#I what an absurd breath of fresh air

[acesammy]

Gosh I really do love Sam and cas’ relationship. Every time cas does something off kilter Sam just smiles at him - thrilled. (Think of the Agent scene, or the ‘im gonna be a hunter’ scene)

and they’re so genuinely concerned about eachother, in a very soft-spoken and kind way that makes me melt a little. It’s just so rare on spn to get that sort of love

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Paradigm Shift 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Dark roast, black. You're tempted to order one for yourself but the extra dose of caffeine might unhinge you after the morning you've had. Transfer, no desk, a firing, a stolen desk, and two painfully aloof bosses.  

You go back up to the office, the short reprieve offering some clarity but not solutions. There has to be some way to get more than a grunt and a closed door from these men. Geez, if you wanted to work with children you would've done so. 

You knock on Mr. Barnes' door. The one next to it opens first. Laufeyson considers you from head to toe and Barnes appears not a second after. He takes his cup without a thanks. 

"Mm, and where is mine then?" Laufeyson challenges. 

You blink, long and hard. Of course. Of course! You let out a slow breath, "what would you like, Mr. Laufeyson?" 

You don't miss the quiet snort from the other door and it closes before you can glance Barnes' expression. You have a suspicion he expected this. It's like your first job when you worked with a bunch of men in stocks. Their numbers were as bloated as their egos. 

“Matcha.” 

The door shuts in your face. Again. You bite down and stretch your fingers wide. It’s fine. It’s fine. Growing pains. 

Matcha... what? Iced? Latte? Hot tea? Smoothie? Wonderful, a guessing game. 

You will be getting yourself another coffee for the trouble. Another trip to Roasters and you settle on the simplest option; just tea. You’re certain if you’re wrong, he’ll let you know.  

You stand at the two office doors and contemplate your life decisions. Is this worth it? Can you beg Odinson to take you back? To send down another poor soul? You almost feel bad doing that to someone else. You’re about to give when that innate stubborn ticks in your jaw. It’s only been a few hours. You don’t just give up that easy. 

Knock, knock. There’s a delay before Laufeyson answers. You’re not put off by it. You know the tactic. It won’t work on you. If his tea is cold, it won’t be your fault. 

“Matcha, sir,” you hold out the cup. 

He accepts it and reads the sticker on the side. He narrows his green eyes and looks at you, “note for next time, I prefer Garcon’s to Roasters.” 

Click. Another shut door. You’re really starting to get angry. You laugh out the flurry of agitation and turn away. What else can you do but think of it as a joke? It has to be. It’s just that absurd. 

You sit at the desk and open your laptop. You get it hooked up to the monitor and refinagle the cords. That’s an accomplishment at least. A tiny morsel of victory. You glance around and frown. It’s like the waiting room in Beetlejuice; everyone looks miserable. Well, can you blame them? 

Your phone buzzes and you check the messages. Girl nights hangs like bait at the end of your day, keeping you swimming through dark waters. It’s a bit ridiculous. Your friends are all like you in one way but all vastly different in many other ways. You all spend your days taking care of men who couldn’t give a shit about any of you. 

You can already taste the Paloma; bitter grapefruit with the burn of tequila. You are dying to drink away this day. You look at the clock and nearly whimper. It’s not even one o’clock. Ugh. 

You plug away at your desk. You get the daily agendas templated then spend time scouring the web. You have something in mind. You’re pretty sure you can make it work. As long as those grumps can do the simplest of tasks. 

You customize the survey and send the link. You doubt you’ll get a response today or even at all. It’s a hail mary, really. Barnes’ door opens, then Laufeysons. Your chest fills with dread. Great. 

“Hello, sir and... sir,” you sit up as they approach. 

“What is the meaning of that quiz?” Laufeyson demands. 

“It’s not-- 

“Asking a lot, aren’t you?” Barnes crosses his arms. 

“No, I just--” 

“What business do you have about my dry cleaning?” Laufeyson hisses. 

“I have lunch when I have lunch. I'm not a child at grade school,” Barnes sneers.

“Okay, woah,” you put your palms out, “first, there’s an n/a column, you can choose not to disclose the information. Two, I need to know what to do. What do you want from me?” 

Both men frown and look at each other, then back to you. 

“I can think of one,” Laufeyson raises a finger, “don’t treat us as children who need you to put our socks on.” 

“Good one,” Barnes scoffs, “also, you could stop with calendar reminders.” 

“Those are automatic,” you mutter. 

“And the arguing,” Laufeyson points at you. 

You sputter, dizzy at their onslaught of criticism. They can tell you exactly what they don’t want but they can’t give you a clear answer as to why you are there. You calm yourself with a breath and sip of coffee. 

“Mr. Laufeyson, Mr. Barnes--” 

“Why him first? My name’s first alphabetically,” Barnes says. 

“I--” you stop yourself and take another taste of your coffee, “if my presence is getting in the way of your work, I will go back upstairs and talk to Mr. Odinson--” 

“Mr. Odinson? Thor?” Laufeyson says, “no, you won’t do that. In fact, that is another item for your list, no talking to my brother. Especially of me.” 

You could tear your hair out. You could hit your head on the wall. You could gauge your eyes out and drown yourself in your coffee. Instead, you smile. 

“Got it,” you say, “well, sirs, good luck with your meeting this afternoon.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Laufeyson intones. 

“Mm, sure,” Barnes says and they both turn on their heels then stop at once. They face you in sync with each other. 

“Meeting?” They ask. 

“Mmhm,” you nod, “it’s in your calendars.” 

They stare at you. 

“If that’s something you’d like me to brief you on,” you say tritely, “you can submit that in the survey.” 

Laufeyson hums dryly and Barnes growls. Neither says anything further as they retreat. You keep your eyes on the screen as your heartbeat races. You can’t believe you said that. 

[quin-ns]

The blue IV (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

As you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the touch of JJ’s lips against yours still lingered.

You could feel the ghost of his presence, it didn’t matter that he was across the hall, locked behind a door in his own room.

You lifted your hand, your fingertips brushing against your lips. Your face felt warm and you jerked your hand away, but it didn’t stop the memory from keeping you awake all night.

You couldn’t fathom that JJ had kissed you. You should’ve felt betrayed or something, after all he’d always been something akin to a brother to you, but you didn’t. Not really. You were mostly just confused about why you weren’t upset, and you weren’t sure what to do with that feeling.

In the morning you contemplated hiding in your room or fleeing from the house. You weren’t sure you could face JJ—what would you say to him?

It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, so why did you feel so weird about it? He should feel weird if anything. He kissed you, not the other way around.

Did you kiss back? Even for a second? You were trying to remember.

It’s not like he was a bad kisser. The opposite, actually, but you couldn’t get over asking yourself why he did that.

You couldn’t even feel relief in solving the mystery of what was up with JJ and John B.

Jealousy was hell of a motivator.

Kiara texted you, and you came to a conclusion to your debate. She was up earlier than usual but hey, it was the perfect excuse to get out of the house.

You pulled on fresh clothes for the day and swung your door open.

The universe had a sense of humor, because JJ did the exact same thing. At least, the second part.

He was standing in his doorway across from you in only his boxers. You averted your eyes when you realized that.

“You’re not usually up this early.”

He sounded just as awkward as you felt. You swallowed, eyes flicking anywhere but his tan, exposed skin.

“Neither are you,” you replied, familiar warmth rising to your cheeks. “I’m going to Kie’s.”

“Do you…” JJ trailed off, swallowing back the words.

His instinct was to offer you a ride that way he could make sure you got where you needed to go safely, but it was too soon for both of you evidently.

You took a breath and met his gaze. You could feel him watching you.

“I don’t really know what to say here,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“That makes two of us.”

The silence that followed felt so thick, filling the air around you.

“If you hate me now, I get it,” he said, voice low, and you could tell he was giving himself hell for it.

You almost laughed at the notion. Almost, but didn’t.

“I’d never hate you, JJ, don’t be stupid.”

Just the thought was absurd—how could he even think that for a second?

“I’m kinda running that department right now, actually.”

“What if we just… forget it?” you offered after a moment.

JJ’s brows twitched up. He hadn’t expected that.

You hadn’t planned on it either, but you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. Scream at him? Ask him to do it again? No, ignoring it and going back to normal was the only logical choice.

“Okay,” he agreed.

There was something hesitant lingering in the background. You felt it too.

You took a breath. “Okay.”

“So do you want a ride to Kie’s then or…?”

“She's gonna pick me up,” you informed, maybe a little too quickly. JJ got the hint.

“Right. Got it,” he replied in the same tone.

You nodded a little, then turned down the hall. You were going to wait on the porch, that way you could make a clean getaway. If you got in her jeep quick enough maybe she wouldn’t try to stick around to say hi to JJ.

“Hey Y/N?” JJ called right before you turned the corner. You looked back at him, noticing a hint of worry before he masked it with the smallest of smiles. “Thanks for… y’know, not hating me.”

Again, you nodded. You then disappeared, and then wished you had said something, but you were already on the porch. You weren’t going to go back inside, back to the uncomfortable conversation you had just left.

Instead, when Kiara’s jeep eventually appeared, you climbed in and didn’t look back. You just needed to get your mind off of things, and a girls day would help with that.

Except Kie wanted to talk about last night, because of course she did.

The two of you ended up sitting on her bed leaning against the wooden headboard. The Youtube video on her laptop had been long forgotten as she persisted in getting an answer from you about what happened with JJ. You wouldn’t give her details despite how bad she wanted them.

“Are things good now at least?” she finally asked instead.

You swallowed, resisting the urge to lick your lips. JJ had taken up residence in the back of your mind the entire day.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” you replied vaguely, not quite meeting her eye. “He was just being protective of me. You know how it’s been.

Kiara hummed, seemingly agreeing. “He seemed way more pissed, but if it’s cool then it’s cool. I don’t get the big deal anyway, you’re your own person,” she started. “The ‘protective big brother’ thing can’t last forever.”

As she said the words, paired with air quotes, you cringed. Overnight you decided you didn’t like that title for him anymore, not when you knew what his lips felt like.

“He’s not my brother,” you muttered, more so to remind yourself of that fact. It wasn’t exactly cut and dry perfectly fine, but it could be worse right?

Kie gave you a look of concern. She heard, and hadn’t been expecting it.

“Are you sure everything is fine?”

You nodded, forcing out a chuckle. “Yeah, I already told you.” You nudged her with your elbow and she let herself smile, but it appeared to be cautious.

You ended up deciding to spend the night at Kie’s, texting JJ in the afternoon what your plans were. As strange as things felt, you didn’t want him to worry about where you were all night. He read the text but didn’t respond. At least he knew. You didn’t bother notifying Luke, you never had and it had never been a problem. He didn’t care.

You did worry about JJ though, hoping that nothing awful happened in your absence.

Your stomach was still churning with guilt when last minute Kiara asked if you wanted to go to an outdoor movie when the sun started to set.

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed, starting to feel claustrophobic in her bedroom anyway. “What movie?”

“Not sure, but Pope and JJ are going so if it sucks we can all make fun of it,” she replied.

A part of you was glad JJ wasn’t home alone with his dad (a big part, actually). The other part felt a rush of anxiety at the prospect of seeing him. What would you say to him? Could you two actually pretend everything was normal?

You’d seen JJ tell pretty believable lies, but he wasn’t exactly a professional at being able to hide his emotions.

Then again, he’d kept his real feelings hidden from you for who knows how long.

It was too late to back out. Kie was already searching for her car keys, with shoes on and her hair up, ready to go.

You were quiet in the jeep, which she might’ve noticed if you hadn’t requested to blast music with the windows down. Anything to drown out your thoughts and Kiara’s potential questions.

When Kiara pulled into the parking area of the field, the sun had already set. Perfect for a projector movie night.

That was one of the fun things about living in Kildare, the random little events that went on. Movie nights were common in the summer. Everyone would bring their own chairs and blankets, a projector would get set up, and concession sales would fund the whole thing. It was on the Kook’s side of the island where Kiara lived, but it wasn’t uncommon for both sides to attend, and it was peaceful for the most part.

You and Kie each grabbed a chair from the back of her car. They were dinky little beach chairs, but it was better than sitting in the grass.

It was a little crowded when the two of you began to weave through people, searching for the two boys, your main light source being the large projector.

Finally, towards the middle, you saw Pope stick his hand in the air and wave. You had just enough light to confirm it was him.

“Hey, they got a decent spot,” Kiara commented, leading the way to the them. You only hummed in response.

Pope and JJ already had the area set up. A blanket they both sat on, a cooler that JJ leaned his back on, and a big bag of pretzels Pope probably snatched from his family’s cabinet.

“You guys made it just in time,” Pope said, smiling up at you and Kie. “They’re starting in a few minutes.”

Your eyes flicked to JJ, who had adverted his gaze from you. He seemed really interested in the loading screen up ahead.

Kiara set her chair down next to the blanket, and you opted to put yours next to her. It was inconspicuous enough, no one would think you were putting space between yourself and JJ (even if you were).

“Is John B coming?” Kie wondered, asking no one in particular.

Pope glanced to JJ, which you only noticed because you had done the same thing. Had JJ told Pope?

No, definitely not. Pope would’ve had something to say about it for sure. He wouldn’t have asked you all to hang out in such a casual manner if he knew.

“Don’t know,” JJ said, opening the cooler and fishing out a beer. He popped the cap off and took a long drink. “Did you guys let him know?”

“No,” Kie said, dropping down into her chair.

“Well, there’s your answer,” JJ said with a shrug.

Kiara made a face.

“So you still have an attitude?”

“Can we just watch the movie?” you jumped in, sitting down in your chair.

The movie coming on a few seconds after your words halted any argument that could transpire. You were relieved to say the least.

You focused on the movie, trying to get into it, not letting your gaze wander. You made back and forth comments under your breath with Kiara, and sometimes you’d lean past her when Pope had something to say. JJ was quiet, which was abnormal for him. He was always talkative during movies, cracking jokes alongside you. If it wasn’t for the tension lingering between the two of you you might’ve forgotten he was even there.

You thought about trying to make a joke to get him involved in the little conversations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Nothing sounded clever enough to say aloud to him. You used to not think about how your words would sound to him, but now you concerned yourself with it. What you’d say to JJ if you could manage it, or if he was at least overhearing your comments to Pope and finding amusement in them—you cared too much about that all the sudden. Did he think you were funny?

Trying to be normal with JJ around was significantly harder than you thought it would’ve been, despite being the one who suggested it.

How were you supposed to be casual around your step brother who kissed you? You hadn’t thought it through in the morning, and it became clear to you that both you and JJ knew things weren’t copacetic. Problem was you didn’t know how to fix it.

You could feel JJ looking at you every once in a while, but you avoided his eyes. Not only did you not know what to say to him, but even if you did, the two of you couldn’t exactly talk about it in front of your friends.

After about an hour into the movie, the opportunity arose when JJ stood up out of nowhere.

“I’m gonna get something to eat,” he mumbled, making his way to the little building nearby.

“We have pretzels left,” Pope offered, but it fell on deaf ears. He looked at you and Kiara once JJ was out of earshot. “Is he still mad at John B about yesterday? He’s been weird all day and John B isn’t even here.”

When Kie turned to face you, you realized he was just talking to you.

You shrugged and said, “I wish I could tell you.” Neither of them looked convinced. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not his keeper.”

“No, but you live together and you’re the person he trusts the most,” Pope acknowledged, worry in his tone. “If he would go to anyone it would be you.”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?” you asked.

Pope shook his head.

“They’re best friends, even when they argue they get over it,” Kie reminded.

“Did he ask you to not invite John B?” you continued questioning Pope, remembering JJ’s comment from before.

“No, John B’s working tonight. Something with the Cameron boat.”

“He definitely still seems mad at him,” Kie said, a knowing tone in her voice as she looked to you. “You never told me—what did he say to you when you got home?”

You could’ve lied but your brain wouldn’t come up with anything.

“Nothing really. Can we just watch the movie?” you asked instead. “Please?”

Everything had been fine just a day ago and now it was all so overwhelming.

Pope and Kie exchanged a look, but didn’t discuss further. It took about ten minutes for Pope to speak up again.

“JJ still isn’t back…” he noticed aloud. He craned his neck to look towards the snack line, but it was definitely no use. “Maybe someone should go find him.”

Someone. He meant you, didn’t he? You gave Pope a look, and he shrugged.

“Do you want me to go?” Kiara offered.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, not really, but you got up anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you walked to the small building, searching around for a sign of something familiar—blonde hair, his shirt or anything to tip you off. It took a bit of wandering, but you eventually found JJ. He wasn’t in line, but around the back of the concession building.

He was alone, sitting on the ground, a flask in his hand, and his back against the stone wall.

“You disappeared,” you commented, drawing his attention. You approached him, leaning on your side against the wall next to him.

Blue eyes turned up to you.

“They send you to find me?” he guessed snarkily. “I’m fine, thanks. You can go.”

You scoffed at his tone. “This is your plan, then? To hide back here and get drunk?” You guess whatever was in the flask was stronger than beer.

Something between a look of sadness and frustration crossed his features.

“What else am I supposed to do? Clearly you can’t stand to be around me,” he shot back, glaring up at you.

You were taken aback, jaw falling slack.

“I was the one that said we can forget it and go back,” you reminded.

JJ scoffed at that, getting to his feet, leaving his flask to fall to the ground.

“Then why can you barely look at me?” he asked, gesturing with his hands, defeated. You proved his point as you failed to meet his gaze directly. “I mean seriously, even Pope knows something is going on.”

If this had been a regular conversation, you might’ve laughed. Even with how smart he was, Pope could be oblivious sometimes. It was one of the running jokes amongst your friends. But now didn’t feel like a time for jokes.

You straightened up, standing across from him, holding your ground.

“I’m looking at you right now,” you stated, albeit with much less conviction than before. You did indeed meet his eyes, but it was forced, and meant you had to see the pain in them. You hated seeing JJ in pain. “It’s not too late to pretend things are normal.”

JJ laughed. It carried all the hurt he was struggling to keep in, the sound lacking nearly all humor. He took a step closer.

“Don’t you get it? There is no normal. Not for me,” he confessed, deeper emotion creeping into his voice. “There never has been and you—you act like you can’t even be around me now so I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.” The whole time he had been moving toward you absentmindedly, only noticing the close proximity when you had to look up to meet his gaze. He took a shaky breath, eyes pleading with you. “I can’t stop feeling the way I feel so just—just tell me what to do.”

“JJ…” you started softly, not knowing what to say to fix this. He must’ve been carrying this around for so long and all you wanted to do was help.

You weren’t sure who was more surprised when you pulled him into a hug, JJ or you. But he fell into your embrace regardless. He circled his arms around your waist when you wrapped yours around him. He held you tight, pressing his entire body to yours, like you could slip away any second. JJ’s head fell to your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but run your hand soothingly across his back. You could feel his heart racing in his chest and smell the fresh alcohol on his breath. He didn’t sound buzzed but it would’ve been his goal if you hadn’t interrupted.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you assured quietly.

Something about your words made him straighten up. You saw how his eyes glistened and the pout on his lips. The bruise on his cheek still lingered. A strand of his hair had fallen into his face and you brushed it back into place.

You always knew JJ was handsome, but right now, looking at him, the word beautiful came to mind. There was something about him that made it hard to look away.

Your eyes fell to his lips, recalling how they had felt pressed against yours.

You and JJ hadn’t always been close, but now you could hardly remember a time when you weren’t attached at the hip. It didn’t matter how recent that change had happened. He was always there to make you smile or comfort you in his own way, and you did the same for him. He always looked out for you, and you took care of him when he needed it the most.

Your relationship had never been very sibling-like the more you thought about it. Siblings weren’t close in the way you and JJ were. Why did it take you so long to realize that?

The proximity had to be clouding your mind. You felt overwhelmed by JJ’s presence and just… you glanced around, making sure no one was around to see. You two were alone behind the building, the movie and people sounding miles away.

Ever so delicately, your hand rose to his uninjured cheek. You heard JJ’s breath hitch as you leaned in. He lowered his head and let you kiss him softly, meeting you halfway.

You didn’t know what had come over you, but heat filled your body at the way his hand fell to hold your waist.

JJ made an attempt to deepen the kiss, and you let him. His tongue tasted yours and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you.

That triggered something in him. JJ turned the both of you, backing you against the wall. Your back hit stone as he pressed himself against you. His kiss became more desperate, like he was afraid he was dreaming and might wake up. You tangled a hand into his hair and he groaned into your mouth before kissing you harder.

What the fuck were you doing? This was about the last thing you had planned and you didn’t even understand why it was happening. It was like the moment he kissed you just a night ago your brain was sent in a confusing spiral trying to place what you felt for him now that another option had opened up.

But had it really? This was wrong, it didn’t matter how good or how natural kissing JJ felt. It didn’t matter if you had come to the realization your relationship was more complex than you initially assumed. You both knew you shouldn’t be doing this, it was evident from the way you hid what happened from your friends, so how could it be okay?

You let your hand fall from his hair the deeper you sunk into contemplation. Your body pressed further back into the wall. You were retreating, and JJ could tell. He parted from you, noticing the way you turned your head away as if to prevent him from leaning back in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked carefully, nose nearly brushing your cheek.

“We…” You were trying to catch your breath. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

You heard him swallow, stunned.

“You’re sorry?” He stepped back, face shifting between a flurry of emotions as he tried to figure out what to say to you. You wouldn’t know what to say to you either if you were JJ. “First I kiss you and you ignore me, now you kiss me and you’re sorry?”

You met his gaze, begging him to understand. Tears stung at your eyes and you blinked them away. You had a lapse in judgment and you knew you fucked up.

“I know, and I—“

“Don’t apologize!” You winced at the way he raised his voice, but you guessed you deserved it. You really wanted to sink back into the wall when his eyes filled with sorrow. You’d never been the cause of him looking at you in such a way and it felt awful. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“That’s the last thing I want,” you professed, throat thick, but he shook his head.

“Then tell me what you want.”

What did you want? It shouldn’t have been a question that puzzled you, but in that moment, you found yourself without a true answer.

So, your mind went to the default, trying to preserve some sense of morality.

“We just need to forget it, alright?”

JJ scoffed. “You said that before and look how well that worked out.”

Your heart clenched in your chest as you said, “I mean it this time.”

