#it’s the not knowing when I’m going to get screamed at that’s getting to me rn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jinwoosbabyboo · 2 days ago

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How would the LADS men react to their MC being really sweet and soft spoken but become toxic during video games (screaming, cursing out players, laughing when they lose)

Crash Out

You were so composed and well spoken in public. Little did your man know what he was in for when it came to you and video games. A/N: I watch a whole lot of CoryxKenshin, Berleezy, Joeiaco, PeegTV, and Britani so I kinda (hella) be screaming and crashing out everytime I play video games CW: Strong language

Zayne

Zayne is the type thats worried about your cortisol levels as he’s watching you yell at the tv. He would definitely brings you cold water and some fruit while trying to gently coax you off the game for a while, but would only end up doing as you say which is to leave you the hell alone.

You currently have a death grip on your controller and trying very hard not to yell into the mic on your headset. You failed.

MC: You fuck ass camping bitch what kind of bullshit is this?!

Zayne: Uh honey?

MC: Yes baby?

You leave the match — slamming your headset to the ground — and focus on Zayne giving him with the most innocent look

Zayne: Are you alright?

MC: Im good why?

Zayne: You sound like you’ve forgotten yourself

MC: Oh because this musty PT Cruiser built bitch was camping the third floor during the entire match pissin’ me the fuck off

Zayne: …

MC: …

Zayne: Why don’t you take a break?

MC: I will

You give him the sweetest smile before grabbing your headset and slipping it back on your head

MC: Right after I blast this little bitch to hell and laugh in their face

Zayne: ……….ok

Rafayel

Rafayel is the type to just check in sparingly to avoid being the one in the line of fire. He was not trying to catch a stray when you were raging, but he also just wanted his girlfriend back, but instead he had hot headed Hades on his hands. Rafayel comes in to find you at your PC set up he can tell something is wrong even with your back to him

Rafayel: You seem angry

MC: I CAN’T BEAT THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME

Rafayel: WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!

MC: I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU

Rafayel: YES YOU ARE

MC: *Heavy sigh* I’m playing this game Scrutinized and I'm supposed to file all these reports while also making rounds around the house because there's two killers trying to kidnap me and I don’t fucking understand how this lucky charms bitch keeps getting in the house

Rafayel: Have you tried taking a break?

MC: I DON’T NEED A FUCKING BREAK I NEED TO BEAT THIS MANS ASS WITH A SKILLET AND HOT GRITS

Rafayel: ……..I miss my sweet girlfriend where did she go?

MC: Im sorry Raf

You pull him how down by his collar and give him a quick kiss

MC: Check back in an hour I should be done with night 1 by then

Rafayel nods and leaves you to scream at your computer. He silently leaves littles treats on the desk for you. He’s scared he might be the one to receive your wrath if he bugs you too much.

Rafayel: Done yet?

MC: BITCH GET UP OH MY GOSH

Rafayel: nervermind ._.

Xavier

The type that tries to help, but only ends up pissing you off unintentionally. He just wants to help, but you don’t want his help because you know the second he gets his hands on the game he’ll not only beat it, but would beat it in record time.

MC: I’m about to rage I'm about to rage I’m about to rage

Xavier brings you a glass of water and sits it on your desk

Xavier: What's wrong baby?

MC: I have yet to beat this fucking game this damn Nun from hell keeps spawning everywhere

Xavier: What game is it?

MC: Nun Massacre

Xavier: You don’t seem like yourself want me to try?

MC: Xavier I love you however if I let you try this game and you beat it in one go Im not eating with you for a week.

Xavier: I just don’t like seeing you stressed

MC: and I don’t like seeing this refrigerator built bitch get the best of me

Xavier: and you don’t want my help?

MC: No

Xavier: Are you sure

MC: Yes

Xavier: ……you’re sure?

MC: Ask me one more time and see what happens

Sylus

Sylus is so amused seeing you get so mad over a game. He’ll be egging you on for sure he’s not even trying to make it better. He wants to see your anger practically radiating off of you. You’re on the brink of raging? He’s chuckling in the background. You’re about to slam your hands on your keyboard or throw your controller? Go ahead he’ll buy you a new one.

MC: *yelling into the headset* FUCK YOU BITCH …. YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’RE EASY TO DRAW SHUT THE FUCK UP TALKING TO ME TURN YO MIC DOWN

Sylus: *Chuckling* like they’re easy to draw?

MC: YES! That bitch was just mad because I found her camping spot and sniped her ass

Sylus: You should do it again just to make her mad

MC: Oh trust me I'm on her ass now her play style is corny I'm not letting her team win this match

Sylus: Would you like me to bring you anything while you show her who’s boss?

MC: Water and some cherries please

Sylus: I’ll be back in a minute

Sylus walks out and can still hear you yelling all the way in the kitchen

MC: GET FUCKED BITCH SUCK MY DICK

Sylus brings backs what you asked for and kisses your cheek before making himself comfortable to watch you cuss people out over a game.

Sylus: A dragon growing her horns

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essiemclaren · 3 days ago

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watch me win

in which lando was paid to fake date y/n!

pairing: mean!lando x reader

tw: super mean/rude lando and ofc angst

day 2

lando's text with the bros

lando's text with the reader

Life is unpredictable, but for Lando Norris, there was always a backup plan. He didn’t need to waste time stressing over what could go wrong; his mind was always three steps ahead. Quick moves, sharp thinking—that’s how he kept control. So, when he asked her out for Saturday, it wasn’t because he liked her. Far from it. He didn’t even find her interesting enough to care. She wasn’t some elusive beauty that had him tongue-tied. No, Lando asked her out because he was helping a buddy out, someone too spineless to handle their own situation. She was a tool, a temporary convenience to get what he needed.

Right after their day 1 of meeting, Lando... Oh, Lando instantly knew the way she clung to every word he said, the desperate way she hung on to each fleeting moment of attention—Lando could practically see it. She was that type, the one who’d find validation in any scrap of it, always eager to be the center of someone’s universe. It wasn’t even a challenge; she was a walking cliché, all wide eyes and innocent smiles, pretending she was so much more than the attention-seeker she really was. And Lando? He was just playing along, a momentary distraction, a little fun to help out his friend.

Nothing personal.

