in bafflement. “What on Earth are you doing, Jon?”

Instead of answering her question, he backs up even further, tucking his feet out of sight. He thinks Sasha’s umbrella must be under here, and judging from the sharp point currently jabbing at his thigh, he probably broke it. “Is he still there?” he hisses, tilting his head to avoid bashing it into the desk.

“Who?”

“That- that man!”

A pause. “Tall, dark and handsome?”

Jon’s turn to pause. “I suppose you might call him that,” he replies stiffly. And it’s true. The man, from Jon’s brief, panicked glimpses, is at least six foot, with thick, dark hair and a bright grin.

And he looks exactly like Jon’s ex, Danny Stoker.

He’d done an almost comical double-take after a cursory glance; at first he’d thought Danny was the new hire, but this man was more angular, like a sharper, leaner version of his ex. So no, it couldn’t be him.

That didn’t stop him from diving under the nearest object, ergo Sasha’s desk. Not the wisest of decisions, considering his throbbing side, but he’s never been known for grace under pressure.

He’s not exactly sure why this fight or flight mode’s been activated- he and Danny had parted on fairly good terms, each recognizing that although they cared about the other, they simply weren’t compatible in the long term. They’d dated for a little over six months when Jon was a freshman, and he’d fallen hard.

Danny had been his first real relationship, and Jon was shocked that someone like him even looked his way. Impossibly handsome, incredibly fit, desired and envied in equal measure, and he dated scrawny, shy, insecure Jonathan Sims; the rumor mill went wild. They’d met at a party, and not even a good one. In a brief moment of liquid courage, Jon managed to insert himself into a group and fit in one snarky joke that sent Danny into stitches, the rest of the partygoers following his lead. For one second, Jon felt like he truly fit in, like he was someone worth knowing.

Danny had a way of making someone feel special. Big, romantic gestures, surprising him after class, taking him on little expeditions beyond campus. Jon didn’t drive, still doesn’t, and Danny wanted to show him the world outside of their privileged little campus.

But, like all of Jon’s relationships, it came to an end. Jon wasn’t ready for such overwhelming affection (didn’t think he deserved it, quite frankly), and Danny needed someone who could handle his fast-paced lifestyle. Jon was not that man. They broke up amicably, even if Jon shed a few tears in private, saw each other on campus a few times. Danny tried to reach out more than once, just as friends, but Jon’s never been able to handle more than one relationship at a time, and by then he’d met Georgie.

But now it seems the past is unavoidable, and standing near the circulation desk. Well, now walking in his direction, if the steady footsteps were any indication. Jon’s heart begins to hammer in his chest as it hits him that he is, in fact, hiding under a desk because a man who sort of looks like his ex is in his general vicinity. Coward.

“‘Lo!” God, even the voice is similar, if not as deep. “Tim Stoker. Reporting for duty.”

Stoker. Tim Stoker. Jon startles, slamming his head against the desk with a yelp.

Somewhere in his spiraling thoughts and throbbing head he remembers- Danny had a brother. An older brother that he adored. This must be the famous Tim- Danny made him out to be a saint, and though Jon never met him, he felt some fondness via Danny’s descriptions. But Tim’s going to have no fondness for him, especially considering Jon’s current position, hiding in pain under his coworkers desk.

“Pleased to meet you!” Sasha chirps, very clearly amused by the situation. “I’m Sasha James. And this-” she tugs at one of Jon’s legs, dragging him a few inches into sight. Jon buries his head in his hands and wishes he were invisible. “-is Jonathan Sims. We’ll be training you.”

“Excellent.” Tim’s voice holds the same good humor Danny’s always did, and sends a pang of nostalgia through his chest. “Er, you alright down there?”

“Yes,” Jon responds robotically, scrambling to his feet and standing behind Sasha’s chair, unwilling to meet the man’s eyes, lest he be drawn in. “I- uh, lost a pen. P-Probably left it in the copy room, I’ll just be going...there.” With that incredible performance, he fled.

And only tripped once on the way out.

________

So Jon’s kind of cute.

Tim doesn’t normally go for tiny disgruntled academics, but Jonathan Sims is an interesting fellow. He’s got a reputation for being the ‘problem child’ of the Research Department, awkward and prickly and always available with a snide word. He wields his books and files like a little suit of armor, and the only person he’s seen him open up to is Sasha. Besides their little conversations, Jon is all work and no play.

Except with Tim.

Sasha says she’s never seen anything like it, with one of her secret little smiles. Jon’s always staring. Usually, the man can’t hold eye contact to save his life, but he’ll spend full minutes looking at Tim when he thinks he can’t see. The first few times, Tim would turn around and smile, but that practically sent the man into convulsions, dropping his papers and jumping out of sight like a spooked cat. It was funny the first few times, but Tim pitied him enough to ignore it now. He hopes Jon enjoys the view.

God forbid he ask the guy a question. Jon will look around the room, as if waiting for someone else to answer, when it’s clearly directed at him. He’ll blush and stammer his way through every explanation, keeping a wide berth of at least two feet between them. Even when Tim wants him to look at his screen, he’ll squint from far away. Tim starting to think he smells bad, or has some sort of communicable disease unbeknownst to him.

“It’s not that,” Sasha assures him, again with that unreadable smile. “Trust me.”

Time to try something else.

He prints out his latest follow up, a rather elaborate statement regarding mistaken identities and absolutely nothing supernatural. He knows Jon prefers to look at things on paper, as screens ‘trigger his migraines’ if Tim understood his mumbles. Maybe if he can engage with him on familiar territory for the both of them, he’ll be able to hold a conversation. Tim specifically requested his help on this one.

“If you could just look it over, make sure everything’s up to snuff, that’d be great,” Tim says to the top of Jon’s head, as the man refuses to lift his own to meet his gaze. “You know how Dr. Walker is. Always-”

“Finding mistakes where there are none? I’m familiar with her methods,” Jon snorts, and Tim feels like he’s getting somewhere. A whole sentence! With classic Jonathan Sims snark! “I-I can give it a look. I’m rather busy, but -”

“Take your time,” Tim says with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I finished a bit early, so I don’t need it for a few days yet. Don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not.” Jon meets his eyes for about ten seconds before ducking his head back down.

Progress!

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Idk if your requests are open but could I request a Hannibal x reader who has an emotionally/verbally abusive older sibling. If you're not comfortable or if it's too dark you can ignore this :)

Anon, I had an emotionally abusive older sister figure growing up. I would be fucking honored. I hope you like it!

(Gender neutral) y/n gets some unexpected advice from their new therapist after things got physical with their verbally abusive older sister. 

Trigger warnings: verbal and emotional abuse, reactive abuse, mention of suicide, implied use of r-slur

At first, you hated that you had to see a therapist. Just because you were the first one to throw a punch, you were designated the violent one. The unstable one. The one that needed to be straightened out. As if nearly two decades of your sister's completely unchecked psychological torment was supposed to just roll right off your back. But she'd been asking for it since the day she learned to speak, and you both knew it. You only regretted not hitting her harder.

Dr. Lecter's office was spacious, overwhelming and cold. Impeccably decorated, but not so much in the way of welcoming. You couldn't begin to picture yourself opening up to whatever kind of person kept their office as dark and frigid as a morgue.

"My sincerest apologies for making you wait, [F/N]." A low, accented voice greeted you from behind. The man hurriedly strode across the room and took his place behind the desk. "I'm Dr. Hannibal Lecter, it's nice to meet you in person."

Your gaze fell, mostly because the therapist was just as intimidating as the room. "Hi. I'm [F/N] [L/N]. But you already knew that."

"Perhaps we can begin by clarifying why it is you're here?" Dr. Lecter asked. His tone wasn't accusatory, but confused.

You put your hands on your knees and sighed. "I punched my sister in the throat."

"Did she deserve it?"

He probably expected this question to catch you off guard, but you had an answer.

"She did." You nodded.

"Oh?" Dr. Lecter raised an eyebrow. With a look, he urged you to elaborate.

"I had just gotten these new shoes." You began. "These really nice cuffed ankle boots that I've been eyeing for, like, months. And I was wearing them around the house, y'know, to break them in. Well, apparently, she didn't like the sound they made on the hardwood, so she said 'Jesus [F/N], since you clearly crave attention so much, why don't you go kill yourself?'"

"And she said this..." Dr. Lecter narrowed his eyes. "Because your shoes were making noise against the floor?"

"So I was about to say 'sorry' when I realized that I didn't do anything." You continued. "So I just went about my business. When I didn't apologize, she got up into my face and started telling me what a waste of space I was. Then I just decked her."

Dr. Lecter's mouth turned up into a slight grin. He crossed the room and took a knee beside you. "Make a fist for me."

You balled your hand up into a fist, tucking your thumb under your fingers.

"Oh, no. That won't do at all. You're going to dislocate your thumb that way." Dr. Lecter clicked his tongue. "Come now, dear. Give me your hand."

He took your hand and gently guided it into a proper fist, with your thumb awkwardly resting over your fingers.

"There we are." He whispered. "Next time, try that. And if she hits back, don't be afraid to use your nails or teeth."

"Thanks, but," You laughed awkwardly. "I'm pretty sure my mom sent me here so there wouldn't be a next time?"

"Your mother is dreadfully naïve if she thinks there won't be." Dr. Lecter took a seat in the chair across from yours. "She clearly sees no problem that her oldest child is encouraging her sibling to commit suicide."

You leaned back in your chair. "But what about 'violence is never the answer'?"

"I try not to limit my practice with meaningless platitudes." He smiled. "You've heard 'sticks and stones may break my bones'..."

"But chains and whips excite me." You finished, not stopping for a moment to consider if your 50-year-old ambiguously European therapist would understand a reference to Rihanna.

He paused for a moment, then laughed. It was strange to see this six foot tall, terrifying man laugh, but it happened. You did that. "That's not the way I've heard it go."

"I feel so dumb." You threw your head back. "It's a song."

"I have to say, I like that version better." Dr. Lecter said. "The reality is, my dear [F/N], you are only a perpetrator as long as your sister is. What you're engaged in is known as 'reactive abuse'. While it can be dangerous in its own right, it often manifests as a form of self-defense."

"That..." Your voice trailed off. "Actually makes me feel a little better."

"Don't let anyone tell you what you did was unjustified." Dr. Lecter instructed. "And, more importantly, don't tell yourself it was unjustified."

"Thanks." You said, weakly.

“And in the meantime,” Dr. Lecter continued. “You need to make sure when you hit her, you don’t break your fingers in the process. Do you understand?” 

“Loud and clear.” You nodded. 

“I feel that’s probably enough time spent on your worthless sister, don’t you?” He settled into his seat. “Tell me about yourself.” 

He broke you open like like an egg. Soon enough, the hour was over and you didn’t even feel it pass. But you were refreshed and ready to take on the world with a new understanding of your station in life. That was, until you saw your sister waiting for you in the lobby. 

“Hey fuckface, mom sent me to pick you up from suicidal freak daycare.” She said, slouching in her seat with her legs crossed. 

You took in a breath, falling back on your old, horrifically ineffective coping skills. 

“This is a private exit for my patients, Miss [L/N].” Dr. Lecter scolded, putting a protective hand on your shoulder. “And I would appreciate it if you did not use that language in my office.” 

The sudden presence of an actual adult snapped her into shape. She sat up and uncrossed her legs. “Of course. Sorry, sir.” 

“Now apologize.” Dr. Lecter demanded. 

She said nothing. 

“Miss [L/N], I find it terribly offensive that you felt entitled to insult both my practice and my patient.” He broke the silence. “You would do well to apologize.” 

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” She muttered. “Can I please just take them home?” 

You felt yourself tense up. Dr. Lecter squeezed your shoulder comfortingly and leaned in to your ear. “Remember what I taught you, [L/N].”

You took a few steps forward, Dr. Lecter watching from the threshold. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Your sister scoffed. “I don’t have all day, you little reta-” 

You heard the collision before you felt it. You launched your fist straight into her jaw before she could finish that word. A dreadful crunch filled the air. 

You pulled your hand back, a rush of endorphins flooding your mind. Your knuckles felt a little sore, but the pain faded quickly. Your sister’s pain, however, would last quite a while. 

You looked back at Dr. Lecter and shook out your hand. “You were right. That is better.” 

[juletheghoul]

Dulcis Part 2

Here we are everyone - part 2 - please be warned that this doesn't have a happy ending (I don't think anyone expected there to be a happy ending for this story) and I understand that this is quite toxic. So no hard feelings if you're not into that - go ahead and scroll past it. I took some liberties with Carols job, I don't actually remember whether or not her career is mentioned in the movie so it is what it is.

To everyone who took a moment to comment / reblog / message me about this story - thanks so much and I hope you enjoy.

Thanks to my ladies for letting me send you paragraph upon paragraph of my Dave filth. @frannyzooey @foli-vora @mouthymandalorian

Dave (Murder Daddy) York x F!Reader

Pairing: David York x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5K (are we even surprised at this point)

Warnings: **TRIGGER WARNING** NSFW 18+ INFIDELITY! (reader is engaged, David is married) language, Smut, PIV sex (wrap it up), dirty talk, **daddy kink** oral (f receiving) vaginal fingering, squirting, semi-public sex praise & aftercare, heavy guilt, violence / death- let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

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It was disorienting when you woke up. This was not your bed, this was not your room, this is not Charlie.

The both of you must have fallen asleep after everything you’d done. Your phone was still beeping, it was what had woken you up in the first place. You looked at the time - it was two am.

Babe? What the hell is going on? Are you okay?

Jesus Christ.

You had six missed calls from Charlie - you had your phone on silent while you and Dave did...your thing. You quickly called him while Dave slept and hoped he wasn’t on his way home.

The guilt was so intense as you laid there, naked with Dave’s cum dried and flaky on the inside of your thighs. The fact that he answered right away made it worse.

“Babe??” He sounded frantic - genuinely worried, which hurt even more.

“Hey- I’m so sorry, I grabbed dinner and then ended up passing out! I was more tired than I thought.” You laughed lightly - trying to keep your voice down so as not to wake Dave. This all felt so wrong and you suddenly wanted to be far away from everyone and everything. You could hear Jack in the background telling Charlie he was being ridiculous.

“Just glad you’re okay - we usually talk before bed and I was worried that we barely spoke today. Just being paranoid I guess.” You could hear his worry and his relief at having heard from you. Dave turned to face you and you gave him a look that said quiet,he lifted his eyebrows at you. Scooting closer to you.

“Yeah I’m okay babe it’s all good. I’m sorry I wasn’t talkative today-” Your voice hitched at the end of your sentence when Dave started kissing your neck. His hand rubbing at the soft skin of your belly, slowly making its way up to cup your breast possessively. You swallowed hard, this was too much. Charlie kept speaking but you had a lump in your throat as you tried to tell Dave to stop with a look.

He ignored you. Charlie was telling you about his day while Dave made his way between your legs, putting your them on his shoulders. You were trying to close them as Charlie's voice sounded in your ear, but he held them open. He ran a finger through your folds, collecting your arousal and making a show of tasting you.

“That’s awesome babe - did you have fun?” You tried to keep your voice normal but he was kissing your thighs and spreading you open. He looked up at you through his lashes as he speared you with two thick fingers, curling them just so. It was hard to focus with him hitting that spongy spot inside you that made you see stars. You could hear the wet noises your cunt was making and the blush crept up your chest.

“Sorry babe I’m so tired, let me call you tomorrow - love you!” You were trying to close your legs and Dave let you, putting them together over one shoulder. His fingers didn’t stop however, it only made you tighter, made you feel him more this way.

You hung up as Charlie said his goodbyes and you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when you were so close to falling off the cliff. He stopped then when you hung up and you whimpered. He shifted so he was kneeling, holding your legs together in one arm as he guided himself to your opening.

You moaned at the stretch - you’d lost count how many times he’d fucked you and even though your pussy was puffy and sore you didn’t want him to stop. Your arousal flowing freely despite how tired you were.

“Has he ever made you this wet? Does he know how to fuck this pretty pussy? My pretty pussy?” His strokes were slow and thorough, burying himself to the hilt and slowly pulling all the way out, watching himself disappear fully into your slicked cunt. His balls slapping against your ass with each thrust, a soft pap pap pap accompanying the wet sounds of body sucking him in.