JJ eyed you for a long time, silence heavy between the two of you. He was trying to figure out what to say to that. Obviously he didn’t agree, but how could he argue?

“Whatever,” he finally muttered.

JJ scooped his flask up off the ground. His hand pressed to his chest and you knew how deeply you messed up. He didn’t spare you another glance as he stormed off, leaving you teary eyed and alone against the wall with the knowledge that you screwed things up worse than he had before.

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just an ask or reply to lmk 🫶

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[q-gorgeous]

Grave Green

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 4074

There's a shallow grave in the woods. The only marker is a stone with the name "Danny" scratched into it. Judging by the fresh-turned soil, it hasn't been empty for long. @kinglazrus

hehehehe

Dash wasn’t lost.

No way no how. There was no way he was lost. He was just going on his nightly run and he made a wrong turn and now it was the middle of the night and he couldn't see anything. But he wasn’t lost. He’d be able to find his way back still. 

But the trees blocked the moonlight and he had to move slowly. But moving slowly didn’t help him when he tried to step on empty air and he fell, landing in a patch of turned dirt. 

That was weird. Turned dirt? All the way out here in the middle of the woods?

He sat up and looked around him. Dash���s heart stopped and his eyes widened.

There at the other end of the turned dirt was a headstone with the name Danny on it. He could barely make the name out but he was sure it said Danny.

This couldn’t be Fenton’s grave, could it? Sure, Fenton went missing a month ago but everyone thought he just ran away. He couldn’t have been murdered and buried here, right?

But why was the grave dug out? How long has it been empty?

He heard the sound of a twig breaking behind him and he whipped his head around. 

“Danny?” Dash whispered, horrified.

There he was, covered in dirt and looking at his hands like they weren’t his own. He raised his head to look up at Dash and tears were swimming in his eyes. 

“Dash?” He asked shakily. “What are you doing out here?”

Dash just stared at Danny, at the absurd question. “What am I doing out here? What are you doing out here? You’re covered in dirt and I just fell into your grave!” 

Danny slowly looked back down at his hands. 

“There was an accident. I remember coming out here with my mom.” Danny whispered. “She said we were just going for a walk. That it would help me walk off the shock I got when their portal activated.”

Dash stared at him in horror. 

“I don’t know how she did it, but when we got here there was already an empty grave. She pushed me in and started burying me alive.” His gaze traveled over to stare at dirt he crawled out of. “The headstone is new though.”

“Your mom… Buried you alive?” Dash asked, shaking his hands back and forth.

Danny nodded, still staring at the grave. 

“It’s been a month since you went missing, though. How are you still alive?”

Danny’s gaze made its way back to Dash. “I don’t know. The accident must’ve changed me. Something seemed to scare my mom after I walked out of the portal but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. We came here afterwards.” 

“Your parents are into ghosts right?” Dash asked. “Did their portal kill you? Are you dead?”

Danny went back to studying his hands. “I don’t feel dead. I’m kinda hungry.” 

Dash slowly walked up to him. He hovered a foot away for a moment before he raised a hand up.

“If you’ve got a pulse, you’d still be alive right? Can I see…?”

Danny nodded and Dash put two fingers on Danny’s neck under his jaw. He held his breath and waited for the tell tale thump of a heart beat. He let it out and closed his eyes when he felt it.

“You still have a pulse. Somehow.” Dash pulled away. 

Danny nodded. He seemed tired and he couldn’t stop staring at his hands. Dash sighed.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to my place. We can get you cleaned up and find something to eat.”

Danny nodded again and Dash grabbed one of his hands and pulled it out of his line of sight. Tugging on it, Dash pulled Danny behind him as they started walking. 

“Did your dad know about any of this?” Dash asked softly. He tripped on a rock in the ground and turned to guide Danny around it.

Danny shook his head. “No. It was just me and my mom in the lab when the accident happened. She told me to put my jumpsuit on because we were going to try and fix the portal as a surprise for my dad.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how she thought I was supposed to help if my genius father couldn’t help her figure it out. She sent me inside the portal to take a look but I tripped.” 

Goosebumps rose along Dash’s arms. She sent him into the portal?

“When I braced myself against the wall, I must’ve pressed a button. The portal came to life around me and then I was screaming. When the pain was finally gone, I stumbled out of the portal and my mom had a horrified look on her face. I didn’t know what she saw but a bright light flashed in the lab and then she walked over to me.”

Dash guided them past another tree and finally saw what looked like a path. He started following it. 

“She told me to take my jumpsuit off and that we were going to go for a walk. She said it would help me walk off the shock. But the longer we kept walking, the worse the feeling in my gut got. Before I realized I should run, we were already standing over the grave. And then she pushed me in.” 

“Shit.” Dash whispered.

“Yeah.” Danny’s hand tightened around his. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Let’s just start with getting cleaned up and eating. Then we can talk to my dad.”

Danny’s head shot up and he looked at him. “Your dad? What if he just brings me back to my mom?”

Dash shook his head. “If we tell my dad what happened he’ll probably arrest her for premeditated homicide.”

“Premeditated homicide?” Danny exclaimed. “Why do you think any of that would’ve been premeditated?” 

“Hello? She already had a grave dug out for you? She sent you into the portal?” Dash finally saw the park entrance that he had come in through. He turned back to look at Danny who was staring at his free hand again. Dash could see all the dirt and mud stuck to Danny much clearer now. 

“But…” Danny trailed off. 

Dash sighed and pulled him closer so he wasn’t trailing so far behind him. “Sorry. Let’s get you back to my place.” 

The rest of the walk was short and quiet. Dash could feel Danny’s dazed and disassociating look as he walked beside him. He couldn’t imagine being in Danny’s position. No matter how shitty his own mother was, at least she just left them instead of trying to kill him. 

They finally turned onto the street his house was on. Dash started pulling his keys out of his pocket. He inwardly cringed when he saw the lights in his living room still on. No doubt his dad was still up waiting for him. 

They walked up the stairs to his front door and put his key into the lock and opened the door. 

“Where have you been, young-”

His dad stopped when Dash pulled Danny into the house. He stood there for a few moments studying Danny and the dirt all over him. 

“Where did you find him?” His dad whispered. 

“I got lost on my run.” Dash said, guiding Danny in behind him while he closed the door. “I tripped on the grave he crawled out of while I was trying to find my way back.”

His dad blanched at him. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I can explain everything to you but can we get him figured out first?” Dash gestured at Danny. “And I don’t think he needs to hear the story he told me again.”

His dad nodded. “Yeah, right. Take him upstairs and find him a change of clothes and get him cleaned up. I’ll make us up some soup.” 

Dash nodded back at him and pulled Danny up the stairs behind him. 

“I’m gonna find some clothes for you to wear first and then we’re gonna head to the bathroom.” Dash said over his shoulder. Danny didn’t respond.

Dash headed to his room and opened his door. He let go of Danny’s hand.

“I’ll be right back.” 

Dash headed to his closet and looked through his t-shirts. They would all be pretty big on Danny but that would be fine. He grabbed the one Nasa shirt he had and headed to his dresser. He struggled to find some sweat pants that would fit Danny but finally found an old pair of his buried at the bottom of one of his drawers. 

He walked back to where Danny stood in the hallway. He was staring at where Pookie sat on the floor, staring back up at him. 

“That’s Pookie.” Dash said. 

Danny nodded. “I remember. I’ve always wanted a puppy.”

Dash smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be able to fill all your puppy needs while you’re here tonight.”

Danny smiled sadly at Pookie but turned to follow Dash to the bathroom. 

“You can sit down on the toilet.” Dash set the new change of clothes on the counter while he rummaged through the cabinet for the first aid kit and a washcloth. He set the first aid kit on the counter and turned the water on. He waited for it to get warm before he soaked the washcloth in water. Sudding it up with soap, he turned to face Danny.

“Are you okay with me cleaning your face and arms off?” Dash asked him. 

Danny looked up at Dash, his expression blank for a moment before he nodded. 

Dash sat down on the edge of the bathtub and started with wiping down Danny’s arms. There was so much dirt and grime. As he washed it off he also found some cuts and scrapes. Danny’s hands were the worst but Dash supposed that’s what happened when you dug your way out of your own grave. 

“I’m just gonna have you wash your hands in the sink when we’re done. That might just be easier than me trying to do it with a washcloth.” He stood up and grabbed a clean washcloth for Danny’s face.

He sat back down and brushed Danny’s hair out of his face. Danny’s blank eyes focused on him. 

Dash held Danny’s head in place by placing a hand on his left cheek. He started by cleaning around Danny’s eyes. Dash moved to his forehead but his eyes stayed closed as Dash cleaned the rest of his face and made his way down his neck. 

“Don’t forget behind the ears.” Danny whispered.

Dash snorted but obliged him.

He threw the second washcloth into the sink and studied Danny’s hair as he opened his eyes back up.

“Wash your hands and take your shirt off. I think we should rinse the dirt out of your hair, even if we don’t actually wash it.”

Danny headed over to the sink and washed his hands while Dash turned the water for the shower on. He tested the water and adjusted it until it felt like a comfortable temperature. Danny finished washing his hands and then took his shirt off and changed into the sweatpants, tossing the soiled clothes on the floor. 

“Lean over the edge of the tub and I’ll rinse your hair out.” Dash said. 

Danny did as he was asked, propping himself up by resting his arms on the tub. Dash rinsed and pulled as much dirt out of his hair as he could before he shut the water off. He grabbed a towel out of one of the cabinets and handed it to Danny.

“Here.” 

Danny slowly dried his hair as Dash opened up the first aid kit. He pulled out the hydrogen peroxide and neosporin. He grabbed yet another washcloth and doused it in hydrogen peroxide. 

Dash turned back to Danny just in time to see him pull the towel off of his head. 

“This will sting a bit.” Dash warned as he started working on cleaning the scrapes on Danny’s hands and arms. He moved up to Danny’s face and cleaned the one scratch that ran across his cheek. 

Dash went to grab the neosporin and started applying that when Danny looked up at him.

“Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to.”

Dash shrugged. “Even if I didn’t want to, my dad would’ve made me. But I wouldn’t want to leave you all covered in dirt. You don’t deserve that.”

Danny hummed and Dash finally finished cleaning him up and putting bandages on. 

“You can take the spare bedroom. I can bring your food upstairs for you.” 

“Okay.” Danny nodded, pulling his shirt on. He looked down at the floor as Pookie started following them.

Dash opened the door for the spare bedroom and turned on the light. 

“Here you go. Home sweet home for the night. You can get settled in while I go see where the soup is at.” 

Danny nodded again and sat down at the edge of the bed. Pookie jumped up by him and curled up at his side. 

Dash headed back downstairs and found his dad still stirring the soup in the kitchen. He looked up when Dash sat down in a chair at the counter.

“How’s he feeling?” His dad asked.

“He’s pretty out of it. Has been since I suggested that his mom did this to him on purpose.”

Dash’s dad turned to look at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got to stop explaining things like this. Can you start from the beginning?”

“He said his mom asked him to help her fix some portal they built that didn’t work. That she wanted it to be a surprise for his dad. But she asked him to suit up and sent him inside the thing. He tripped and hit a button and it turned on from the inside.” Dash looked away from his dad. “He got hurt and when he walked out of the portal he thought something scared his mom. She took him on a walk and at the end of it she pushed him into a grave she had ready and waiting and buried him alive.”

His dad’s eyes widened. “She buried him alive? Wasn’t that a month ago that he went missing? How is he here?”

Dash shrugged. “They’re ghost hunters. It’s probably some weird ghost thing. But she even marked the grave with a rock that had Danny’s name on it. He literally dug himself out of his own grave.”

“Goddamn.” His dad whispered. “I can’t decide if this kid has the best or worst luck in the world.”

“Maybe a little bit of both.” Dash joked. His smile fell and he looked at his dad. “Is this enough to arrest her? Or will Danny just have to go home to her?”

His dad shook his head. “I think it would be enough. We just need to find the evidence to prove it. But we can arrest and detain her for questioning. If we believe her to be dangerous we can keep her without bail as well.”

“Okay. When will that happen?” Dash asked.

His dad looked up towards the stairs. “Let’s talk to Danny and get the evidence we need. I think your and Danny’s statements will be enough to arrest her while we search for other evidence down in that lab of theirs.” 

Dash nodded. “Okay. We’ll keep him safe though?”

Dash’s dad looked back at him. “Yeah. We’ll keep him safe.” 

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

When the portal failed, Maddie knew what was missing. 

It was a portal to the land of the dead. When every calculation they’ve checked, double checked, and triple checked was correct, there was only one thing left that she thought could be the answer.

Opening a portal to the land of the dead required a human sacrifice. 

So one day when Jack and Jazz went to the fudge museum, she asked Danny to help her tackle the problem with the portal. She told him she wanted it to be a surprise for Jack. That she wanted to fix it before he came home so that he’d be greeted with a happy sight.

She made sure to hide her notes and hypothesis somewhere Danny wouldn’t stumble upon them. She asked him to get suited up under the guise of lab safety and she sent him into the portal. 

It happened more naturally than she could’ve ever hoped. As he was walking inside, he tripped over one of the wires that ran across the floor of the portal and fell against the portal wall. He pushed the on button that was on that wall and the portal hummed to life. 

She took in the last image of her son, trying to commit him to memory. 

His screams seared her mind and she tried to block them out. This was for science. This was necessary to further their studies. 

But when the screaming subsided, something she wasn’t expecting happened.

A ghost stepped out of the portal. He looked just like her son except for the fact that all of his colors had inverted. 

And his eyes.

His eyes opened. They were acid green and full of fear and pain. He made eye contact with her. A bright light appeared around his waist and when it traveled over his body and disappeared, her human son was left standing there.

“Mom?” He said. He held his hand close to his chest.

“Danny, come here.” She gestured him towards her. “Let’s get your suit off. Let’s take a look.”

She unzipped his jumpsuit and pulled his arms out of the top and helped him step out of it. A lichtenberg scar ran from his hand that hit the button up his arm. 

He didn’t seem to realize what happened. He didn’t realize he had died. That he was some kind of abomination. 

“Let’s go on a walk, Danny. Let’s walk that shock off.”

“A walk?” He asked groggily, confused. “Shouldn’t we-”

She shook her head. “No. Let’s go on a walk. You seem okay. Let’s just stretch your muscles out.” 

This wasn’t how she planned for this part to go. She expected him to just be a body on the floor that she’d have to take care of. She didn’t expect him to survive that. If you can consider it that. 

As they walked further away from the house and into the park, she could feel Danny getting uneasy behind her. She could tell he didn’t understand why they were just going on a walk. It got worse when they walked into the woods and she walked off the path. 

“Mom? Where are we going?” He asked nervously. 

There it was. Right behind him. The grave. He hasn’t noticed it yet.

She pushed him and a cry pulled itself out of his mouth. He fell into the grave and his back collided with the ground.

“Mom!” He cried. “What are you doing?” 

She tried not to listen to his cries and pleas. He was a monster. He wasn’t really her son anymore. Not the abomination he turned into. 

She pulled a pop out Fenton shovel out of her tool belt and started shoveling dirt into the grave. He tried to sit up so she started aiming for his face and dumping more dirt in faster so he couldn’t sit up anymore. 

Soon he was completely covered and he had stopped struggling against the force of the dirt on him. She found a large stone and placed it at the head of the grave so she could recognize it when she came back.

She cleaned her shovel and folded it back up, storing it in her belt. She brushed the dirt off of her jumpsuit and composed herself before she started making her way back out of the forest. 

Nobody could know what Maddie did. She was protecting them. All of them. She did what had to be done. She couldn’t let a monster like that walk around. 

Jack and Jazz just thought Danny was missing. They thought he ran away or maybe that somebody picked him off the side of the road one day. They didn’t know that he died in their basement when the portal turned on. That she had orchestrated the whole accident. They would never know. 

But when she caught sight of the monster wearing her son’s face, her heart stopped. 

There he was, sat in the middle of their living room, Jazz and Jack doting on him. But standing between her and them was Officer Baxter and his son.

“Mrs. Fenton.” Officer Baxter said as he stepped forward. 

“Oh.. You’ve- you’ve found my son.” She said with a weak smile. “Where has he been all this time?” 

Dash stepped closer in front of Danny. Jazz placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Mrs. Fenton, I need you to turn around.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt. 

She stared at them before her eyes darted back up to his face. “What- what are those for?”

“You are being arrested for attempted premeditated homicide.”

“I- I don’t- Why would you think I would do that?” She tried to feign shock, but he kept walking towards her. 

“We already have a warrant out for your arrest and another to search your lab for evidence.”

She looked at the monster on her couch and pulled a blaster out of her utility belt. “I don’t know how you survived, ghost scum, but I won’t let you walk around pretending to be my son!” 

She went to take a shot but Jack jumped up and knocked the gun out of her hand. 

“This is our son, Maddie!” He shouted at her. 

“He’s not my son anymore!” She screamed as Officer Baxter knocked her to the ground and forced her into handcuffs. “He’s ghost scum parading around with his face! My son is dead!” 

“You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney-”

“Let go of me!” Maddie screamed as she struggled against the handcuffs. He pulled her off the ground roughly and started walking her to the door. “My son died! He’s dead! That is not my son!” 

That monster looked at her with wide eyes she swore she saw turn green. A single tear streamed down his face. 

“That is not my son!” 

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

Dash watched as his dad carted Maddie to his car. She was still thrashing against him, screaming in the street. 

“What happened, Danno?” He heard Jack whisper behind him. 

“She did something to me.” Danny whispered. 

Dash turned and saw Jazz and Jack exchange a look between the two of them. Danny was still staring at the front door where his mom had been taken away. 

“What did she do to you?” Jazz asked.

Danny shook his head. “If- if I told you… Would you still love me?”

A sad look crossed onto both Jack and Jazz’s faces. “Of course we would.”

“Mom didn’t.”

“What did she do, Danny?” Jack asked him again.

Danny’s gaze finally lifted and landed on Dash. Dash started a little bit at the expression Danny was giving him.

“You want me to tell them?” Dash asked quietly. Danny nodded. 

Dash took a deep breath. “He told me that Maddie asked him to help with the ghost portal. That he went in and pressed a button and when he came back out she looked horrified. Then she led him out to the woods where she had a grave already dug out.” 

Jazz covered her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. Jack looked horrified. Danny’s eyes were vacant again. 

“I got lost in the woods yesterday and tripped over his empty grave.” Dash looked away from them and at the floor. “He somehow lasted a whole month buried out there. He had just crawled out of the grave not too long before I got there.” 

Danny had started shaking and Jack shushed him. Jazz wrapped her arms around him in a hug. 

“It’s okay.” Jack said. “You’re safe now. You’re back home.” Jack turned to look back up at Dash. 

“Thank you. Thank you for bringing him home to us.” 

Dash nodded. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. 

Dash saw Danny’s eyes flash an unsettling green. 

What if his mom had been right?

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 3 EPISODE 06 || A. MALCOLM ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“The question is—why have you got a room in a brothel? Are you such a good customer that—”

“A customer?” He stared up at me, eyebrows raised. “Here? God, Sassenach, what d’ye think I am?” “Damned if I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking. Are you going to answer my question?” He stared at his stockinged feet for a moment, wiggling his toes on the floorboard. At last he looked up at me, and answered calmly, “I suppose so. I’m not a customer of Jeanne’s, but she’s a customer of mine—and a good one. She keeps a room for me because I’m often abroad late on business,and I’d as soon have a place I can come to where I can have food and a bed at any hour, and privacy. The room is part of my arrangement with her.” I had been holding my breath. Now I let out about half of it. “All right,” I said. “Then I suppose the next question is, what business has the owner of a brothel got with a printer?” The absurd thought that perhaps he printed advertising circulars for Madame Jeanne flitted through my brain, to be instantly dismissed. “Well,” he said slowly. “No. I dinna think that’s the question.” “It’s not?” “No.” With one fluid move, he was off the bed and standing in front of me, close enough for me to have to look up into his face. I had a sudden urge to take a step backward, but didn’t, largely because there wasn’t room.

“The question is, Sassenach, why have ye come back?”

he said softly. “That’s a hell of a question to ask me!” My palms pressed flat against the rough wood of the door. “Why do you think I came back, damn you?” “I dinna ken.” The soft Scottish voice was cool, but even in the dim light, I could see the pulse throbbing in the open throat of his shirt.

“Did ye come to be my wife again? Or only to bring me word of my daughter?” As though he sensed that his nearness unnerved me, he turned away suddenly, moving toward the window, where the shutters creaked in the wind. “You are the mother of my child—for that alone, I owe ye my soul—for the knowledge that my life hasna been in vain—that my child is safe.” He turned again to face me, blue eyes intent. “But it has been a time, Sassenach, since you and I were one. You’ll have had your life—then—and I have had mine here. You’ll know nothing of what I’ve done, or been. Did ye come now because ye wanted to—or because ye felt ye must?”

My throat felt tight, but I met his eyes. “I came now because before…I thought you were dead. I thought you’d died at Culloden.” His eyes dropped to the windowsill, where he picked at a splinter. “Aye, I see,” he said softly. “Well…I meant to be dead.” He smiled, without humor, eyes intent on the splinter. “I tried hard enough.” He looked up at me again. “How did ye find out I hadna died? Or where I was, come to that?” “I had help. A young historian named Roger Wakefield found the records; he tracked you to Edinburgh. And when I saw ‘A. Malcolm,’ I knew…I thought…it might be you,” I ended lamely. Time enough for the details later. “Aye, I see. And then ye came. But still…why?” I stared at him without speaking for a moment. As though he felt the need of air, or perhaps only for something to do, he fumbled with the latch of the shutters and thrust them halfway open, flooding the room with the sound of rushing water, and the cold, fresh smell of rain. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want me to stay?” I said, finally. “Because if so…I mean, I know you’ll have a life now…maybe you have…other ties…”

With unnaturally acute senses, I could hear the small sounds of activity throughout the house below, even above the rush of the storm, and the pounding of my own heart. My palms were damp, and I wiped them surreptitiously against my skirt. He turned from the window to stare at me. “Christ!” he said. “Not want ye?” His face was pale now, and his eyes unnaturally bright.