She wasn’t anything special—just someone who’d fall for the smallest gestures, starved for a taste of something that made her feel wanted. Lando didn’t mind giving her that. He knew she'd eat it up, desperate for it, clinging to the idea that this meaningless gesture somehow meant something more.

And for day 2? Since he asked her out for Saturday, he’d get a brand new motorbike—a sleek, custom bike, the kind that screamed luxury and power. Because why not take advantage of the situation, turning a simple play into something even more valuable than her fleeting attention?

Saturday

lando's text with the reader

lando's text with the bros

lando's post on x/twitter

After the whole thing was over, Lando leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips as he replayed the night in his head. Did he regret it? Not for a second. She missed her precious dinner party, but that wasn’t his problem. He couldn’t care less. Her disappointment was just a footnote in his evening, barely worth a second thought. What mattered was the new ride waiting for him—shiny, powerful, and all his. He’d played the game, entertained her for a bit, and now he had what he wanted.

He didn’t regret a thing. Not for a second.

a/n: Hey everyone! I’m sorry this chapter is shorter than usual – I’ve been super busy, but I hope you understand! I really enjoyed writing this part and I hope you did too. I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday break! Please let me know what you think about this chapter – your feedback means a lot. Again, happy holidays, take care, and I’ll be back soon! xx

-essie the elf 🎄

taglist: @5sospenguinqueen @bluethperson @mayusaatma @mountvesuvu @styl1shl1v @hotgirlslikemax @creamsteam3 @kravitswhore @issi-loves-dynamic @llando4norris @sunlithearts @osclerc @hurtblossom @miiaex @somerandomf1fan @nataliambc @saachiep81 @ironmaiden1313 @s-awturn @c4tc0re @dannyleclerc @lexiecampos @loloekie @idontknowanythingsblog @grovelingmen @cchewhaz @linneaguriii

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aerospectrum · 19 hours ago

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“He won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt me.” Dean assured her, running his thumb against her cheek, feeling her soft hand over his. “I know he won’t… ‘cause… he took it all out on Cas.” It was poor timing to joke, but if he didn’t try to laugh then he was pretty sure he’d breakdown about it himself.

Dean wrapped his arms around Madison and squeezed her into a tight hug, rubbing his arms against her back in slow, soothing circles. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she smelled like warm air and soap… traces of sugary sweetness, something fruity for sure. He breathed in deep and just stood there for a long time before finally answering.

“So we’ve got a bit of heavy baggage, but who doesn’t?” Dean held her by her shoulders when she wrapped her arms around herself. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and gently lifted her face to look up at him again. “None of this is your fault and if Cas was awake and not hopped up on drugs then I know he’d say the same too. He would’ve done something if it wasn’t Zach, it just turned out to be him. Judging by the fact the guy was that drunk and belligerent at 4 in the afternoon says a lot. I mean… it says that losing you was the only thing that kept him relatively sane and without you he’s spiraling. That’s on him…” Dean insisted.

“I’m not sweet either… I snap at Benny when it’s hectic at the bar and Garth’s trying to do karaoke on the counters and I gripe on Cas all the time about being smart and safe, I tell Garth to go home constantly; I beat up Zach in your hallway- I changed your door locks without your permission- I didn’t chase after you the first time… none of that exactly screams sweet…” he inhaled softly. “Why don’t you just… rest in my room, you can lay down and relax, watch some movies or tv, whatever you want. I’ll get you some food and some water… juice, I don’t know -whatever you want I’ll get it for you and you can just… crash out here. I can’t promise you it won’t be weird here at first but.. you’re not gonna be blamed for anything, I promise.”

“I’m asking you to stay because I want you to stay.” Dean leaned down to press a soft kiss against her forehead.

She almost wanted to slap her hands over her ears to drown out deans strong handsome voice. She dabbed the corners of her eyes trying to hide the tears that pooled. “It’s okay!” She said trying to make her voice cheery. “Seriously, it’s okay. Really.” But it was lies.

Dean turned her to face him & her soft face now clean of makeup, lips sparkly from the gloss, was bright pink. Eyes welled w/ sad tears. She sniffled trying to avoid his gaze until the forbidden name was spoken. She stepped back at the name. “Zach?” The word tasted like absolute shit in her mouth. “What about him?”

She peaked around deans body to look at cas. This time getting a decent look at him. And he looked rough. Rough, beaten, bloodied & a mess. “Oh my god.” She whispered pushed past Dean hurrying to Cas’ side. “What happened???” She gently touched the man’s hair. “Oh my god… did… did Zach do this??” She looked over at Dean.

“I have to get out of here.” She stood up quickly. “I have to go, he’s going to find me. And he’s going to kill me. I have to go.” She brought her phone up to her face fingers quickly working to order an uber. “If he did this, then he’s coming for me. And… you. I don’t want you getting hurt for my mistakes.” She backed away, fuck her dress & the heels. “It’s okay, I’ll bring your flannel back later. I can’t stay here, he’s going to find me.”

#rpwiththelilflower #c; madison #c; dean (there ain't no other men like me)

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revelboo · 3 days ago

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I’m absolutely melting over Spinster snuggling his big ol face against their lil human. It’s soo cute and fluffy and I love it when full-size mechs still find ways to do affectionate things like that despite the size difference.

Sounds like the Scavengers have a rough job ahead of them going off that ending. Makes me wondered if Spinister comes back in a unconscious state, would our honorary scavenger try to do the face nuzzling back in a worried attempt to wake him up?

Oooh drama. Yes, please. Gotta get there, though. Shenanigans first

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 12

Scavengers x Reader

• “Right there. Don’t move,” Crankcase says as Spinister obediently stands in the doorway to the bridge completely oblivious. Otherwise he’d probably be offended or attack as Crankcase rigs up a blaster pointing at his head and tapes it down to a console. “Okay, tiny. Anyone comes through that door that’s not us, you pull this trigger.” Hooking a servo around you to drag you closer when you shy away. “You don’t hear them out or ask who they are. You shoot first. Understand?”

• “Yeah,” you mumble as Spin lifts a hand and waves from his spot playing target. Aware of the way Crankcase and Krok are both staring at you like they don’t believe you’ll be able to do it. “I can do it.” No, you’re pretty sure you can’t. Even if someone comes in with a gun drawn on you, you’re not sure you can just shoot them in the face point blank. You’re not nearly cold blooded enough for that, but you force a smile anyway so they won’t worry. Because you can’t really beg not to be left alone, can’t admit that you’re scared.