How could you still be this turned on? How could you still be leaking slick onto the ruined bedspread after having him inside you so many times? How the fuck could he ask you this right now? You couldn’t answer, not when it felt so good. He didn’t like that though, you knew the rules.

He pulled all the way out and waited until you answered.

“No - no one has ever fucked me like this, no one has ever made me this wet before, please - please make me cum again, please daddy.” You tried to reach up to pull him close to you but he didn’t let you - he guided himself into you once more and set a brutal pace.

He opened your legs wide - holding them by the back of your thighs - just above your knees. He nearly folded your body in half as he pushed your legs up into your chest. The new angle made you wail, he was hitting something deep, something that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Does that feel good? Look how cock-dumb you are right now, so fucking pretty, taking my dick so well… god, I could fuck this pussy for hours..” He was snapping his hips, hitting your pelvis hard and it was too much, something huge was happening inside you, you felt it in your stomach and it was spreading, blinding you.

It was like you were floating for a moment, suspended in air as felt yourself pushing him out of your body. You shuddered violently and felt the liquid gush of your orgasm between you.

“Fuck baby, fuck that’s so good. So fucking good...my good girl.” He was stroking himself against your ruined cunt, the thick tip of him rubbing your clit as you shuddered. You felt him cum on your mound but you could barely move. He rubbed his cock through your folds, through your combined liquids. You felt tired, bone tired. You felt filthy, never having been this wanton with anyone before - it was scarily satisfying, and you needed comfort.

Maybe it was his depravity, the way he made you mad with lust but you always needed something after and he knew how to give it to you.

He got up and walked over to his bathroom and cleaned himself up, bringing a warm wet rag with him. This is the only thing Dave did gently.

He opened your legs and cleaned you thoroughly, every trace of himself, every drop of your own arousal. You winced slightly, your pussy was sensitive and sore.

“You did so good baby, such a good girl for me. You took me so well - this pussy was made for me. So perfect and pretty and just for me. You know you’re my favourite right?” He rubbed soothing circles over the soft skin of your belly and it made you uncharacteristically needy for him.

“Yes - Just for you.” You repeated softly. You wanted him closer.

He took the blanket out from under you, it was soaked and he tossed it into the hamper beside the dresser, stopping to grab another from the closet. He covered you with it and got into bed beside you. You half expected him to tell you to get dressed but he didn’t, he laid with you and pulled you into his chest. He rubbed soothing circles onto your back while you listened to his heartbeat in your ear.

“Sleep baby, you deserve it. I’ll drive you home in the morning.” He kissed your forehead - the tenderness after everything you’d done was overwhelming. “Do you need some water?” He seemed to remember how long you’d been in bed together and now that he mentioned it you were parched.

“Yes please -” Before you had finished he was up and out of the room. You looked around, felt the bed underneath you. It smelled like sex and sweat and his wife's perfume.

You should have been ashamed of yourself. The guilt was always present and you felt it now but the slithering thing had wrapped itself around it, choking the life out of it and when you saw him walk into the room with a big glass of water and a little smile you couldn’t be bothered.

“Here- drink this and then we can get some sleep.” He watched as you drank, a guilty look flickering across his face when he saw how thirsty you were, you drained the whole glass and handed it back to him. Wiping a few drops from your chin with the back of your hand.

He got into bed behind you and spooned you, you were tucked into his chest - his hand rubbing your arm while you drifted off, you couldn’t remember ever being this comfortable.

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

All the softness was gone the next morning.

You saw it clearly then, there are two versions of Dave - that you know of.

The confident, cocky powerhouse with a big dick that fucks you like a god and makes you see stars through your pussy. The David that is cool, calm and collected - indifferent and laissez faire about you and your life and the destruction he’s wrought.

Then there’s aftercare David. The soft, soothing David. The one that makes you feel safe and calls you his best girl and makes you want to leave everything behind. Makes you want to worship him and do whatever it takes to hear those words.

My good girl, my best girl

But you aren’t a good girl are you, you’re a cheater. You’re a manipulator and your fiance is worrying about you while you’re getting fucked three ways from Sunday in a married man's bed.

The slithering thing has no loyalties - and it turns on you now in the cold light of day.

You think all these things and more as you get dressed, as you gather any evidence of your night with David in his room, in his marital bed and slink away to wait for him to take you home. You vaguely wonder if he’ll fuck Carol in this bed tonight. Will he think of you?

Does he say those filthy things to her? Does he make her beg and plead and call him daddy? Somehow you don’t think so, and if he does - you definitely shouldn’t care.

You’re quiet on the way home, the guilt and the shame are eating you alive. Consuming you from the inside out and every time you think about what you did, what you let him do to you your stomach roils. You want to scrape David out of your mind and out of your body. Exorcise yourself of him. You can’t even bear to look at him and yet you dread getting out of the car.

Your mind and your body are at war, and he can see it. He can see the way your thighs clench and he can imagine that you're remembering scenes from last night. Can see that you won’t look him in the eye.

Charlie texts you then and it compounds the guilt, makes it solid and gives it heft in your stomach.

Hope you slept well - going on a hike with Jack, talk later - love you xo

You text him back quickly, telling him to be careful and that you loved him too. How can you say these words to him when all you’re thinking about is the pleasant ache at your core? When you’re thinking about inviting David inside - to your haven, to Charlies space. You don’t do it though, you can’t.

When you arrive at your building he pulls into a visitors parking spot and you half expect him to say something filthy and leave you on edge all day but what you don't know is that David is excellent at reading people. He saw your thoughts splayed across your face the whole drive home. What you don’t know is that David doesn't like or love you- David is obsessed with you.

David wants to own you and how you feel about that doesn’t matter to him.

He unlocks the doors after the car is parked and he gives you a moment to collect your things, but only a small moment. He turns to look at you and when you reciprocate he leans over - slowly, watching your mouth as he comes closer and closer.

You know he’s giving you time to pull away but you can’t, even now, even after everything you’ve thought about and the horrible thoughts and the guilt. After all that you cannot pull away.

Instead you lean in too, meeting him halfway and he kisses you roughly, biting your lip, crushing his mouth to yours cruelly. A clashing of teeth and tongues and gasps. His kiss is a reflection of how he feels about you, it’s not soft or loving. It’s all consuming and vulgar and his tongue is licking deep into your mouth. He’s pulling a groan out of you and you can’t help but grab at his hair while he does so and it shames you that even now, you crave him.

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

David didn’t know when the switch had happened.

There were things he knew for a certainty, first was that his marriage was a sham. Maybe he had felt something for Carol long ago, when they first met and he had married her because she was as good as any to be a cover. With the way he made a living, he needed his home life to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Second was that he was fond of his girls, they were the good parts of him and they were to be protected.

Third was that he needed more of you. He’d had a taste of your heat, of your whimpers as he drove into you. You were so responsive and pliable, you took everything he gave you and you still wanted more.

He needs more.

--

“All good on that cellphone you asked me to trace.” His colleague dropped off the files on his desk as he finished typing up his report. Now he would know where you were at all times. Would be able to see everything you did on your phone. He could read every text, every email - could see every call.

There was a little part of his brain that genuinely tried to tell him this was wrong. That you were going to get married to someone else - that he had his own family; but then he could see you writhing underneath him, could hear you begging for him to fuck you harder. Telling him you were his and his alone and he couldn’t give that up.

This was better.

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

It was easy to focus on work the week after. You could make the argument that your weekend with Dave made you better. Yeah right.

You planned so many activities for the kids you barely had time to think about anything - including your wedding planning commitments. You had venues to visit, you had cakes to taste and a rehearsal dinner to plan. You decided to throw yourself into that too.

--

You walked through the grocery store slowly, it was early enough in the day that it was still relatively empty. Your mind bouncing from one trivial thing to the next, going over your list, reminding yourself to do a load of laundry when you get home.

Maybe I'll make pork chops tonight, I really have to clean out the fridge.

It starts out as a prickle across your skin, heavy eyes on you; tracking you through the grocery store. You try to find the source but you can’t so you try to focus on the aisle in front of you. What did you need again?

Peanut butter - that’s right- but it doesn’t go away, it persists until you’re slightly alarmed and you don’t know why.

Your phone dings then and when you check your heart races- it’s Dave.

I want you.

There’s no preamble and you can’t deal with this right now, you can’t just drop everything whenever he messages you; so you ignore it. You’re busy.

When you go to pay the feeling hasn’t gone away, there is something at play here and it’s making you uncomfortable, enough to rush out to your car and look out for your surroundings when you hastily shove your bags into the trunk of your car.

“Why did you ignore me baby?” His voice startles you as you’re closing the trunk. Was it him that had you so keyed up?

“Dave… what are you doing here?” You were a little relieved that it was him, but only a little.

“I came to do some groceries, saw you and texted but you didn’t answer. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were ignoring me, but you aren’t right honey?” He moved closer to you, pinning you with his gaze. There was something cold in his eyes but you felt the arousal burning in your belly regardless.

You’d never know why, but there were warning bells going off in your brain; they were screaming at you to get away as fast as you could but he was staring at your lips and your legs wouldn’t move.

“No, I was just busy. I c-can’t just drop…” your back was curving to get away from him but there was nowhere to go. “I cannot just drop everything when you message me David. I have a life.” You put a little steel into your voice. You were in the middle of the grocery store parking lot for goodness sake.

He didn’t say anything, as he put his hands on your waist - grabbing onto you when he dipped his head to place a chaste kiss on your exposed collar bone. It flustered you and you had to bite the soft sigh but it came out anyway. You were lost then.

He led you to the backseat of your car and opened the door, sitting you inside with your legs still outside the car. The words were at the back of your throat, stuck behind your molars, coming forth to the tip of your tongue but never further. Your mind tried desperately to rebel, to shake you like an unruly child and snap you out of your madness but your body was pliable, changeable to his proverbial wind.

Instead you sat with him crouched in front of you just outside the car - his hands undoing your jeans and bringing them down along with your panties to leave you bare to anyone who happened to look inside your car. It was exhilarating and terrifying the way you let this man expose you this way.

“This pretty little pussy has been on my mind since our special weekend.” you could only open your legs slightly with your jeans around your knees. Enough for him to glide his fingers along your puffy lips, your arousal just bleeding through your folds. You watched him touch you, your body doing absolutely nothing to stop him. “It’s mine isn’t it?” He asked and you vaguely registered yourself nodding as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Look how hard you make me baby, constantly craving this wet cunt.” You could see the heft of him when he palmed himself. The outline of his dick pronounced enough to make you groan. He leaned forward to taste you, parting your seam with his tongue, gliding it against your clit. You moaned out and ran your fingers through his hair, the rest of the world and your surroundings forgotten with the action. He couldn’t get enough, pushing his face harder into your mound to get deeper but it wasn’t enough.

Instead he told you to move into the car so he could sit in your backseat, moving your driver's seat up to make room for his legs and you rushed to obey.

That was the word wasn’t it? That’s what you make me do, obey.

The thought came to you but it almost felt like it was someone else in your mind - explaining it to you as you struggled to get at least one leg free from the confines of your jeans. When he finally sat in the backseat you frantically pulled at his zipper, grasping his cock in your hand and lowering yourself onto him as quickly as you could.

You shared a groan when he was fully sheathed by your wet heat. He bucked up quickly, the both of you so close already; the knowledge that anyone could look in and see you riding him at any time only served to make you leak onto his lap. It made his cock twitch to think that you wanted him enough to let him take you like this - out in the open.

You were just as frantic as you rolled your hips, your fingers clutching at his shirt, his hair, his shoulders; whatever you could reach. His hand snaked up and he wrapped it around your throat, applying the barest amount of pressure and you moaned.

“Fuck baby, you like this? Does my good girl like when I grab her throat?” He squeezed a little and your body answered him by dripping more arousal onto his lap. Your cunt definitely liked it.

“Look at how wet you get, fuck. Are you mine baby?” He asked as he put a little more force into his movements. His feet were planted firmly as he bucked up, you moaned a yes daddy as he held you tightly. “Rub your clit, make yourself cum on my big dick.” He moaned into your ear and once again you obeyed. When your pussy fluttered with your orgasm his thrusts became erratic along with his words. Ramblings about owning you, about you never being able to get rid of him, words whispered fervently onto your skin as he painted your insides with his release.

You came to your senses before he did and you wanted to get dressed.

“I have to go Dave let me get dressed.” You tried to get off him but he held you tightly.

“What if I don’t want you to go? What if I want you to sit on my cock all day? Keep it warm for me.” He was kissing your neck, pulling your shirt down to kiss the tops of your breasts.

“Stop David, I have to go home and so do you. Playtime is over.” You were getting a little braver now that the fog of lust had cleared. He looked at you then and any softness was gone - his eyes grew cold and his hand came to your throat again.

“You said this pussy is mine. Were you lying?” His hand held your throat possessively and you felt him hardening inside you once more.

“What are you talking about? When we fuck you own me, but outside of this I have a life, I’ll be married soon and you have your wife and kids. This cannot continue no matter how much I enjoy it. You know that right? We have to be realistic here.” His eyes narrowed in a way that you didn’t recognize, he had a faraway look and you had to bring him back to you. “I meant what I said before. No one has ever made me feel the way you do, no one has ever fucked me the way you do and I lose my mind around you but you have to know it cannot continue.” You gently pulled his hand away from your throat, and kissed him as softly as you could. You were chasing the comfort he usually gave you.

For a moment it seemed like he wouldn’t be swayed, but what you soon realized was that you affected him just as much as he affected you. You pulled him close, whimpering into his mouth. There was a heady feeling in the power you felt, at being the one to calm him and you took it as far as you could.

“You know it’s yours daddy, my pussy is only for you. We had a lot of fun, you made me cum so hard. I’m going to be feeling your cock for hours. So big and hard inside me.” You kissed his neck, relishing the feeling of his dick twitching at your words. His hands held you almost violently, as if he couldn't get you close enough.

“It is mine isn’t it.” He spoke into your neck, making you bounce on him again, chasing the friction so he could cum again.

The second time was slower, you were fucking him now. Your hips a slow grind on his cock, his cum and your arousal making it so slippery, so much better. He was whining into your neck and you felt so fucking powerful. You weren’t thinking about the implications of your actions. You weren’t thinking how he would perceive this as your admittance to his ownership over you.

You didn’t realize the mistake you were making.

“It’s mine, you’re mine baby- tell me - fuck - tell me you’re mine.” He groaned the words.

“I’m yours, only yours. My cunt, my tits - my body. Yours all yours.” You whimpered as you came again, clamping down on his cock almost painfully tight. It triggered his own release and as you sat there slowly stroking each other, he was calculating his next move.

——————

You didn’t think about the interaction much, your ability to compartmentalize this part of you - the part you willingly gave to him should have shocked you; but even that was tucked away. When you were home with Charlie - it was a daydream. You never actually did those things? You didn’t open your legs like a whore every time Dave looked at you- that had to be someone else.

It was easy to be distracted with the rehearsal dinner coming up, the two of you finally agreeing on a really nice restaurant downtown. It felt better to have the invitations sent, felt like you were finally doing something to contribute to your own wedding. It made you guilty to think you’d barely done anything in that department but say yes. Charlie had taken care of all of the arrangements up until now, that had to change.

---

You should have felt guilty that all you could think of while you got ready for the rehearsal dinner was the fact that Dave hadn’t reached out since the morning in the parking lot. You should have been relieved, the... indiscretion had run its course and now you were where you were supposed to be. With Charlie… Right?

You could hear him rummaging in the closet, his movements becoming more and more erratic and his voice was rising.

“Babe - have you seen my tie? I could have sworn I hung it with my suit but it’s gone.” He looked through his garment bag furiously and you took pity. You assumed it must have fallen somewhere but you were soon sharing his frustration. It was nowhere to be found.

It was too late to do anything about it now, he wore another tie and you quickly made your way towards the restaurant.

-

It was nice to see everyone there, you had reserved a few tables near the back and your wedding party and close family had all come out to celebrate the two of you. Charlie was in a good mood, his hand finding a way to touch you and keep you close. The slithering thing however - raged. It was thrashing and screaming inside you, seeking out Dave as you drank your wine. You imagined how it would have been if you’d been marrying him instead. You imagined him meeting your family - your mother might have thought you were a bit young for him. Your father might have been impressed that he was well established, a secure job - a good future for you. You could almost feel his hand gripping your thigh under the table - whispering filth into your ear as you tried to eat.