“I have burned for you for twenty years, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Do ye not know that? Jesus!” The breeze stirred the loose wisps of hair around his face, and he brushed them back impatiently. “But I’m no the man ye knew, twenty years past, am I?” He turned away, with a gesture of frustration. “We know each other now less than we did when we wed.”

“Do you want me to go?” The blood was pounding thickly in my ears. “No!” He swung quickly toward me, and gripped my shoulder tightly, making me pull back involuntarily. “No,” he said, more quietly. “I dinna want ye to go. I told ye so, and I meant it. But…I must know.” He bent his head toward me, his face alive with troubled question. “Do ye want me?” he whispered.

“Sassenach, will ye take me—and risk the man that I am, for the sake of the man ye knew?”

I felt a great wave of relief, mingled with fear. It ran from his hand on my shoulder to the tips of my toes, weakening my joints. “It’s a lot too late to ask that,” I said, and reached to touch his cheek, where the rough beard was starting to show. It was soft under my fingers, like stiff plush.

“Because I’ve already risked everything I had. But whoever you are now, Jamie Fraser—yes. Yes, I do want you.”

The light of the candle flame glowed blue in his eyes, as he held out his hands to me, and I stepped wordless into his embrace. I rested my face against his chest, marveling at the feel of him in my arms; so big, so solid and warm. Real, after the years of longing for a ghost I could not touch. Disentangling himself after a moment, he looked down at me, and touched my cheek, very gently. He smiled slightly.

“You’ve the devil’s own courage, aye? But then, ye always did.” I tried to smile at him, but my lips trembled.

“What about you? How do you know what I’m like? You don’t know what I’ve been doing for the last twenty years, either. I might be a horrible person, for all you know!” The smile on his lips moved into his eyes, lighting them with humor. “I suppose ye might, at that. But, d’ye know, Sassenach—I dinna think I care?”

I stood looking at him for another minute, then heaved a deep sigh that popped a few more stitches in my gown. “Neither do I.”

25 HOUSE OF JOY ~voyager

[hxltic]

i have a request for a “strawberry/cutecore/hello kitty” girl x ghost 🤭. basically everything is pink and cute stuff <33

(this is not proofread and i didn’t know how much to write lol)

Ghost has seen his fair share of tragedies in all his years of working the military. In fact, they continuously remind him of the atrocities his own hands have created, ones that return in vivid nightmares to eat away at him in his darkest times. Dismantled bodies and the seemingly permanent blood stained on his hands that may be his, his comrades, or another brutal soldier’s haunts him, and the worst, the image of his own family.

He prays he doesn’t forget himself and get lost behind his mask, the one everyone fears and associates with the word “monster.” He prays he doesn’t forget that he’s a son and a human, Simon Riley. It’s his biggest fear.

So when you come along, all happy and young and inexperienced, it’s a cool breath of fresh fucking air. You wore a pink miniskirt that was way too short to be worn in any building, especially not outside with a gust of wind. Your white, printed top barely covered your breasts, matching the studded white belt thrown over your hips. Hell, the belt and the skirt were the same size.

You had a belly button ring with a shiny charm on it and dangly earrings, with pink platforms that were laced with pearls almost covered by shin high leg warmers. With the heels on, you were still almost a foot under him.

Your body was matured in contrast to the way you dressed, and what had him hooked when you met was how you acted.

Of course, it was in a candy store; you had a pink lemonade sucker dangling out your mouth. You watched the hunk of a man stroll in, and you could care less if it was bad to say the first thing you were attracted to was his size.

He wouldn’t sit down with his plain vanilla in a cup, but you bought yours that was filled to the brim with sweets, screaming diabetes. You sit next to him as he leaned on the wall. Your legs aren’t crossed either in the cute mint green chair, but maybe it was on purpose.

“What are you doing in here big boy?” You tease.

Ghost was already surprised by the fact you just casually sat by him with plenty other seats around, but he thought talking to him as well was absurd.

“A man can’t have a sweet-tooth?”

His low drawl was so sexy with his accent, looking down at you with a glint of playfulness in his eyes. He believed the stoic expression he usually carried would be too harsh for you.

“I just didn’t think I’d see someone like you here.”

“I was sure I’d see someone like you here,” he retorts with a chuckle. It was a heavenly sound from his throat.

Your glossy, plump lips wrap around a gummy bear, then attach your attention back to him. He was already watching silently, just waiting for a bite of the cream to slip out of your mouth. He knows you wouldn’t get up and find a napkin.

When it happens, he wasn’t as ready for it as he thought he was, a small portion of the pile of whipped cream dropping to your chin. Your manicured thumb swipes away at it and slips it into your mouth.

It was an innocent act, and Ghost almost feels bad for watching so intently.

Ever since then, he’s used his dominate nature to take care of you. Nobody would say anything to, or about you, and he made sure of it. Even when walking down boulevard.

The same way you met, you skip way too high for your clothing, almost bouncing as he walks leisurely behind you. You use the privilege of his aura.

You walk into the mall and take a peek at a luxury store. The both of you walk in and look around, more so you gawking at things until one bag takes your eye. Soon enough you’re walking out with it on your arm, Ghost’s card tucked somewhere in your bra, holding his hand and thanking him again and again.

You almost cry when you can’t stay over because he’s going out for work, but he walks you home and says he’ll make it up to you.

The bedroom called yours is covered in a pink wallpaper, small bed perfect for your size with perfectly aligned plushies that reach about half the comforter. Figurines stack your shelves. You loved Ghost’s room because it was a contrast to yours, extra modern with grey, ash walls and black sheets that he’s rarely in. You really loved his shower too.

The large man picks you up and throws you down, so you’re in a fit of giggles when your legs are being spread open and your pretty pink panties are being pushed to the side. His hunger displays as he grunts lowly.

[astromechs]

ok, i did barbenheimer, so here are some assorted thoughts about both films (i am discussing potential "spoilers" for both, so look away if you don't want these):

on paper, and in experience, this is the wildest double feature to do. barbie and oppenheimer could not be two more different films, in terms of tone, aesthetic, and themes; on the one hand, you have a treatise on feminism in the guise of one of the most widely known decades-old ip, and on the other, you have a complicated biopic about the complicated figure who developed the atomic bomb.

and yet, there is a heart and soul linking these two films, and i actually think seeing them in the double feature makes them work: it's care and craftsmanship. these are two films made by people who actually care about cinema as an artform, and it's such a breath of fresh air compared to a lot of the dreck we've been getting out of major studios and wide releases, especially over the past decade.

barbie is not an independent film; you guys are silly, and you need to get that out of your heads. mattell's name is literally on it lol BUT. what this story turns out to be is something pretty unique in terms of today's cinematic landscape. it's a thoughtful treatise on feminism and gender roles on all sides of the equation — the unrealistic expectations put on women, the emptiness that drives men into upholding patriarchy, the absolute absurdity it is on all counts to let ourselves be consumed by this instead of getting to be ourselves and figure out who we actually are. loved every second of it.

also: "i lost interest in patriarchy when i learned it wasn't about horses", like, line of the year.

oppenheimer manages to distinguish itself from the sludge of oscar bait biopics, because, well, because of the craftsmanship of christopher nolan, but also because, in particular, it has such strong thematic focus. it is both a story about oppenheimer, the complicated figure who unleashed something terrible on the world, and the story of the plight of the scientist; just because you can do something, does it mean you should? when you put a dangerous tool into someone else's hands, is it their hands who have the responsibility for how it's used, or is it you, for creating it in the first place?

these are questions that i think the film wrestles with very adeptly, and it doesn't provide easy answers — because there are none. oppenheimer himself spent the remainder of his life wrestling with his own complicated legacy, and the film really captures the spirit of that. the final shot really makes that stick.

both of these films had clear vision for what they wanted to say, clear care and craftsmanship involved, and as someone who genuinely loves cinema and has felt so disheartened seeing shit upon shit being flung into theaters in wide release, i deeply appreciate both of these films, and i don't regret the experience of doing the double feature, because it was really something special — even if, whew, i'm going to need about five business days to process all of this.

[leafjoon]

Between the lines - pt. II

words: 5k warnings: swearing, alcohol, age gap, slight angst, jealousy, mentions of cheating, smut, spitting, one slap, unprotected sex, daddy kink (barely). its also v fluffy n has aftercare

It was Saturday evening, and you decided to go out with your friends and enjoy yourself a little. You knew you deserved it after the absurd week you had. You finally turned those pages to Alex in time, cramming and staying home almost every night—the assignments you had neglected piled up, and you had to catch up.

But none of that mattered tonight. No, tonight you would have fun with your friends and let loose. Most importantly, you wanted to ignore the desire that had crept up on you for your editor since that night.

"Let's do shots!" your friend Rachel yelled out. You chuckled at her enthusiasm, deciding to join in. "Tequila?" 

"You know it," she replied with a wink. It was half past eleven, and most of you were already drunk.

After you ordered your shots, everyone quickly shot them down their throats, some scrunching up their faces due to the sour taste. "God, this never fails to fuck me up," you said.

As you were listening to Sophie rambling about in her drunken state, you spotted a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye. Squinting a little, you weren't sure if it was him. He looked like one of your ex-boyfriends. You quickly turned, not wanting him to see you.

Things had gone sour with him last year when you found out he had been talking to another girl behind your back. You were stupid to trust him. His lack of insincerity was evident to everyone else but you.

You huffed, not wanting to bring down the mood but getting agitated at the reminder of his existence and the insecurities he had brought out of you.

"Show me your phone," you said sternly, your nostrils flaring up. You felt insane for making such a demand, but your gut told another story.

"What the fuck? You've gone crazy," he said, letting out a chuckle.

"James. Just show me your last text, and we can forget about this. Okay?" you said, pleading with him. You wanted to trust him.

He looked at you, his face laced with guilt, and looked away. "No."

You let out a shaky breath. "Get out," you whispered. You knew exactly what this meant. You felt your chest tighten. 

"What?" he asked, confused and angry.

"Get the fuck out!" you screamed at him, tears forming in your eyes. "I don't want to see you." Your heart was thumping in your chest.

He looked at you and clenched his jaw. Grabbing his coat, he let out a huff of disbelief and left.

“(Y/N)?” Sophie called out your name.

Your eyes, completely zoned out, now focused on Sophie's face. "Huh?"

"Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Uh. Yeah. Sure," you said, nodding, trying to be convincing, and taking a sip of your drink.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes at you, visibly annoyed.

"Sorry, I'm just drunk," you told her, pouting a little and giving your drink to her as a peace offering.

Your eyes searched for the exit, beckoning you to take a much-needed break outside. A quick smoke and a breath of fresh air sounded good. You weren't a smoker, but this situation called for it. 

"Hey, can I grab a cig?" you asked one of your guy friends, Finn, as you pulled him in for a hug from behind. "Sure," he said, extending his pack of cigarettes to you.

When you went outside, you were met with a cool breeze. You lit up your cigarette, bringing it to your mouth, and felt slightly calmer as you exhaled the smoke.

Suddenly, you heard a voice from behind calling your name. “(Y/N)? Is that you?"

You froze. No. You didn't turn around, hoping he would leave you alone.

"Hey," he approached you with a slight smirk. "Started smoking, huh?"

"No, not really," you said in a dull tone, glancing at him for a split second and then looking away.

"Haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?"

 "Fine, thanks," you replied, slightly turning away from him. You hoped you didn't have to cause a scene to get him to leave.

"What, that's it?" he chuckled.

"I came out here to avoid people, James," you said, looking anywhere but in his direction.

"Come on, lighten up," he rolled his eyes.

Your head snapped. You were about to throw a snarky remark at him when you heard a low voice calling you. “(Y/N).”

When you turned around, a pair of gentle eyes met you. Your face immediately fell into a relieved expression, and you smiled. "Alex?"

James turned to look at him, eyeing him up. As Alex approached the two of you, he sensed your discomfort.

He talked to James and exchanged pleasantries. Alex wanted to snatch you away, not let him have the time of day with you.

"Do you mind if I steal her for a second, mate?" he asked, not waiting for a response. "Sure," James uttered, his intense gaze settling on him.

You and Alex started walking away from him, turning around the corner and settling in an alleyway.

"What a nice surprise." You said, your cheeks flushed. You took note of his appearance. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a brown blazer. His hair styled as usual, with a few strands falling on his face. He looked gorgeous.

"You seemed uncomfortable earlier," he furrowed his brows. "You alright?" he asked, squeezing your arm.

You shivered slightly from his touch. "I-uh. Yeah. Thank you for that. I didn't know how to get away," you admitted.

"Who was that anyway?" he asked, his eyes glued on your face, taking in all your expressions.

"Just some dickhead. You know how terrible college guys are."

He chuckled lightly. "I do. I used to be one."

"Oh, were you also a dickhead?" you joked.

"I don't think so." You laughed. He smiled, admiring you.

"So, you've taken up smoking in the three days we haven't seen each other?" he teased you.

"No," you laughed shyly. "Just really needed one right now."

"Care to light mine then?" he asked, his eyes glinting.

You brought your lighter close to his face, feeling his faint breath on your hand.

"Thanks," he blew the smoke the other way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, sounding like you were interrogating him.

"Well, you know, sometimes we older people like to go out too."

You laughed, slapping his shoulder lightly.

"No, actually, I was passing through on my way home. Then I saw a familiar little head." 

"Oh. Well, that's lucky," you smiled.

His gaze lingered on you. His pants slightly tightened when he took notice of your flimsy outfit.

You were wearing a thick jean jacket covering your dark blouse. Your breasts peeked out of your top, revealing your supple skin.

Alex felt himself growing jealous, imagining the amount of men that leered at you throughout the night. A beautiful girl like you, he was sure they were foaming at the mouth.

You suddenly felt shy under his gaze and looked away. Your phone vibrated, and you took it out of your pocket, slightly humming.

"Where the hell are u?" Finn had texted you.

You checked the clock, and it was already 12:07 am. You felt a little tired and wondered if heading home would be a good idea.

"Friends?" Alex interrupted your thoughts.

"Yeah. They're wondering where I went." He nodded.

"Think I'm gonna go home, though. I'm getting a bit sleepy," you said, glancing at him and waiting for his reaction.

"Sure." He replied.

You tried again. "You know, the apartment I'm staying at isn't that far from this bar," you looked at him expectantly.

"Would you like me to walk you?" he said softly.

"Sure." You mimicked him.

After saying goodbye to your friends, you returned outside, meeting Alex by the door.

The apartment was only a fifteen-minute walk from there, but it felt much quicker than that. You had good company, after all.

You started shivering a bit, crossing your arms to emit heat.

Alex took notice of that and came closer to you. He removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, one of his hands lingering on your arm.

You felt your body tense at the close contact. He slowly let his hand fall as you were walking.

"Don't you live in a dorm?" he asked.

"I do. I'm cat-sitting for one of my friends. She went to visit her family for the weekend."

He nodded. "Is the cat behaving?"

You chuckled. "He's adorable. You have to see him."

A smile played on Alex's lips as you both arrived at your friend's apartment. The evening had been enjoyable, yet you felt a subtle disappointment as you stood there. You hesitated, not wanting to say goodbye.

"Do you want to come in?" you asked as you met his gaze.

His eyes flickered to yours. Silence stretched between you, and he struggled to find the right words.

"I, uh... It's getting a bit late for me," he finally said, his gaze momentarily dropping.

"Okay," you replied, your gaze shifting downward, a sense of vulnerability washing over you. You handed Alex his jacket, your fingers lightly grazing.

"It was nice seeing you again," he said, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair that had fallen across your face. The touch lingered, leaving a trail of warmth.

"Night, Alex," you replied, your gaze fixed on him. As he turned to leave, the quiet echo of your thoughts filled the space, leaving you to wonder about the possibilities that danced in the corners of the night.

*

As the days passed, you were distracted by endless thoughts about your editor. It became evident, especially during class. Images of his warm smile, big hands, and fluffy hair filled your mind. You felt yourself growing more drawn to him whenever you weren't together.

When your professor dismissed the class, you realized you had been daydreaming about him almost the entire time and scribbling gibberish in your notebook. You let out a long sigh and started gathering your belongings, stuffing them in your bag.

Sophie joined you as you exited the class. "God, can he give us any more assignments?" she let out a huff of frustration. "What assignment?" you asked.

"Didn't you hear him?" she asked. "No," you shrugged.

She laughed. "What were you doing? I kept looking at you, and you seemed so zoned out."

"Oh. Nothing. I was thinking about my novel," you blurted out.

"How's that going, by the way? Is Mr. Turner treating you well?" she asked. 

Mr. Turner. Oh boy. 

"Sure! I mean-yeah, no he's great," you stuttered.

"Okay..." she glanced over to you. "So what are you doing today?" you asked, changing the topic.

You quickly returned to your dorm room, not wanting to run into anyone else you knew. When you entered your room, you kicked off your shoes, threw your bag somewhere on the floor, and flung yourself on your sofa. You groaned. What the hell were you supposed to do with these overwhelming feelings?

Flicking your phone open, you saw a text message from Alex. Your heart started racing. 

Hi. I hope you're well. I will not be available tonight to help with your assignments. Would it be all right if we rescheduled for tomorrow?

You felt a pang of disappointment as you read the text. You had felt so jittery all morning and couldn't wait to see him, and now this. Sighing, you replied to him and immediately texted Sophie. You needed to go out tonight.

*

You made dinner plans with your best friend and decided to try out a new restaurant that had opened downtown. The menu looked amazing, and the prices were pretty decent. Your parents had always been generous with you about money, but you made sure to save and indulge occasionally.

As you entered the restaurant, you felt a warm ambiance enveloped you. The smooth jazz tunes filled the place, and the hostess escorted you to a free table nearby.

When you sat down, you and Sophie excitedly looked through the menu and ordered your drinks and meal. While Sophie was telling you about her latest situationship, your eyes wandered around the restaurant, taking in the beautifully decorated place.

The warm lights cast a beautiful glow on your friend, and you listened as she told you about the intense chemistry she felt with this guy. "Ugh, I don't know, there's just something about him." her eyes sparkled.

"You mean the incredible sex you're having?" you said playfully.

She cracked up. "I mean…among other things."

"So why aren't you making it official?"

"I don't know (Y/N). I'm unsure if I want to be in a relationship right now. It seems like too much work. I got my plate full with everything going on," she sighed.

You nodded, glancing behind Sophie. She continued talking about how he wanted to see her all the time. Wait-You thought you spotted someone. Was that Alex?

Your gaze focused on him. He was seated at a distant table, laughing with the woman beside him. Your mouth slightly dropped, and your eyes fixated on them.

Frozen in your seat, you felt a surge of emotions within you, the sight creating a knot of unease in your stomach. What the hell? Had he canceled on you to go out with some woman? 

You swallowed thickly, and Sophie noticed the change in your demeanor. "Hey, you okay?"

"Uh-yeah," you replied. "Who do you keep staring at?" she said, looking over her shoulder. 

Then she spotted the man who preoccupied your mind. "Oh, is that Mr. Turner? Should we go up to him?"

"No! I mean, he seems busy," you lowered your gaze. 

"Yeah, I guess he's got a hot date," she giggled.

You nodded, taking a large swig of your wine. You prayed he wouldn't see you. The last thing you needed right now was for him to notice how stupid you looked.

You cringed, hearing their distant laughter and shared joy starkly contrasting to the quiet ache that tightened within you.

You decided to distract yourself and urged Sophie to continue telling you about the boy she was seeing. "Well, at least one of us is getting some action," you joked, feeling slightly bitter.

You tried to enjoy your meal and ignore the pit in your stomach. Forcing yourself to focus only on Sophie, you refilled your wine glass and continued talking to her.

Later in the evening, you noticed that their table had become empty. Glancing over, you caught a glimpse of Alex and the woman leaving, and an inexplicable mix of relief and regret washed over you.

You were thankful he didn't see you and talk to you, but at the same time, you couldn't believe he blew you off to go on a date. He didn't owe you anything. After all, he was only your editor.

That night, tipsy and emotional, you stumbled to your dorm room. How were you going to face him tomorrow and ignore your growing feelings? In your drunken haze, you decided that was a decision for sober you to deal with, and you went to sleep, comforted by the spinning room.

*

The next day arrived with a weight on your shoulders that matched the dull ache in your head from last night. As you walked to Alex's place, slightly hungover, the memory of him having dinner with another woman gnawed at your thoughts.

You awkwardly entered his house, exchanged a few words with him, and immediately buried your nose in your assignment, minimizing any chances of small talk. Alex finally spoke up after an hour of you struggling to make any progress.

"Is something the matter (Y/N)?" he asked gently.

"What do you mean?" you mumbled.

"You seem agitated today." He sighed.

"I'm fine," you huffed.

"Are you sure? We aren't getting anywhere with this assignment," he continued, face laced with concern.

You clenched your jaw. How the hell could you? Oh yeah, well, I thought I felt a spark with you, but that went to shit when I saw you having dinner with a gorgeous woman. Not to mention, I'm probably insane for even thinking there was something between us.

You sighed. "Nothing is wrong; let's just finish this," you murmured.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he pressed.

"Why not?" you said, annoyed.

"We've been stuck in this section for an hour. Maybe we should take a break, or you can go home and rest," he replied, his worried eyes meeting yours.

Oh, so now he's kicking me out. Fuck this shit.

"Fine. I'll go," you spat out, getting up and grabbing your papers and notebook roughly.

He stared at you, confused, wondering if he had struck a chord in you.

"Hey," he said gently. "Hold on."

You ignored him and continued gathering your things.

"(Y/N)."

Disregarding him, you shoved everything into your bag.

"Will you stop acting like a brat and tell me what's wrong?" he said, slightly irritated.

You looked at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?" You swallowed thickly. "You wanna know what's wrong?"

You huffed. "I saw you!"

His head tilted in confusion. "Saw me where?"

"The other night, with that woman," you blurted, the words leaving your mouth faster than your thoughts could catch up. 

You continued, "Am I crazy for thinking that- that," you stuttered.

Groaning, you ran your fingers through your hair.

"That what?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," you replied.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice softening, "why are you making such a fuss?"

Your attempts to brush off the situation faltered. "I-" Your voice caught in your throat. "It seemed like you were on a date," you finally said.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression softening. "I wasn't on a date. I was catching up with an old friend."

You couldn't meet his gaze, your eyes fixated on your hands. 

The weight of the misunderstanding pressed on your shoulders.