• “It’s not a kind galaxy,” Krok says, watching you clasp your hands together, avoiding their optics. “And you’re very soft.” Too soft. Too gentle. Anxiously clicking at the device in his hand, he’s almost tempted to tell Fulcrum to stay with you even though they need him. Primus knows Misfire can’t hit anything, Spinister gets distracted with his own shadow, and Crankcase sometimes freezes. “You can’t be soft out here.” Because you won’t survive and they need you here with them. Looking after their own because they’re all they each have and you’re part of that.

• “Try not to find a stupid way to die,” Misfire adds, reaching to gently flip your hair into your face. Grinning when you scowl at him, but don’t offer the rude hand gesture. You’ve been very careful not to do that anymore, he’s noticed. No longer interested in them? Or just embarrassed now that they know it’s an offer?

• Worried, you watch them gather their gear which mostly seems to be a small armory’s worth of guns and leave you behind on the console with a blaster you’re not even sure you’re strong enough to pull the trigger on. Rubbing your hands against your arms, you walk toward the edge of the console to sit and nearly fall flat on your face. Something has you by the leg and you yelp when you slide into an awkward sit on your hip, leg and foot in the air. You’re stuck to the alien equivalent of duct tape, one corner of it having rolled slightly. Swearing you try to pull loose, the stuff not budging at all. Awkwardly pulling yourself up, you hiss as your shirt sleeve gets stuck. And panic claws at you as you think of glue traps. Of small animals getting stuck and suffocating themselves trying to get loose. “Spin! Krok! Misfire?” You scream.

• Returning to the ship a full rotation later, it’s a relief to see it intact. The ramp still closed. Fulcrum vents as he follows Misfire inside, almost walking into the other con when he stops suddenly. And starts laughing. Leaning to look, he grimaces and shoves past Misfire. Because you’re half naked, your lower covering stuck to the tape, your upper cover hooked around your neck, the sleeve also stuck and the ends of your hair caught in the tape so you’re bent over at an awkward looking angle. Hearing them, your head turns and you’re leaking, making a hitching sound that sobers Misfire immediately. Both of them coming over. “Shh, it’s okay. Primus. How do we get you loose without hurting you?” Fulcrum asks, servos ghosting over you as you sob.

• “Tiny!” Spinister roars as soon as he spots you, rushing to get at you only to be stopped by Crankcase and Krok seizing his arms. “Let go!” Straining to get free as he drags them toward you. You’re in pain, hurting. That noise you’re making twisting unpleasantly in his spark as Krok hooks an arm around his neck. “Calm down, if you try to yank them loose you’ll hurt them,” Krok snarls as he’s dragged by the much bigger mech.

• “Cut me loose, please,” you whimper, neck, back and legs aching from the position you’re trapped in. Hear Spin howling as he fights against the other two then a thump and swearing. You’d tried to tear your hair loose for hours, but only ended up making it worse. And now you can’t stop bawling like a baby. Sniffling as Misfire produces a blade and then hesitates, expression almost stricken. “I’m sorry,” he says and then he’s sawing at your hair, trying to not take off too much. Fulcrum catching you when you pull loose from your shirt and fall backwards, legs tingling with pins and needles. “Does it hurt?” Slumped in Fulcrum’s palm, you look up at Misfire and it takes a moment to figure out what he’s talking about, taken by surprise by how miserable he looks.

• “I don’t feel it when my hair is cut, hun,” you say, just lying there. And he puts the blade away, wanting to reach for you as his optics slide to the tape you’d gotten caught on. Realizing what would have happened if you’d kept struggling, if you’d panicked trying to get free. That you’d have died there and it shocks through him how ridiculously fragile you are. Reaching to tip your flushed face up, watching your eyes leak, he feathers his servos against you to feel the frantic pounding of your heart. “Where’s Spin?” You ask, voice ragged. Glancing back, he winces. Growling a warning when Fulcrum turns with you cupped in his hands so you can see Spinister sprawled on the floor when Krok or Crankcase had decked him to keep him from freaking out and accidentally making things worse. “Spin!”

#transformers x reader #idw scavengers x reader #idw krok #idw fulcrum #idw misfire #idw spinister #idw crankcase

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thoughtfulfiction · 2 days ago

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The P Word

Author’s Note: Two fics in two days?

In 2013, Joe sent a dm to a recruiting analyst for scout.com, asking which camps he should attend because he was flying under the national radar.

Most four star recruits get about 20 college offers. He had 12.

At Ohio State he sat on the bench for three years, only gaining attention as a scout team player who would later have to graduate in three years just so he could transfer and get some playing time elsewhere.

That same scout team player would become the best player in college football and a Heisman trophy winner and the number one pick in the 2020 NFL Draft. A few years after that fateful private message to Dave Burk.

Robin Burrow had been there the entire time. Through every shining moment and the times that seemed rather dark. She drove two hours to do his laundry just to make sure he was physically and mentally healthy when he lived in Columbus, has attended every game since he began playing sports, made him snickers salad when he tore his ACL…and when he tore his scapholunate ligament in his wrist. All in all, she’s been a constant presence in the midst of all of the mayhem. To be frank, there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be than between him and anything that could possibly serve to harm him or cause him any pain, no matter how old he is.

That included protecting him from himself.

The last few months had been filled with joy. After the news of his engagement, the wedding planning process had been smooth. You and Robin along with your mom, had gone to several appointments together and Joe had even added his input in most of the details without you feeling like you had to twist his arm and force him to participate.

You were now in the home stretch of the most important day of your lives. Less than two months from now you’d be saying “I do” to the love of your life. And Robin had taken her role as future mother in-law very seriously. You knew that Joe was a mama’s boy, his brothers much older than him with their own mom, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was Robin’s pride and joy. But not in a creepy way that would get them to star in a TLC show. It was just very evident that she was proud of him and his achievements and that she didn’t mess around when it came down to business.

After one of your dress fittings, she pulled you aside. “There’s one quick thing I need to mention to you. You’ll be getting a formal document in the mail in the next few days. Nothing huge, just a formality that Peter and the team drafted up for you to sign. I hate the word prenup but that’s essentially what this is.” She said in a matter of fact way. “We just need to make sure to dot our i’s and cross our t’s if that makes sense. Get the boring stuff out of the way so that we can focus on showering you and Joey with our love on your special day.”