“I’d let that man crack me open like a walnut.” Your best friend and maid of honour broke you out of your daydream to point out a man walking with his family towards a table not far from yours. Had he heard your thoughts? It felt like your stomach fell out of your body when his dark eyes locked on yours.

“Oh god.” It came out involuntarily. Your friend took it as an agreement to her statement.

“Right? What a dilf.” She was swooning - he was so fucking handsome.

Alice caught sight of you then and waved excitedly. You gave her a small wave back.

“You know him?” Your friend grabbed your arm excitedly.

“Yes - that’s my student Alice, her parents Carol and Dave.” It felt wrong to say his name out loud. Like everyone would know all the things you’d done once it was out in the air. You saw Carol smile at you then - saying something to Dave whose eyes had never left yours. Your blood ran cold when they walked over to your table.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. York, how’s your evening going?” You smiled as naturally as you could when they each shook your hand. Both of them smiled and made small talk.

“Hey babe who’s this?” Charlie came over and put his hand on the small of your back.

“Mr. and Mrs. York - this is my fiance Charlie. Charlie, these are the parents of my student Alice.” He shook hands with Carol, and then David. You could feel the flush creeping up your neck seeing them shake hands.

“Please, call me David - I feel like I know your fiance so well - Alice talks about her all the time.” He smiled, the very picture of friendliness. Charlie was all smiles.

My little golden retriever. The slithering thing was cruel tonight.

David smiled at you, while Carol prattled on about what a lovely couple you were - how gorgeous your children would be and how excited she was for you. David smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You could see the cracks in it, especially as Charlie tucked you into his side.

-

When the incredibly awkward meeting was over and you were sitting with your maid of honour again she was reeling, asking you questions about Dave. You had to gently remind her - and yourself - that he was married.

“Yes yes I know - but it’s fun to imagine right? God I bet he has a big dick. I just know he does. Would probably fuck you into the mattress, look at those hands.” She was almost drooling and you really couldn’t blame her. You knew the truth.

As the night went on you were getting more and more flustered as you felt David's eyes on you, he was suffocating you. What the fuck were the odds that he would be here tonight? You thought he might have done it on purpose but that would be insane. How could he possibly know? There was no logical way the knowledge could have gotten back to him. You briefly thought about him surprising you at the grocery store; just a coincidence, right?

You had to get away all of a sudden. With everyone enjoying themselves, with the wine flowing along with the conversation it was easy to slip away to the bathroom. You weren’t alone for long though, someone knocked on the door and kept knocking no matter how many times you said it was busy so you hurried to finish, not wanting to hold up the line.

David pushed you back in when you opened the door and before you could register what was happening he was kissing you. If anyone had asked you later on you would have denied it, but you were just as frantic.

You pulled at his hair and yanked him closer, and then somewhat came to your senses after the initial passion. You were in the bathroom at your wedding rehearsal dinner.

“David - stop, we can’t. I have to get back - Carol and Charlie…” He was hiking up your dress as you spoke and although your words said one thing, your actions said another. You were helping him, opening his belt and pulling down his pants to wrap your hand around his cock.

“Charlie?” His tone was mocking as he ripped your underwear, almost burning your thigh with the force of it. You moaned -

Charlie doesn’t make me feel like this. You couldn’t even summon up the guilt, not with how you were dripping, glossy and wet for him. Not with how hard his cock was for you - not with how he rubbed it through your folds as he hiked your leg high on his hip.

“Charlie doesn’t make you this wet does he baby, doesn’t fuck this wet little pussy like daddy does” He wasn’t gentle, he buried himself to the hilt and it knocked the air out of you. He held onto your throat with one hand as he snapped his hips forward hard and fast, your cunt practically sucking him in. His hand tightened slightly when you didn’t answer him.

“No, no he - fuck - no he doesn’t.” His pace was bruising, it was rough and you didn’t want it to stop. It wasn’t enough for him though.

“You have to remember who this fucking pussy belongs to… I’m going to make you cum while Charlie is outside. You’re going to feel me while you’re with him.” He pulled out and you whimpered, he stood off to the side and put your leg on the toilet then he slid two fingers into your swollen cunt, curling them and hitting that spongy spot with a brutal speed. The pressure was so intense you couldn’t even scream.

“There it is - going to squirt for me?” He was whispering in your ear as his hand almost blurred between your legs. You left your body as you felt the wet gush of your orgasm. It was all over the floor and dripping down your legs.

If he wasn’t holding you, you would have slid down the wall.

“That’s it, what a good girl.” He was back between your legs, slamming himself back into you - your arousal wetting his pant legs but he didn’t care. “Open your fucking mouth.” He snarled into your face, his hand ever present at your throat and you did. He spit into it - “Swallow.” You felt depraved, you felt disgusting, you were wetter than you’d ever fucking been and if he stopped you would have died.

His thrusts were becoming more and more erratic.

“I’m going to cum in this pretty mouth, and then you’re going to kiss Charlie.” He pulled out and you scrambled to get onto your knees. He held you by the hinge of your jaw and stroked himself onto your tongue. You swallowed as much as you could, reaching up to catch whatever dripped out.

“Kiss him when you get to the table, daddy’s watching.” he spoke calmly as he put himself away. He didn’t even bother washing his hands before he slipped out; leaving you to clean up the mess.

---

You looked in the mirror when he left and it was like you were looking at a stranger. Who was this woman looking back at you? With the red marks on her neck, with the ruined underwear that had to be thrown out. Red knees and lips.

That’s you, that’s always been you

The slithering thing was sated and happy, basking in the afterglow of the violent orgasm Dave had ripped from you.

No one noticed you when you went back to your table, the red lips were assumed to be wine stains. The red flush the alcohol. David’s eyes bored into you as you kissed Charlie, terrified he’d know but he didn’t. The slithering thing cheered while you wilted, your conscience finally convincing you that this might have gotten out of control.

The guilt was building and building as they came to say goodbye, Carol congratulating you once more and David shaking Charlie’s hand.

“It’s so funny, I didn’t notice before but I was going to wear a tie just like that tonight.” Charlie was smiling. Even the slithering thing stilled - no longer celebrating as a terrifying thought crept into your mind.

“What a coincidence.” David smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

---

There was an impenetrable fog that obscured every and all thought. A cumulonimbus cloud thick enough to swim through. It covered everything in a gauzy haze and made it so difficult to focus on anything; it caused basic tasks to be completed almost instinctively.

You got home, but didn’t remember how. You took a shower, washed your face. You were in bed with Charlie; comfortable in clean pyjamas and yet still, you couldn’t understand how.

Had David broken into your apartment somehow? Getting into the building - unfortunately - wouldn’t be too hard you could understand that. He could charm his way in, or happen to catch someone as they walked out but how did he get into your unit? Your locks still worked. Neither of you had come home to a broken down door.

How would he even know which unit was ours?

You kept going back and forth within your own mind, wrestling yourself with the logic of it. On the one hand, there was no fucking way he had done this. It was absolutely insane. David York did not break into your apartment just to steal your fiance’s tie. The implications of it were too big for you to handle. It would have meant that he knew about your rehearsal dinner, which logically speaking - he couldn’t. You hadn’t told him.

He would have had to know which day Charlie bought his suit and tie, which again - you knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t know that the dinner was scheduled for tonight and that it would be at that specific restaurant. Were you actually considering that he would somehow manage to find out all of this information and then proceed to use it by wearing the tie - he somehow manager to steal - just to fuck with you? You sighed heavily - thankful that Charlie was blessedly fast asleep.

You were then forced to consider the alternative, which was that he had done just that. Found a way to keep tabs on you. You thought back to all of your interactions with him, painstakingly running through the events through your mind to a time where he would have access to… to what? What could he possibly do? You knew he had some sort of office job. Government? Police? What did he even do? You were startled to realize you didn’t actually know.

The question remained, and multiplied - growing from simply how, to when? His only chance would have been when you were in his home, but even then - what could he have done, the two of you had been together, busy.

You fell asleep

The slithering thing whispered, seeming to make amends and changing its tune with the fear you felt now, along with arousal at the thought of Dave. You’d both been asleep though, hadn't you?

Your phone flashed then - a text message from your best friend - congratulating you and stating how excited she was about the wedding, about how hot that dad had been with some smiley faces. You looked at your phone curiously then. Could this be how?

All of the information about the dinner, about Charlie's shopping trip - it was all here. The invitations had been sent through email. Anyone with access to your phone would know all of the details Dave would have needed to do the things you were -only a little seriously- suspecting him of. It still begs the question though, how could he have access to your phone?

You didn’t fall asleep until very late, looking at your phone with fearful suspicion.

——

It was difficult to concentrate.

Even after a few days, your mind was still clouded with doubt; you didn’t know what to think. It was hard to quantify all of the implications of your mistake and at this point you had no idea what to do about it. There was no way out that wouldn’t be messy.

You never had a choice

When did the slithering thing start sounding like Dave?

The startling realization hit you then, you’d never had any control over the situation; he had successfully invaded every part of you.

The situation had become so dire, so panic-inducing that Charlie had taken notice of your far off expression. You were unusually quiet, lost in thought and guilt alike more often than not.

You tried to reassure him that it was just stress, not getting enough sleep, anxiety over the upcoming wedding but you knew he imagined it was cold-feet. You were ashamed to admit that maybe it was. Maybe after all this, this taste of the forbidden fruit had soured everything else.

Charlie’s optimism became naivety. His willingness to compromise had become a weakness. Dave had poisoned every aspect of your life, ruining you for other men and for what? He’d made you no promises, no assurances of what would happen as a result of your indiscretion but he demanded everything from you; no regard for your life.

The worst part was you knew all of this, you were well aware of exactly what his terms were and you took it with your greedy little hands and your greedy little cunt.

You have no one to blame but yourself

—-

One week until the wedding

Things hadn’t gotten better.

The cure for a guilty conscience however, in your opinion, was working yourself to the point of exhaustion. Throwing every ounce of energy into teaching your class, activities and creative exercises left no room for Dave.

The side effect however was no better, Charlie hovered - borderline berating you for working too hard. You vaguely wondered to yourself if you wanted Charlie to catch you. Maybe he didn’t pay as much attention to you as he should have, maybe you should have been paying more attention to him?

No - this was your guilty conscience trying to deflect your abhorrent behaviour; this was the slithering thing changing it’s tactic by turning you against Charlie. The truth was that Charlie was giving you the benefit of the doubt, he was convinced that this was all pre-wedding jitters which to be fair, it should have been.

---

Five days until the wedding.

You should have been finalizing plans. You should have been excited and jittery and planning your honeymoon - which you hadn’t. You hadn’t said a word about the upcoming ceremony, and if Charlie brought it up you quickly changed the subject.

“I spoke to the florist, everything is all set. All we have to do now is show up.” He said it almost tentatively. Approaching the subject like a bomb technician. You responded with an mhm as you flitted around the kitchen, gathering your supplies for the school day.

“Babe, are you okay?” He faced you head on now, a little grown on his face.

“Of course, just running late.” You didn’t look him in the eye and while this would have worked a few weeks ago, it didn’t today.

“Stop, give me a second- please.” He stood in front of you, holding you by your shoulders so you were forced to confront him. “I’m not sure what’s going on, whether it’s stress from work, or nervous about the wedding but i'm here, it’s me, it’s us.” He was holding you, trying to connect with you on the same level you’d always been connected to each other but there was a wall; it’s name is David.

“Charlie, I’m fine. It’s all good - I’m stressed from work and this whole big wedding thing is giving me anxiety and frankly I don’t have time for this.” You gently pulled away from him, and much to your annoyance - he let you go, sighing heavily.

“You know I love you right?” His voice pulled at your heart, for a moment you were yourself- remembering the sweet boy that made you laugh. The lovely man in front of you who did everything he could to make you happy - but then you imagined David. He wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

“Yes, I know - I love you too. Everything will be fine I promise.” You kissed him quickly as you ran out the door.

-----

Four days until the wedding

You stared at your phone while you waited for the steady trickle of parents, you wanted to smooth things over with Charlie but you didn’t know how to. Worst of all you didn’t actually know whether or not you even wanted to at this point. The thoughts jumbled together maddeningly before being interrupted by the soft knock from the first set of parents for the night. It went smoothly, until it was Carol's turn.

When Carol York walked into your classroom your heart fell into your stomach.

She sat and chatted with you, asking about the wedding and your fiance. It was difficult not to feel awkward - not with all of the truly filthy things you'd let her husband do to you. You studied her while she prattled away about Alice’s grades and home life. Her wedding ring drew your attention first, it was ostentatious. A huge rock on her delicate finger - her bag was designer, so were her shoes.

What does she do? What does David do?

You let her talk, trying to subtly gain some insight into her psyche - maybe you were trying to understand why David was so relentless in his pursuit of you. Maybe you wanted to compare yourself to this woman.

“What do you do Mrs York?” You asked her, trying not to jump onto the subject of her husband right away.

“Oh please, call me Carol! I work for a design firm, mostly commercial buildings and offices. Corporate design you could say.” She smiled, so friendly; you wondered whether it was blissful ignorance or a mutual understanding that it was all for show that kept her and David together. Neither one would have been preferable.

“That’s lovely, and what about Mr. York - what does he do?” If your face had given anything away, she didn’t mention it.

“Oh David works for the government. It’s all terribly bureaucratic and boring. I swear though sometimes it’s like the man works for the CIA with how secretive he can be about his work, like I need to know everything that happens. An office is an office and they’re all the same aren’t they?” Her laugh was soft.

Blissful ignorance the slithering thing decided.

You thought about her a lot after she left, lingering on Davids job and what he could have access to. Was he really CIA? That was a slightly terrifying thought.

Your thoughts circled back around however and the truth of the matter was that neither Carol or Charlie deserved to be treated this way. The knock at the door startled you - your head snapping up to see who was here. The school had been empty with Carol being your last appointment.

“How was the meeting with my wife?” Dave was leaning against the door frame.

Your stomach dropped.

“What are you doing here? Carol just left - did you see her in the parking lot?” The audacity of this man was perplexing, how could he show up here and risk his wife seeing him.

“I saw her leave, she didn’t see me.” He walked over to you but you held your ground - looking up into his handsome face. The shame hit you like a bolt of lightning when he looked into your eyes, it hit you because all of the contemplating - all of the regret and the shame at having done all you had went right out the window.

“So where does Carol think you are right now?” You had to know.

“Same place Charlie thinks you are. At work.” He couldn’t keep the mocking tone out of his voice when saying Charlie's name. It was curious that he could seemingly hate Charlie - he was just your Carol.

“What do you do?” The question bubbled out of your mouth almost of its own volition and you saw his eyes narrow slightly.

“I work for the government.” He didn’t elaborate and his expression said the matter was closed. You had an awful feeling in the pit of your stomach along with the all too familiar ache of arousal his very presence seemed to inspire.

“I’m curious.” You didn’t think you could say more than that, there was a voice in the back of your mind, quieter than the slithering thing but much stronger.

Don’t ask too many questions - he won’t like that

You listened.

“I missed you baby, didn’t you miss me?” The flip had switched when you backed off, this was what he was here for. You couldn't lie to him.

“Yes - I did.” You stared up at him, at his mouth. The plush bottom lip you liked to bite because it made him groan. The tawny skin of his neck - it made you want to stand up on your tippy toes to kiss him there.

“What are you thinking about?” It came out almost playful, was it so obvious?

“Your neck.” There was no point in lying to him. “I want to kiss it.” Your body carried you closer to him and he made space for you in his arms, hugging you close to him. This was uncharacteristic of him. This kind of comfort usually came after he’d wrung every ounce of pleasure and decency from you and it felt so intimate. It felt more vulgar because he was showing how he felt about you. How he wanted to feel about you.

You couldn’t help but notice how good he smelled. How your face fit perfectly into the crook of his neck. Even though the knowledge that this could not last, this could not end well, this was the best part. Feeling close to him and even more so - feeling wanted by him.

Utterly enveloped by him.

The mood shifted however as it always does when in his presence, and now his face was in the crook of your neck. Seeking out your warmth and your scent and your skin.