"Why does it matter if I was on a date or not?" he asked, a genuine curiosity in his tone.

"It doesn't. You're allowed to do whatever you want," you whispered.

"But you don't want me to, right?" he pressed, with a hint of concern.

You looked at him, your expression uncertain. "Whatever. I'm gonna go. Please forget I said anything," you mumbled, hurrying towards the exit.

"Hey, hey," he said, grabbing your forearm gently but just enough to stop you. "Is this why you've been so moody and distracted all day? Because you thought I was seeing someone?"

You shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "You canceled our session to see her," you mumbled.

He sighed. "Let's sit down and talk about this, okay?"

You mumbled an 'okay' and followed him to the couch.

He started, "I wasn't on a date, and I certainly don't want you to think I'm not considerate of your feelings. I did cancel our session to see her, and I apologize. She's only here for a few days before returning to Sheffield, where she lives with her husband."

"Oh," you said quietly.

"Maybe I should've communicated better," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"It's fine, I guess," you muttered.

"I'm sorry. You mean a lot to me, (Y/N)," he smiled at you, putting a hand over yours.

He scooted closer to you, his face merely a few inches away from yours, and your breaths mingled in the small space between you. Alex's eyes lingered on your lips.

Your heart started racing. With a slow movement, Alex leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You felt a wildfire of emotions as the kiss intensified, leaving you breathless.

Barely pulling away, he whispered, "How 'bout I show you how I feel about you?"

You felt a flutter of anticipation in your stomach and nodded in response.

His hand found its way to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips against yours again. His other hand settled on your thigh, his fingertips tickling your skin. His tongue slid against yours, massaging it gently.

He pulled away slightly, panting, "Do you want to go upstairs?" You nodded. 

He dragged you upstairs to his bedroom, the air charged with desire. His eyes were filled with an intensity you couldn't ignore.

Alex's hands found the small of your back, pulling you closer. His lips found yours once again, slipping his tongue inside your mouth, letting you taste him again.

He guided you to his bed, and you sank into the mattress, sprawling beneath him.

He settled on top of you and pressed his body against yours. His nimble fingers squeezed your thighs as his half-hard member rested between your legs. You gasped quietly when you felt him on your arousal, feeling his hot breath tickling your skin.

He sighed as one of his hands found its way to your cheek, grazing it lightly. You felt soft, just like he'd imagined. He gently pressed his lips to yours, and you opened your mouth, your tongues tangling.

You let out a sound when his other large hand came down to caress your waist, settling below your breast.

He broke the kiss with a smack, leaned down, and whispered in your ear, "I'm gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart," his words sending goosebumps all over your body.

As he left a trail of hot kisses and bites down your neck, he made sure to suck a spot, marking you. He wanted to ruin you. Pleasure you until he was the only thing on your mind.

"Alex," you sighed, bringing one of your hands to grab his hair, the other settling on his back, gripping the material of his t-shirt.

He smirked against your skin as his big hands roamed your body. He cupped your breasts roughly, pulling a whimper out of you.

Pulling away from your neck, his eyes settled on your face. His fingers flicked your nipples, playing with them. This made your arousal only grow more.

He retreated his hands and took off your shirt slowly, revealing your tits. He hissed, "Fuck. You're stunning," as he caressed your naked breasts. He leaned down to suck softly on one of your nipples.

"A-alex," you whispered, gripping his hair tighter.

He moaned, enjoying it in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. He bit down softly on it, making you gasp and your back arch.

"So stiff," he muttered, making your face heat up. His mouth found your other breast, leaving open mouthed-kisses on it, his lips wrapping around your nipple.

His hand made its way down to the zipper of your trousers, and he asked, "Can I take these off?" 

You nodded, and he slipped them off you, throwing them on the ground.

He towered above you as his hand went down to your delicate panties, rubbing your arousal, feeling your wetness. The sight would be plaguing his mind for weeks on end.

"Already soaked for me, yeah?" He whispered, soliciting a quiet moan out of you. "Hm?" he looked at you. You gulped, "Yes."

He half-grinned as he pushed the thin material to the side and started stroking your slit. "So drenched," he gasped.

Your skin was on fire, and you moaned quietly. He started teasing your entrance and gathered your slick. He then slipped your underwear past your legs, throwing them somewhere on the bed.

"Spread your legs for me, baby," he uttered, and you obliged, feeling shy under his gaze.

He licked his lips at the sight and stroked your thighs tenderly before returning his finger to your clit. He rubbed it softly, emitting soft moans out of you. His other hand crept on your throat, resting there.

"Oh!" You moaned loudly when he found a spot that made your legs shake and started rubbing your clit faster.

He looked at you in awe, his mouth slightly agape. You were adorable, giving yourself to him completely.

He continued rubbing your bundle of nerves, drinking in all your reactions. He slipped a finger, and you threw your head back, gasping softly.

He pumped in and out of you, and his cock twitched in his pants. He felt painfully hard. He slipped in another finger with ease and stretched you out, his knuckles deep inside you.

Curling them inside, he hit a sweet spot that made your eyes roll. "Think you can handle a third one, sweetheart?"

You nodded, whimpering. Alex's hand snaked to your jaw, opened your mouth, and stuck his thumb inside. You made sure to suck on it.

He pushed his finger in, pulling out a loud whine from you and spreading you out like never before.

"Good girl."

He noticed you clenching around his fingers. "Like it when I call you that?"

You nodded. "Well, you have to earn it," Alex said as he fucked you with his fingers. 

Your chest heaved as his other hand went down to your pussy, now playing with your clit.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well."  

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued to pump in and out of you. "Such a perfect cunt," he mumbled to himself.

You grabbed his wrist roughly, signaling to him that you were getting close. He noticed you were clenching his fingers more, and your moans were getting louder.

He slowed his movements and gently slipped his fingers out of your pussy, leaving you empty.

"Alex…" you whined, your hands grabbing the front of his shirt. Breathing heavily, you looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

"What is it?" he teased you.

"I need you..."

"Need me? For what?" he asked. His cock needed stimulation so badly, but he wanted to make you beg.

You huffed. "I need you to fuck me," you whispered quietly, bringing him closer. "Daddy," you whispered.

He groaned, "Fuck. You're so greedy. Can't be satisfied with what I give you, huh?" he asked, unzipping his trousers, slipping out of them.

You started unbuttoning his shirt quickly, tossing it to the ground. Alex sighed as you roamed your hands on his toned chest.

He removed his boxers swiftly, exposing his thick cock, precum pooling on the head already.

You bit your lip as your hand went down to his member, stroking it, earning a few moans out of him.

He pulled your hand away after a few minutes and grabbed his member, positioning it near your entrance.

He teased your folds with his cock, gathering your wetness and rubbing your clit, letting out soft moans. 

He then tapped your entrance and started entering you slowly, filling you to the brim, the sensation bringing tears to your eyes.

You gasped and closed your eyes. Alex grabbed your cheeks. "Look at me," he said hoarsely.

You wrapped your hands around his back and pulled him flush against your chest. 

He started moving slowly, letting you get used to the stretch of his cock.

"F-fuck. You feel amazing," he stuttered.

You barely managed to keep your eyes open. You felt so full of him.

Your breaths mixed together, and you pleaded, "Faster, please," he obliged, fucking you faster, making you whimper loudly.

"You look so pretty, taking my cock," he soothed as he slammed his hips into yours, making you gasp.

It felt so good you couldn't contain any of your whimpers and moans. Filthy squelching noises filled the room, making you even more wet around him.

Your sweaty bodies were pressed against each other, and he engulfed your senses. He grabbed one of your breasts roughly, massaging it as his pace became fast and steady, fucking you deliciously.

You felt so fucked-out, your eyes were rolling to the back of your head repeatedly. You felt desperate for him. As he hit a delicious spot inside, you repeatedly cried out his name.

"That's it, baby, scream my fucking name."

He held you close to him as he slammed his cock in and out of you, making you feel every inch of it. He grabbed your jaw and ordered, "Open your mouth."

You did as told, your tongue peeking out, slightly panting. He pursed his lips and spat roughly on your tongue, uttering, "Swallow."

You swallowed, whining, and sank your nails into his back.

"Such a slut for me," he hissed.

You moaned loudly, clenching on his cock uncontrollably. You felt yourself approaching your climax, and he could feel it, too.

"What? You wanna cum?" he teased you.

"Please," you begged, nearing your release for the second time.

"Gonna have to do better than that, love," he replied, slowing down a little.

"Alex, please," you whined. "Don't stop. I need you," you pleaded with him pathetically.

"Do you, now?" he asked, stopping abruptly. He grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him.

"No!" you whimpered, your chest heaving. "I'll be so good. Just let me cum."

"Where?" he asked in a husky tone.

"I-," you stuttered. 

"Go on, say it," he encouraged you.

"On your cock," you whispered, flushed.

He grunted, "Good girl," his hand immediately going to your pulsating clit. His other hand smacked your cheek harshly.

You whined, tears gathering in your eyes while reveling in the stinging feeling. Cupping it gently, Alex alleviated the pain a little.

"It's alright, princess," he soothed, leaning down to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

He started fucking your drenched pussy at a fast pace, making you see stars. As he grabbed your waist for leverage, you felt overwhelming pleasure pooling in your abdomen.

Your orgasm was building quickly, ready to snap at any moment, as he thrust into you repeatedly. Your legs were wrapped around him, needing him as close as possible.

His movements were becoming sloppy, an indication of his own climax approaching. Your skin was ablaze, and the way he was moaning was making you delirious.

"Cum on my cock, sweetheart," he said.

"Fuck, Alex!" You screamed and felt waves of pleasure spreading throughout your body as you orgasmed on his cock, convulsing. You were whining uncontrollably.

Your nails were digging into his arm, surely breaking the skin, but you were too cock-drunk to care.

"Fuck, your cunt is so tight," he groaned as he struggled to thrust into you. It only took him a few more thrusts for him to cum inside you, letting out a drawn-out moan.

His hot load completely filled you up, his jaw hanging slack. After he emptied inside you, he collapsed on top, burying his face in your neck.

As you both came down from your high, he pulled out of you gently. He couldn't help but look down at your pussy, admiring the mess he made out of you.

He loved the way his cum seeped out. No one could have you now.

He laid down beside you and stroked your waist. "You alright?" he uttered.

You were still catching your breath and opened your eyes slowly. "Yes," you sighed.

You turned your back to him, feeling exposed. You were still trying to figure out what to do now. Should you…leave or stay? Your thoughts were interrupted by him as he pressed his body against yours and draped an arm over you.

"We should get you cleaned up," he whispered, kissing your shoulder, his arm stroking your stomach.

"Okay," you whispered.

"Want me to draw us a bath?" he asked.

"I love baths…" you muttered.

He chuckled. "Perfect." He pressed a kiss to your head and headed for the bathroom. Soon, the sound of running water reached your ears, and you sat on the bed.

Alex returned with a tender expression. He extended his hand, inviting you to join him in the bathroom.

You felt a bit shy, especially since you were still naked and not hazed by your lust anymore. Alex made sure to hold onto your hand, which reassured you.

You stepped on the cool tiles, and Alex asked, "You want bubbles?"

"Yes," you murmured. 

After a few minutes, you eased yourself into the hot water, and so did he, sitting on opposite ends of the bath.

The water had a comforting effect on you as your body melted into it. Alex broke the silence. "Why are you so far away?"

"I don't know. Why are you?" you replied. "Come here," he said, extending his arms to grab yours and turning you around, pressing your back to his naked chest.

You settled yourself between his legs, relaxing against his body, and he wrapped his arms around you. "Why'd you get all shy on me now? You were yelling at me an hour ago," he chuckled.

"I wasn't yelling at you," you furrowed your brows, growing defensive. "I'm just teasing," he whispered close to your ear.

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever," you puffed. "Why are you getting so defensive?" Alex said, holding you tighter. 

"Because, I have no idea what this means now," you mumbled.

He smiled, sensing your uncertainty. "Well, what I do know is care about you and…would love to take you out sometime. And do this again," he said, kissing your cheek.

"Me too," you replied, your cheeks flushed.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm."

"Why don't you stay the night? It's getting late anyway."

"It's like 8 pm, Alex."

"Exactly. So late," he replied.

You laughed. "I have nothing to wear to bed nor do I have a toothbrush," you protested.

"I can give you a t-shirt. They'll look better on you anyway. And I'll go to the shop and buy you one. How's that sound?"

You giggled. "Okay, you've convinced me."

Leaving the bath, the air between you and Alex felt different, as if the weight of unspoken tensions had been washed away. Wrapping yourselves in fluffy towels, you talked to him effortlessly and discussed what you should eat for dinner.

The decision to spend the night together unfolded effortlessly, and you decided to get some Chinese take-out and watch a chick flick.

Later in the night, you found yourself nestled on Alex's big, comfortable bed and drifted off to a dreamless slumber, comforted by the presence of the man spooning you.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: the premonition (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, graphic wound description, blood/gore, graphic descriptions of stitching, religious punishment (lashings), cults, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, visions, horror, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be longer but i've decided to spilt it into two parts, so sorry you just get angst but the next part will have more comfort/fluff. i'm not super happy with this chapter but i didn't intend for it to be a stand alone part, so it's a lot of doing and not much feeling/reflection lol. i just wanted to get this out because i'm going back to studying full time (as if the first degree wasn't bad enough lol) so the next few weeks might be a bit quiet. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

There was a large, white wolf in your kitchen. 

You didn’t remember descending the stairs of your small flat or your bare feet leading you into the cramped kitchen. The wooden panels felt cool against your soles, and dust glittered in the air. A short candle flickered on the dining table, illuminating the beast.

It was huge, towering over your benchtops and oven. Its shoulder would have easily reached your waist. Its stark, white fur was matted and stained, covered in ash and filth. In the dim light, you could see deep gashes beneath the pale strands of hair, dripping fresh crimson blood. The blood pooled on the floor, creeping into the cracks of the wood.

The wolf panted, taking hard, shallow breaths that rattled its considerable mass. Its pink tongue dripped pink, a mix of blood and saliva smeared along its yellowing teeth. You could’ve sworn it smiled as its lips pulled back, revealing large, pointed canines. It let out a deep, thunderous growl that vibrated through your chest and rattled your small, latticed windows. 

You found yourself unable to question the absurdity of it. A wolf. In your home. 

Your home had been heavily warded for weeks, if not months. After what had happened… it was the only way to keep out prying eyes and scum. Bucky’s boys would walk up the stairs, quivering as they reached for their hands to post a letter, knock on the door, or pick the lock. They would try with all their might, only to be filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. They would run, tails tucked between their legs. Not even Natasha Romanoff could make it past the threshold. The redhead who dripped with malice, who could make men sweat with fear with just a single look… too afraid to even leave the pavement. 

Your feet don't touch the floorboards as you float forward, ignoring the canine's raised hackles. You look into its big, blue eyes and understand it is in pain, in danger. Your fingers spread, splaying out across its forehead as you run a hand through its matted fur. Ash catches under your nails, and blood stains your skin.

Another reason it was absurd to find such an animal in your home was because wolves were extinct. You had heard tales of these beasts in old folklore—frightening stories to tell children at night, fairytales, and such. Some speculated that these creatures might have roamed the land before the forests were cut down to make way for cities and civilization. Perhaps, out in the wilderness, deep in the forests away from Sootstone and the city of Blackstone, such animals could still exist. Maybe even across the seas, in far-off lands still being explored.

“I fear I’m in a dream, friend.” You murmur to the wolf, touch sweeping to cradle its large, bleeding head. “It’s probably best for us both to wake up.”

The wolf blinks its large, blue eyes at you. Its panting is still ragged, blood sticky across your floors. Deep in your soul, you knew it was a warning. A calling. 

Someone was in danger. 

It is a loud clattering downstairs that startles you awake. 

The sharp clanging and dinging of pots and pans ring through your small abode, as if someone had knocked them from your dining table. In your bleariness, still tangled under your sheets, you blindly search for a candle and match. 

The ruckus below continues, with chairs scraping across the floors, cabinets rattling, and a distinctly male voice muttering all types of obscenities. Your intruder seems to have impulsively walked into your home, knocking over all of your possessions. 

The dream, the premonition—it must have distracted your mind. You could feel your wards were down, the peaceful bubble that had once safely cocooned your home was shattered. The remnants of its invisible wall crunched beneath your bare feet as you thundered down the stairs in your nightgown. 

It must be one of Bucky’s messenger boys. The poor lad must have gotten lucky when he pried open your door and stumbled in just after the ward had fallen. You’d noticed how Bucky’s dogs worked like clockwork; at least three times a day, his boys would try to deliver you a message. You had never intended to find out what that message was. You highly doubted it was an apology, likely just another summons as if you were his pet to call and dismiss as he pleased—

As you rounded the corner into your kitchen, you were met with a sight that made your blood run cold. 

Bucky Barnes, in the flesh, was bleeding and dishevelled in your kitchen.

His face was swollen and mottled with deep purple-black bruising. Dried blood crusted along his temple and brow. His hair, usually neatly slicked back, was now a tangled mess, laden with ash and filth, sticking out in all directions. Gone was his usual suit jacket; instead, he wore a simple white button-down shirt, now barely recognisable beneath the grime. It looked as though he had been dragged through a sewer, with mud and filth clinging to his skin and clothes.

Amidst the caked-on mess, fresh blood seeped from multiple wounds on his back, staining the already dirty fabric with a deep, alarming crimson. Each breath he took seemed laboured, his chest rising and falling with visible effort. He lifted his head to look at you, offering you a haunting grin. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut, a puffy, dark mound overshadowing his battered face. His bottom lip was split wide open—a deep, jagged tear. Despite his condition, there was an unsettling glint in his one good eye, a spark of something unbroken within the wreckage of his body.

“Your wards were down. Didn’t think you were home.” The gangster wheezes, and his legs give out. 

One of his hands reaches out to brace against your dining table, but his skin, slick with mud and grime, causes his hand to slip, and he plummets forward. In an instant, you rush to his side, grasping the man just before he crashes face-first into your hardwood floors. His weight is staggering—almost too much to bear—as you wrap your arm around his middle, muscles straining as you let out a grunt of exertion. With effort, you manage to push him back into a sitting position. Exhaustion radiates from him as he leans against you, barely able to hold himself up. Your candle has been knocked to the floor, wax dripping onto the floors. 

The flame snuffs itself out, and the two of you are cast into darkness.

“What’re you doin’ here, Barnes?” You mutter demandingly. He responds with a weak chuckle, the sound rough and hollow. His head lolls to the side as he struggles to lift his chin, trying to meet your gaze. In close proximity, the stench on him becomes unbearable—an acrid mix of raw sewage, mud, and the metallic tang of blood. 

“Trust me, I don’t wanna be here either, doll.” Blood gurgles in his mouth as he laughs. You scowl at him, shoving him away so he leans up against the leg of your table. You get to your feet, glancing down at your now filthy nightgown in disgust. 

“You’re really that disgusted by me?” You say under your breath. Your words catch the attention of the gangster, whose amused expression falters. 

“What gave you that impression?” He asks. You frown hard, wavering near his feet as you assess the best way to get the hulking man off your floor. His stocky frame, well filled out with muscle, is almost twice your size. It would be a task to lift him yourself

“Last we spoke. You called me a whore.” You remind him. You don’t meet his eye as you crouch down, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders. Wrapping one of his heavy arms around your shoulders, you place your hand on his back, feeling the heat of his blood seeping through his shirt. His weight is staggering, and you can feel every ounce of it pressing down on you.

He doesn’t reply to your claim. You can tell he is somewhat floored by your confession, surprised that you are still upset. Gritting your teeth, you start to push upwards, immediately feeling the strain in your thighs, calves, and back. His body is like dead weight, almost completely limp except for the occasional twitch of pain. Every muscle in your body protests, but you dig your heels into the floor. The gangster grunts beside you, and when you look over, you see his jaw ticking. You’re unsure if it’s from the pain or your words.

With one final, desperate push, you feel his weight start to lift. He lets out a pained groan, and the muscles in your legs quiver. Using every ounce of strength you have left, you manage to get him onto one of the dining chairs. He flops backward with a sigh, the chair creaking under his weight, and he winces in pain as his gashed back meets the hardwood. You step back, panting heavily, and take a moment to catch your breath. His emotions are hard to read under all the swelling, bruising, and blood that mar his face. 

“So much for an apology.” You dare to say, words dripping with bitterness. The gangster finally peeks at you through his swollen eye with a disapproving look, his gaze hard.

“Apologisin’ is bad for business,” he says, his voice rough but earnest. “But I can admit when I am wrong. And I was wrong for sayin’ that.”

His words catch you off guard—a rare moment of humility from the hardened criminal. But the walls he’s built around himself are quick to rise again, and you can see the familiar defiance creeping back into his gaze. You don’t linger on it.

You suck in a sharp breath, angling your head as you try to process the situation. “Is one of your boys wanderin’ about nearby? I can get a message to Steve—”

“No.” He interrupts, his voice rough and strained.

“No?” You echo. 

“I had a… let's say a run-in.” He replies, his tone clipped. “The street’ll be crawlin’ with ‘em, lookin’ for me. Best my boys lay low.”

“A run-in with who?” You press.

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna bleed to death if you stay here.” You retort, your eyes narrowing as you assess the severity of his wounds.

“You’re a witch.”

“And?” You snap back, folding your arms defensively.

“Heal me.”

You pause, head tilting in disbelief as you look down at him. “Heal—? Gods, you know I’m not a healer—”

“I never said it had to be good. Just stop the bleeding.” He presses.

“I’m not your pet witch, Barnes. You can’t summon me at your leisure.” You snip. Magic was broad in its uses, of course, but your speciality was never any type of healing magic, and Bucky knew that. You had always been one foot between the living and the dead. Your skills lay almost entirely in the territories of spirits and chaos magic. You knew how to look—how to feel—through the veil and channel it’s energy. What you did not know were healing charms, herbs, and potions.

Bucky leans forward, wincing in pain, and looks at you with a seriousness that catches you off guard. “You must know how it’ll look if my men find out that I bled to death in your home?”

“Are you threatenin’ me?” You ask, brow quirking. The gangster has a scowl across his face.