“No that makes complete sense, just send it over and I’ll sign whatever you need me to. Thank you Robin seriously, for everything. You’ve made planning this entire thing a breeze.”

She shakes her head with a genuine smile, giving you a warm hug. “This has been an honor, I’m so happy for the both of you sweetie. I’ll see you in a few days for brunch at your house? The kids are so excited they won’t stop talking about it.”

“Yes absolutely, I can’t wait either it’s been so long since we’ve gotten both families together it’ll be really fun.”

There weren’t many opportunities for your family to interact with Joe’s and vice versa, unless everyone met at a football game but that wasn’t exactly quality family bonding. That felt more like a collective screaming match where the adults pregamed with beer and the kids wore his jersey. Most of them didn’t really know what was going on in the actual game. So you and Joe were going to host both sets of parents, all of your siblings and their kids in order for everyone to really spend time together before the wedding.

A few days later, you were finalizing the menu with the catering company when Joe came home.

“It’s gonna be like Cheaper by the Dozen in here tomorrow,” he notes, grabbing a Body Armour from the fridge. “Are we sure we’re ready for this?”

“We kinda have to be. Should we do smoked salmon or shrimp crostinis?” You held up one of each and let him examine them. He snagged the salmon one first and took a bite then did the same with the shrimp.

“Definitely the salmon. What time is everyone getting here?” The catering people jot down their last notes and head out the door after you and Joe thanked them.

You could tell he was going to need time to mentally prepare in case he got overstimulated. “They’ll be here at 1pm, so you can probably get an early workout in and take a nap afterwards,” walking over to him on the other side of the counter, holding his face in your hands. “I know you get cranky when you’re tired and Uncle Joe needs to be at his best tomorrow because the kids will need a QB for their flag football game.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, sticking out his lips that are begging to be kissed. You happily grant his wish, pressing your lips against his, giving him a quick smooch. He asks for a few more, about to get lost in a full make out session when a stack of papers on the counter catch his eye. Joe pulls back so abruptly that your face smacks against his chest.

“Sorry baby,” he cradles your head, reaching around you to grab the piece of paper that’s on top. You take that as your cue to go after his second apology for nearly giving you a concussion. That chest is a brick wall.

The more he skims the words, the tighter his grip gets on the little sheet and the confused look on his face deepens. “Um…what is this?”

“What is what?” You give him a look that matches his energy.

He holds up the paper. “This. What is this? Where did you get it from?”

You look around the room to make sure you aren’t getting Punk’d. “Wait—are you being serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking,” it wasn’t a question. He’s legitimately starting to look upset. “Who gave this to you?”

“Joe,” you let out a dry chuckle, “your mom did. Said it was a formality and that I should sign it and give it to her so she can hand it off to Peter so your lawyers can process it.” When your fiancé continues to stand there motionless in the middle of the room, that’s when it hits you. “Did—did you not know about this?”

He usually has something to say about everything, so watching him silently shake his head is a little scary. Joe places the first page of the prenuptial agreement on the table with a heavy sigh, visibly trying to compose himself. The man had the patience of a saint, known to have blow ups on the field but that was Football Joe. Off the field Joe was calm and rarely ever let things get to him. You’d probably only heard him yell twice in the entire time you’ve been together. And now he was dead quiet. You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Joe, your mom is just trying to protect you. Get this out of the way so that we can—”

“Please don’t try to defend her right now,” his tone was laced with venom, a seething anger you hadn’t seen before and weren’t too keen on getting familiar with. “I don’t like that this was just drafted, printed and handed to you without my permission. She and Peter shouldn’t have done that. And my mom definitely shouldn’t have ambushed you with this.”

Now he was being dramatic. “Robin didn’t ambush me! She told me a couple days ago and I thought you knew so I didn’t mention it.”

“I would never do that to you,” he says with a pain in his voice that makes your chest clench. “WE, you and I should be talking about this. Not my mom and Peter. Jesus.” He rested his arms on the counter, running his hands through his hair.

You hated seeing him get worked up like this, crossing the room again to place a comforting hand on his back. “Why don’t you talk to her tomorrow, I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you. She most likely just thought she would do this for you so you didn’t need to worry about it.”

“That’s the thing, this isn’t something she should be doing for me. We’re getting married. You’re going to be my wife. There’s no reason she needs to be handing you documents on my behalf like you’re some fucking stranger. I don’t care how ‘busy’ I am. You come first.” You can feel the tension in his muscles even when he stands up to his normal height. He’s really trying to keep it together, giving you an empty kiss on the cheek before heading into his office to cool off. An hour later you head up to check on him, assuming he has his headphones on and can’t hear you, you find that the door is locked.

Tomorrow’s brunch is going to be very interesting to say the least.

Joe surprised you by being in bed by the time you came upstairs to get ready to go to sleep. You thought for sure he’d be on a run to clear his mind. As soon as you climbed in next to him he put his phone away, wrapping his arms around you and giving your body a squeeze.

Whatever private meeting he had with himself must have done the trick because he was actually letting you be the big spoon for once. His touch was soft and intentional, the previously icy aura was liquified and only warm and cuddly Joe remained. “Are you okay?” You asked him and he nodded without looking at you. He just interlocked your fingers in his before sitting up.

“Switch me.” You knew the little spoon wouldn’t last long. “That’s better,” he sighs kissing your head, feeling at home with your arm draped across his waist.

After a few seconds of silence he mutters, “I’m so sorry this is happening. Are you sure you want to sign up for a lifetime of this?”

You look up to meet Joe’s gaze to see if he’s trying to be funny. “A lifetime of you? I can’t think of anything I would want more. The rest of it is just extra, the good and the bad. As long as I have you I don’t care.”

His shoulders sag once again in relief, “good.” Joe peppers a few kisses on your neck, making his way up to your jaw, taking his sweet time until he got to your lips. A joyous hum leaves his mouth as the kiss grows deeper, each swipe of his tongue against yours makes you feel dizzy…love drunk. Nothing compares to the way that Joe kisses you, sensually careful but hungry at the same time, almost as if this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do. This kiss is different, it’s a promise to always protect you, to never let the outside noise sway what his heart knows is true. He’s found the one person in the world that consistently makes his heart sing and no one—not even his mom—will have the final say. And he was going to make that very clear.

When Joe sluggishly came down the stairs the next day rubbing his eyes after his nap wearing a hoodie and cargo pants, you were just thankful he wasn’t in sweats.