“I’ve missed you so much - think about you constantly.” He spoke between fervent kisses that burned you. “Think about your mouth, your tits, your sweet little cunt and I get so hard for you baby.” He was leaving a blazing path with his mouth. His words searing you just as ardently.

“Tell me, tell me how much you want me.” You needed to hear it, maybe it would all be worth it, the pain and the destruction this would invariably cause in your life as well as his. All would be worth it because he wanted you so badly.

“I want you so much, every minute of every day. I can’t focus, I have to have you. You belong to me.” He was crowding you, his hands seeking out every part of you available to him and he pushed you onto your desk to stand between your legs.

The heat was in your belly now, spreading from your skin into your blood and running through your veins. His words were a forest fire and you couldn’t control it so you let yourself burn for him. Your cunt was weeping and you needed to hear more - everything. You needed him to tell you everything, all of the thoughts, all of the suspicions and the fear were lost when he touched you like this. In these moments with him none of it mattered. Nothing mattered.

“I think about you too, keep telling me- please.” You yanked him by his hair to taste him, forestalling your request by licking into this mouth - as if wanting to taste the truth in his words. He pulled at your leggings and your underwear all at once, leaving you bare for him.

“This pussy owns me as much as I own it, I want to see it dripping in me. My cum sliding out of it - I have to taste it.” He kneeled in front of you and seeing him looking up at you through dark lashes and hooded, lust blown eyes was almost too much. The slick pooled at your entrance and he groaned at the sight of it.

You could feel the flush creeping up your chest at the way he looked up at you. It was almost blasphemous the way he devoured you. His hands were insistent in the way he held your thighs open for him, draping them over his shoulders. You imagined what you looked like then, with your legs spread for him, your heels digging into his back as you ground your hips into the wet heat of his mouth.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and you almost screamed, the coil in your belly winding itself tighter and tighter as he forcibly dragged you over the edge and into oblivion. He hummed onto your skin as he slid two thick fingers into your silken heat. The stretch of his fingers pumping in that maddening rhythm with the wet glide of his tongue over and over and over- It was too much and you grabbed at his hair violently as your orgasm flooded out of you and into his mouth.

—-

Two days until the wedding.

You were meant to finalize a few things today and Charlie had left early in the morning, mentioning a last minute errand he had to run. That had been hours ago and he hadn’t even called.

There was a knock at your apartment door - Charlie must have forgotten his keys again.

“David, what are you doing here?” You felt the colour drain from your face. He pushed his way inside the apartment.

“I needed to see you.” His voice was level but the bile was rising in your throat. Charlie could walk in at any moment.

“David, now is not the time and this is definitely not the place - how did you know where I lived…?” The hairs on the back of your neck were standing on end - his job came to your mind unbidden. He didn’t answer you.

“I need to touch you, I need to fuck you in your bed - in Charlie’s bed.” He had a violent glint in his eye and it startled you just as much as it aroused you.

“Are you crazy? David..” He crashed his lips into yours, giving you no choice.

You wanted to fight him, you wanted to push him away and demand the answers you needed, but you didn’t. You never fought him. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck to get closer. You sighed into his mouth when his tongue plundered yours.

“Take your fucking clothes off now, be good for daddy.” The words almost came out in a growl and you almost ripped them in your haste to obey, the shirt and bra you had been wearing were now a discarded heap on the floor. Your leggings were wrenched down leaving everything but your calves exposed to his touch. He turned you around roughly and pushed your face into your dining room table, your ass on display for him while he undid his belt.

This was how Charlie found you. Naked and panting for a fully clothed man.

“What the fuck?” His voice wasn’t angry, he was too confused for that. His brain hadn’t registered the scene in its entirety until you were scrambling to get your pants up. Apologizing and telling him it wasn’t what he thought it was, which was a lie. It was exactly what he thought it was.

You were about to get fucked by someone else, in your shared apartment, two days before your wedding.

“This whole time, I thought it was nerves. How could you do this to me? Who the fuck are you?” He spoke to you and Dave and while you tried to explain, tried to get your bra back on - David was silent.

Charlie stormed out before you could do anything and David told you to get dressed, that he would go after him.

You had your bra back on, and were just about to run out the door when David burst through your apartment.

“Call an ambulance. Now.”

----

“You say you were both going to grab some lunch and he fell down the stairwell?” The detective was talking to David who had you tucked into his side, a hand rubbing your back in what he imagined was a soothing gesture.

“That’s right, he slipped and fell when we were making our way down. His shoelace must have been untied.” He didn’t even flinch.

You said nothing while David spoke, but you tried to communicate silently to the detective that something was wrong but he barely looked at you. David had handled everything and you knew then that there was nothing to be done. When the interview came to an end, the detective shook his hand, told you how sorry he was and that they would release the body back to you soon.

All you could do was think about all the time David had said you belonged to him. How he would never let you go, and now the only thing keeping you from him was gone.

You were all his.

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

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[missjaystone]

Coming Home

Summary: After a year alone, your lover finally comes back home, but he’s not the same. Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2,270 Warnings: Vague-ish smut, angsty-ish, meh

You stared at the naked man behind you in the mirror with a surprised grin on your face, a quiet laugh leaving you "you can't be serious, Billy." He chuckled and nodded, his own grin adorning his face as he rested his head on your shoulder and pulled your back into his chest "I'm one hundred percent serious, baby, I want you to marry me." "Weren't you ever warned about marrying strippers?" You asked with a hum. "I was, but I know you aren't after my money, and I don't mind your job, makes me feel proud knowing other guys can only look at you and dream, while I get to fuck you senseless every night," he said as he ground his hips into yours. "So you wanna marry me to stroke your own ego?" You asked sarcastically. "And because I love you. You're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever seen but you're smart, funny, and I always feel like the luckiest guy in the world when I'm with you. Not to mention, we'd have some pretty fucking cute babies, I mean, look at us," he pecked your neck softly and grinned.

He picked the ring up from the box on the counter and slid it onto your finger "what do you say babygirl? Wanna be Mrs. Billy Russo?" "I say fuck yes," you said excitedly. You turned around to kiss him and giggled against his lips when he quickly picked you up and set you on the counter. Another round of gleeful, celebratory sex followed before you two showered, which led to another round before he left for work. You found yourself looking forward to planning the wedding. Unfortunately, he went missing five months later. He never came back to your shared apartment, you found his car with several parking tickets, and god knows the NYPD wasn't any help at all, the entire city knew that.

Life without Billy took some getting used to; you weren't even sure it was something you could get used to. It hurt, coming home to a cold bed in an empty apartment. What hurt even more though, was having to watch your stomach grow in the months that followed. Being handed the small brown-eyed bundle with his tuft of dark hair nearly made you break. You heavily contemplated giving the child up for adoption, but when you thought of Billy, you knew that's not what he would have wanted, especially given his own experience in the system. You also thought about quitting the gentlemen's club, finding something more suitable for a mom, you did have a computer programming degree, your student loans were the reason you started working at the club, but nothing paid as well and offered the flexibility you needed. You got back to work when he turned a month old, the elderly woman in the apartment next door offered to babysit him while you were gone.

"Hey, Kitty, you've got a guy in room three asking for you," your manager said as you made your way off stage, giving a small hum in reply. You sighed quietly on your way to the room, already counting down the minutes until you could leave; 43 minutes and 21 seconds. How is it that almost a year since he vanished, he was still so prevalent in your mind? After closing the door behind you, you took in the man's appearance. He wore loose jeans and a dark grey hoodie that obscured his features. You sighed to yourself and thought 'oh great, another creep'. This wasn't a new thing, men in their thirties and forties came in dressed like this all the time, trying to obscure their features so nobody could ever identify them in case any snooping wives came around.

"Did you have a specific song in mind for your dance?" You asked as you picked up the tablet that connected to the room's speakers. "It'll be a bit of an unusual request but, you know that song 'Baby I'm Yours'?" He asked awkwardly. You nearly dropped the device in your hands, biting your lip as tears already began to well; the voice sounded familiar but you couldn't turn and look yet, you couldn't get your hopes up. "There are a number of songs with that name, can you be more specific?" You asked in as steady of a voice as you could manage. "The version by the Arctic Monkeys," he clarified, clearing his throat some. This time, you did drop the tablet; you suddenly felt unsteady in your platform stilettos.

You didn't even hear him get up but you felt his hands on your arms when you started to turn around "don't, please, don't look at me. I need you to remember me as I was." You exhaled deeply and shook your hand, slapping his hands away "no. I deserve to be looked in the eye when you tell me why the fuck you disappeared." When you turned to face him, you were greeted with a white mask that had cracks and breaks drawn on it. He shook his head, gripping your wrists when you tried to take it off "I didn't mean to. I-I was meeting with someone and it turned ugly and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital with memories missing and nightmares. I was there for six months before things started coming back and then I remembered you. I've been trying to find you and say I'm sorry, beg for you back but I'm-I'm not the same man you were engaged to. I barely recognize the man in the mirror now."

Before you had time to think, you yanked one of your wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, the mask falling to the ground. A shocked gasp left your lips as you took in his scarred features, his eyes immediately screwing shut to avoid seeing your expression. "Billy, I-what happened?" You asked quietly. "I was fighting with Frank and uh, he thought this was a fate worse than death. I guess he was right," he answered with a dry chuckle. When you remained speechless, he kept talking "I just wanted to see you one last time, to tell you how much I loved you, but I'm not gonna make you be with someone so hideously, grotesquely disfigured." The way he spoke about himself sent pangs of sadness to your heart. He may not have looked the same but he was far from hideous or grotesque. You were pulled out of your shock when you saw him reaching down for his mask, presumably leaving.

"No." You finally said, looking at him with an angry frown. "I'm sorry?" He asked, his own expression turning shocked when you snatched the mask from his hands. "I said no. You don't get to make that fucking decision for me, Billy! You don't just get to decide if I want to be with you or not! How fucking dare you just show up and decide for me! Do you know how much of a fucking nightmare this past year has been?" You asked, shoving his chest as angry tears began to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment of-" he started to say before you started again "I wouldn't be embarrassed because I didn't love you for your looks you egotistical asshole! I loved you for who you were! Even when you were gone, when I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, I loved you. Every time I look at our son, I think about how much I love you and would give anything to have you back, only for you to come here and tell me you're leaving to spare me the embarrassment. How fucking dare you," you shoved him again, paying zero attention to how he reacted to anything you said.

Your hand was raised to slap him again but he caught your wrist, eyes widened some "we have a son?" "Yes, Billy! And every time I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of everything we shared, everything I'd give up just to have you back in my life, because I loved you with every fiber of my being. I never cared about what you looked like, you made me feel happy and safe and loved and I thought I made you feel the same but I must not have if you think so little of me, that I'd bolt at the sight of you right now." His stance noticeably softened at your words and he frowned at you "do you really think you could spend your life with someone who looks like I do, now? Children are always gonna point and stare when we walk down the street, men are never gonna leave you alone, your girlfriends are gonna tell you you can do better than someone who looks like Frankenstein."

You sighed quietly and gently cupped his cheeks, frowning at the way he flinched before you even came into contact with the marred flesh. The edges of your mouth curled up in a tiny smile as you looked into his eyes "Frankenstein's monster would be lucky to look like you, Billy." A small groan escaped him at your subtle correction. His hands came to rest on your hips. "You fucking nerd," he mumbled with a chuckle as he let you pull him into a kiss like your life depended on it. His lips only left yours when you fell onto the room's couch, quickly pulling him down with you. Your minimal, barely-there "outfit" was quickly gone, leaving you in only the heels while he shed his layers. The minute he was free, he was back on you, two of his fingers teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, pulling soft, needy noises he'd missed oh so much, noises that got him through the nights he spent alone before finding you again.

And when you finally told him you were ready, it took all of his self-control to go slowly and savor the feelings he'd miss; the way your channel squeezed his member like a vise, the way your legs locked around his hips, and his favorite was the way you peppered kisses along his chest, neck, and face before finally meeting his lips. There were tears in your eyes as he slowly moved his hips, tears he kissed away lovingly while holding you as close as he possibly could. "I missed you so much, angel," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I missed you too, Billy," you whispered back as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Once the moments of adjusting to each other's bodies again passed, Billy started moving his hips roughly, almost angrily like he was trying to make up for lost time (which he was). Each moan he pulled from you gave him a little more confidence and made him go faster, harder, deeper; sure, he was seeking his own pleasure, but he was searching his still-scrambled brain for what got you off before. Finally, he recalled the special spots that made you lose it; he angled his hips up a bit so he was repeatedly pistoning into your g-spot, smirking as you louder moans and swears that escaped you. He began kissing just above your collarbone too, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin until a nice, visible lovebite could be seen.

His lips crashed into yours when he felt you tightening around him right before your climax hit, muffling your moans and his as your release triggered his. His hips moved lazily as you came down with him, both of you panting slightly. He looked down at you adoringly after planting a kiss on your forehead "when are you finished with work?" "Any minute now, I bet," you answered happily. You gave him a quick kiss before lazily getting dressed. You checked the time on the tablet and hummed happily "I finished three minutes ago, apparently. Hurry up and get dressed so we can go home." You playfully winked at him before you left the private room. You quickly went to the back and changed into your street clothes before clocking out, meeting Billy by the door.

With your hand in his, you led him to your car and drove him to your tiny apartment. He hung back while you picked your son up from your neighbor, thanking her repeatedly before you led him inside. He followed you to your son's room, swooning over the chubby infant who babbled in his sleep "what'd you name him?" "William Russo, but I call him Will," you answered with a tired but happy smile, moving the tuft of hair out of the baby's face. "Can I-can I hold him?" He asked nervously, hesitantly. Every single one of his muscles tensed as you carefully put the child in his arms. More tears rolled down his cheeks and he bit his lip to stop from crying out loud "he's perfect." You just nodded in agreement as you watched, leaning against Billy's side some. Suddenly, Billy looked at you with watery eyes and whispered "can he sleep with us tonight? I never want to put him down." You smiled at him and nodded "of course he can, baby." You led Billy back to your room and let him get comfortable in bed while you did you changed into your PJs and did your nightly routine. When you stepped out of the bathroom less than ten minutes later, Billy was already passed out, firmly holding the infant on his chest. You smiled fondly at the sight; your love finally came back home.

Taglist: @bdffkierenwalker​

[charlie-minion]

Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.  

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.  

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye). 

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).  

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

 The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.  

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

[aestheticanimegirl15]

Meeting their future S/O

Pairing: Kirishima, Bakugo, and Amajiki + Fem!Pregnant! Reader 

Summary: These poor babies don't know what happened when you suddenly fell out of a portal into their laps. They are even more confused when they see you sporting a baby bump.

TW:None (other than some slight cussing) just some cute fluff and confused teenage boys.

Omg I never knew people would like my brain dumps so much🥺 thank you!! I really hope you like this one I saw a similar theme on another page but I can't seem to find it so I can credit them😔.Please excuse bad grammar and spelling. Hope you like it!! Stay safe and beautiful 🌸🦋✌🏻

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Kirishima 🦈

🦈 This poor baby was so confused at what had just happened. He was sitting in the common room playing on his phone while Bakugo yelled at someone/something (he had gotten used to his yelling by now and tuned him out.). 

🦈 Next thing he knew a beautiful girl landed in his lap from a portal above him. She not only knocked the air out of him but also fought everyone's attention with her pretty noticeable baby bump. 

🦈 "What did you do!?" Denki shouted at him while helping you out of Kiri's lap.

🦈 "How am I supposed to know she fell out of the sky!" Kirishima yelled back. 

🦈 Everything got even more confusing when they saw the wedding ring on your left hand and your shirt (Which was oversized,black, and had a picture of a much older Kirishima on it,sporting an absolute MANE of red hair, with the words RED RIOT in bold under it.)

🦈 Iida had already started bombarding you with questions about your physical health and didn't notice you grabbing Kirishima's hand and squeezing it while also holding your bump. 

🦈 "Guys guys leave her alone already. Can't you see you're stressing her?" He said while helping you up and shooing everyone away as he took you to his dorm room. 

🦈 Once there he hears you giggle and mumble something about how "It's a little messier than what you told me."

🦈 Shark.exe has crashed. Excuse me what? Did he know you? He tried to rack his brain for an answer but never found one. 