“No. I’m askin’ you.” His dark eyes peer up at you through bloodied lashes. Thick clumps of copper have hardened around the strands. “What do you want? Double your rate? Triple?”

“I’m no healer.” You repeat and let out an irritated sigh, biting the inside of your cheek as you waver in place. Hesitantly, you approach the filthy man, taking his face in your hands as you delicately analyse the damage. You can feel his throat bob as he swallows hard. “Just… don’t get your hopes up.”

You withdraw your touch, the skirts of your nightgown swirling around your ankles. You blindly fumble around your kitchen, locating a match for the candle that was still discarded on the floor. “You would’ve been better off going a few streets over to Isolde Briarwood. I’ve heard her potions are the best in the lower districts.”

The gangster contemplates your words. “I needed discretion.”

Smoke fills your nostrils as you strike the match, lighting the candle once more. You frown as you look over at Bucky. He looks even worse in the dim lighting. The cold, wet filth must have been sinking into his bones. You notice how he shivers. “I suppose you’re right. Isolde has never been known for keepin’ her gob shut.”

Bucky snorts.

Your gaze sweeps over to your narrow stairs, a pang of worry in your gut. “Do you think you’ll have enough strength to climb the stairs? I have a fire goin’ up there, and I’ll need to boil some water to clean those wounds before they start to fester. I should ‘ave enough coal to last us a couple hours—”

“I’ll be fine.”

Bucky hauls himself to his feet. You gape at him as his strength seems to momentarily return. A part of you wonders if the fall had all been for show, a reason to get you to touch him, but you notice his movements are slow and laboured. Every step seems to take a monumental effort as he pulls himself up the first stair. His hand grips the bannister tightly, knuckles white. 

You follow closely behind him, holding a candle in one hand, its flickering flame casting a soft, warm glow on the dimly lit staircase. Your free hand hovers near his back, ready to catch him if he stumbles. The light dances across the walls, illuminating the stains on his shirt and the sweat glistening on his brow.

"Easy now," you murmur, your voice soft yet steady. 

Bucky nods, his jaw set in determination, but you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and each exhale sounds like a painful rasp. You can tell he's using every ounce of his willpower to keep moving forward.

As he reaches the fourth step, his leg buckles slightly. You immediately step closer, your hand pressing gently against his back to steady him. The contact is brief, but you can feel the heat radiating from his feverish skin. You knew your hand would be bloodied when you withdrew it.

He grunts in response, a sound that might have been a chuckle under different circumstances. His hand slips on the bannister, and for a moment, he teeters dangerously. You instinctively move to support him, your arm wrapping around his waist.

"Why is your house so damn cold?" Bucky grumbles, his voice strained.

"Coal boy didn't come," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. “And we both know the Warrens aren’t particularly known for holding warmth.”

"Shit, doll," he mutters, his voice thick with weariness. "If I survive this, I'll buy you a new flat."

You try not to think about the possibility of him dying in this situation or the implications of such an offer, focusing instead on the task at hand.

You can see the effort it takes for him to lift his leg and place his foot on the next step. As you reach the halfway point, he falters once more. This time, his leg gives out completely, and he collapses against you. The sudden weight nearly knocks the candle from your hand, but you manage to keep hold of it, the flame sputtering wildly.

"Whoa, easy," you say, your voice gentle but firm. "Lean on me. We’ll make it."

He nods, his head hanging low. You can feel the tremors running through his body, the sheer exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm him. With a deep breath, you adjust your grip, taking more of his weight onto yourself.

"Okay, Barnes, here we go," you say, steeling yourself for the final push.

Together, you take the last few steps, the candlelight guiding your way. Each movement is slow and measured, the stairs creaking under your combined weight. You can feel Bucky’s breath against your shoulder, hot and laboured.

Finally, you reach the top of the stairs. Bucky sags against the bannister, his body wobbling from the effort. You keep a firm grip on him, not willing to let him fall after all this. 

“Here, next to the fire.” You murmur as you usher him into your room. The fireplace crackles lazily, casting a welcoming glow. Bucky lowers himself with some effort onto the rug in front of the fire, his movements slow and deliberate. The warmth of the fire seems to offer him some small comfort, and he leans back slightly, letting the heat seep into his battered body.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” you say, your voice soothing despite the urgency in your movements. You watch him for a moment, making sure he’s stable, before turning and rushing downstairs. Your heart races as you grab a pot, filling it with water. The stream from the tap seems to echo loudly in the silent flat. You try to steady your breath, but your fingers won’t stop trembling.

“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself, gripping the counter for support. You can’t afford to hesitate now. Taking a deep breath, you lift the pot, returning to Bucky’s side as quickly as you can.

When you reenter the room, Bucky’s eyes are closed, but his breathing is still laboured. He opens his eyes as you approach, watching you with a mix of pain and curiosity. Setting the pot on a metal stand over the fire. The flames eagerly lick at the bottom of the pot, and you watch as the water begins to heat up.

You kneel beside him, your hands still trembling slightly. “We need to get you clean first. And dry,” you explain, meeting his gaze. He nods, a grim determination in his eyes.

As you move to peel away Bucky's clothing, the reality of his injuries hits you with full force. In the brighter light of the fire, the mud, sewage, and dried blood caked onto his clothing are worse than you remember. The fabric sticks to his skin in a second, grimy layer, with the fibres melded and mashed into the lashes, which are partially visible through the torn sections. The smell is overwhelming—a nauseating mix of sweat, blood, and decay that catches in the back of your throat. 

“Who did this?” You press the gangster. “I didn’t think there were many high up enough to touch you, Barnes.”

Bucky grunts, his breath hitching as you begin to peel the shirt from his back. “I have plenty of enemies, doll.”

“Like who?” 

“You really want to talk business right now?” He snips. The shirt clings stubbornly, the dried blood acting as glue. Each inch you lift reveals more of his battered skin. The gashes on his back are deep, angry wounds, raw and inflamed. You have to work slowly, carefully prying the shirt away from his flesh to avoid tearing the wounds open further. Bucky’s muscles tense and twitch under your hands, his jaw clenched tight.

“I just don’t understand. How did this happen? Why were you alone… do you really have enemies powerful enough to jump you in your own streets?” You babble, the words distracting you from the nerves that were quickly climbing your throat.

“Arcana Castigatio ring a bell?” Bucky says gruffly. 

“You mean The Penance Boys?” You baulk. The lashes suddenly made sense. The Penance Family were a crime family that had founded a cult based on the religion of Arcana Castigatio. They believed in purification through suffering, administering lashings to themselves and others as acts of penance. They view lashings as a necessary act to purge sin and achieve spiritual purity. “I didn’t think they had business dealings in these parts.”

“They don’t. They’ve been pushin’ their luck, pushin’ their beliefs on workers in the Smokestacks, tryna recruit them for the factories over the river.”

“Gods, Bucky,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. When you finally pull the shirt free, you see the full extent of the damage. His back is a mess of deep lashes, some oozing fresh blood, others scabbed over and encrusted with grime.

“So you went to deal with them alone?” You turn your attention to his pants, which are equally soaked through with mud, sewage, and blood. Your cheeks flush with awkwardness, but you know the filthy clothing needs to come off or the cold will never leave his bones.

“No. I took some boys with me.”

"Lift your hips a bit," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. Bucky complies. You work quickly, trying to remain clinical as you peel the wet fabric away from his skin. The pants slide down his legs, revealing more bruises and scars. He’s left in just his undershorts, and you both pointedly avoid acknowledging it. “Didn’t go well, I take it?”

“Let's say I’ll have a few mothers to visit in the mornin’.”

You frown hard, swallowing dryly. “I don’t think you’ll be quite on your feet in the mornin’. You already feel like you’re developin’ a fever.”

Bucky grunts, clearly in agreement but unwilling to admit it outright. With the worst of the clothing removed, you turn your attention to the task of cleaning his wounds. You take a clean cloth and dip it into a bowl of hot water from the pot, wringing it until damp but not dripping. The heat from the water stings your fingers.

You press the cloth to his back, starting with the worst of the gashes. Bucky hisses through his teeth, his body jerking involuntarily at the touch. You work as gently as you can, but each swipe of the cloth brings fresh agony. The warm water loosens the dried blood and muck, the cloth coming away dark and filthy with each pass. The more you lift, the more you notice that the skin untouched by wounds is equally scarred, as if this lashing had not been the first occurrence. 

His eyes close as you work, and his face contorts. You move methodically from one gash to the next. The wounds are deep and numerous, crisscrossing his back in a chaotic pattern. Some are long and jagged, others short but vicious. 

Finally, you finish cleaning the last of his back wounds. The cloth in your hand is filthy, the water in the basin turned a murky red-brown. 

“There,” you say softly, your voice laced with weariness. “That’s the worst of it.”

You stand up, stretching your aching muscles, and grab a clean bowl from the nearby shelf. You fill it with fresh water from the pot that is already over the fire. Kneeling beside him, you gently tilt his chin up to get a better look at the damage.

“I’m assumin’ the Peance Boys won’t be gettin’ away with this?” You ask, starting with his forehead, carefully dabbing at the cuts and bruises. The cloth quickly darkens with the mix of blood and dirt, but you continue, your movements precise and gentle. As you wipe away the grime, the extent of his injuries becomes more apparent. His face is a mosaic of bruises, some fresh and angry, others older and fading to a sickly yellow. His left eye is swollen nearly shut, and a deep cut runs along his cheekbone.

“You’re not wrong,” he replies, his tone rough and weary.

Bucky’s eyes open and meet yours, and for a moment, the room feels even smaller, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. His gaze is intense, a mix of pain, exhaustion, and something else you can’t quite place. You hold his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away.

“Hold still,” you whisper, trying to cover for yourself. He complies, though his muscles tense with every touch of the cloth.

“What’ll you do to them?” You ask, moving to his jawline, the cloth gliding over the rough stubble and the bruised skin beneath. His jaw clenches, a low growl escaping his throat as you clean a particularly painful cut. You hum soothingly, trying to ease his discomfort.

“They’ll pay. With time. I need’ta think on it first,” he responds, his voice a low rumble. His eyes flicker dangerously.

“That would be wise. I don’t think you’re in the condition to start a war.”

When you finally reach his lips, you hesitate. His lower lip is split, swollen, and red. You dab at it gently, your hand trembling slightly. Bucky’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening. “I don’t think it’ll be a war… more like… a massacre.”

His lips twist into a bitter smile despite the pain, and you pause, absorbing his words. Unease settles in your gut as you consider the weight of his intentions. You have always known Bucky to be analytical and sadistic in his methods, his revenge was cold and calculated. The word massacre echoes in your mind, and you can't help but wonder what horrors he will unleash. His wrath won't be a simple act of retaliation; it will be a meticulously planned and bloody spectacle. 

“You’re doin’ great,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, masking the unease that nearly slips through. Bucky’s eyes soften slightly, a hint of gratitude breaking through.

You finish cleaning his face, the cloth now completely stained. You sit back, taking a moment to breathe. Bucky’s face, though still battered, looks a little better, the dirt and blood no longer obscuring his features.

Dumping the cloth on the ground nearby, you rise to your feet. You’d have to do another cleaning pass later with some soap. His hair was still slick with filth, the unmarked sections of his skin stained. 

Your head tilts as you observe him.

You needed to get those wounds shut as soon as possible.

“The best I can do is stitch up your back and use magic to seal it.” You explain as you wring out your fingers, wavering near the fire. “It’ll hurt. Badly. And the scars won’t be pretty.”

The gangster waves a hand at you half-heartedly, wincing as the movement pulls the torn flesh on his shoulders taut. “I’ll live.”

With hesitant steps, you dip behind him deeper into your room. You only needed two things—some strands of your hair and a needle strong enough to pierce skin. Later, you could make up a poultice or salve for his back, the wounds would be hot and inflamed once you sealed them, a paste could soothe them. You would also need to make up a remedy for his pain—a tonic of some kind. A tea would be best to shake off the cold.

You return to Bucky with your hairbrush and needle in tow. He gives you a quizzical look as you settle beside him. 

“Do you want me to talk while I work, or remain silent?” You ask.

“Talk. I have a feeling that I’ll need a distraction.”

You nod and pick up the brush. A clump of your strands are woven between the bristles. With deft fingers, you isolate a single strand and pull it from the mass. “I will use my hair as thread,” you explain.

“I can channel my magic through parts of myself.” You take the strand and briefly pull the fibre through your lips, wetting the end. “I’ll stitch your wounds and use my magic to seal the skin back together.”

You thread the needle with ease, pulling your hair through the eye in one gentle tug. “The magic will flush out any infection, but the scars will be painful for some time.”

“Will it break the fever?” The gangster asks. You frown, head cocking to the side as you pull your eyes from the needle to his skin. His face is rosy and flushed with heat. A thin layer of sweat glistens in the firelight.

“No.” You sigh, twisting the needle in your grip. The curved metal glints. “I fear your fever is from the cold, not your wounds.”

“It’s partly good news, though, it will be easier to break than a fever brought on by infection.” You shift so you are positioned behind him, staring directly at the criss-crossed lashes. Blood and fluid ooze from the tender flesh.

“This’ll hurt.” You remind him.

You start with the worst of the gashes, threading your hair through the jagged edges of his torn flesh. The needle punctures his skin with a sickening pop. Bucky’s body tenses, his muscles bunching as a low growl of agony rumbles in his chest. A slew of curses leaves his lips, incoherent through his grit teeth.

The smell of blood and sweat fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of smoke from the fire. Each push of the needle is nauseating. The skin resists each stroke of the sharp metal. With each pass, you can feel how your hair grows taut, and you are careful not to allow it to snap as you drag it through the skin. The raw edges come together with an uneven, painful precision.

“I did warn you, I’m no healer.” You murmur. The gangster does not reply. His hand grips the edge of the rug, knuckles white. 

You push through the process, your hands steady despite the horror of it. The strands of hair weave through his wounds, stitches wonky as they barely cinch the skin shut. Your lack of experience shows, but you decide it is not the time to comment on it.

Bucky’s low growl turns into a pained moan as you work on a particularly deep wound. His muscles twitch, and he nearly pulls away from you, but he forces himself to stay still. You coo at him soothingly, your fingers stroking across an untouched patch of skin in a silent gesture of comfort.

“Just a little more,” you whisper, your voice gentle yet strained. The tension in the room is thick, every sound is amplified by the silence between you.

You quicken your pace, your own heart pounding in your chest. The last few stitches are the hardest, Bucky’s body is writhing in agony beneath your touch. His growls turn into cries, raw and guttural. The smell of fresh blood is overpowering, and you fight the urge to gag as you finish the last stitch.

Finally, you tie off the thread, your hands shaking from the effort. The wounds are closed, but you still need to fuse them shut.

You take a deep breath, gathering your resolve for the next part of the process. The stitching is done, but now you need to seal the wounds with your magic. Holding your hands over Bucky’s back, you focus on the strands of hair threaded through his flesh. Slowly, you begin to channel your magic, feeling it surge from within you and through your fingertips.

The feeling of chaos sweeps over your skull, your scalp prickling as the electrifying feeling cascades down your spine. The strands of hair start to glow, a soft, eerie light emanating from them. Bucky tenses immediately, his muscles bunching and his back arching as the heat begins to build. The glow intensifies, with the strands heating up and melding with his skin. The smell of singed flesh fills the room, acrid and nauseating.

Bucky’s reaction is immediate and visceral. He lets out a guttural scream, the sound ripping through the quiet. His body convulses, his hands clawing at the rug beneath him. He cries out, but any words he is attempting to speak are incoherent through his agony. You grit your teeth, fingers curling as you hesitate, but you know this is the only way.

"Hold on," you murmur, your voice trembling. "Just a little longer."

The glow from the hair brightens further, the heat reaching its peak. Bucky’s screams turn into a hoarse, ragged howl, his body writhing in uncontrollable pain. It’s as if molten metal is being poured into his wounds, searing the flesh and fusing it together. The skin bubbles and sizzles, the magic knitting the torn edges with brutal efficiency.

You can feel his pain as if it were your own, each scream and shudder resonating through you. Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your hands hover just above his back, fingers trembling as you pour every ounce of your will into the spell. The glow begins to fade, the heat dissipating as the wounds finally seal shut.

This magic, your magic, was not meant for healing. It was not life magic or kind magic. Your magic had never been empathetic, never gracious or soft. Your magic was death, violence, and destruction. If you pushed the blinding white heat any further, it would tear him apart entirely.

You held onto something otherworldly—a power too wicked and cruel for a mere mortal. It lay between worlds, a focus of chaos invisible to the naked eye. 

It was not right to bend and force chaos to your will. 

Yet you could.

Bucky collapses onto the floor, his body shivering uncontrollably. His breath comes in frantic gasps, his voice hoarse from screaming.

"It's over," you whisper, your own voice barely more than a breath. "It’s done."

Without thinking, you rush to his side, dropping to your knees. You grasp his face in your hands, feeling the heat of his fevered skin against your palms. His eyes are half-lidded and glazed with pain, but they lock onto yours. For a moment, everything else fades away—the wounds, the blood, the horror of the past hour.

Your thumb strokes gently across his jaw, then his cheek, tracing the rough stubble and the bruised skin beneath. His breath hitches at the contact, his eyes softening just a fraction. "Bucky," you murmur, his name a fragile whisper on your lips. "It’s over now."

His gaze holds yours, a fleeting tenderness passing between you, but the tenderness is short-lived. You steel yourself, pulling your hands away and standing up. The scent of burnt flesh seems to linger in the air.

“Stay still. I will make up a poultice, it should stop the burning.” You explain to the gangster. 

But he does not reply. 

His eyes seem to have rolled back into his head.

PART FOUR

[pinchofhoney]

the last goodbye, part two

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

« part one | part two

pedro pascal x fem!reader

world count: 5.2k

warning: angst, age gap (the reader is in her mid 20s), mention of smoking, mention of drinking alcohol

summary: All men do is messing with your head.

a/n: i’m incredibly proud of myself that the first part evoked such emotions in you. i was totally not expecting this, as i wrote it at a time when i wasn’t in a good place mentally, feeling terrible after losing my pet. if you feel disappointed by the lack of gripping action, i apologize (not really). i don't want to rush things, i want their emotions to sink into your soul✨

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @wolfmoonmusic @alexxavicry @babypeapodd @domaniquessidehoe @one-sweet-gubler @danelhi @pedroholicx @rosaliedepp @phoenixinthewater @blu3flame @hummusxx @onceandfuturereader @marysucks-blog @sloanexx @nxt-zen @secretdazeobservation​ 

As you slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, your tired eyes flickered open, gradually adjusting to the blinding brightness of the white ceiling looming above you. A deep sigh escaped your lips as you struggled to shake off the weariness that clung to your body like a heavy blanket. It was difficult to tell how many hours you had slept, but it certainly didn't feel like enough.

You shifted your weight and let out a groan as your muscles protested against the movement. The events of the past few days had been a whirlwind, leaving you drained and achy. It's funny how mental anguish can affect your body. With a sense of resignation, you rolled over onto your side, wincing at the pain that shot through your joints. Your hand fumbled around in the air until it found the offending alarm clock, blaring its obnoxious tune throughout the bedroom.

You muttered a curse under your breath as you pressed the button to silence the alarm. Despite your reluctance to start the day, you knew that you couldn't afford to linger in bed any longer. With a deep breath, you swung your legs over the edge of the mattress and forced yourself to stand up. Another day, another- You wished you could say slay, but not today. Another set of challenges to face? More likely.

As you sluggishly made your way towards the bathroom, thoughts of Pedro crept back into your mind. It had only been two weeks since he broke up with you, but it felt like an eternity. The pain was still raw and fresh, and you struggled to make sense of it all.

Every moment you had shared with him played out in your mind like a movie, and you analyzed each one, searching for some clue, some sign of what went wrong. But it was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces – there was no explanation, no clear reason why he had ended things so abruptly.

You had loved him with all your heart and trusted him like no one before, but in the end, he had shattered your heart into a million pieces, leaving you to pick up the fragments and try to put them back together. The moment Pedro said those fateful words, the trust you had built up in him crumbled to dust in the blink of an eye. And now, you found yourself spiraling into an absurd mania, constantly questioning whether anyone in your life would leave you just like he did.

The fear of being abandoned consumed you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that everyone you cared about was destined to disappear. It was a toxic mindset, but it was deeply ingrained in you since childhood and one that you couldn't seem to escape.

On the one hand, you wanted to reach out to your friends, to let out all the pain and heartbreak that you've been holding in, but at the same time, you didn't want to burden them with your problems or risk pushing them away, so instead, you buried your emotions deep inside, hiding behind a mask of indifference and detachment. It was easier that way, at least you tried to tricked yourself in believing it was. But the truth was, the pain was eating away at you from the inside out, and you didn't know how much longer you could keep up that fake smile.

There was nothing you wanted more than to go back in time, to before everything fell apart, to the days when you were happy and carefree, but you knew that wasn't possible. All you could do was try to pick up the pieces and move forward, even though it felt like an impossible task.

Your days had become a blur of schoolwork and long shifts at the movie theater. It was a grind, but it kept you busy and distracted from the pain of your shattered heart. At least, that's what you thought, again.

Despite your best efforts to move on, your mind kept drifting back to Pedro. Every time you walked by the coffee shop where you used to have your morning cup of coffee with him, you couldn't help but look inside, hoping he would be there. You even went inside a few times, ordered a coffee, and sat down, pretending to read a book or browse your phone, all while stealing glances around the room. But he was never there, and you always left feeling disappointed and foolish.

Even going to the gym in the evenings, which used to be your solace, had become a source of anxiety. You couldn't shake the feeling that everyone there knew about your breakup with Pedro and was silently judging you. As you ran on the treadmill, you felt self-conscious and exposed, as if all your flaws and vulnerabilities were on display for everyone to see.

And yet, despite all of this, you still couldn't resist the urge to go to the places where you used to go with Pedro. You found yourself walking past his favorite pizza place, just to catch a whiff of the familiar scent of marinara sauce and melted cheese. You even drove by his street once, just to see if his car was parked outside his house. You knew it was ridiculous, but you couldn't help yourself. The pain of losing him was too great, and the thought of never seeing him again was almost unbearable.