“Hi there Sleeping Beauty, I’ve already gotten a few texts that most of them are about five minutes out.”

“Great,” he grunts, parking himself on the couch, “I’m starving,” he scoots around trying to subtly adjust himself.

Joe stares at you , running his hand down your thigh. “Hungry…for food right?” You give him a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah for food. What did you think I meant?” He laughs as he catches the pillow you launch his way and scoot far enough away that he can’t grab you.

“Don’t. Today really needs to be a stress free day. Can you promise you will be nice and not yell at your mother?” And with that statement he is no longer in the mood.

“I will not yell at my mom,” he crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl only like a youngest child could. “Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Before you can negotiate any further the doorbell rings and your first guests arrive. Nieces and nephews come running in, suffocating you with hugs and the youngest one tugging at Joe’s legs demanding to be picked up. Less than 30 minutes later the entire backyard is filled with kids playing tag, drinking juice boxes while the adults enjoyed the appetizer spread.

Joe wasn’t making it blatantly obvious that he was mad but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either. He kept the greeting with his parents short, keeping his distance throughout the afternoon focused on entertaining the kids and playing the perfect host.

“I just realized I never asked,” Codie, one of Joe’s sister in laws speaks up. “Where are you two going for your honeymoon?”

“Bora Bora! I can’t wait,” you respond, topping off her wine glass.

His brother Dan’s ears perk up. “We were thinking about going there for an anniversary trip. Are you guys staying in a resort?”

Joe shakes his head, “I got us an underwater bungalow. The view is supposed to be insane.”

“Yeah I bet,” your dad notes.

“Take lots of pictures,” his dad adds in.

He waits for a second taking a mental note of his mom’s silence throughout the conversation, nudging you to make sure that you’re on the same page. By the time everyone was gone you needed something stronger than wine. Robin and your mom insisted on helping you clean up but you let them know that the caterers were coming back to grab everything. As you bid your family goodbye and thanked them for coming, your mom whispered in your ear, letting you know that the man inside was a keeper. You responded by telling her you intended on keeping him.

Once the door was fully closed you could breathe a sigh of relief…until you heard Robin ask Joe what was going on with him.

Here we go.

Joe didn’t respond. He just went up to his office and came right back down with the prenup in hand. “Care to explain?”

“Oh,” she looked rather unfazed, “Peter and I thought that—”

“And that’s where you went wrong,” Joe interrupts, voice surprisingly even. “You and Peter don’t get to ‘think.’ You don’t get to do whatever you ‘think’ I need. You have to ask me.”

You can tell she’s visibly taken aback at how this has gone. “It was not at all my intention to go behind your back. You’re just very busy and now with wedding planning and everything else, it just made sense to get it put into place so you’d have one less thing to worry about.”

“Mom, I get that. But you crossed the line here. I’m an adult who would’ve liked to have a mature conversation with the person I am going to marry about a topic that is extremely uncomfortable for everyone. It is not your job to play the middle man here. There is no middle man. This is between y/n and I.”

The tension in the air was getting a little too thick for your liking. You stood next to Joe, running your hand down his arm trying to diffuse the situation as much as possible. “Okay I think you’ve made your point. Robin, I am not at all upset with you, this can all be resolved rather—”

“I am upset with you mom. There was no reason to hand over that document without at least giving me a phone call,” Joe counters, starting to stand in front of you a bit like he’s physically shielding you from her.

“Now Joey I don’t think your mom meant any harm,” Joe’s dad speaks up seeing his wife almost in tears. “Why don’t we all just take a breather here.”

You nod in agreement.

“I’m so sorry, to both of you. In hindsight that wasn’t the best way to go about it but like you said this is uncomfortable. I thought keeping it casual would remove some of that awkwardness and I just made it worse. I really am sorry.”

Joe still seemed unmoved but you really didn’t think she needed to apologize this much. He just told her he appreciated the sentiments but that she needs to recognize that’s he’s an adult, telling them goodnight and immediately heading upstairs.

You’re left to walk them out alone, giving them both hugs goodbye. “Honey I’m so sorry,” Robin states again, “I never want you to think that I don’t love you or that I was intentionally going behind Joe’s back. I was just making sure we have all of our bases covered so we aren’t sweating the small stuff on your big day. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You’re totally fine, I understand. And I agree. I think he just got a little freaked out at the reminder that his life is abnormal. He wants things to be simple and sometimes they just aren’t. That probably stressed him out a little. Or a lot.”

It feels good to leave their tense interaction with her smiling. Even though it didn’t reach her eyes like usual, it was still a small step forward.

“How can you not be upset about this?” Joe asks after brushing his teeth.

You focused on what was going on at your sink, taking your time to complete your skincare routine. “Because I see where both of you are coming from. You have every right to be angry at her for doing this behind your back. But at the same time I understand why she feels like she should get a jump on protecting your assets.”

“Protect my assets…” he scoffs, “…from you? What’s mine is going to be yours.” He hands you a towel after you wash your face, having memorized the steps at this point.

“Yeah ok, legally. But your accomplishments and accolades are yours. That’s how you got here and your mom saw all the blood, sweat and tears that went into you being in the position you are today. She may have overstepped a little but you’re still her baby at then end of the day and sometimes it’s hard for them to recognize that they have adult children who are fully capable of making their own decisions.” He grabs the moisturizer off the counter and places it in your hand as you laugh, whispering thank you. “My mom has done the same to me, not to this extent obviously because we’re in completely different tax brackets but—they just want to make sure we’re okay no matter what.”

Joe leans against the counter, deep in thought. Growing up with his dad coaching it was usually just the two of them, she drove him to basketball and football practices and tournaments, took him to school and worked the entire day at school and came home still ready to dedicate all of her time to him if he asked. “I was too harsh wasn’t I?”

“A teeny bit? Maybe? I do thoroughly appreciate you looking out for me though. Going to bat for me against your mom of all people.”

He shrugs, giving you a hug from behind, resting his chin on your head. “She protects me so somebody’s gotta protect you. That’s what I’m signing up for and I promise to always take that job very seriously.” I should put that in my vows, he tells himself. He leans over a little more to press a kiss against your temple.

“Is that a promise?”

“That is a promise,” he holds out a pinky, making you gasp as you turn around.

“Isn’t a pinky shake you and Ja’Marr’s thing?”