🦈 "Um do you have your husband's number? Maybe we could call him and ask him to come pick you up." Kirishima says while grabbing his phone ready to dial whatever combination of numbers you gave him.

🦈 "You really don't know me yet do you?" You said lightly shifting your body so you could sit on his bed and get off your slightly aching feet. Kirishima shook his head slowly feeling like he did something wrong before another portal opened up and in walked (more like ran) a older and, in his mind, more manly version of him

🦈 Immediately you sprang up and hugged the male and letting out a rather loud “Kiri!!” The male hugged you back before asking if you were ok and placing his hands on your stomach.”I’m fine Kiri I just want to go home and see our son.”You said giggling before turning back to current Kirishima who looked almost ready to pass out.

🦈 “I’ll see you in the future but a little hint.” You leaned in and muttered in Kirishima’s ear “I’m the only one who calls you Eiji.” But before he could piece it together you were already gone.

🦈 P.S He did figure it out and gained the courage to ask you out and the first date went amazing save for the fact he tripped and fell. He totally embarrassed himself but you made it better by giving him a kiss at the end of the date. 

Bakugo💥

💥 Ok bear with me on this one, how this played out Bakugo was walking in the dorm building, after he had his ass handed to him in training, when he heard someone yelling, like YELLING, louder than even him. He walked to the kitchen ,where the noise was coming from, and saw a woman with a large pregnant stomach yelling at Denki who had taken away some of Bakugo’s personal stash of very spicy chips from her.

💥 At first he was mad that someone had actually found the secret stash, then he was amazed that someone was able to handle the amount of spice the chips had (he won’t admit it but even to him sometimes the chips were too hot to handle). 

💥 Denki sees Bakugo watch the situation before he runs behind Bakugo while screeching “Bro get your girlfriend!!” (poor Denki can't get a break) 

💥 “Hey don’t hide behind him you coward! Give me the chips back!” You yelled at the blonde, who by now had run away into the safety of his room, but soon the anger turned to happiness when you saw Bakugo. “Baby!” You squealed and (tried) to run to him but he held his arms out and backed away.

💥 “Woah, woah, woah who are you calling baby!?” Bakugo yelled and in turn made you stop and hold under your stomach.

💥 “You silly! Don’t you remember me?” You say suddenly going quiet for a second.

💥 “No!? Should I?” Bakugo now regretting what he said, I mean you were obviously heavily pregnant and you called him ‘ baby’. He was trying to rack his brain of any ‘’ extras’’ he had come into contact with but came up with nothing. Though he did find it strange that you kinda looked like a girl he liked to pick on from class 1-B. 

💥 Your mouth opened in a quiet realization “You don’t know me yet do you?” To which the male responded with a confused shake of his head. You didn’t seem upset about it though like he thought you would. 

💥 “Well then can you help me get to the couch please? My back is starting to hurt from standing for so long.” You said almost shyly glanging down at your large stomach before back up at Bakugo. He nodded silently and helped you over to the couch where you gladly sat down and grabbed his wrist lightly. “Can you please stay? I know you have no clue who I am but if you wanted to know I will tell you.” You said happily. 

💥 After he sat down (and gave you back the spicy chips that Denki stole) you told him everything, about how you met, how things are in the future, and much to his surprise how his future self proposed to you. (He thought his future self was both amazing and an annoying simp for you). You started to giggle at his surprised face when you finished the story and it turned into a full blown laugh when he looked at the engagement ring on your finger then to your large stomach. 

💥 Wait, that would mean he……....Pomeranian has died and  left the chat. 

💥 But before he could ask to make sure a portal opened up and an older and ahem…. More muscular version of him appeared and his future self almost sprinted to you and hugged you tightly (being careful of your stomach of course). Future him pulled away and looked over you for any sort of injuries and, when finding none, turned to his current self. 

💥 “Thanks for taking care of her for me.” His future self says “It might not seem like it now, especially after that beating you took today in training, but things are going to get better. Trust me.” His future self mummers quietly before picking you up bridal style and going back through the portal.

💥 The next time he sees you he doesn't pick on you or call you an extra much to the confusion of you and his classmates. But he knows it will make sense in the future and he holds onto what his future self said “Everything is going to be ok.”

Amajiki🐙

🐙 This poor shy boy didn’t even know what hit him when he walked into his dorm and saw a pregnant woman holding a child that oddly looked similar to him. Miro had grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the woman sitting on the couch holding the child protectively. 

🐙 Amajiki was even more confused when the small child jumped out of the girls arms and ran to him and HUGGED him yelling “Daddy!!” His face turned about 70 shades of red and he kept stumbling over his words still trying to comprehend the situation. 

🐙 “Lillia!” You said making the little girl look back at you. The little girl had rather long wavy hair that was the exact color of Amajiki’s just a little lighter and she had his dark violet eyes. She looked like an exact carbon copy of him. 

🐙 “Sorry mommy..”Lillia whispered and crawled back into the woman’s lap and hugged her large stomach. This poor boy was so confused. The little girl, who couldn’t have been any older than 4, called him daddy and the woman mommy and the last time he checked he was still (sadly) a virgin. 

🐙 “I’m sorry about that Amajiki . She doesn't understand that you have no clue who we are yet.”  You said looking down at the little girl as you rubbed her small back. Lillia had her cheek squished against your stomach whispering things to the unborn baby. 

🐙 Amajiki flushed red again and started to mess with his fingers, his anxiety starting to kick in a little. “B-but she c-called me daddy?” He mumbled out shyly making you smile lightly

🐙 “God you haven’t changed much since highschool.” You said rubbing your lower stomach. Amajiki flushes red again but manages to gain the courage to sit next to you. The little girl tries to crawl over to him but stops when she looks at your stern face. Amajiki notices this and says something about it being ok and Lillia quickly goes and crawls into his lap hiding her tiny face in his chest. 

🐙 At first he freezes up not being used to human contact much but calms down rather quickly(which is odd since he never really calms down at human contact). He looks over at you and tries to figure out who you are, he has never seen you around campus before and does not recall seeing you at the festival. 

🐙 You smiled as you watched him try to figure out who you were. You knew what he was doing since whenever he was thinking really hard his eyebrows would furrow together and he basically looked like he was pouting.

🐙  It was so adorable. 

🐙  Well it was until he realized if his future self actually WAS your boyfriend/fiance/husband whatever that meant he also……. Shy.boi.exe left the game

🐙 You were about to explain but a portal opened and a older version of Amajiki practically ran through and grabbed your face lightly checking you over before looking Lillia over who latched herself onto his leg 

🐙 "Baby we're fine." You said holding the side of his face letting him calm down. Older Amajiki looked over to his present self and smiled mumbling out a thank you before picking both Lillia and you up and disappearing through the portal. 

🐙 His current self did end up finding out who you were. You worked part time at a flower shop that he walked past a lot going to the park. (He ended up buying some flowers from you and you had slipped your number between some of the flowers.)

[honkhonkrichard]

Theory: Stanley Uris was Murdered.

Tagging @vvanini I hope you can follow this okay it’s very word vomity lol

Okay So TW because this post will touch on Stan's death ad the methods behind it

I propose that Stan Uris was murdered. by IT. In his home on that fateful night. I think that Stan posed the biggest threat to IT and therefore IT felt the need to take him out before the battle even started.

Allow me to explain.

Okay, so, I need to lay out some basic "rules" or "facts" before I make my case. They are as follows.

- IT planted it's roots in Derry, and finds it difficult to leave, but still can at it’s own wil.  If you read the book (I honestly don't blame you if you haven't) You'd know that once the Losers kill IT for the final time, Derry (the Physical town) is obliterated. Buildings explode, sinkholes appear, things are flooded. The town is in ruins by the time that the Losers leave the sewers. The movies don't adapt this so If this is news to you thats fine. the bottom line is that destroying IT destroys Derry, like ripping a tree out of the ground with all it's roots. Because of this, we can make the claim that while it can Leave Derry (as it does every 27 years) it probably takes tremandous amount of power to do so, which is why IT only goes when the cycle is over. Why does this matter? Well, what if IT left Derry to get to Stan? The murders had stopped for about a week when they're all in the Jade of the Orient. Plenty of time for IT to cross from Maine to Georgia. Side Note: We KNOW IT leaevs Maine to elsewhere in the world because of King's extended universe all interconnecting. it's not far off at all to make the claim that IT is the same evil that haunts, say The Shining's Overlook Hotel, which is in Colarado.

- IT is omnipresent This is also a given, IT lives everywhere, and can fuck with time and space in godlike (or maybe eldritch like) ways. in IT: Chapter Two, when Mike claims "IT Doesn't know I know what I know" he's unfortunately wrong, because we know that IT can be in A) Multiple places at once, B) can manipulate anything on the drop of a hat (See: Stan being teleported away from everyone else in Chapter One, Everything about Neibolt, etc) and C) Knows everyone's deep fears. This is further proven by IT Saying things like "Beep Beep Richie" (although this is Horribly Horribly executed in the films, ugh.) and so on and so forth. On top of all of this, We can make the claim that IT can exist outside of Time as well, given that IT is immortal. SO, what's stopping IT from Knowing Mike was going to call them all back (Espically considering that IT TOLD Mike to do this?). Even if we keep IT's omnipresence to the location that IT inhabits (in this case Derry) IT would still have knowledge of where the losers are through Mike. And if you take the Lucky Seven/Chosen Seven route (oh my god I got theories on that too) you could argue IT knows where they are inherently due to their cosmic status.

- Stan is the "most Powerful" loser So, obviously all the Loser's are powerful, espically considering they're the ones who Defeat IT (Again going on to the Lucky/Chosen Seven theory). This next claim is going to be less focused on what the 2019/2017 Movies do because they are Bad Movies and that's a whole other rant. However, in the book, Stan is (to my knowledge feel free to correct me on any of this) the only loser to Actively ward off and 'defeat' IT on his own without running away. He uses his belief in this what is Real (birds) to ward off what is "not real" (IT). The other losers do manage to take down IT in their own Right, but Stan is ultimately the one to Really get IT. This is because Stan's character revolves around Belief and Willpower. These are, in some form or another, the ways to Defeat IT. the ritual of Chud is a battle of Wills. in the book, Bill takes IT down and Eddie does the final blow. In the Remake (ugh) the losers can defeat it Technically using the belief that IT isn't as powerful as it claims because IT's "just a clown" (Ihatethatfuckingendingsomuchugh). Stan being much more skeptical than the rest of the group in his ability to understand Reality vs IT's illusions is a powermove, and IT knows that ability doesn't go away as Stan grows up, but rather he gets more powerful. Stan is the Only loser out of the 6 who left that has any sort of knowledge about IT, where the other losers have nothing. Bev has nightmares, yes, but she still forgets them. We're told in his chapter (Chapter 3, Six Phone Calls (1985), Part One: Stanley Uris Takes a Bath) that he has some hazy knowledge of his place in the Lucky Seven, and even goes so far as to MENTION it sometimes, even if he doesn't quite remember or understand any of it, his knowledge of IT and Derry is worlds more prominent than that of the rest of the losers.

(page 52 of IT:  "Stanley, nothing's wrong with your life!"  "I don't mean from inside." he said. "From inside is fine. I'm talking about outside. Something that should be over and isn't. I wake up frmo these dreams and think, 'My whole pleasent life has been nothing but the eye of some storm I don't understand.' I'm afraid. But then it just... fades. The way dreams do." OR  page 45: He had been smiling a little. Now the smile faltered, and for a moment he seemed puzzled. His eyes had darkened, as if he looked inward, consulting some interior device which ticked and whirred correctly but which, ultimately he understood no more than the average man understands the workings of the watch on his wrist. "The turtle couldn't help us," he said suddenly. he said that quite clearly.)

So, Stan has some cosmic knowledge of IT and Maturin and his role in the battle against It. What does any of this have to do with his death? Well, let me point out some other things about Stan's death that always stuck out to me. - His death chapter is narrated by his wife, Patty, rather than himself. The other chapters - almost all the other chapters - are narrated by their respective Loser (the caviot for this is Ben, but Ben is also wasted out of his damn mind so its understandable.) - Stan's personality is few and far between in the book, but we know he has a weird little sense of humour and that he's incredibly logical. I think that this logical part of him would be able to understand that Suicide is Never Ever the answer, and that it would cause FAR more problems than it would solve. (the 2019 movie tries to reexplain his death and it's crap and i hate the letters i hate the letters so much im gonna explode) The other losers try to rationalize his death by saying "He would rather Die Clean than Live Dirty (Page 506, Chapter 10, The Reunion, part 3, 'Ben Hanscom Gets Skinny') but he had already BEEN Dirty when he defeated IT the first time, and I think he would've recognized that. - upon finding him, Patty (in her narration) notes that Stan's head is bent back over the edge of the bathtub, so from his sight she would have been upside down. If Stan DID kill himself, why would he be positioned like that? It's unnatural, like someone Posed him. - the cuts on his arms are two length wise cuts. I'm no expert but.. that's suspicious. That's weird. - IT is written in blood on the wall. Why? Why would Stan right THAT of all things? You know who DOES like to paint with blood? IT.

Alright, returning to my thesis statement, Stanley Uris was murdered. Do I think Stan genuinely was going to take a bath at 7pm (which we're told is weird for him)? Yes. I think that's absolutely a thing he could have done or planned to do. Do I think he slit his wrists and commited suicide so he wouldn't go back to Derry? No. Not even remotely.

Let me paint a New Picture.

It's May 28th, 2016, or 1985. Stanley Uris gets a call from Mike Hanlon. Stan is incredibly hesitant to go to, and says he needs time to think about it. Or tht he'll try. He can feel the starts of a Panic attack, and as he's remembering the circles of Hell he went through as a child, he tries to hold himself together. He doesn't want his darling wife to see his break, so he says "I think I'll take a bath" and nothing else before going upstairs. he hides in the bathroom. He closes and locks the door, because, well, he's panicking. Locking doors is one of The Small things he does. Is it usually the bathroom door? no, but still (OCD is a bitch, and even with medication, but this is a special case). He looks in the mirror and tries to breathe. This is fine. He can do this. They killed IT once before and they can do it again. He thinks about his younger self, the promises made, and how he could explain all of this Patty in time to catch a flight to Maine. It's terrifying, but if his friends are going to bite the dust, he wants to be there with them, wedding vows be Damned. Then he looks at his reflection again. A younger, rotted version of himself stares back at him. IT crawls through the mirror. Stan freaks out, obviously. This isn't real. This Can't be real. But IT utilizes this notion against him. It digs it's claws into his arms, and forces him to bleed out in the bathtub. IT then sets the scene nicely. Razorblades on the counter, a bloody signature on the wall, a horrible posture of Stan's neck. So on and So forth. and then IT returns to Derry. IT's a little weak, yeah, but Stan is dead. That's what matters. the Lucky Seven has now Officially broken, and the balance shifts in favour of the clown.

So that's the theory. feel free to correct me on anything or engage I have plenty of theories on this story and I like discussing this stuff :).

[heyaeolus]

The MSBY Jackals' Band

With: Atsumu, Bokuto, Hinata, Sakusa Genre: Fluff Warnings: Alcohol intake, swearing

Atsumu is the band's lead guitarist. He started early on learning the guitar and he makes the most powerful riffs with it, taking over musical breaks. He is so comfortable with it that it serves as an extension of his body rather than an instrument. During gigs, he is the one who garners the most attention. Given that, the whole band makes him do most intros. He does this thing which would never fail to make the crowd go silent before they start (I think we all know just what gesture that is). Needless to say, girls flock around him as soon as the set's over. He used to play around a lot, bringing a different girl in every gig. It earned him the title of being a jerk. But when he saw you that one night, laughing with your friends, he had to approach you. He used one of his pick-up lines on you only to get slapped. It was a long shot but he finally got you to say yes. To make it clear that he is taken, he wears his engagement ring on his neck, kissing it before he starts with his intro. When you come to their gig, he would give you a little shoutout saying things like, “To my angel, I know you're there. I need a reward from you after this.” And he would be completely shameless on winking at you repeatedly while performing.