Actually saying that you will never see him again was an overstatement. Despite the heartbreak he had caused you, he was the hottest topic in entire Hollywood and beyond. His star power had skyrocketed, and his charming looks and hoarse laughter made (not only) teenage girls swoon all over the world. His photos and videos seemed to be everywhere, constantly popping up on your Instagram and Twitter feeds, taunting you with reminders of what you had lost. He was a viral sensation, and it was impossible to escape the constant barrage of Pedro's updates – a stark reminder that he was out there living his life while you were struggling to move on.

You stood in front of the mirror, studying your reflection with a heavy heart. Your once bright eyes were now surrounded by a rim of redness, and dark circles that looked like bruises appeared to have taken permanent residence beneath them. Your hair was a mess, its strands sticking out in every direction, as if it was trying to mimic the chaos you felt inside. Your skin was pale and lifeless, a far cry from its former glowing self. Just fourteen days ago, you were a different person, filled with happiness, with Pedro by your side. And now, everything was in shambles.

You shook off the memories and forced yourself to focus on the present, on getting dressed and making it to your classes on time. It was a challenge, but you tried to keep thoughts of Pedro at bay, knowing that dwelling on the past would only make the pain worse. You grabbed your bag, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the streets of Los Angeles.

As you stepped out into the blinding glare of the sun, the sounds of the bustling city enveloped you. Cars honked, people chatted, and a cool breeze caressed your face, but everything seemed distant and unimportant. You repeated to yourself the mantra to take things one step at a time, hoping that each step would lead you closer to healing the wounds Pedro had done to you.

But little did you know, he was also battling his own demons, struggling to come to terms with his actions and the hurt he had caused you. It was a cruel irony that both of you were struggling in your own ways, and neither of you knew the full extent of the other's pain.

“Pedro?” the sound of his own name snapped him out of the recesses of his head and effectively brought him down to earth. He blinked several times, trying to adjust to the bright lights shining in his direction. Looking around, he realized he was on the set of the advertisement he was working on.

The confused director approached him, placing his hands on his hips in a pretentious position. “What's going on, man?” he asked, clearly annoyed. “It's just a minute clip, all you have to say right now is to catch grandma, you have to think like grandma,” he threw his hands in the air in exasperation, then placed the fingers of one hand on the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Pedro tried to focus on the director's words, but his mind was still clouded with thoughts of you. He couldn't believe how he had treated you a day after your first anniversary, telling you that he suddenly stopped having feelings for you and breaking your heart. The day after the anniversary, which he didn't even show up for, because he didn't have the courage to do so. To look into your smiling eyes, having in the back of his mind what he had been planning for some time. The guilt was eating him alive, and he found himself replaying the scene of your breakup in his head over and over again.

He remembered very well how your face crumpled with sadness and confusion as he told you the news. How you asked him to reconsider, to give your relationship another chance. How you cried and asked him what you had done wrong. He didn't have the answers then, and he still didn't have them now.

Pedro's heart simply sank as he realized that he had made a mistake the very next day after the breakup. He had let go of someone who loved him unconditionally, someone who had been there for him through thick and thin. And for what? Because he suddenly stopped feeling the way he used to? He couldn't even be sure if that was true. Perhaps it was just a minor crisis that he could have resolved if he had spoken to you honestly.

The director ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You know what, Pedro? Take a break. Get some fresh air and clear your head. We can't afford to waste the whole day on this stupid phone game ad. Let's reconvene in 20 minutes,” he barked, his irritation palpable. Without bothering to wait for Pedro's response, he stormed off, leaving Pedro.

His eyes flitted around the room, taking in the frustrated expressions of the crew members. They had all been waiting for him to get his lines right, but he had been too distracted to focus on the task at hand. He was wasting the time and resources of his colleagues and he felt ashamed because of that.

As the director snapped out orders to the rest of the team, Pedro swiped his hand over his tired face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath his fingertips. He let out a deep sigh, feeling drained both physically and emotionally. His mind was consumed with thoughts of what could have been, of what he had lost because of his own recklessness. He needed some space to clear his head.

Without a word, he left the building and made his way out to the back of one of the buildings in Los Angeles. The cool breeze brushed against his face, providing a much-needed respite from the chaos of the set. He let out a long breath, trying to calm himself.

It wasn't easy to pretend that everything was fine in front of everyone, because it wasn't. Every day it became harder and harder for Pedro to put on a brave face and act like he was okay. He dug out a pack of cigarettes from his blazer pocket and blindly stared into it. He quickly found the lighter in the other pocket and with his slightly shaking hand, he lit the cigarette. The familiar smell and taste of nicotine filled his senses, providing a temporary escape from the overwhelming emotions that consumed him. He leaned against the rough dirt wall of the building, the sound of the bustling city muffled in the distance. The smoke filled his lungs, choking him slightly, but he welcomed the pain, as it was a distraction from the pain in his heart.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He couldn't silence the voices in his head, telling him that he had made a huge mistake by ending things with you. The breakup had hit him harder than he ever imagined it could. He missed you so much, and the regret ate away at him with each passing day. He took another long drag of the cigarette, the tip glowing red.

Despite the comfort that the cigarette provided, Pedro knew it was a bad habit. He had managed to quit a while ago, but the stress of recent events had caused him to slip back into it. He felt guilty for indulging in it again, but at the same time, he didn't care. All he wanted was to forget his troubles, even if it was just for a little while.

Every single day during those two weeks, Pedro's thoughts were consumed by the image of him standing in front of you, while cup your face with his hands and apologizing for everything. He imagined the words he would say to you, begging for your forgiveness and hoping that you would take him back. But as much as he longed to make things right, he was too much of a coward to actually face you. He couldn't bring himself to look you in the eyes and see the disappointment he had caused, so he actively avoided all the places where he knew he could potentially run into you. The mere thought of seeing you filled him with a mix of intense longing and paralyzing fear.

He held onto the belief that you wouldn't be able to forgive him and the thought of being rejected by you was too much to him. The fear of embarrassment kept him from reaching out and trying to make amends, even though he knew deep down that he wanted nothing more than to be back in your warm embrace. The possibility of facing your disappointment and disapproval was a daunting prospect, and so he chose to continue avoiding you, hoping that time would eventually make him forget about you.

The sound of a notification coming from his phone snapped him back to reality and he opened his eyes. He fished the device out of his pants pocket and glanced at the screen, noticing a message from his friend, Oscar. He took a drag on the cigarette he had been smoking and read the message.

I was thinking about this birthday party. Do you want me to cancel the invitation for Y/N? – The Grumpy Eagle, sent at 3:14pm.

Pedro had completely forgotten about Oscar's upcoming birthday celebration, which he and his wife Elvira hosted every year. It was a small party, but it had become an annual tradition among their circle of friends. He knew that both of you had been invited long before the two of you broke up, and it was pretty obvious anyway, since he was Oscar's best friend and you had quickly become a favorite of Oscar's wife and kids.

He took another drag on his cigarette, thinking on response. Pedro wasn't sure if you would show up, but he knew that you disliked disappointing people, and skipping out on someone's birthday party would undoubtedly lead to disappointment. Even if you didn't enjoy celebrating your own birthday, you understood that it meant more to others and the happy memories associated with it.

No need to cancel the invitation, that’s fine. I’ll be fine. See you on Tuesday – Sent at 3:17pm.

He took one last puff of the cigarette before flicking it away and making his way back to the set, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of you.

You were in your rented apartment, standing in front of your small closet and talking to your best friend over Facetime. With your back to the screen, you felt on the verge of tears as you realized you had nothing suitable to wear to Oscar's party. The phone was propped up on your bedside table, and you turned to face Xavier's amused expression on the screen.

“I'm about to go crazy,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “I can't find anything to wear.”

Xavier chuckled and lay back on his own bed, still visible on the screen. “Relax, Y/N. We'll find something. Let me see what you've got.”

You knelt down at the table and held up a few dresses for him to see. Xavier made a face at each one, shaking his head disapprovingly. Finally, he suggested a simple black dress that you had forgotten you owned.

“That's perfect,” he said, grinning at you. “You'll look amazing. Just throw on some heels and you're good to go.”

“And what are you going to wear?” you asked, taking the phone in both hands and moving it closer to your face.

Since you didn't want to go to the party alone, you decided to bring Xavier with you, even though he didn't know anyone in Pedro's inner circle, including Oscar and Elvira. The only connection Xavier had to Pedro was through you, as they had met a few times before.

He was shocked when he heard about your breakup with Pedro two weeks ago. He had always thought that you and Pedro were perfect for each other, and it came as a surprise when you told him that things had ended between you two. He remembered how happy you had seemed with Pedro, always talking about the little things he did that made you fall even more in love with him. It was hard to believe that it was all over now.

Xavier had been there for you through all the tears and heartbreak that came with the breakup. He was the only person you really talked to about what happened. He had listened to you vent about Pedro, and had even gone as far as to offer to confront him about the way he had hurt you, but you had refused, saying that it wouldn't change anything, and that you just needed time to heal.

Now, as he watched you on Facetime, he could see the sadness in your eyes. He knew that finding something to wear to this birthday party was the least of your worries.

“Oh, you know, my finest t-shirt and jeans,” he answered with a playfully tone. “Maybe I'll even splurge and wear my dress shoes instead of my sneakers.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Don't worry, I'll make sure to tuck my shirt in for the occasion.”

You laughed at Xavier's words, feeling relieved that he could make light of the situation. “Well, make sure you don't outshine me too much,” you teased. “I don't want to be upstaged by your dress shoes and tucked-in shirt.”

Xavier chuckled. “No worries, you'll be the star of the show,” he said reassuringly. “But seriously, don't stress about it. We'll have a good time no matter what.”

His words were comforting and a feeling of appreciation and thankfulness filled your heart. “Thanks, Xavier,” you said, smiling. “I really appreciate you coming with me.”

Xavier grinned. “Of course, what are friends for?” he replied. “Besides, I would do anything to see Pedro's face when he sees you in that dress. He's going to regret ever letting you go.”

You laughed, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the thought of Pedro's reaction. “I doubt he'll care,” you said, shrugging it off. “But it'll be nice to look good for myself, at least.”

Xavier shook his head. “Trust me, he'll care,” he said with a wink and then stood up from his bed, straightening his shirt. “Alright, I better get ready too. I need to iron my jeans and find my fanciest t-shirt,” he joked. “I'll pick you up at 7. See ya!” he said before ending the call, at which you smiled to yourself, feeling grateful for your friend's support.

As you and Xavier made your way to the door of Oscar's house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on you. You clutched the gift tightly in your hand, hoping it will help you calm down. You turned to Xavier, about to voice your concerns about this evening, but he beat you to it.

“Hey, it's going to be fine,” Xavier said, sensing your unease. “We'll have a good time. And don't worry about Pedro, I'll not leave you alone even for a moment. When I go to the toilet, I'll drag you along with me,” he joked trying to boost your mood.

You let out a deep sigh. “I'm scared.”

Xavier smiled reassuringly. “I know, but we'll stick together and make the most of it,” he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “And besides, you look amazing. Pedro's going to regret all of his life choices.”

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered at the compliment. “Thanks,” you said, feeling a little less anxious. “Okay, let's do this.”

As you approached the door, your heart rate started to increase again. You could hear the sound of laughter and chatter from inside grew louder, intensifying your apprehension. But before you could even think about turning back to Xavier's car, Elvira opened the door and greeted you warmly. “Y/N!” she called out joyfully, pulling you into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of Elvira's perfume and the comforting warmth of her hug helped ease your nerves a little bit.

“It's so good to see you,” Elvira continued. “Oscar will be so happy you came. You know damn well how much he liked you.”

You smiled gratefully at her words, while Elvira already shifted her gaze to the man standing next to you.

“And who's this handsome gentleman with you?” Elvira asked, pulling away from you and turning to Xavier.

Xavier extended his hand. “I'm Xavier. Y/N's best friend,” he introduced himself with a smile.

Elvira shook his hand. “I'm Elvira, Oscar's wife. Nice to meet you,” she said warmly.

You suddenly felt an odd need to explain why you brought a stranger to their house, even though you knew that Elvira was aware of the recent events.

“I didn't want to come alone, the last days were-” you started to explain, but Elvira quickly cut you off, sensing your discomfort.

“That's fine, Y/N. You don't need to explain yourself, we both know what happened,” Elvira said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze to encourage you. “Come on in,” she added, motioning towards the open door and stepping aside to let you both enter the house.

As you walked past her, Elvira turned her gaze to Xavier and sent him a warm smile. You couldn't help but feel grateful for her kindness and understanding, and you knew that you were in good hands for the evening.

The birthday party was in full swing, with colorful decorations hanging from the ceiling and walls, and a large cake with lit candles in the center of the room. The scent of savory and sweet treats wafted through the air, making your mouth water.

Oscar was the center of attention, greeting his guests with a big smile and warm hugs. He was surrounded by his closest friends, chatting and laughing away, and occasionally stopping to pose for a picture with them.

You, on the other hand, felt out of place in the midst of the older crowd, except for Oscar's children, who were running around and playing games. You had hoped to have a conversation with Pedro, but he avoided your gaze the entire time, which made you feel uncomfortable and self-conscious.

However, Xavier was by your side throughout the evening, keeping you company and making you laugh with his witty remarks and stories. You introduced him to some of the people at the party, and of course to Oscar, and he encouraged you to dance, which helped you loosen up and enjoy the party a little more.

As the night wore on, the guests started to leave one by one, and the house grew quieter. The children were already fast asleep, and the adults seemed to be in a mellower mood, with lighter snacks and drinks replacing the heavier ones from earlier in the evening.

You found yourself in the kitchen with Xavier, enjoying a lively conversation with Elvira and Oscar about the latest news in the city. Elvira was recounting her recent trip to Europe when Oscar suddenly interrupted her by reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring it into a set of glasses.

“Let's raise a toast to life, to good friends, and to family,” Oscar exclaimed, lifting his glass. You all joined in, clinking your glasses together, laughing and toasting to the good times. The mood had shifted from one of excitement to one of warmth and sentimentality.

As you took a sip of the wine, you noticed Pedro standing at the edge of the room, watching you with an intense gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you felt a strange mix of discomfort and confusion. You had wanted to talk to him earlier in the evening, but he had been avoiding you, so his sudden interest now was puzzling. Feeling the need for comfort and safety, you moved closer to Xavier, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders. You didn't know if Pedro was still watching you, but you felt better in your friend’s presence.

To your surprise, Pedro suddenly approached the four of you, inserting himself into the conversation. He started to talk about a recent article he had read in the newspaper, bringing up a topic that interested everyone. Xavier and Elvira seemed to welcome his presence, and Oscar was glad to have his longtime friend join in. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze was still fixed on you, even as he talked with the others.

As the conversation continued, Oscar and Elvira decided to check in with the guests in the living room, leaving you, Xavier, and Pedro alone in the kitchen. The silence was palpable as you all stood there, unsure of what to say or do next. Pedro finally broke the silence, turning his attention to you.

“So, Y/N, I can see that you are having fun?” he asked, his eyes still lingering on you.

You tried to hide your discomfort, forcing a smile and answering politely, “Yeah. I try to, at least.”

It was hard not to notice that Pedro wasn't completely sober – although he wasn't fully drunk either. He kept shooting unpleasant glances at Xavier every now and then and his eyes were colder than always.

Your friend seemed oblivious to Pedro's behavior, but you knew better. You could feel the tension rising in the room, and you started to feel anxious. Pedro's jealousy was palpable, and you couldn't help but wonder if he still had feelings for you, even though you weren’t a thing anymore.

Trying to diffuse the situation, you asked Pedro how his job was going, hoping to steer the conversation away from any uncomfortable topics. He answered curtly, barely giving you any information, and then turned his attention back to Xavier, sizing him up with a cold stare.

You felt your heart rate increase, sensing that things were about to get out of hand. You knew that you needed to do something, but you weren’t sure what. As you opened your mouth to speak, Pedro cut you off.

“Two weeks were enough for you to find a replacement, huh?”

His question made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Pedro's words didn't make sense to you, and you glanced over at Xavier, who looked equally confused. Pedro scoffed and clarified, “I saw you two earlier. I saw the way you look at him, Y/N. And now here you are, pretending to be just friends.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment and anger. How dare he accuse you of something like that? The jealousy in Pedro's eyes was unmistakable, and it was clear that he didn't believe in your friendship with Xavier, even though he knew him.

Xavier stepped in, sensing the tension rising in the room, his voice calm but firm. “Pedro, let's take a deep breath and calm down for a moment. You’re tipsy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Pedro wasn't backing down, his eyes fixed on Xavier, even though he was actually speaking to you. “I don't trust him. And I don't trust you, Y/N.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your heart sank in your chest. You couldn't believe what Pedro was saying. How could he accuse you of being untrustworthy when he was the one who had abandoned you without any explanation? Anger and sadness boiled inside you, making it hard to even form coherent thoughts, and the tears started to gather in your eyes.

“You don’t trust me? You were the one who stood me out on the day of our anniversary. It was you who came to break up with me the next day without giving me any explanation. It was you-you…” the floodgates opened, and tears streamed down your face, mixing with the anger and frustration that you felt. You sniffed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “How dare you tell me that you don't trust me?” you said, your voice shaking with emotion.

Pedro's expression softened slightly, and for a moment, you thought that he might actually apologize for his absurd behavior, but then, his gaze hardened again, and he shook his head.

“I had my reasons,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And I don't need to justify them to anyone.”

You stared at him in silence, trying to make sense of his sudden outburst. He's being unreasonable and irrational, you thought. You shook your head in disbelief and took a step back. “You know what?” you asked, staring into Pedro's eyes. “I will not talk to you. I'm not going to listen to you suddenly make me some kind of scolding because alcohol went to your head. You're a grown man, and you're acting like a kid,” you barked, your anger seeping through every syllable. You then turned your back on Pedro, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry again.

You left him, standing motionless in the kitchen with his eyes fixated on the door through in which you had just disappeared with Xavier. His heart was heavy with regret as he realized that he fucked up again. He knew that he had messed up, that he had let his jealousy and insecurities take control of his words and actions. He desperately wanted to talk to you on this party, to apologize for his behavior and make things right, but now it was too late for that. He had taken a few drinks to calm his nerves, hoping that it would help him find the courage to talk to you, but now he realized that it had only fueled his anger and made things worse. The sight of you laughing and chatting with Xavier had been the final blow, and now he was left alone with his regrets once again.

[cheezbites]

Chris McLean As Your Ex Pt.2

Part One

✎: My first time writing smut... I’m a proud smut-writing-virgin!!😭🙏

♡Summary: Chris being a man-whore, and Y/N meets the campers. (Ex!Chris x f!reader)

WARNINGS: Language, smut, minors skedaddle!!!, overstimulation. (???)

➽Tag List: (Thank y’all for the sweet comments, they motivated me a lot through this whole thing!!!) @11aplacesange11 @prayersgems @marsyay78 @blobthejellyfish @lemonsarentlemons

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The silence that filled the air wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, despite the enigmatic history between you and Chris.

“Care to grab me a towel?” you asked with a sense of sarcasm visible in your tone. When you looked at Chris he was already staring. But not in a sexual way - (despite your soaked pyjamas being translucent and exposing your bare figure). And not in a spiteful way, either.

He didn’t answer for a while, as if he was possessed by you.

“Oh, I uh- yeah,” he walked out of the room in hopes of finding Chef to fetch a spare towel for you. As you stood up from the bathtub, water trickled down your frigid body. You dried your hair by squeezing it tightly in your grasp and twisting it.

This whole situation was absurd, hosting with your ex, having a panic attack and the rumours online. Most importantly; you got your cutest pyjamas soaked, bummer.

You plopped yourself up on the counter and aimlessly kicked your feet - when he re-entered the room, his demeanour was distant this time around.

“Chef’s not here, he’s making the campers breakfast.”

-

“Here,” he murmured, handing you a fresh towel, but not even making eye contact with you in the process.

“Thanks,” you said, drying yourself off. You then realised the way he was fleeing from even momentarily sparing you a glance. It all began to make sense now, you were technically naked.

“It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” You chuckled, mildly nestling his face and turning it so he could look at you.

“I shouldn't be here…”

“Why, do I make you nervous?” You swiftly and delicately dried your hair, completely unaware of the effect your question had on him. You made him more than nervous, you made Chris McLean a total wreck. He felt uneasy and apprehensive at the mention of your name, or just by thinking about you. But seeing you in real life, living and breathing and all - it took every cell in his body to not fumble his words and tremble uncontrollably.

His palms began to sweat and he ran a hand through this dark, messy hair. Amidst searching for the perfect answer that would best resonate his cocky know-it-all personality.

“Let me tell tell you something, Chris.”

“Uh- sure thing.”

“You know…” you settled your towel on the counter, giving him your full attention.

“The fans think my show’s latest episodes are being faked now, y’know, the fights and all. They think that so I can hype up my expected appearance for TDI.”

“Yeah, I understand.” he placed his hands next to your thighs, on the edge of the countertop where you were sat. “It’s stupid, but they will come to their senses. I promise. You’d never stage your content, they would know.”

Whilst he had you pinned between his arms, something else was holding you down: the way he was looking at you. His eyes, which were once a source of irritation, now radiated an infatuation that left you breathless. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, your heartbeat accelerated when you realized that maybe, just maybe, the flame of your old love still flickered, waiting to be reignited.

“Stop…” you muttered, still unable to take your eyes off of him.

“What?”

“You know what you’re doing, Chris.”

“Hm?” he cocked his head to the side in the slightest.

…


“Shut up and kiss me,” you leaned in without a second thought - you saw this coming from a mile away. The way he was there for you only once and gave you one ‘look’, then you’re already whipped.

“Don’t you hate me?” he questioned in the midst of kissing you.

“I know.”

He carried you to your bedroom, causing your arms to wrap around his neck for leisure. As you straddled him on your bed whilst his hands were placed on your hips. You gave him tender hickeys on his neck, and he lowly grunted in response to the pleasuring sensation whilst he stroked your hair.

“Make sure to cover them before filming.”

You tugged your pyjama shorts and underwear off then reflexively grinded on his boner. As your body arched into his lap, his hands were around your hips closely pulling you in. You were already so unbelievably wet for him, fortunately it could be disguised as remaining water from the bathtub.

“Please Y/N… ‘need to feel you,”

“You don’t deserve me yet, Chris.”