Joe looks at you sheepishly, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

You lock your pinky in his, kissing the smile off of his face.

That night before he went to sleep, he texted his mom telling her that he loved her. You gave them privacy when she came over the next day, smiling and hugging it out so you assumed everything went well. You hoped to have open communication with your kids even as adults one day, but did not envy the journey that your parents were constantly navigating. This once tiny person you created and had to make sure to teach them everything was now not only getting married and had established their own life but in Joe’s case everything was heightened. She’s been there through her son being the overlooked player who Urban Meyer said threw like a girl to now if he so much as has a paper cut an entire city of people, a whole fanbase is worried and asking for minute by minute updates on his condition. You couldn’t imagine the whirlwind that must be.

So you were going to sign that prenup whether Joe liked it or not.

“We need to decide on bridal party gifts,” Joe suggests a week later. “I was thinking about getting the guys customized golf carts. They could be delivered straight to their houses after the wedding or I could have them dropped off the day we get and they can drive around the property whenever they need to get somewhere? What sounds better?”

“It sounds like you’ve had this very specific plan and just couldn’t wait to make your big announcement. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Joe laughs, grabbing his water. “You can give them all Cartier bracelets, have the wedding date engraved on the inside. That’d be pretty cool.”

Cool and expensive. “Don’t do that, I can actually hear what you’re thinking.” Curse him for knowing you so well. We’re only gonna do this once, might as well do it right. Make it a great experience for everyone we love.”

“Fine. You’re right. But we are not doing an ice sculpture then.” He gives you a blank stare but says nothing, both of you know that it’ll be coming back up sooner rather than later. “There is something else we need to talk about though.”

He rolls his eyes, deciding this is the perfect time to get up and put his plate in the sink, like you can’t just follow him. “We really don’t have to do this.”

“Oh but we do. Joe seriously we’re gonna have to figure this out. It’s important.”

He lets out a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before putting his eyes back on you. “I’m just uncomfortable with any conversation that plans a breakup. I don’t ever want to breakup.”

“Then let’s not breakup and we won’t even have to worry about any of this. We’ll discuss the details, I’ll sign it and we’ll never talk about it ever again. Deal?”

You place a hand on his cheek and he kisses the inside of your hand before he speaks. “Deal. I can’t wait to marry you. Even got a countdown on my phone.”

“That’s probably the single most adorable thing you’ve ever said.” He pulls his phone out to show you a countdown app with a timer down to the hour the ceremony is supposed to start. A picture from your engagement shoot is set as the background. “I can’t wait either. I love you, so much.”

“I love you more.”

#Joe burrow #Joe burrow x reader #Joe burrow imagine #Joe burrow fic

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the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

Text

Say Don't Go | Part 6

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Asshole steve, angst, i think a swear or 2 lol

Masterpost

----

The crowd’s energy had shifted from electric to chaotic in an instant. Cheers had turned into murmurs of confusion, and the tension in the arena now felt suffocating. Your camera hung useless around your neck as you watched the scene unfold. Steve and Bucky were being dragged off the ice, both bloodied, jerseys disheveled. You barely registered the referee’s whistle cutting through the air or the crowd’s scattered boos as your focus remained on them.

Bucky’s head hung low, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t look back. But then he did. His blue eyes locked on yours across the chaos, filled with something raw—shame, regret, fear. He held your gaze for a heartbeat, and then he turned away, jaw tightening as the locker room swallowed him.

Beside you, Natasha had gone still, her sharp gaze cutting between the ice and the exit. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her arms crossed tightly.

“What the hell was that?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crowd’s restless noise.

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look at you. “That,” she said, her voice low and clipped, “was Steve losing his shit. And Bucky letting him.”

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in your throat. “You told him,” you said, your voice cracking. “You told Steve.”

Natasha finally looked at you, her expression unreadable. “He deserved to know.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her. “Nat, I trusted you.” Your voice wavered, the tremor undeniable.

Her face softened, regret flickering across her features. “I didn’t think he’d—” She cut herself off, her head snapping toward the exit. “Come on.”

You didn’t have time to argue before Natasha grabbed your arm, pulling you through the maze of hallways under the arena. The distant sound of the crowd faded, replaced by the unmistakable sound of yelling—a voice you knew too well. Steve’s voice, sharp and furious, echoed down the corridor.

By the time you reached the locker room, the shouting had quieted, replaced by muffled voices and the clang of something heavy hitting the floor. Natasha pressed her back against the wall, her body tense, ready for a fight.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run.

Natasha glanced at you, her expression unreadable. “If we’re not here, Steve’s going to say something worse than he probably already did, and Bucky’s going to do something even stupider. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

You stared at the closed door, each muffled sound twisting the knot in your stomach tighter. Before you could decide whether to stay or run, the door slammed open. His gaze landed on you like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

“Stevie—” you started, voice trembling, but he shook his head sharply.

“Not now,” he snapped, his voice cold and clipped. “Go home, Bee. I’m not playing right now.”

The nickname, one that had always felt warm and comforting, now felt like a knife to the chest. You flinched, taking a step back, but he wasn’t done. His gaze burned into you, his words cutting deeper than any wound.

“You know,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “I told you not to get involved with him. I told you this would happen. But you couldn’t listen, could you?”

“Steve, I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Didn’t think about how this would affect me? Didn’t think about the team? Or didn’t think at all?”

"Steve, that’s enough,” Natasha said sharply, stepping between you.

But Steve wasn’t finished. He glared at her, frustration boiling over. “Don’t, Nat. You started this when you told me!"

Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise, but Steve had already turned his attention back to you. With his gaze back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and something darker, something that looked almost like betrayal. He shook his head and let out a bitter laugh.

“You know,” he started, his voice eerily calm, “I hate to say it but you deserve this, all of it, you just couldn't keep your legs closed! And now look where we are.”

Your chest tightened, guilt and confusion tangling together. “Steve, I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” he scoffed, his voice rising. “You’re sorry? You really had to fall for the first guy who looked your way, didn’t you?”

You felt the blood drain from your face, the words hitting harder than any punch. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “That’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Fair?” he scoffed. “You want to talk about fair? I’ve spent my whole life looking out for you, Bee. I’ve done everything I could to protect you. And this—” He gestured wildly, his voice cracking. “This is how you repay me?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. Steve had never spoken to you like this, never thrown your insecurities back at you. Tears stung your eyes, but you fought them back, swallowing hard.