Bokuto is the band's main vocalist and bassist. It could get so messy with Bokuto's energy so a lot of times Atsumu holds him back from doing things like jumping into the sea of crowd without any warning. He once broke his leg from doing that. Aside from the groove, he also sets the audience's mood so he is the main conductor of the band's gigs. If he's in one of his emo modes, the band always opts — not that they have a choice — for their sad songs. Out of all the members, he got the biggest circle of friends he picked up from their gigs. He could easily borrow one of the effects pedal from the other band whenever he forgets his. He also gets the most drink offerings from the crowd which makes him drunk almost all the time. And of course, you will be there to haul his ass back home. Once he sees you weaving through the sea of bodies, he slurs your name loudly, almost tumbling on his own two feet. “Baaabe,” he wraps his big arms on your shoulders, all his weight on you. You huff out, “'Tarou we'll fall if you don't stand on your feet.” He grunts but you feel some of his weight taken off of you, “You're so mean to me.” “Okay, I'm sorry. Let's go home,” you smile at him, his face inches away from you. He nods, laughing. And you could smell the alcohol in his breath but his cuteness is distracting you from it. He kisses your nose before uttering an almost inaudible “Yeah,” and you're out of the bar.

Hinata is the band's explosive drummer. Literally explosive because he had already broken three bass drums accidentally. There was also this video of him while drumming an intensely fast beat, his arms were flailing around in a blur, almost incomprehensible by the naked eye. It went viral and made a good publicity for the band. Atsumu was jealous of that. Hinata's got that boy-next-door vibe that makes him a secret eye candy. Well, not-so-secret eye candy since he receives quite a lot of gifts after their sets. Whenever he is with you, he always has to be tapping his feet to the beat of something. Or his hands would be gripping onto his drum sticks or anything that resembles them, and he would drum away to the nearest surface. You'd always glare at him for doing that, “I'm trying to study, Shoyo.” He smiles at you guiltily, scratching the back of his head, “My bad. Want me to treat you to ice cream to make up for it?” He stands from his seat and hugs you from behind, kissing your cheek. It is tempting but you've got a paper to finish. He threatens you though, leaving you with no choice, “I won't stop drumming if you don't come.” “Fine! Fine! I'll come!” Not like you're staying even without the threat.

Sakusa is that mysterious rhythm guitarist who stays where he is barely seen. You could still see him onstage but at the farthest place from the audience and at the darkest corner. He is doing his thing right there, quietly banging his head to the rhythm, his hair bouncing. He wears a bandana around his forehead because his sweat always flows down his eyes and stings him in the middle of their sets. He is also the main person who composes their originals. And even though he carries himself with confidence, his cheeks would always flush when their colleagues praise him for his work. This man has a pick collection and would choose one to use based on his current mood. So when he gets a hot red out of his neatly organized pill box storage full of picks, Hinata and Bokuto would get rigid and play more seriously. He is actually better than Atsumu with guitars but he doesn't want the spotlight and the crowd. He prefers sneaking out immediately to avoid any unnecessary contact with strangers. One time when you caught him being mobbed by several girls, he literally ran to you once your eyes met. He held your hand gently despite his furrowed brows, "I hate it when they get evasive like that." You smiled to yourself, "Says the one who joined a band." He stopped in his tracks and glared at you, "And who exactly pushed me to join? I don't remember... was it you?" You rolled your eyes at him, giggling, "You love it though." He smirks at you, he loves it when you make it so easy for him to live life. He pulls your hand against his lips and places a tender kiss on it, "But I love you more."

if you want another version of this with a different team, just say so ;)))

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Prologue) | Tom Holland

Summary ↠ There’s just something about Tom Holland that makes your blood boil. He walks around like he owns the world, always with an unhelpful quip or irritating smirk on hand. You can’t stand him, and your feud has burned hard and bright for three years. Everything changes following an explosive evening at the Oscars, when a questionable encounter with the paparazzi lands you in some hot water with PR... fake dating au; enemies to lovers; actor!y/n.

Word count ↠ 4.6k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, paparazzi, swearing, discussions of misogyny and the corruption of fame, Tom and Y/N are both very petty, dramatic assholes.

A/N ↠ Ahhh it’s here! I was really shocked by how many people responded to the announcement post for the series -- I hope so much that this doesn’t disappoint anyone lol. This series is my baby, and I’m very excited to share it with you all. Before we dive into the fake dating, we must first explore a very critical evening for Tom and Y/N... hahahah. This was a lot of fun to write. Please let me know if you’ve got any thoughts! :D 

(Tom’s in the FFH premiere outfit because I’m still in love with that fit, and the jury’s out for whether or not the actual Tom needs glasses to see; this version of him just uses them as a fashion statement lmao)

((The biggest thank you ever to V, mischiefandi, for being this series’ no.1 supporter and proofing this -- love you mate))

Series masterpost

ZERO: The Oscars (Y)

The atmosphere at Vanity Fair’s Oscars after-party is electric.

The soft boom of the latest pop tunes seeps into the air, mixing with the warm lights and the sounds of clinking champagne flutes. The room holds Hollywood’s best, and it seems no matter which direction you tilt your head, your eyes find themselves settling over a familiar face. You’re walking amongst legends tonight, and as you throw back your third glass of champagne of the evening, you let a small smile unfurl across your lips. 

It isn’t your first time attending the Oscars, but it is the first time you haven’t felt utterly out of your depth surrounded by people of this calibre. When you’d first started in the acting industry, you’d found it incredibly unsettling to enter a room full of Oscar-winners. Even now you remember how your hands had felt slick with sweat as you’d nervously been introduced to Meryl Streep and Viola Davis, and how you’d felt imposter syndrome on a scale you’d never imagined possible. Time and experience have brought you many things, but most importantly, they have gifted you confidence. You’re 24 now, and the string of achievements and nominations tied to your belt is so impressive that they deem you no longer an outsider at the Oscars; instead, it’s as if you’ve been accepted into the fold. 

But for all the enjoyment of the lavish after-party, you can’t stop your mood from plummeting. It’s all fun and games until your eyes sweep the room and settle on a smirking figure standing in the corner: 

Tom Holland. 

Just the sight of him makes your nostrils flare. 

You think it must be true what they say: once you start to dislike someone, it’s as if every single thing they do irritates you. This is how you feel with Tom. Even the smallest, most insignificant details about him somehow manage to annoy you. You cannot stand the smell of his hair gel, and you detest the way he stubbornly refuses to mend his phone screen. Your teeth grit together every time you see that smug smirking grin hanging from his lips, and you get worked up by the way he always seems to swagger around as if he owns the room. The grievances fall into several categories: his aesthetic choices, his generally smug demeanour, and his irritating personality, and it all fosters your deep, unyielding disapproval of the man.

Tom infuriates you beyond belief - beyond words. And he’s standing across the room right now, staring at you over the rim of his wine glass with a teasing smirk hanging from his stupid lips. 

You try to ignore him at first. You lick your lips and return your attention to a conversation with some of your co-stars. You know better than to try and approach anyone else tonight. Your reputation, as your PR team likes to put it, is ‘fragile’ at the moment. A string of uncomplimentary ex-lovers and a few disgruntled directors have shattered your pristine public image, making you regarded as both a rising talent and loose cannon by the media. There’s been a common trend recently of news outlets dragging your name through the mud, and the desperate words of PR as they’d begged you not to cause a scene tonight drift through your mind as you contemplate wandering over to Tom. 

You know it isn’t in your best interests to engage with the man - no matter the occasion, your conversations always end explosively - but Tom is just standing there, staring at you persistently, and you just can’t help it.

Your tongue flicks out across your lower lip as you feel his hot gaze trailing around your made-up cheek. His eyes are intense - holding power over you, to the point where you have you excuse yourself from your conversation. An exasperated sigh slips past your lips as you turn around, preparing yourself for your encounter. Your stare finds him, and it follows Tom as he strides across the party towards you, one hand hanging easily from his trouser pocket as the other clasps an intricately engraved wine glass.

The frown on your lips deepens the nearer Tom gets, and as more details of his figure draw into focus. He’s got his chestnut waves slicked back tonight, with a few stray strands hanging out across his forehead. It makes him look dishevelled, but in a devilishly handsome sort of way - which makes sense, given you’re reasonably sure he must have some kind of relationship with Lucifer himself. Stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders is a deep burgundy suit, and it cages him in tightly, leaving little to the imagination. Your lips curl into a poisonous grimace as your eyes finally fall on the glasses perched on his nose; you’re sure Tom doesn’t even need glasses, and it riles you up to see him parading the frames as a fashion statement. 

But perhaps the thing about his ensemble that annoys you the most is the fact that you can’t look away. No matter how hard you beg yourself, you can’t drag your gaze away from Tom’s swagger, or the tight hold he has on the stem of the glass, or the way his eyes dance with a dark, mischievous glint as he falls to a stop in front of you. Tom is many things to you, but it’s undeniable that you find him attractive, and that fact often keeps you seething well into the early hours of the morning. 

“Y/N,” Tom greets, his voice dripping charm. “Lovely to see you again.” His thin pink lips twist up into a smirk, and you find yourself clenching your fingers into fists around the tender stem of your champagne flute.

“Tom.” You step forwards, and your lips catch at his cheek as you press a firm, unwavering greeting to his face. You feel his warm hand slip from his pocket, and it grazes across your hip as Tom holds you closer. “You look to be enjoying yourself.”

When you pull back, you linger near him, allowing Tom to return the gesture by pressing his hot mouth to your cheek. He smells of rich, overpowering cologne, and you scrunch your nose up as his lips burn against your skin.

“It’s quite the party tonight,” he returns, stepping back. Tom’s beady little brown eyes run across your figure, taking in the long designer gown and the decadent sparkly necklace hanging from your neck. He graces you with an approving nod. “Are you having a nice time?”

“I was.” You pause to take a long sip of champagne, finding comfort in the way the bubbles pop against your tongue. You hope the alcohol will help to take the edge off the way your heart has started to pound against your ribs. “It’s a shame you had to come over here and ruin my mood.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you were staring at me, love,” he says, “Thought maybe you had something you’d like to say to me.”

You feel a hot spike of irritation as his lips curve effortlessly around the word love. Tom has always been a fan of pet names. The ease in which they roll from his tongue in that smooth, accented voice never fails to charm the room, and though you like to think you’re immune to his allure, you can feel the word spinning around your head like a broken record.

“Not really,” you return coolly, maintaining your composure with the poise and precision of a seasoned actress. You even manage to flash him an apologetic smile. “No big award for you tonight, though? Must be heartbreaking.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Are you really still caught up on the BAFTA?” He asks, his voice lower and harder. 

The mood between you dips, and instinctively you find yourself moving away into a quieter corner of the room. As you drift away from the hordes of celebrities guzzling champagne, it’s as if the facade between you breaks down. Your smirk becomes harder, your eyes less forgiving - and in return, Tom’s smile sours into a grimace, and he holds himself straighter. The masks you wear come off, leaving you both bare and exposed. 

“No,” you respond darkly. You’re tucked away in the corner of the party, with your back almost against the wall as Tom lingers in front of you. Both of you have discarded your drinks glasses. “I couldn’t care less that you won the BAFTA, Tom. If the jury decided you were worthy, then you were worthy. I would have to be very unreasonable to disagree with the committee.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Y/N.” Tom tilts his head to the side, flashing the tips of his shiny white teeth as his mouth loosens into a wild smile. 

“Fine.” You give him an excessive sigh, and you let your eyes drift towards his mouth. “I don’t buy it, Tom.”

Tom’s suit jacket breaks out into wrinkles as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You don’t buy what?”

“This act.”

Tom almost rolls his eyes again. “And which act are you referring to, Y/N?”

“The Mr Nice Guy Act, Thomas.” The way he flexes his jaw makes you lean nearer and smirk. “Everyone here thinks you’re such a wonderful man, but I see right through it.”

It’s hard to know precisely when your feelings towards Tom became so hostile, but you like to pinpoint the night of the BAFTAs in 2017 as the day you surpassed the point of no return. You were younger then - both of you - and things quickly got out of hand. You know Tom likes to pinpoint your ‘jealousy’ following his win and your snub at the awards show as the catalyst for your tumultuous relationship, but both of you know that night was the product of several cumulative events.

Your best friend had worked with Tom’s mate Harrison, all those years ago in 2016. You knew Harrison through her, and you got on well enough with him, so when the BAFTA academy had nominated both you and Tom as contenders for Rising Star, Harrison had orchestrated an exchange of phone numbers. However, given your packed schedule and press engagements, you had failed to respond to all of Tom’s attempts to contact you. 

One thing led to another. Tom assumed you were dodging his texts and started bad-mouthing you to Harrison. Word travelled to you that this guy - the competition - was throwing shade to your name, and so you might have made a few choice remarks about him on Ellen and suggested that Tobey Maguire was the best Spider-Man. Whatever. It was all so petty and childish, and it’d escalated to boiling point on the night of the BAFTAs when Tom hadn’t been able to shut up and thrust his win right into your face - quite literally. You can still remember the way he’d clutched the trophy as he’d shown it off in all its grandeur.

Ever since then, your relationship has been poisonous. A case of miscommunication and petty jealousy turned hostile, and now you’re in far too deep to even think about mending the fractured dynamic. 

“I am a nice guy,” Tom tells you. His eyes skim across your face, and you don’t miss the way they drag across the curve of your lower lip.

“As if.” You ponder which anecdote you should fall back on to prove your point, and it takes a while to select one: the pool of Tom’s past mistakes and moves against you is vast and wide. “Would a nice guy conveniently forget to invite me to Harrison’s birthday party?”

Tom winces, and something almost like regret flickers out across his face before he meets your eyes and hardens up his gaze. “I’ve already told you that was a case of miscommunication,” he says slowly, patronising. “I doubt you would have enjoyed it anyway, Y/N. Wasn’t exactly your type of party.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Your hand finds your waist, gripping firmly at your flesh to stop your fingers from shaking. The way Tom looks at you so intensely makes you feel strung-out and bare, and it’s almost as if he can see straight through you.

“It was a small, intimate gathering. From what I’ve been hearing, you’re a fan of the larger, more explosive parties, aren’t you?”

You could throttle him. You could really, truly throttle him. You know with certainty that Tom’s referring to the latest smear the media had run against you, which had placed you at an illegal rave in Downtown LA and cost you a role in a film you were passionate about. 

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Tom.” 

“Maybe not.” Tom’s closer to you now. You find your back brushing up against the wall as he steps nearer yet again, his shiny leather shoes sparkling beneath the light curving out from the chandeliers. “I’d like to think I know you quite well, though, Y/N. We have known each other for several years.”

“I’d use the word ‘known’ very loosely if I were you. I think it’s more like, ‘been plagued by’, but you do you, Tom.” 

He laughs, and this time the noise is lighter. You feel a little woozy from the champagne - or maybe it’s his cologne - and you let your hand wander up to rest on the top of Tom’s suit. You drag your fingers across the smooth material, marvelling at how soft the designer garb is to touch.

“Do you like my suit?” Tom asks, his voice lower than before. There’s a strange charge to the air between you, and you find yourself nodding.

“I disagree with the glasses, but your suit is decent. I have to admit that this colour looks flattering on you.” The bold burgundy tones bring out the warmth in his eyes, even if the stupid thin frames of his glasses obscure them. You watch as his pupils widen and feel the warmth of Tom’s breath as he inches in closer. 

“Thanks,” he says. Tom’s hand winds around your waist. “Your dress is very nice.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You briefly wish that you had another glass of champagne to keep you occupied because you find your other hand joining the first and finding purchase on Tom’s shoulder. He’s very close to you, and there’s nowhere left to move because you’d backed up against the wall. Fleetingly you wonder what it must look like, to be hidden away at the back of the party and caged in like this, but you decide that the flurry of heated emotions passing through his eyes and the way his thumb pads over your waist is worth it.

Neither of you says a word, but you watch through wide eyes as Tom’s gaze flickers out across your lower lip. He inches in closer, almost painfully slowly, his demeanour radiating a shaky confidence as he tilts the angle of his head. You watch the hard lines of his mouth dissolve, and his smirk melts away into something like a smile as his eyes flutter shut. Now Tom is very close - so, so close - and the gap between your mouths narrows by the second.