“Please, baby- please...” You couldn’t help feeling bad seeing him like this, being so desperate and needy from how pussy deprived he was. You had him begging for you - to be fair, you were getting a rise out of this. He was so hard it began hurting him.

A beam of thrill and gratification was visible in his eyes when you unbuckled his belt and pulled his boxers down, his dick practically sprung into the air and precum was trickling down his tip. You sank onto his cock and adjusted to the mild pain by rocking your hips back and forth.

As you rode him, low grunts and whimpers flew past his lips. He moderately bucked up his hips so you could take more of him.

“Fuck,” he erratically babbled obscenities and curses under his breath as he softly fondled your curls.

“Chris, ‘m close,” you grunted, digging your nails into his shirt. He used his hands to guide and support you as your legs progressively gave out. Without warning, his slick filled you to the brim and spewed extensively. It covered your abdomen, top and bed sheets.

After a few more thrusts, your world flashed before your eyes. Your cum pooled around his inner thigh, you felt your heartbeat pleasurably throbbing in your clit and your breathing was hot and heavy. But he wasn’t done with you yet, he wanted to make a mess out of you. His favourite part about the aftermath of fucking the sense out of you was the way you looked.

Your hair would be messy, partly obscuring your face, while streaks of mascara smudged your puffy eyelids, and you’d have slightly bloodshot teary eyes. Which is what you currently look like.

He cautiously repositioned you to the centre of the bed and manhandled you into doggy-style position. Upon feeling lightheaded, you were willing to be obedient. Your back was arched and your ass was in the air for him, you used your trembling arms to support your upper body.

His already soaked penis slid up and down your throbbing cunt - teasingly rubbing circles onto your clit. He repeated this motion a few more times, and without warning he thrusts into you, inciting a startled whine to escape your lips.

He shoved his dick deeper and deeper inside of you with every thrust. One of your hands was covering your mouth in an attempt to silence your audible moans and the other was digging your nails into the bedsheets for dear life.

“Ch-Chris, ‘can’t take...it,” you sobbed, unobtainably moving your other hand from your mouth to the bed. Sinking your nails into the soft fabric.

“You’re taking me so well, baby…”

His randy words triggered you to clench around his cock, eliciting a groan from him.

Your eyes twitched and rolled back from the overstimulation, When you think he’s about to stop he keeps going; yet more passionately and intensified.

He mercilessly rammed his dick into you and clutched onto your hips so he could manoeuvre you freely and ensure you don't fall.

A stream of tears ran down your eye, you couldn't take the constant pounding. You couldn't do anything else but brainlessly sputter whatever came to mind. Fortunately, no one else was there. If they had been, all they would have heard were your muffled cries, moans and whines.

“Please,” you pleaded through tearful eyes and a quivering voice, unsure what you were begging for. As you clasped onto the cum stained cloth below you.

“Ngh- Ch—..ris!”

He applied pressure onto your clit and rubbed continuous circles with his thumb, your knees felt wobbly - akin to a jelly consistency, and your arms went numb and they gave in, granting Chris easy access as your arch had increased tenfold.

“Baby, baby… ’m close,” you blurted, burying your head into your pillow.

The speed of the pounding leisurely died down,“Fuck,” Chris groaned as he released his load into you, heavily breathing and briefly staying put before pulling out.

Soon you followed, It felt like an otherworldly experience coming twice in such a short span of time. Your entire body felt excruciatingly numb, but at the same time; the sensation was vaguely rewarding.

You collapsed onto your bed face-flat, still drowsily breathing. Chris tugged your hair so he could look at your face and everything was unkept: from your messy hair to your tearful eyes. Just what he liked. He buckled up his jeans and abruptly left the room.

He fetched an oversized t-shirt and dressed you in it. As well as a soft and comfortable blanket for both of you. Draping it over your body, you couldn't help but smile as you snuggled up next to him on, the warmth of the blanket enveloping you both.

With an officious yet endearing tone, Chris asked, "Do you need anything else, love? Water, a snack, a pillow... anything?"

You held his hand that was placed on your waist, feeling content. "I'm okay, Chris. Just having you here is enough."

He chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. "Alright, if you change your mind, just let me know."

You closed your eyes, enjoying the comfort of the moment, knowing that even in the midst of your arguments and conflicts, there were these precious, sweet moments that made you appreciate each other's company.

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“Up close she looks even better… she’s so pulchritudinous.”

“Shut the fuck up, Harold. Nobody even knows what that means!”

“OMG, that's the girl on that one show that goes like, “Getting up close and personal with the icons!” and she's like suuuper famous!”

“How did Chris bag Y/N L/N? He’s a 4 on a good day.”

“Campers, settle down!!!” Chef yelled, silencing their overlapping chatter.

You warmly smiled at the campers, standing next to Chris on his podium. They were all situated around logs surrounding a toasty campfire. A majority of them were too busy ogling you in shock and astonishment, the rest were still in denial.

“Hello campers!” you greeted, a striking confidence was distinguishable in your voice.

“As most of you know already, my name is Y/N L/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you guys! I‘ve noticed some of you are big fans of my show, ‘Icons Unveiled’. Or you may know me from hosting previously, but for the next few weeks, I will be hosting Total Drama Island along with the great, famous Chris McLean!”

As you gave your speech, you had an unquestionable authority. They all patiently waited for you to finish speaking before they interjected with their own comments, you were humble at the same time. Two of the campers even broke down crying, one was a tall blonde with blue eyes and brown thigh-high heels, the other being a short brunette with pink leggings and a green shirt garnished with scouting badges.

“Is this a dream? Someone pinch me.”

“Okay, I hate Chris so much but her being here makes this SO much more better.”

“I can't breathe right now I’m about to die I think?! I’m starting to hear colours.”

Through all the ear-splitting reactions, a malicious set of eyes was set on you. Relentlessly shooting envious looks in your direction - a scrutiny that hoped looks could kill, and wishing you dead from simply glaring at you.

“That’s a really fun idea.” A silvery voice interjected, scowling her face at both you and Chris. You raised an eyebrow, bewildered at the sudden hostility.

“You’re going to be an outstanding hostess, right? Cue the applause, everybody.” The redundant remarks made everyone’s head turn to gape at her. She had straight blonde hair and striking blue eyes, she folded her arms over her tight red dress and crossed her legs, highlighting her crimson heels.

“Blainley, cut it out.” Chris enunciated, impatience lacing his words.

“I’m glad you can even remember my fucking name, so what? You just abandon as this season’s hostess for Y/N?! Fucking Y/N L/N? What does she have that I don't?”

“Uh, hope I'm not interrupting. But who is Bethany? I was never informed about a Betahny hosting, too…” You purposely fumbled her name to further enrage her and see how far you could escalate this situation, just for the hell of it.

“Is it 'cause she’s prettier, more famous? Or is she a better fuck than me?!”

The campers froze with their jaws resembling an ‘O’ shape, and then they raucously chattered about what was unfolding, but her final comment ticked you off. Who does this bitch think she is? You could tell she had no shame publicly announcing her ‘sex life’ on national TV and causing an unnecessary one-sided fight. But you ensured you would have fun toying with and antagonizing her.

“I never will or have fucked you, you’re mentally ill. Just sit down and behave. You’re a con-tes-tant now, know your lane.” Chris retorted curtly, agitatedly drumming his fingers on the podium’s surface.

“Go to hell, Chris. And you,” she aggressively pointed an accusing finger in your direction.

“You can join him in hell, slut.” she stormed off from the campfire, flipping the cameras off. She left everyone else feeling shocked, alarmed and astounded by the scene she put up.

Masterlist

A/N: This part was kinda short, MY DEAREST APOLOGIES FR. I wanted to do a double chapter but this was marinating in my drafts for too long, and I could NAWT decide what to do for part 3. So as soon as I do I’ll get to writing it ASAP😔🤞. Next part will be a juicy double chapter I promise

[thestalwartheart]

if you're still taking prompts from the list:

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Hey @dude-watchin-with-the-brontes! Thank you so much for this prompt, and apologies for taking so long to get something written! Here's a short little prompt fill for you. Enjoy 💙 Read it below or on AO3.

drunk.

When they emerge from the pub, it’s still light out, which seems like madness until Q remembers the recent turn of the clock. Daylight savings. The most wonderful time of the year. The night sky is a haze of pink and orange, and if he were a different man, Q would call it romantic.

“It is.”

“Hm?” Q turns to the man beside him. Bond. The last man standing, as ever. He looks remarkably sober for having polished off an incalculable amount of hard alcohol.

“Romantic,” Bond says. “The sky. I was agreeing with you.”

“Right. Yes. I definitely—” Q swallows a small burp. “I definitely meant to say that aloud. Christ. I’m ratarsed.”

Bond laughs. Laughs. It’s such a rarity that Q closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to seal it into his memory and lock it away with everything else that should only be declassified in seventy-five years.

When he opens his eyes, the sky is even pinker, and Bond is standing in front of him. His eyes are lovely, but lovelier are the laugh lines around them.

Deep, they are. Well-worn.

Q knows it’s just genetics. DNA-sequencing. A pinch of his mother, more of his father. The creases of his face don’t mean Bond’s laughed so much in life, really, and yet he smiles easily when they’re like this: drunk under London’s sky, meandering through the city, usually while it’s raining. Thank goodness it isn’t tonight. Q hasn’t an umbrella on him, not even a dangerously experimental one.

“All right, Q?”

“Fine. Yes. Lovely.”

“And ratarsed.”

Q wobbles on a loose paving stone. Bond’s hand steadies him.

“Mm. But a merry sort of ratarsed. I think the fresh air’s helped.”

A laughing couple walk past. They’re handsy, all over each other, and their loud public affection might normally prove annoying, but it isn’t tonight. The sky is lovely, and the company is even lovelier, so why shouldn’t everyone kiss where they like?

Why shouldn’t Q?

He leans in.

But Bond’s hand moves from his arm to his chest, and Q is kept at bay.

“Q.”

“What? But we—” Q breaks off, frowning.

They’ve done this before. They’ve done this in Q’s office, and they’ve done it in Bond’s. They’ve done it in a hospital, and they’ve done it once in Cyprus amongst the olive trees. Infrequent as it is, Q’s habitual drunken snog with Bond is one of the two constants in his life. The other constant is the cats, and he can’t very well snog them.

“I know.”

“Is there someone else?”

He cringes as soon as he says it averting his eyes. He sounds like a desperate wife concerned about Bond’s mistresses—all those overseas trips, the late nights at the office. It’s nine o’clock. Where’ve you been? Absurd, if only because Q’s the one who’s always staying late.

So. They’ve snogged a few times. So what? Q shagged a man named Iain a few weeks ago. Bond’s fucked three women with three different names since. Q forgets them. He’s sure Bond hasn’t.

There’s a messy, drunken taxi line forming outside the pub. People waiting for their Ubers, give their friends one last hug, then two, then three. A weight sinks in Q’s stomach and sloshes about amongst seven pints.

“Too many people, then?” he ventures.

“Q, look at me.”

He does.

“I’d have you in front of a football stadium if that’s what you wanted.”

Q’s breath feels punched out of him.

Bond steps closer, slides his hand up Q’s jaw. Their foreheads touch; Q’s messy curls, greasy from the day, pick up the clammy sweat on Bond’s forehead. Bond’s lips are so close. They look cold. Q wants to warm them.

“I’d just prefer to have you sober,” says Bond.

“Oh. Yes.” Q digs his hand under Bond’s jacket and urges him closer. Behind them, someone lets loose a catcall. “Yes.” He bites his bottom lip. “Perhaps one for the road, though? While I sober up?”

Bond smiles. He turns his head until his lips meet Q’s cheek—or rather his jaw—and there is nothing chaste about the kiss he places there. It’s louche and incendiary in the way of all Bond’s actions. Q’s body does not know the meaning of whisky dick.

When he surfaces from the haze of the last few minutes, an MI6 driver is waiting to take him home. He climbs into the car with Bond, knowing that when he gets out, he’ll be getting out alone. The thought doesn’t smart like it might have on some other night. He creates a reminder in his phone for the following morning — CALL BOND - DATE?? — and leans back against the headrest.

Bond’s hand is waiting for him; it tangles in Q’s hair. Outside, the day disappears into a navy blue sky.

[soleius]

🏹 sun signs as i see them;

happy valentine day my loves!

heres a lil something i’ve been working on for awhile as i’ve hit 100 followers (now 300+ >w<)

a feel good post w/ intentions to get ya to smile <3

i appreciate you all so much

lots of love, daisy

aries/1h sun: you’re the embodiment of ambition, that glorious spark of motivation. you’re the image of when dawn breaks, that fiery red hue. you’re who i look at during times of desperation, the light of perseverance in a room full of hopelessness. the feeling of full marks after sleepless nights of frustration, my most prized possession, a taste of satisfaction.

taurus/2h sun: you're the sight of freshly baked goods on display children beg their mothers for a taste. you're a warm cup of coffee enjoyed in the streets of paris, a garden of fresh flowers tended to for several hours. you're my stubborn moments in time where i know im wrong, but i'll still fight. you're the image of precious gifts i buy despite being shy, to express my love.

gemini/3h sun: you’re days of endless conversations, where there seems to be no end in the best possible ways. you’re moments of self realization, times when self discovery is at its best. you are what it feels to be learning new ideas from someone else, a fresh perspective when you’re so introspective. you’re my best friend in moments i needed someone the most.

cancer/4h sun: you’re the feeling of listening to my favourite music from several years ago. the remnants of innocence i still carry as child, a memory so distant it almost feels like a dream. the sounds of happy chatter amongst loud clatter. you're the comforting hug from a mother, that friend that says everythings all right. you're the reassurance in times of doubt.

leo/5h sun: you're my warm summer's day spent looking at art pieces on display. an appreciation card filled with love and adoration, crafted with much consideration. you’re the epitome of loyalty, a light of positivity. the true embodiment of confidence, a genuine compliment given at random. you’re the feel good moments in life when giant smiles are shared amongst us.

virgo/6h sun: you’re long conversations of areas i want to improve in life, where we share each others plans and feel that surge of motivation to be better when we’re with each other. you’re those moments in life people consider mundane, but i call it comfort. a cup of freshly brewed tea and a lingering scent of lavender laundry detergent.

libra/7h sun: you're my days of self care, and a genuine breath of fresh air. you’re what i imagine gentle smiles in a crowd full of people, a charming stranger one hopes to meet again but never will. you're what ideal relationships seem like, the genuine thought of falling in love. a star amongst the dozen, one that shines brightest although all so similar.

scorpio/8h sun: you’re the embodiment of deep conversations held between two lovers. a secret kept for eternity maintaining sweet serenity. you’re the deepest depths of my mind meant for no one, a sweet indulgence made for someone. you’re a puzzle to be uncovered, but only by those you allow to discover.

sagittarius/9h sun: you're my late night drives blasting music without a care. the feeling of an impending adventure, the type of conversations with friends people would have to censor. you're the embodiment of luck and an absurd memory of winning a green duck. fun is wherever you go and that’s something you’ve always known.

capricorn/10h sun: you’re moments in life where all eyes are on you, centre of attention without meaning to. you’re the embodiment of authority and chic elegance, an air of admiration others fawn over from afar. a moment of silent confidence and unwavering determination. you’re the taste of sweet satisfaction among bitter hearts.

aquarius/11h sun: you're my outta pocket conversations held between friends i'll treasure forever, sounds of undistinguishable cackles-borderline cries. you're my otherworldly discoveries in the deep depths of my mind, the feeling of insanity in a crowd full of none. a scientific discovery meant for humanity, a founder of innovation among your collections.

pisces/12h sun: you’re my iridescent hope in a room full of despair, my childish inner thoughts in a world full of adults. you’re impossible to grasp, an illusion i dream. you’re the image of the moon glimmering over an watery scene. you’re who sirens fail to imitate at night, because you’re just so one of a kind. a piscean child, neptune’s pride. a sweet daydream during my loneliest of nights.

© soleius 2023 all rights reserved. do not copy, paste or repost my content anywhere. reblogs are fine :)!

[wandasmistress]

Trapped

Requests (2)- A bottom!Natasha x Reader where Natasha and the reader are heading to a mission spot and while they’re in the quinjet R is eating out and fingering Natasha + Bottom!Natasha x reader where they have sex on a mission

Synopsis- Steve shouldn’t have tricked you into going on missions causing Natasha to miss you dearly, but once you’re back for good there is always time to make up for what was lost.

Pairings- Bottom!Natasha Romanoff x Top!Reader

Warnings- 18+ Content, and Steve?

Word Count- 4k

A/N- I’ve been really inactive for the past few months but I feel that I have got my motivation back to write so hopefully I can start to put out more stories :)

➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

Your body was exhausted to stay the least, it was a mistake for you to sign up for quick missions, a big mistake. The need to always be in non-stop action to rid yourself of growing daily boredom was prominent within you. You didn’t mind all that much because doing missions was something to keep you in check and present in reality, besides one other thing.

Because of that other thing which is a special someone that you dreaded leaving for missions. Each time boarding a quinjet or black decked-out SUV there would be a sorrowful presence looming at the door of the compound’s exit, Natasha. 

When you weren’t on missions she was your constant light throughout your day because with her around you never got bored and always had a fire to keep you lit inside. When she left for a lengthy recon mission months prior you had to do something to keep you entertained for the time being. That happened to be quick missions Steve had encouraged you to sign up for when he saw your lack of life as you stared out the compound’s grand living room window that held a magnificent view of the surrounding wilderness that kept you entranced for the time being while your lover was away.

What Steve “forgot” to mention to you is that if you signed up for quick missions it would be official for eight months, let's just say you almost got into a fight with America’s most beloved. Once you signed with your signature you couldn’t take it back. At first, it was fine for the months when Natasha was gone, you had something to occupy and eat up your time, but when she came back it was a different story. 

You still had four months left on your contract and time seemed to slow down significantly, so to Natasha, it felt like an eternity. Every time she saw you off a piece of her inner happiness chipped away while uncertainty replaced its spot. She was filled with tremendous dread and loneliness during all the nights she spent without you. She longed for your touch every second of the day and especially at night, she yearned for your company so bad it was absurd. 

She had been pestering Steve about taking you off the quick missions but he ignored her advances and excused himself immediately so he wouldn’t receive her raft. Constantly following him around the compound to disrupt his day, in her eyes if she couldn’t get any sort of peace,  why should he? During all the time she had been pestering Steve, it was the end of the eight months; she couldn’t have been more delighted. She was like a kid at a candy store, only a few feet taller, tapping her foot repeatedly against the pavement as she waited to hear the familiar buzz of the incoming quinjet.

Her deep red tresses swayed from the sudden gush of air, a dark shadow cast upon her from the monumental aircraft. The shadow was a stark contrast to the fierce light that was present in her from the thought of finally being able to have you fully.

Stepping off the mechanical quinjet for the first time in hours made you relieved to breathe in the fresh air, smelling blended natural fragrances and a familiar perfume that you knew all too well. It was in a flash and then the next moment you were bombarded with Natasha’s presence. It was hard for you to hug her back with your duffle bags still in your hands but you wasted no time in dropping them and enveloping her in your arms.

She clung onto you as a sloth does to a cecropia tree, her head buried deep in your chest as she took time to fully embrace your presence. You understood her actions because the last time you spent a full day together was two months ago, who knew how many small missions there were out there to be completed.

Natasha brought her head out of your chest and peered up at you. Taking in your wondrous features that she admired staring at during the brink of the night when the moonlight shined just perfectly on your dormant face. She would study you for hours until she fell asleep in your comforting hold with only the thought of you there with her lulling her to sleep.

“Take a picture Nat, it last longer.” You say softly to Natasha as your hands naturally travel towards her hips to hold onto them.

“Oh, shut up.” She lightly chuckled as she gave a gentle slap to your shoulder, “I would take a picture of you but it could never truly capture your beauty.” Her words made your cheeks heat up along with the way she was intensely staring at your face.

“I can tell you missed me because that was cheesy as fuck, but don't worry I forgive you for that cause I missed you too.” She rolled her eyes while letting out a breathy laugh at your response as her hands trailed up your abdomen and around your neck.

She came close to your face causing your breaths to merge, you could practically smell the minty freshness on the cusp of her breath, “But ‘Take a picture it last longer’ isn’t it?” Your mind was too hazed with the thought of her lips on yours to fully understand what she was saying. Leaning forward to catch her lips only for her to back away at the last second making a frown come to your face.

“Such a big baby, don’t worry you're gonna make it up to me with more than just kisses for your absence.” She teases you as she pecks the corners of your mouth then continues to give small kisses all around your face but never your lips which slightly agitates you.

Although, not more than Steve coming to interrupt your moment with Natasha. She instantly got annoyed as he rounded the corner. A glint of sweat can be spotted on his face meaning he ran twenty miles non-stop. 

With a roll of her eyes, Natasha instantly stares down Steve as he walks up to you both, her arms now crossed over her rigid stomach.

Steve awkwardly greets the both of you with a skittish wave as he avoids Natasha’s fierce gaze.

You greet him back satisfactorily, putting your hand on the lower part of Nat’s back to wordlessly communicate with her to acknowledge Steve.

“Steve.” Natasha bluntly replies, showing no ounce of welcome in her tone.

“I hate to say this, but you both need to meet me in the debriefing room. Be there in the next ten minutes.” He says with a militant tone, fleeing towards the door of the compound straight after his assertion.

Natasha made a move to follow him but was stopped by the firm grip on her waist that held her back. When she turned around with lifted eyebrows she was met with your unimpressed face as you rolled your eyes at her abrasive antics.

“I’m off of those little pesky missions now, there's no need to hold any grudges. Help me put away my stuff, yeah?” You softly ask her, reducing your hold on her waist because you trusted her enough to not go after Steve to give him a mouthful.

She shook her head and gave you a small smirk, “Since when did you turn into a peacemaker?” She scoffs slightly in a mischievous manner as she starts striding off.

You give a light chuckle at her words but wrinkle your eyebrows in confusion at her retreating form, “You're not gonna help with my bags?”

She turns around while still strolling with a charming pout on her face and shouts, “My hands are kind of tired from all the stroking they have been doing since someone wasn’t here to do it for me!”