“Steve, what the hell!” Natasha interjected, stepping fully between you and him now.

But Steve ignored her, his focus unwavering. “He’s my co-captain, Y/N. He’s on my team! We’re a team! He’s my friend. And you—” His voice cracked, but he pushed through, letting out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t have to sleep with him!”

His words hung in the air like a poison, suffocating and undeniable.

“Steve, stop!” Natasha’s voice was sharp now, her hand reaching for his arm, but he pulled away.

He turned to you one last time, his shoulders slumping slightly as if he had drained himself of his anger. His voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. “You couldn’t just listen, could you? I don’t ask much of you. I bend over backward for you, Bee, always have and unfortunately always will! It's that stupid trauma bond isn't it?!" He laughed "But I guess that was too much to ask.”

Steve!” Natasha snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. “That’s enough.”

But Steve just shook his head, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his anger had finally drained him. His next words were quieter, but no less cutting. “I hope it was worth it.”

He didn’t wait for a response, turning and storming down the hallway without a backward glance. The sound of his footsteps echoed long after he disappeared, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

Natasha’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you. “Don’t listen to him,” she said softly.

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “You should go after him,” you murmured. “He needs you.”

Natasha hesitated, her gaze lingering on you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just… could you text me later? Let me know how he is?”

Her hesitation was brief, but then she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll check in.” She gave you one last look before nodding and heading after Steve, leaving you alone in the empty hallway.

And then she was gone, leaving you alone in the empty hallway. You stood there for a moment, the walls around you closing in, the weight of Steve’s words settling heavily on your chest.

Your hands trembled as you braced yourself against the wall, staring at the floor as tears finally broke free, hot and unrelenting. Steve’s words replayed in your mind, each one sharper than the last, each one carving deeper into the ache that had already taken root.

The silence was deafening. The ache in your chest unbearable.

--------

The locker room felt like a prison, the flickering fluorescent lights casting jagged shadows across the walls, the dripping faucet in the corner echoing louder than it should have. Bucky sat hunched on the bench, his hands still trembling, his knuckles raw and split from the fight. Blood crusted over his lip, mingling with the sweat that clung to his skin. His heart pounded relentlessly, the adrenaline from the brawl refusing to dissipate, as though his body was stuck in fight-or-flight mode.

The memory of Steve’s words reverberated through his skull like a hammer striking an anvil.

“You deserve this, all of it, you just couldn't keep your legs closed!"

Even now, it made his stomach churn. He’d heard venom in Steve’s voice before, but never like this—not directed at you. The implication of those words cut deeper than any punch Steve had landed.

Bucky clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He’d sat there, silent and frozen, as Steve’s words lashed out at you like a whip. He could still hear your voice—quieter, almost pleading—trying to defend yourself against something that wasn’t even true.

And he hadn’t stepped in. He hadn’t opened his mouth to stop it. Not to defend you. Not to admit the truth. Not to own up to what he should have said days ago. Instead, he let the silence bury you, bury him on the other side of the wall.

The locker room door creaked open, snapping him out of his thoughts. He half expected to see you there, standing in the doorway with tears in your eyes, ready to demand answers. But it was just one of the assistant coaches, face flushed with fury, jaw tight with barely restrained anger.

“Barnes,” the coach barked, his voice sharp and grating. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was out there?”

Bucky didn’t lift his head, his gaze glued to the floor where blood had pooled.

The coach’s footsteps thundered closer. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Slowly, Bucky raised his head, his eyes hollow and rimmed with exhaustion. He didn’t have the energy for this—not when his mind was already tearing itself apart.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice came out hoarse, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears.

“I want you to explain why two of my captains were throwing punches at each other in front of Goddamn everyone! You’ve got teammates out there looking up to you, Barnes. You think they saw leadership on that ice?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, the coach’s words bouncing off his mental walls without really sinking in. Leadership? That wasn’t what this was about. This wasn’t about hockey, or the team, or the stupid game they’d lost because of the fight. It was about you.

“It’s personal,” he muttered after a long pause, his voice flat.

“Personal?” The coach let out a bitter laugh. “You’re on the ice. Nothing’s personal out there! You leave that shit in the parking lot, or you don’t play. You hear me?”

Bucky nodded mutely, his mind already slipping away again.

“I’m serious, Barnes. You’re hanging by a thread right now! God the press is just gonna love this! Don’t bother showing up to practice Monday if you can’t get your head out of your ass..... I swear to fuck if this is over a girl Barnes!" The door slammed shut behind the coach, and silence once again swallowed the room.

Bucky stared down at his hands, at the blood caked under his nails, at the faint tremor in his fingers. He hated the feeling building in his chest—the guilt, the shame, the crushing weight of knowing that you deserved so much better than what he’d given you.

The fight with Steve replayed again, every punch like a snapshot burned into his memory. Steve’s rage had been justified, Bucky knew that. He wasn’t angry at Steve for what he’d said or done. He deserved all of it. But it wasn’t Steve’s voice that haunted him—it was the memory of yours.

The way you’d hesitated, as if you weren’t even sure you could believe your own defense. The way your voice had wavered, so quiet, like you didn’t think it mattered.

God, he’d done that to you.

The locker room walls felt like they were closing in as Bucky finally dragged himself to his feet. The shower water was scalding as it hit his skin, but he didn’t move. He let it burn, let it sting his battered body. Maybe it was penance. Maybe he deserved to feel every ounce of the pain he’d caused you.

As he stood under the stream, he imagined you walking out that door. Were you crying? Angry? Hurt? Had you stayed to listen to Steve, or had you run before he could make things worse? He didn’t know which was worse—the thought of you believing Steve’s words, or the thought of you knowing they were lies but doubting him anyway.

By the time he was dressed and ready to leave, the locker room was empty. The muffled sounds of the crowd had long since faded, replaced by a suffocating stillness. His bag hung heavy over his shoulder as he walked toward the door, pausing just before pushing it open.

For a moment, he thought about going to find you. Maybe you were still outside, maybe you were waiting for him, hoping for an explanation. But then reality crashed down on him like a tidal wave. What good would an explanation do? He couldn’t erase what had happened. He couldn’t erase what he hadn’t done.

He sank back onto the bench, his head in his hands, his heart heavy with the weight of what he’d lost.