He’s going to kiss you. You know he’s going to kiss you. Why is he going to kiss you? Why are you going to let him kiss you-

“Y/N! Hey, congrats on the film. I saw it last week with my wife, and she loved it-”

Tom springs back. You gasp a short breath of air as your eyes widen, and the film of scattered emotions that had temporarily disarmed you shatters. Tom’s cheeks are bright red, and he doesn’t seem to know where to look or what to do as he jams his hands into his trouser pockets and stares at the floor.

“-Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Your throat tickles as you shake your head, looking up to see Mark Ruffalo standing there, his expression relaxed but growing in confusion as he drinks in the awkward tension rippling between you and Tom.

“No,” you say immediately, a bite to your voice. You refuse to look at Tom. “You weren’t interrupting anything.”

Mark releases a breath of relief and launches back into his speech, complimenting you profusely on your performance. You become distracted as you listen to him, but not enough to forget about the way Tom had leaned closer and brushed his thumb across your side almost gently. After a few moments of conversation, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over towards Tom, only to notice that he’s slunk away elsewhere. His absence makes your heart twist.

Another hour slips away, and you find yourself returning to the Moët for release. You can feel your composure gliding away from you with each fateful sip. Tom seems to have vanished, and you find yourself questioning if he’s so embarrassed by your moment in the corner that he had to leave. You wonder if that would be better than him staying.

But eventually, your eyes seek him out, as they always seem to do. And you catch him chatting with a woman, his arm around her shoulders and his lips brushed against her ear. Tom seems to feel your gaze on him, and his deep brown eyes meet with yours. He raises his eyebrows and whispers something into the woman’s ear that makes her laugh, and it sends something whipping down your spine.

It isn’t just jealousy - it goes deeper than that. It’s the realisation that you could never get away with this behaviour. You know that if the roles were reversed and it was you who had been seen getting close to two men in one night, you would be assigned a whole host of derogatory names. The double standards that exist in this artificial world of cameras and headlines make you feel sick to your stomach. You are not jealous of the woman beneath Tom’s arm, though you will admit it makes you feel uneasy - it’s the hypocrisy of it all that makes you seethe. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter to no one in particular. Tom’s eyes slip away from yours as you put down your empty glass and turn, heading in the direction of an exit. You wander the vast, glittering ballroom for a few moments before spying a door embedded in the back wall that leads out into a dark alleyway.

When you step out onto the street, the cold February air seems to bring your tipsiness to the forefront of your mind. You giggle softly to yourself and wrap your arms around your chest, your fingers rubbing rapid fiery circles across your exposed flesh as you try to drum up a heat.

You lean back against the wall and stare up at the vacant sky. LA is too polluted to see the stars, but you like to imagine they’re staring down back at you. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of laughter coming out from the hall, and out at the end of the alley you can see the street, cloaked in dark paparazzi vans and dim amber street-lamps, but tucked away up here alone, you feel at peace. 

“Cinderella runs away from the ball, yet again.”

You scowl. Your eyes move away from the dark blanket of clouds to see Tom. He’s ditched the glasses, but you can see the legs sticking out from the pocket sewn to the top of his suit.

“Joined by her ugly pumpkin.” You screw up your nose at your own words, cursing your fizzled mind for messing up the tale. “That’s not right, is it?”

Tom approaches you, his cheeks full of a rosy tipsiness. “Dunno,” he murmurs. “Think I like it better than being called your ugly sister, though.”

“Ew.”

You share a loud, unruly laugh with Tom, your voices mixing almost melodically. When you sigh, you lean further against the wall. 

“I hate it in there,” you find yourself admitting. “So many people were talking about me behind my back. It’s like they think I can’t tell that they’ve just been discussing me when I walk over and the conversation falls silent.” You slot your fingers together and play around with your thumbs. “Everything is so fake. It’s like a game to them.”

A cool breeze floats down the alley, and you find yourself shivering.

“It is a game,” Tom says slowly, all whilst slipping off his suit jacket. He holds it out to you, raising an eyebrow when you shake your head. “It’s cold, Y/N. I know you’re stubborn, but neither of us wants you to freeze out here.”

The mood between you feels tender, and you let yourself accept his warm jacket. You throw it across your shoulders and feel the warm embrace of his suit, and the husky traces of cologne nestled to the fabric, but Tom’s looking at you with an intense gaze, and the sight of his golden browns draws you back to the scenes from inside the party. 

“Saw you chatting with a woman inside,” you say, words a little sharper. “Trying to see how many times you have to try it on before someone bites?”

Tom flinches. The air fills with the sound of him clicking his tongue as he rubs his hands together. “You are so fucking petty, Y/N.”

You raise an eyebrow, responding to his clipped voice with surprise. “Hit a nerve, have I?”

He groans softly. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I shouldn’t swear at you. You just get under my bloody skin.”

You shrug. “You’ve said worse.”

“So have you.”

“Only because you deserve it.”

Tom’s bearing in on you again, but this time you feel more at ease. The scent of his cologne mixes with the sweet champagne that lays fresh across your palette, and it makes you feel delirious. You can’t stop yourself from reaching up and draping your hands across his shoulders, bringing him nearer.

“You drive me crazy,” Tom admits. His voice is husky, his eyes dark and intense. In the slight breeze, strands of his hair waft across his forehead.

“I can’t stand you,” you return. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his hands dig into your waist. The rough render on the building behind you digs into your back as you loop your arms around Tom’s neck and bring him in closer.

“Neither can I, darling.”

It’s like magnetism - some sort of invisible force pulling you in before you can even fathom it. One moment you’re staring at Tom, scepticism in your eyes and anxiety thick in your chest, the next he’s surged forwards and captured your lips in a messy, sensational kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and your fingers tighten against the short hair at the nape of his neck as you kiss him back harshly. Your noses bump and your teeth collide as Tom grabs at your sides with fervour, and having him clutching at you is so hot that it takes your breath away. The kiss is messy and hurried, and it seems to melt down all the built-up tension and frustration you’ve been nurturing for years. It makes your head hurt, and all you can focus on is how crazy it is that you are kissing Tom Holland - and, horrifyingly, how much you don’t seem to hate it. 

It comes crashing down when there’s a round of flashes, and you hear the telltale sound of paparazzi photographs.

“Shit!” You push Tom away from you immediately, your breath hitching as your head snaps down to the end of the alley. Unbeknownst to either of you, you’ve been spotted by the men with those large, invasive lenses. The flashes continue, and you turn away, your actions almost in slow motion as you feel a wave of nausea travel across your chest.

“Y/N!”

“Tom, Tom!”

“Are you dating?”

“Having a bit of fun tonight, Y/N?”

A chorus of cataclysmic yells come racing down the alley and the howls of the paparazzi mix with the loud sound of camera shutters.

“Fuck.” Tom grabs your arm, and he pulls you away from them, bringing you both back into the party. There’s a tightness in your chest as you gasp for breath, walking in dizzying strides as you card your fingers through your hair anxiously. 

“No, no, no,” you mutter to yourself. You can hear the calls of the paparazzi ringing in your ears, and you dig your fingers into your temples for relief as you snap your head to glare at Tom. “Why did you just kiss me? What’s wrong with you?”

Tom looks pale, and his eyes are round with shock, but he still manages to stare at you incredulously. “You kissed me too?”

You bury your head in your hands. “This is it - this is the last straw. They’re going to have a field day with this.” You peek out at Tom through gaps in your fingers, laughing humourlessly. Your chest burns as you take in his disarmed expression and his deep chocolate eyes. “This is the end.”

“It… It was just one kiss.”

You shake your head furiously. “They’ll run with it. They’ll make a spectacle of us.” Your nails dig into the soft palms of your hands. “You are such an asshole.”

Tom’s mouth, a little red and puffy, twists into something of a snarl. “You kissed me! Why is this my fault?”

“It’s always your fault.” You pause and shake your head. You can’t help but fall back on the naive thought that this truly is all Tom’s fault. You’d been fine before him. You’d been looking into the starless sky. You’d been at peace. He’d just had to waltz on out and trick you into his lips. “Well, I hope you enjoy the end of your career.”

He raises a thin eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been associated with me, which is the equivalent of getting a big black line scored right across your name.” You reach up and jerk his jacket from your shoulders, and roughly shove it back into Tom’s hands.

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Really?” Your gaze hardens. “This is all just a game, Tom, don’t you see? We don’t get to decide who stays on top.” You laugh humourlessly, your tongue tasting sourly of champagne. “We have fucked up.”

Tom sets his jaw. One by one, he stuffs his arms through his suit jacket and tugs it back around his body, sinking into it forcibly. He pulls his glasses from the pocket and places them back on the bridge of his nose, balancing them crookedly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom remarks, his voice cold and sharp. You briefly wonder if he understands the magnitude of the situation, and as he sweeps away without so much as a kiss on the cheek goodbye, you realise he probably does.

Without yet wholly understanding it, one drunken kiss has sealed your fate. As you stand there, twiddling with your thumbs in the back corner of the Vanity Fair party, your mind races. You know with absolute certainty that things will never be the same again, but not even your wildest dreams could compare to what is about to come.

buckle up bc I’m about to take us on a ride and a half. may as well have ended this with an ellipsis lmao.

↠  next part

any thoughts?! I am actually dying to know what you’re thinking lmao!! my askbox is open :D

taglist can be found in the series masterpost, which is the pinned post at the top of my blog

masterlist linked in my description 

[sfb123]

The Final Goodbye - Chapter 4 (Finale)

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Description: In a slight canon divergence from book 2, Riley reaches her breaking point with the engagement tour and decides to restart her life when the court gets to NYC. Can the rest of the group clear her name, and convince her to come back before it’s too late?

Catch Up Here

Rating: PG (I think there are a few swear words in there, very angsty, but otherwise pretty mild)

Word Count: 2,525 (sorry, this is like twice as long as the others, but it’s worth it, I promise!)

A/N: We’ve made it to the end of the story. I appreciate you all so much for indulging me in this. I guess, technically, this is my first completed series (I promise, I’ll get back to Sapere Aude and A Taste of Cordonia soon!), so that’s a pretty exciting milestone for me. I really hope that at the end of this, you consider it worth your time. 

I gush way too much over her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop, because I’m truly blessed that we stumbled upon each other, so shout out @jessiembruno​ for all of your help with this, and with everything. I may have in person friends I go for walks with, but you’re still at the top of my list. 

Tags: Listed below. If you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

Maxwell, Drake, and Hana sat in silence on the couch in Riley’s hotel room, reflecting on the day’s events. Bertrand had told Maxwell that he found her, but nobody else had seen or heard from her since. They weren’t sure if she had seen Tariq’s statement, and were even less sure it would matter. 

Hana broke the silence. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“I can’t believe Riley isn’t here. We should all be victory dancing right now.” Maxwell replied. 

Drake patted Maxwell on the back. “She’ll be back, she has to be. There’s no way she went through all of this just to give up in the home stretch.”

There was a gentle knock at the door, all three of them jumped up in the hopes that it was Riley. Maxwell ran to answer it, revealing Liam on the other side. “Oh, Liam. Hey.” Maxwell stepped back, allowing Liam to enter. 

Unable to contain his grin, Liam entered the room and approached the group. “I had a feeling you all would come here. I came to see you as soon as I could.” He looked around, noticing that Riley wasn’t with them he turned back to Maxwell and noticed his nervous expression. “Where is the woman of the hour? I wanted to personally offer my congratulations.” His face fell as he noticed his friends fidgeting, unable to make eye contact with him. Even without his years of training, he was easily able to read the tone of the room. He knew something was wrong. 

“Liam...why don’t you sit down for a minute.” Drake placed a hand on his shoulder and attempted to guide him toward the couch. Liam shrugged him off. 

“No thank you Drake, I came to see Riley. If she’s not here, just tell me where she is and I will go to her.”

“We ah...we don’t know.” Drake awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet Liam’s gaze. “This morning, after you left, Maxwell and I came to check on her and she wasn’t here. It looks like she never came back to the hotel last night.”

Liam felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He took a moment to compose himself, looking around the room at the sad faces of his friends. “She...she’s gone?” His voice barely above a whisper as he took a seat, afraid his legs were going to give out. “But you found Tariq, it’s over. Her name has been cleared. We finally have our chance to…” He dropped his head, cradling it in his hands. Hana sat beside him and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Drake and Maxwell looked at each other. Nobody knew what the next move was. 

Liam sat in silence, his mind reeling with countless thoughts. All of the things he should have said, should have done. From the coronation, where he should have called her name, despite everything; to the previous night when he should have run after her the second she stepped off that stage. Maybe if he had gotten to her, he could have convinced her to stay just a little longer. He was so focused on retracing his mistakes over the last several weeks, that he did not hear the sound of a throat clearing at the door. It did get the attention of everyone else in the room, however. Their heads all snapped over to see Riley leaning against the doorframe, an awkward smile spread across her face. “Hey guys, what did I miss?”

The sound of her voice broke him from his thoughts. He looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Watching as she addressed the room, he took note that she was not meeting his eyes. He was preparing himself for the heartbreak that was about to come. She was only here to get her things, he was sure of it. 

“Riley! You came back!” Maxwell ran to her full speed, pulling her into a hug so aggressive that her feet lifted off the ground. Once she was standing again, he pulled away and took her hand, rushing her toward the group. “What happened? We were afraid you were gone forever.” 

There was an apprehension in Riley’s face that they hadn’t seen since the early days of the social season as her eyes scanned the room. She was trying to collect her thoughts and explain herself without letting it all explode out of her at once. As her eyes traveled in Liam’s direction, she moved her attention to the floor. She was sure he was upset with her, and if she saw any kind of sadness or disappointment in his face, she knew she would completely lose it. She focused her attention back on Maxwell, “You thought I was gone, and you still went through all of that trouble to go get Tariq and get him to make a statement?”

“Of course we did. You’re our friend, and we promised to help you.” Maxwell replied. 

Riley took a shaky breath, trying to keep a handle on all of the emotions rushing through her at that moment. “I gave up on myself, and you guys kept fighting. I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you for that.” 

She approached her friends individually, hugging them and speaking softly to each. Liam’s heart raced as he watched her move closer and closer to him, afraid for what that moment would bring. As Riley and Hana separated, Liam stood from his spot on the couch, taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what was about to come. For the first time since she had arrived, Riley and Liam locked eyes. 

“Hi.” It was barely audible, but it was all Riley was able to choke out at that moment. 

“Hello Riley.” 

Tension filled the room as Liam and Riley stared into each other's eyes, each afraid to start the conversation. Drake, Maxwell, and Hana looked at eachother. “Alright, we’re going to take off. Brooks, good to have you back. We’ll see you in the morning.” 

Drake and Hana walked toward the door, while Maxwell approached Riley. “Celebratory field trip to Coney Island tomorrow, Little Blossom. It’s going to be great!”

“MAXWELL!” He jumped at the sound of Drake’s voice, and rushed out of the room. Shutting the door behind him. 

Liam decided to make the first move, he motioned toward the couch, “Would you like to sit?” Riley nodded and sat on the couch, turning her body so she was facing Liam, he did the same. “So...you left.” Riley nodded again, still struggling to speak. Liam needed to get the question out there, if this was going to be it, he needed to know now. “Do you...does that mean...have you changed your mind? About us?”

Riley’s eyes went wide, she wasn’t sure what to expect when they spoke, but she was not prepared to hear Liam question her love for him. “Liam, no! This wasn’t about us, about you even. It was about me.”

He reached for her hands as he took a brief sigh of relief. “Then talk to me Riley, what happened? Why did you leave?”

“It was just becoming too much, we were at that UN thing last night, another night where I had to watch her on your arm. She had sent me earlier in the day to pick up her wedding ring. I guess that was kind of like a reality check for me, that the wedding was coming. Time was running out. You’re supposed to be getting married in less than a week. Finding Tariq was starting to feel impossible. I was going to have to go back to Cordonia and watch you marry her. I know I told you that I would want to be in your life regardless, but as we got closer to a reality where I was going to have to live as your secret, I realized that I couldn’t do it. I can’t live my life like that, in a country where I have been ostracized, just to have little glimpses of a life with you. I love you more than anything, but I couldn’t live the rest of my life like that. I figured, since we’re already in New York, it would be easier to just break away now and try to restart.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me you were feeling this way, we could have talked through it together. You just disappeared.” He brought a hand to her cheek, brushing away the tears that had fallen as she was speaking. 