Your face runs cold as her coy pout turns into a naughty grin. You're stuck in a trance at her distant figure and you swear you can see her hips swaying more than they were a few seconds ago. You wasted no time in picking up your duffle bags and catching up with her, she always had a way with words that left you awestruck.

»

You and Natasha had just walked into the debriefing room Steve mentioned and the first thing your wondering eyes spotted was the brown box of your favorite, Dough Doughnuts. Treading straight towards the box of donuts as if your life depended on it; grabbing a plate from the table where the donuts were held to stack some of the pastries.

Helping yourself to multiple thick and doughy donuts put a bright smile on your face, “Help yourself, I got them for you, out of guilt.” Steve murmurs next to you rendering you to jump from the sudden surprise, managing to save your plateful of donuts as you turn towards him with a warm smile on your face.

You thank him genuinely, “although this won’t be enough for me to fully forgive you.” Your words cause him to take in a deep breath as you send him a shallow smile as you move around him and make your way to Natasha sitting at the immense oak oval table.

As you come closer to Nat she makes eye contact with you, her eyes broadening at your approaching figure. When you made it over she raised her right eyebrow as she eyed your plate stacked with donuts. By that time you had already started eating them on the walk over so when you spoke your mouth was full of mushed donuts.

“What? The last time I ate was hours ago.” You reasoned.

Natasha’s resting smirk only grew as she replied, “moya malen'kaya rybka fugu ”

You playfully narrowed your eyes as you took a seat behind her, quickly flashing your mouth full of mixed donuts only for her to swiftly pinch your stomach with a twisted grimace. Quietly chuckling to yourself as you got seated; Steve cleared his throat for both of your attention.

Just as he got attention to start speaking Natasha kicked up her feet on the deep oak conference table with a loud thud followed by a displeased sigh. You had to look away for a moment to contain your laughter, you had yet to ever see her be this petty towards Steve.

“I just wanted to start this meeting to say I never meant to have you sign up for the missions but no one else wanted to, and god knows the shield agents aren’t prepared enough for constant tasks like that. Leading to the point of this gathering, which is a final mission for you both.”

Natasha’s face turned into a passive expression that only Steve could see from his angle; a slight hesitation in his speech from the direct eye contact Natasha had with him.

“Don’t flip your lid Nat, this is a recon mission that should take less than a week. More of a getaway if you ask me, it’s in Madrid, I searched on that engine Googlet and their beaches are said to be nice during this time. The mission file is on the table, have fun ladies.” He declared before he left the room with a clasp of his hands.

There was a few seconds of brief silence until Natasha turned around in the twisty chair with her signature smirk ingrained on her face. She slowly arose from her position in her seat to saunter a few steps and rest herself on your awaiting lap. 

In between the mid-bite of a donut, you stared deep into her eyes, slowly moving the pastry away from your face to deliver a soft peck to her nose. Her face scrunching up in mock disgust as she pinched you on the cheek complaining about the sticky filling that now occupied her nose.

You couldn’t help but not take her words into account as you zoned her words out to only focus on the accentuating features that reeled you into her as a fisherman does to fish. The only thought on your mind was her ethereal beauty, not only did her outer beauty look so magnificent, her inner beauty was millions of times better. Cherishing the moments when her relaxed personality came out because of your presence; the way her face seemed to light up when you were near, and the way you found solace in her viridescent irises.

»

You were standing in the cockpit, leveling the controls of the quinjet to kickstart the autopilot mode so you could catch up on some sleep that you dearly missed. As you were focused on turning on the alarm to notice another aircraft in the air, turning on the radar, and checking safety controls caused you to fail to notice the slim figure approaching from behind.

Nat takes this moment why you are in mental solitude to absorb your features; your concentrated face making a knot deep within her start to ache. The way your hands are flexed across the controls, moving in practiced synchronization as if you could do it perfectly with your eyes closed. Also, the small barely noticeable scars littered across your arms and hands that she knows all the stories to you, courtesy of you telling them to her in the deepest of the night as her head lay on your bare chest when sleepiness was absent.

She came up behind you while you were slightly leaning on the controls, encircling her hands around your stomach, laying her cheek across the side of your back as she watched the view of the endless clouds. This is where she loved to be, anywhere with you, no matter the place.

When you felt her hands on your abdomen a sense of warmness spread throughout your body at just her touch; what she could make you feel in just a matter of seconds was a feeling you always loved.

There was a few moments of sereness that passed by before her face shifted away from the clear window to face your back.

“I really missed this.”

You let out a small chuckle, pivoting your head scarcely to the left so you could see her out of the corner of your eye. “I never knew you were so needy, babe.”

She slaps your back with her right arm at your tease which causes you to tremble away from her grip but eventually turn towards her, leaning back on the controls now so you were face to face. 

“Well you have been away to satisfy my needs, and I can only do so much.” She expressed softly with a playful angry expression on her face as she stands on her toes to connect both your lips once and for all.

The laughter within your stomach automatically ceases as her plump lips come in contact with yours, being substituted with a desire. Your hands were quick to move up to her hips and gradually down to her plump bottom, giving a gentle squeezing. 

A soft moan discharged from her closed throat at the pressure that was so close to where she needed you to be. Her lips miraculously worked with yours in an erotic dance as the force of the kisses made each of your heads move back and forth. Her hands unhurriedly came up to your firm stomach for balance, her hands skimming over your clothed breast which made a groan escape between your parted lips as you came out of the kiss for air.

No words were uttered as you wordlessly looked into her eyes for the next few seconds, her dilated pupils and the salacious look that resounded within her darkening orbs made you dive in for more of what you so badly dreamed for.

Your hands left the position on her lower half to quickly cup her face and bring her closer while her soft tongue pressed against the entrance of your lips for admission to your tongue. Bestowing her access by parting your lips, your tongues clashed together in simultaneous congruence. A deprived moan came from the pit of her throat from the way your mouth deliciously sucked on her tongue. That eruption from deep within her vocal cords was the moment something clicked on inside of you to grant her real satisfaction.

You swiftly picked her up by the rear and carelessly sat her down on top of the controls, damn the quinjet because if you go down this would be a gratifying last moment of your life. While still retaining a steady pace of indulging in Natasha’s succulent lips, your hurried hands tugged at the hem of her leggings. She snickered as she caught onto your intentions and lifted her bottom so you could quickly pull her lower garments off. 

Greedy fingers instantly met Natasha’s clothed cunt moments after her leggings had been moved and forgotten by her ankles. You took your middle and pointer fingers together and rubbed them against her clothed protruding clit. Provoking a loud moan from her; your breaths integrating from the brisk withdrawal by both of your damp lips. Her right hand presently snaked up the back of your neck while her left hand rested on your shoulder; making eye contact with her as you devoted more pressure on her clothed clit, her pupil now a tiny black speck in the sea of inveigle basil green. 

Her eyes squeezed shut as they rolled back while her mouth hung open and twitched from the constant motion happening right where she needed you to be, her head inclining forward as you pressed harder. Your sweaty foreheads came together for only a moment until you shifted your head to start sending temperate but firm kisses along her face and later neck.

You had enough of taunting her, wanting to feel her needy opening sucking up your digits. Impatiently pushing aside her lacey panties as you were met with a beyond moist sticky cunt; quick to find her clit and begin irritating it for more pressure. 

Natasha’s celestial moans and faltering sighs filled the quinjet's advanced space, luckily it was just you two, or else things would have been inconvenient. Although your fingers did not just stop at rubbing her clit, too eager you wait not one more second and plunged them straight into her opening. A coarse protracted whine came from her hushed mouth, as her face rested on your shoulder she took the opportunity to bite down to help with the influx of pleasure she acquired in such little time. 

This didn’t deter you as you only started to pump your digits quicker, the only sound echoing throughout the aircraft was your low grunts now and then, Natasha’s moans that began to sound more like yearning cries, and her pussy making various squelching noises that rang like music to your ears as you continued to hammer into her.

It didn’t take long before that tight knot within her stomach that had been itching badly inside of her, in demand to be undone, finally erupted. When that knot flared deep in the pit of Natasha’s stomach that’s when a real guttural whine escaped from her lips. You knew she was quite the verbal person in intimate situations like this, but the moan that was unleashed from her sounded extra-terrestrial, an almost jarring roar that was brought out from a hidden place inside her.

You weren’t close to being done yet, the second you remove your fingers from her center a tired objection came from her heavy breathing mouth. Her muddled head leaned back until her heavy eyes looked upon your face, her creased eyebrows hinted to her examining your sudden action to stop. Before she could let out a weak protest you stuck your soaked fingers that had just been buried inside her past her plump lips and flat onto her unexpectant tongue.

She sucked her juices from your fingers slowly in a seductive manner as she kept eye contact with you; your knot within starting to beg for release just from the way her pristine lips grasped around your digits and slowly slid down the expanse of your fingers. When she popped the fingers out of her mouth you immediately brought them up to your lips to get a taste, unknowingly to you Nat’s eyes hazily watching the movement of your hands and the way you searched for any leftover taste of her on your fingers only for it all to be gone.

In a matter of seconds, your lips instantly met Natasha’s again, causing a groan to leave her from the force of roughness. In your little plan, you had found what you were looking for, but there was still some leftover taste of Nat scattered on her tongue. A deep moan set free from her drowsy self at the feeling of you sucking her tongue harshly. She brought her head away from yours slowly, a string of mixed saliva drooping between your faces as both your lustful eyes stared deep into one another's souls.

“There’s more where that came from.” She uttered in a husky voice.

After dispatching another quick peck to her lips, you sank to the ground in an instant. Your knees collided against the hard steel just as Natasha had spread her legs open, wide enough for you to have full sight of her exalted pussy that could never be replicated. Natasha took her bottom lip in between her teeth and smirked from the way you were taking time to adore her bare cunt as if she hadn’t told you to continue the vulgar actions that you were performing moments earlier.

It didn’t take you any longer to get back into the swing of things as your face merged into her sodden cunt, her thighs encompassing your head as her radiant smell plagued your sense as you took a deep breath in. Sticking your deprived tongue out from behind your lips that were submerged in her center, licking an elongated vertical line up her center. Her shivering that knocked you off your course made you resort to wrapping your hands around her outer thighs to keep her in place, talking into her pussy which sent a thundered hum attack her clit which stimulated her so much that she bucked and whined like a lost wolf that has strayed from its pack.

Her body shuddered from your attempted talking inducing numerous buttons on the control deck to be pressed while some switches flicked on and off. Your grip on her thighs constricted to ensure she changed no controls that would cause the quinjet to plummet to the ground instantaneously. Even with a slight chance of crashing, you stretched your hungry tongue past her entrance, and as deep as your face would let you without suffocating, making this another satisfying moment to go out. 

Your tongue wriggled back and forth inside of Natasha, numerous times pressing on the bundle of nerves that made her go crazy each time you hit it just right. Natasha needed something to hold onto as the knot in her came undone even more each second, her pale fingers sliding in between your locks and barring onto the roots. You hissed slightly from the tugging she would do every few seconds from hitting her g-spot now and then. That didn’t hold you back from going deeper as her taste was so addicting, her juices being like holy ale sent down from above just for you only, sacred nectar that could never be found anywhere on the earth no matter how hard you searched. 

Ultimately getting lost in the tempo and taste of Natasha brought her to another orgasm that struck her harder than last time tenfold, you were always so proficient with your tongue that she could never get enough. This time no sound was emitted from her opened mouth, only a sound of strangulation as she failed to take in air. Her tense chest heaved in and out as she got a hold of her breath but was still moments into seeing the stars. That was all muffled for you because she had you interlocked tightly within her pale plush thighs, her juices drenching your face as her cum oozed out from within her. You were entrapped, and truthfully, you don’t think you want to leave just yet.

»

[paintbrushnebula]

I think now that Tangled the Series has been over for the better part of four years now, what makes me sad the most is that there were enough pieces left behind by the film to construct a compelling narrative for a strong continuation of Rapunzel and Eugene's story that wouldn't have required all this "bigger and more epic" stuff that the series made up in order to be interesting. 

And you can have big epic magical stuff, that's fine! I LOVE epic large-scale stories! But there's a difference between expanding your world by further developing its elements and themes, and just scaling up the adventure tenfold to be “bigger and better”—which is what I feel that the series did in the end. 

It’s funny, because I was already a fan of Tangled when I was little. I still remember being 7 years old sitting in that theater with my sister, actually breathless and in shock when Eugene drew his last breath. I had never seen a kids movie where a lead character dies.

(and I know that sounds absurd because there were Disney films before where a lead character dies and comes back XD look I was 7 and my parents weren’t people who knew many pop culture American movies at the time so I didn’t watch much that wasn’t Disney Channel or VHS films that my Grandma owned. To this day I’m still kind of trying to catch up on film culture XD)

Sorry to get off track but what I’m trying to say is, I was there when the series was announced and they revealed that promo art back in 2016, I saw the 30 second promo trailer, I watched “Wind in my Hair” when it was released on Youtube in February 2017 the morning before school and I was hyped for the rest of the day, and I remember watching Before Ever After’s premiere with my sister and was FLOORED that it was good??!! Like actually was gonna have a serialized overarching story and everything! God I’ll never forget Eugene’s verse where he pulls out that ring. I’ll never forget Rapunzel’s face when he gives her his proposal speech (before it went downhill that is), and I’ll always forget the last 25 minutes that take place  after Rapunzel’s hair grows back because its low-key pretty heckin boring! 

What hyped me was the relationship stuff, Rapunzel’s PTSD, the parent drama, everything that those first 30 minutes had that made me THINK we were in for an emotional story about Rapunzel’s life after the tower, I thought we’d get to see in detail how she’s gonna to grapple with her trauma, her new life, her new responsibilities, her new relationships, all that. And some of the series was that, a very small “some.” Not enough by any means for me lol

Because like, wouldn’t that have been a more interesting story to tell than the one we got? Ultimately Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure doesn’t feel like a continuation of Rapunzel’s story, it’s more like a Brand New Adventure that happens star Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert. I know that sounds weird and I might not be making much sense here but, did the story of a girl who stops a plague of darkness and fights a transdimensional demon blueberry ghost girl and has to reconcile with her “step-sister” HAVE to be about Rapunzel? Also like, just. NOTICE how that summation of the story of the series DOESNT involve Eugene in some way. You know. The hecking CO-LEAD of the film this series is based on. 

And like, there was so much story to be told with Rapunzel and Eugene WITHOUT the blueberry Disney Junior-giving ghost girl, the poorly written heavily contrived step-sister conflict, AND the big plague of darkness nonsense. Rapunzel and Eugene are two VERY tragic individuals. DO SOMETHING WITH THEM, IOUHWO4Y2IBBU3FN3FI

I’ll admit that I was more attached to the series than I was to the movie while it was airing, and even for like 2 years after it was over. I was younger and more immature and the big stakes and fresh new characters and magical adventures captivated me more than the focused drama of the movie. But now that I’m older, I realize that I resonate more with Rapunzel in the movie. NOT in any concerning “do you need help?” Kind of ways, just that I find myself thinking the way she thought, since I’m now around the age she was in the movie. The way I think about my future, my self esteem etc. I relate to how she feels inexperienced and fresh in the world despite being a young adult, because she hasn’t done any of those “big things” yet. And you wonder “how am I gonna do those big things? When do they happen? Will I know what to do when they happen?” I get it, Rapunzel, I really do. 

The series is kinda an afterthought to me now I guess. I still appreciate that it exists and I’m so happy it happened. In the beginning, it didn’t feel real when it was happening. Like a dream honestly. And like, Tangled the Series is literally 80% the reason I wanted to write fiction, so I’ll always be grateful for it. 

But holy kriff is the movie so much better heeheeeeeeeeee

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception- Part II

Time to learn a little about the guy on the other side of the wall. Lots of absurd snz in this part.

________________

The morning sky is a sight to behold.  Rays of golden orange and the brightest pink peek through the branches of the tree-riddled horizon.  Indigo is, of course, up before the day has broken, but witnessing the splendor of the rising sun never grows old.  If only his contentious body would allow him a moment of reprieve from all of that "natural beauty."

The handkerchief is still clutched in his right hand and for good reason. His body gives little warning before he flinches into a muffled “--ihhEKSSCH!” 

He swats a thick wave of silvery blond hair from his face with the utmost lack of decorum. Must they insist upon assailing him with so little warning each and every time?

The phone in his pocket buzzes and he jerks it free, swiping the "answer" button without so much as a glance at who it might be.

"Solaris," he says.

"Ah, Indigo."  The jovial, familiar voice of his employer is a strange relief amongst all the silence.  "How are you on this fine day?"

"Spectacularly allergic," Indigo says in his brightest conversational tone.  "And you, sir?"

A chuckle from the other end of the line.  "I had no idea such things plagued you."

"Well, that makes two of us, then," Indigo says.  "Although I did sleep quite well, all things considered."

"Most excellent news."  Reginald 's voice softens just a touch.  "Do try and rest as much as you need to."

Indigo does not tell the other man that his request is akin to torture, that his concerns lie with his work and not so much with his well-being, but given the nature of Reginald’s tone, he dismisses the thought and forces his voice to remain as upbeat as he can manage.

"As you wish, sir."

"Indigo. . ."

He grits his teeth.  "Yes?"

"My son is a grown man.  He should have known better."

Willful ignorance was just as dangerous. And that was the root of the matter at hand.  One would think that a man in his twenties would at least have a modicum of common sense in these circumstances, would perhaps realize that his own idiocy reflected back to his family, but--

"Perhaps,” Indigo says.

"This was not your fault. Surely, you must know that."

Indigo swallows.  Releases a breath he didn't realize he held within the center of his chest.

"Yes, I do realize this."

"Good. I shall check in with you again in a few days.  In the meantime, do try to unwind, won't you?"

"Of course, sir."

A heavy sigh from the other end of the line.  "Indigo. We are not at a formal event.  You may dispense with all of this 'sir' nonsense."

"Understood," Indigo says. 

"Very well."  Reginald  says.  "Enjoy the sunshine and fresh air."

Indigo swipes a finger beneath his glasses and sniffles.  Hmph, indeed.  He bids Reginald goodbye and slips the phone back into his pocket.  What on Earth was one to do in a place such as this?  With nothing to edit and no impetuous youth to chase, Indigo is at a loss.

He tugs a handkerchief from his pocket just in time to smother a violent, unexpected “-EHKTSSSH!’ into its folds.  His breath quivers with a desperate catch. “EKSSCH! –ihhSSCHuh!”  A high, ridiculous hitching inhalation. . . and nothing.

Right, well clearly, that is enough "nature" for one morning.  Or perhaps an entire decade.  And to think he had considered having tea on the front porch earlier.  Not without a cocktail of antihistamines and a stack of handkerchiefs.  The canopy of trees would be best observed from the comfort of his accommodations upstairs, preferably with the window sealed shut.  

He moves to pocket the handkerchief, considers the alternative, and chooses instead to keep clutched between his fingers, an intuition that proves vital the moment he draws breath.  

“IhGKSSCH! IH’GKSSHISSH!”

 The itching, watery eyes are nearly as much of a nuisance as the constant urge to sneeze, neither of which can make up their mind about which is the greater annoyance.  

At least he can remove his glasses once he has made his way up the stairs.  His vision is decent at close range without the glasses, save the hazy discernment when the distance increases.  However, with a profession that demands clarity of both mind and eye, glasses are a dependable necessity.  

After unlocking the protesting door, he gives it a courtesy shove before it deigns to open.  Blessed silence and a lack of blooming splendor greets him and he pockets both the handkerchief and the glasses, stepping into the kitchen to procure a bit of tea in lieu of coffee.  One must learn the art of balancing one's caffeine intake with varying degrees of addiction, of course.

He ties his hair back, sets the kettle upon the stove, and sets about the task of scooping loose tea into the mesh infuser, reaching for a mug and setting it beside the stove.  From the other side of the wall, a crash sounds followed by a colorful array of expletives, some concerning particular family members and others cursing the heavens. 

Well, then.

His neighbor's voice is a rumbling growl of darkness that jumps into a booming bark and it is enough for Indigo to nearly drop the infuser before latching it.  He taps the wall with the handle of his spoon.

"Are you quite alright?"  he asks.

" . . . yeah," the voice grumbles.  "Fucking pots and pans and shit."  

A sniffle. A light cough. More clattering.

Indigo chuckles.  "Under attack, are you?"

A bit of muttering.  "Something like that."

For a moment, his neighbor is quiet. A bit sudden to stop all of that banging. 

But not for long.

“--UHCHSSSH! Huuh-ehhh. . .!”

Indigo freezes. 

Oh. How unexpectedly delightfu--

"Stop that," he hisses to himself.

“--UH’CHshu!”

Softer the time. As if it has been smothered into some manner of cloth.

“Bless you,” Indigo says, but the sentiment is most certainly lost amongst the kitchen chaos.

Cabinets slam.  The oven door springs shut.  Another curse.  Whatever the fellow next door might be attempting to do, he seems to have encountered quite the problem accomplishing it.

The kettle atop the stove begins to whistle and Indigo flicks the gas burner into the "off" position before reaching for the kettle . . . and barely managing to turn away for more allergic nonsense.

He ducks into the crook of his shoulder with a shudder of shoulders. “EKSSCH! EKSSCHuh! EhhKG–SSCHUH!”

"Excuse me," he murmurs, as if the man on the other side of the wall actually witnessed his outburst. 

Well, in a way, he had.

"Hey."  Tapping against the drywall.  "You sick or somethin'?"

"No," Indigo replies as he dabs at the corner of one eye with a napkin.  "Are you?”

A snort.  “The fuck are you talking about.” “Well, my issue is my blasted hayfever, if you must kn-iihh—EKTSCH!”

"Hmn.  You sure about that?"

Indigo sniffles indignantly.  "Of course I am.  It's simply all of this . . . " He pauses, clinking his spoon against the edge of his cup with a thoughtful tinkle of sound.  "Would you perhaps care for a bit of tea?”

Silence.  Indigo leans closer to the wall, hands upon the edges of the counter, waiting.  Well, perhaps that had been a bit too forward.  After all, precious few knew of this particular spot.  It wasn't as if people came to the unpopulated countryside to socialize with perfect strangers. Offering tea to someone through the wall was a most unusual introduction.

"Okay."

Indigo arches an eyebrow.

"Door's open."  

Just like that? Interesting.

(TBC. . . )