“I couldn’t tell you, I wouldn’t have been able to follow through with it if I did. You would have looked at me with those eyes, and said all those beautiful words that make me all mushy inside and I would have agreed to anything you said.”

The tears Liam had been trying to hold back slowly began to break free with her confession. He never wanted her to feel forced into anything, especially not by him. This whole thing had been his fault. She didn’t feel like she could be open with him, or she felt like when she was, he would railroad her into choosing his wants and needs above her own. That was never the life he wanted for either of them. “Riley, I am so sorry. The last thing I ever want is for you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I know that it has been...difficult for us to find moments to truly connect, but I had hoped that in those moments, we were being the best versions of ourselves. I had no idea I was so far off.”

“Liam, remember during the social season, all of the times where we would sneak away, or you’d spend an extra couple of minutes with me? You would always tell me how you were being unfair to the other suitors, and you were breaking the rules.” He nodded, a small smile playing across his face at the memories of their time together. “Your feelings for me were making you do things that you never would have done before. That’s what this engagement tour has been for me. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never be ‘the other woman’, I would never come in between someone else’s relationship…”

“But you were never…”

She put a hand up to stop him from finishing his sentence. “...I was never the other woman, because your heart belongs to me. I know, that was your way of rationalizing it, and I love you so much that I started seeing it that way too. I would make excuses, that it was only temporary until we found Tariq, that Madeline had told you it would be ok. And I know she did, but I shouldn't have been ok with it. I compromised who I was, who I have been my whole life, because of my feelings for you. That’s not ok.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Liam, I want to be with you, more than anything, but not if you’re married to someone else. I deserve to be the only woman in your life, and on your arm, for show or otherwise. If you can’t give me that, I need to walk away.”

“Riley, my feelings for you have never changed, nor have my intentions. Now that the scandal is behind you, we can look forward to a future together, just the two of us. There are a few arrangements that need to be made, some conversations that I will need to have, but I need you to understand that everything is going to change from here. Our moment is right around the corner, if you can just stick with me a little longer.” 

There was a rawness and vulnerability in his eyes that caused Riley to completely break down. As she began sobbing, Liam pulled her to her chest, his own tears falling freely. They sat there for several moments, purging the emotions they had been working so hard to hold back.

When they pulled away, Liam held Riley’s face in his hands staring deeply, desperately into her eyes. “Please Riley, just bear with me until the court leaves New York. If you are not satisfied with where things stand at that time, I will completely understand and support your decision to stay here.”

Riley blinked away the last of her tears as she considered Liam’s proposition. She slowly nodded her head, which was still being cradled in Liam’s hands. “Ok.” 

He could barely hear the words escape her lips, but it was all he needed. Liam kissed the tear stains on each of her cheeks before placing a tender, lingering kiss on her lips. “I love you Riley, I love you so much. I promise, we’re going to get our forever.”

Riley wrapped her arms around Liam’s neck and pulled him into a tight embrace. He brought his arms around her, gently rubbing her back. “I love you too, Liam.” They sat in each other's arms, each comforting the other without saying a word. 

“I should head to my room and try to get some sleep.” Liam broke the silence, standing and extending his hand to Riley. “Walk me to the door?”

She nodded, taking his hand and standing, leading him to the door. “You could stay here if you wanted.” She looked at him coyly. 

“Riley my love, there is nothing I want more right now, but I can’t do that to you.” He brought her hand to his lips. “You’re right, you deserve to be the only woman in my life, and I am still technically engaged to Madeleine. I heard everything you said, and if anything more we’re to happen tonight, it wouldn’t be fair to you. To either of us. Just know that you will be the only thing on my mind until we are together again.” He leaned down, kissing her deeply, as he wrapped his free hand around her waist. 

“Will you at least come with us to Coney Island tomorrow?” She asked hopefully. 

“Only if you promise to ride with me on the Ferris wheel.”

She smiled, and Liam felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. It was at that moment that he knew they were going to be ok. “I think that can be arranged.”

He pulled her close for one last lingering hug. “Then I will be counting down the seconds.” He pulled away, kissing her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Riley.”

“Goodnight Liam.”

They shared a final smile before Liam exited the room, shutting the door behind him. Riley changed into her pajamas and got into bed. That night, she slept better than she had during the entire tour. She knew there was still a lot that needed to be figured out, and that it would likely be an uphill battle, but she was one step closer to walking up that hill hand in hand with Liam, and that’s all she had ever wanted in the first place.

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The Final Goodbye:

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Liam x Riley:

@jared2612​​

Liam:

@amandablink​​

[angels-fluff]

Ok, so I noticed that your requests are open. I'm in dire need for more Husk x Reader. So, really, anything is cool with me. Especially fluff XD

Sorry that this took so long, I hope you enjoy it still! I apologize ahead of time as it's been a while since I've written a one-shot or at all, really. But I love Husk so here you go!

NOTE: This version of Husk is based off of a fan theory on his backstory where Husk fought in the Vietnam war. In this headcanon for him, he had been engaged when he was drafted. His fiance became upset that he had left her and cheated on him with his childhood best friend. Husk then drank himself to death and ended up in hell and made a deal with Alastor, at first asking that he take away his ability to love, something Al was unable to do for him. So that's a bit of this version of Husk's story! Enjoy!

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

Stuck...

It was getting late and while he knew he needed to turn in soon for some rest, Husk was still wide awake. It was hard being so far away from home, so far away from his fiance and family. Even with that aside, this war had been violent and letting your guard down for even a second could result in tragedy. Perhaps he’d instead offer to stay on look out while the other soldiers rested. Or maybe he just needed to unwind, read some mail and try to get some shuteye anyway?

Looking over to the small stack of still sealed envelopes, Husk shuffled through them a bit, stopping on a specific one that made his heart both melt and ache at the same time. Admiring the way their handwriting flowed across the front of the envelope. The one thing that he knew for sure in all of this uncertainty was that (y/n) would always be able to ease his nerves no matter where he was. Just thinking about them was enough to soothe him and put his mind to rest even for just a few minutes.

That was when he decided to open it the letter that he had been holding onto for the past couple of days. Eagerly, he opened the letter and carefully unfolded the pages that had been compacted to fit.

“Dearest Husk,

I hope you are doing well, I’ve been keeping busy myself. It’s been really hard to go on each day without you here. I started a new job, I’ve been enjoying it quite a bit.

I don’t really know how to tell you this, but I have moved on. I started spending quite a bit of time with Jimmy, I know you two have been best friends since childhood, so please don’t take this out on him. He’s kept me company when I get lonely now that you’re gone. He treats me good and I’ve fallen head over heels in love with him.

I’m sorry, but I just can’t keep my life on hold, waiting for you forever. It’s time for me to move on from all of that and pick my life back up.

I hope you’ll understand,

(y/n).”

As his eyes continued to reread each line, trying to make sense of the letter that he had just read, Husk felt his heart sinking further with every word. A small, emotionless laugh escaped from his mouth, unsure of if he should be more sad or angry.

This couldn’t be happening, this war couldn’t be taking them away from him too. He didn’t have a choice! He was drafted, it’s not like he could just say no to the government, not without serious repercussions. And his childhood best friend nonetheless, had he always had eyes for them? Even before he was drafted into this damn war?

His chest was getting tight, it felt hard to breathe, this couldn’t be happening, not now when they were what he needed the most. How could he possibly keep going after this? To keep living a life that wasn’t even worth living? A life where everyone left him no matter what he did to try to make it up to them?

“Husk! Sweetheart, wake up!” (y/n)’s voice called out, causing further frustration. Why was he hearing their voice? Why did he have to be this distraught over one person?

“Husk wake up, you’re having another nightmare, hun.” Their voice rang out once more.

That’s when the feline’s eyes snapped open, sitting over the demon with a worried expression on their face, sat (y/n). They were brushing back the messy fur that lay on top of his head as he breathed heavily.

“Hun, did you have another one of those nightmares? ...About her?” they asked, concern still laced in their voice.

“I uh-sorry.” Husk cleared his voice, sitting up and gently resting a paw on his partner’s hand to try to reassure them that he would be alright.

“Yeah, it was another like that, but…It was you.” He admitted, albeit sheepishly. “And before you go and freak yourself out, I know you’re not like that. I’m not saying you are, I just…” His other paw reached up to rest his face in, frustrated. “It felt real. The damn nightmares always do.” Husk huffed quietly.

“I know what you mean though, nightmares like that usually do. It’s what makes them so scary, you don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. You don’t even realize that it’s all just a dream most of the time until after you already wake up.”

Husk nodded as (y/n) spoke, it was true, all he could really do was endure that same pain all over again until he had woken up and realized that it wasn’t real. While the feline was well aware that his partner wasn’t the type to leave in such a cruel way or that he was no longer out on the battle field, there was still fear there. Fear and pain from the past that occassionally still ate at him, one that not even alcohol could really cure, even temporarily. The fear of losing (y/n) and having to go through another heartbreak would be way too much for him. His last heartbreak had been so hard that he had not only lost his life in the end, but also caused him to beg and plead with a certain overlord to simply just remove his ability to love. That, was not something that even Alastor was able to grant him, ultimately resulting in indulging further into his alcoholism.

(Y/n) knew their lover’s background and had quickly picked up on these fears, especially when the post traumatic stress nightmares had really started becoming more and more frequent for him. Yet they had been there by his side ever since they had fallen into hell.

“Well, I can’t change what I do in your nightmares, but I can prove that this isn’t a continuation.” (Y/n) smiled and left a small kiss on Husk’s cheek, his fur gently tickling them as they did so. The demon’s shoulders fell a bit, seemingly easing any tension that he had previously bottled up from the stress of the morning.

He uncovered his face, offering a small smile and a little nudge. “That’s definitely you this time.” he chuckled a bit.

“I brought you some coffee, the way I made mine last time! Because you said you liked it.” (Y/n) gestured over to the nightstand where a mug rested, filled with hazelnut mocha coffee, steam gently rising from it to show it was freshly brewed.

“Oh-Thanks. I’m surprised you remembered that I liked it.” Husk decided to let it sit a few more minutes before trying to drink it. The last thing he needed was to burn his tongue off despite admittedly being rather excited for the drink that his partner had made for him.

“Of course I remembered!” (y/n) smiled, their response making Husk chuckle once again. “And Husk?”

“Hm?” Gently, he picked up the mug to take a small sip and test the temperature.

“I know what she did to you, I know that it’s hard for you to do this sometimes, the whole relationship thing...But I promise that you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’ve been really happy being with you, I love sharing stories with each other and you rolling your eyes at my jokes and you making me random drinks to try so you can laugh at me when I make weird faces about it. I love it more than anything and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even a ticket straight to heaven. Being here with you, I know it’s where I’m supposed to be and you can tell me that I can leave all you want, but I don’t want to. I want you, I want us, I want this.” (Y/n) held onto Husk’s paw, giving it a squeeze.

Husk set his mug down once again and leaned over to give (y/n) a small kiss.

“I want you too (y/n), as long as you want to be here. So I guess you’re stuck with me too then?” he smiled, the demon absolutely melting as his partner looked back at him.

“Till the end of time.”

[genevievemd]

Bonjour Sara! It's that time of the week again! Ready for some more pics of Ethan and Gen? I ammmmm!

Note: Once again, this week’s round focuses on photos! Dialogue is entirely optional, though for some of these, it’d be fun to know the story behind the pictures ;) Tumblr mobile only allows 10 picture uploads (there are 10 questions), so collages are highly encouraged! Otherwise, the non-beta version of Tumblr desktop will allow more than ten.

Have fun!

For MC

Favorite childhood photo of Ethan

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Contact name and photo for Ethan

Top three photo results when you Google Ethan

First picture of or with him that you uploaded to social media

For Ethan

Favorite childhood photo of your spouse

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Contact name and photo for your spouse

Top three photo results when you Google your spouse

First picture you ever took of or with your spouse

*Credit to the anon who sent me the first three questions!

MY NEW FAVORITE DAY OF THE WEEK! I was super excited to see we're doing photos again!

Okay, let's get this party started. (Also the photos of E and G together were gifted to me by @estellaelysian - she made them for my 101 smiles series.)

For G:

1. Favorite childhood photo of Ethan

Gen: *snickers* Ethan: G. Gen: I can't show the bear? Ethan: No. Gen: Fine.

Gen: Look at that face. Tiny Ethan was a goofball. I'm pretty sure this is from your friend's ninja turtle birthday. Ethan: I think so. Gen: Which turtle were you? Ethan: You expect me to remember that? Gen: *smirks* I forgot you're old, probably hard to remember something that happened 50 years ago. Ethan: Try 33, love.

2. What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Gen: I keep meaning to change it to something from the wedding. But right now, it's a photo of us from a gala at the last conference we attended. It was in Miami, like 5 ish weeks before we got engaged. Actually was the night you asked me to move in. Ethan: That was a good night.

3. What’s your contact name and photo for Ethan

Gen: He won't let me change it to say "My Super Hot Husband". Ethan: We're professionals, G. I'm also the chief, what if I call you and an intern or resident sees your phone and it says that. Gen: Then they'd know that I'm very attracted to be super hot husband. Ethan: *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose*

4. Top three photo results when you Google Ethan

Gen: Oooo, I love that. He's got good photos on Google. Mostly because you don't take a bad photo. Ethan: Neither do you.

Gen: This one is from the article about you becoming chief. So handsome. So chiefly. 

Gen: This is from the panel Ethan did a few weeks before the wedding. I’m surprised you’re smiling.  Ethan: It was probably taken after they asked me about you and the wedding.  Gen: Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. 

Gen: Why are you so hot? Honestly, it’s a little unreal.  Ethan: This is from Caroline’s foundation gala, the night we got engaged.  Gen: Kind of love that it’s one of the top 3 photos. 

5. First picture of or with him that you uploaded to social media

Gen: AH! I love this. 

Gen: This is from our very first trip together, the Miami conference my intern year. I still can’t believe you let this happen or that you never found out I posted this on PG.  Ethan: I was distracted by the overwhelming urge I had to kiss you.  Gen: *smiles* You did a few hours after this.  Ethan: I did. 

For Ethan: 

1. Favorite childhood photo of your spouse

Ethan: *smirks* That’s an easy one. 

Gen: Wow, look at me, an artist. A makeup genius.  Ethan: You were a mess from the start.  Gen: True. You know, I just realized, I’m like 2 here. Which means you were 12.  Ethan: *open his mouth to say something that quickly shuts it* I never think about our age difference until you say something like that. Then I feel like I’m committing a crime.  Gen: *laughs* 

2. What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Ethan: My two greatest loves. Jenner and G.  Gen: Look at that handsome boy.

3. Contact name and photo for your spouse

Ethan: I should change your photo to something from the wedding, or our honeymoon.  Gen: You should also change my name to “My Amazing Wife”  Ethan: No.  Gen: But it’s true.  Ethan: It is. But you’re staying in my phone as your name, for the exact same reason why I won’t let you change my contact information on your name. Gen: You’re no fun. Ethan: That’s not what you said last night. Gen: *shocked and impressed*

4. Top three photo results when you Google your spouse

Gen: Am I cool enough now to be googled?  Ethan: Yes, of course.  Gen: Sick. 

Ethan: From the night of Caroline’s foundation launch. You looked stunning. 

Gen: This is from when we went on TV with Senator Douchebag.  Ethan: That’s not his name. Gen: It might as well be. You know what my favorite part of that interview was? Ethan: What? Gen: You declared to the entire nation that you weren’t single.  Ethan: I wasn’t.  Gen: I know, but that was like the first time you admitted it. It was nice.

Gen: Where is this from? I don’t remember that. And that’s a terrible picture.  Ethan:  You don’t take a bad photo.  Gen: Yes I do. You’re looking at it.  Ethan: You look beautiful, G. You always do. *kisses her head* Gen: You’re incredibly bias, but thank you. 

5. First picture you ever took of or with your spouse

Ethan: Like my wife’s answer, this is also from Miami. 

Gen: *laughing* You cut Zaid out of the photo! Ethan: Right after I texted it to you, actually.  Gen: Aww, that’s sweet. You were already in love.  Ethan: I was, unknowingly. I used to look at this photo when I was in the Amazon, when I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about you.  Gen: *turns to him* I love you.  Ethan: I love you.  *kiss*

(Can’t wait for next week's questions!!! I adore you, Bree!)