The truth was simple, and it crushed him: He’d already lost you, and it was his fault.

Everything was always his fault.

-----

You stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway outside the locker room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if you could hold yourself together. But you couldn’t. Steve’s words wouldn’t stop echoing in your head, each syllable landing like a slap:

“You really had to fall for the first guy who looked your way.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the sting of tears or the ache in your chest. Steve had never spoken to you like that before—never been so cruel, so deliberately cutting. He hadn’t just questioned your judgment; he’d dismissed your worth entirely.

Natasha’s earlier attempt to console you felt like a distant memory now. You weren’t sure if you wanted her to come back, or if you wanted anyone to see you like this—raw and shattered, barely holding on.

The locker room door creaked open, the sound pulling you back into the present. Your heart dropped as Bucky stepped out, his movements sluggish, his face a mess of bruises and exhaustion. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rough, like he’d been screaming—or crying. "You're still here?"

You stared at him, your gaze flitting over his split lip, the blood still crusted on his knuckles. He looked…wrecked. But worse than the physical damage was the way his eyes begged you for something you couldn’t give—not tonight.

You wanted to reach for him. God, you wanted to. But in the end you really weren't ever anything, right? You flirted here and there, lingering looks and subtle touches all leading to the night at the party but you were never actually anything to him. The weight of everything—the fight, Steve’s words, the humiliation—kept you rooted in place, a wall of silence between you.

“I—” he started, then faltered. His hand raked through his damp hair, and for a moment, he looked utterly lost. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling. It hurt to say it, but it would hurt more to listen.

His head shot up, panic flashing in his eyes. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t try to explain,” you choked out, barely holding back a sob. “Not tonight. I can’t—I can’t do this right now.”

He took a hesitant step forward, his hand half-reaching for you. “Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just…let me explain. Let me make this right.”

“No,” you snapped, sharper this time. Your anger surged, hot and unstoppable, breaking through the pain. “Do you have any idea what it felt like? Hearing them laugh about me? Hearing you say nothing? Standing there, letting them think I’m just nothing? And talking me down? Talking down an intimate moment, I just .... it meant something to me, you meant something to me, I don't just sleep with anyone, I thought... Never mind, it doesn't matter anyway, Im just just fucking stupid”

“I didn’t—” He flinched, his shoulders hunching as if bracing for impact. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“You didn’t mean what?” you demanded, your voice rising. “You didn’t mean to stand there and let them tear me apart? You didn’t mean to hurt me? What, Bucky? What didn’t you mean?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your laugh came out bitter, hollow. “That’s what I thought.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand!” you yelled, the words bursting out before you could stop them. “Say something that makes this make sense because, right now, I feel like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet for ever trusting you!”

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

And that silence—it broke something in you.

Your voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “I thought you were different, Bucky. I really did. But you’re just like the rest of them. All talk, all charm, and when it matters? Nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Why not?” You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “No. It’s not. You’re—God, you’re everything, Y/N. I just…I screwed up. I know I did, but you have to believe me—”

“I don’t have to do anything,” you said, cutting him off. “Not for you. Not anymore.”

His face crumpled, the fight draining out of him as he took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words trembling with sincerity.

But it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

“Me too,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I thought you could be better.”

With that, you turned and walked away, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. You didn’t dare look back.

Bucky stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where you’d been. The silence pressed down on him like a physical weight, the hollow ache in his chest spreading until it felt like it might swallow him whole.

He leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold tile floor. His head dropped into his hands, and for a long moment, he just sat there, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to do anything but feel.

But it was impossible.

The memory of your face, the way your voice had cracked, the tears in your eyes—it was unbearable. And worse, the memory of the locker room—his teammates laughing, the vile things they’d said about you—played on a loop in his mind.

He hadn’t laughed with them. He hadn’t joined in. But he hadn’t stopped them either. And that was just as bad.

“I’m such a fucking coward,” he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing.

He thought about running after you, about begging you to let him explain, to let him fix this. But what could he say? How could he even begin to make up for what he’d done—or hadn’t done?

The truth was, he didn’t deserve you. He never had. He knew that.

And now, he’d finally proven it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader angst

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nieceeee · 2 days ago

Text

MY LITTLE SECRET

Ony x reader

P/S: You and Ony had never really solidified your relationship with one another. It was all "my man my man my man" when yall were alone but in public, nobody knew the dirty little secret you shared. Not even Ony's little girlfriend. So when he pulls up to the party with her on his arm, will you be able to keep that secret under wraps? If he doesn't tell, you won't tell..

A/N: Angst. I heard the song and went with it. I DONT CONDONE CHEATING! I don't usually write hard angst so this is an interesting one for sure so let me know what you think. MNDI, small smut section in the beginning.

“Fuck Ony. Right there.”

You whine out in ecstasy. His lips pressed against your neck, peppering kisses all over you as his hips piston into you, tip driving into your cervix. You had been going at it for at least two hours. The way he fucked you, you would think you were mortal enemies. Your manicured nails dip crevices into his back and he strokes you deep. “Ony f-fuck baby please.” You beg. You have no clue what you’re actually begging for but you cry out anyway. “Take that shit mamas, I know you can.” He encourages as he fucks you. Your body is on the brink of collapse but you hold on for dear life as you ride out another orgasm. Pussy clenching tight against his length, you convulse as clear liquid spills out of you splashing against you both.

Ony slows his hips but stays sheathed inside of you as you lock eyes. “Fuck.” you breath out. “You good?” he asks with a slick smile plastered across his face. You roll your eyes at him too weak to push him off. After a few breaths, he rises up from the bed and steps into the bathroom. Your eyes get heavy and you fight to keep them open as he reappears with a towel. He presses it between your legs and cleans you up as you fight the sleep calling you. You’re jolted awake once again at the sound of his phone ringing.

“Shit.” you hear him mumble. “Aye I got to head out.” he whispers at you. You roll over to find him already out of the bed, walking to pick up his clothes from the floor. You take the time to look at his frame, enjoying the view.

“So am I going to see you later?” You ask him. He plants a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t know yet. But I’ll hit you up if something changes.” You lay there and watch as he gathers his things and walks towards the door to leave. “See you.” Only calls out as he steps out. You cuddle back down into your covers and allow yourself to fall back asleep.

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

“Bitch hurry the fuck up!” Your best friend yells from the living room. You roll your eyes and finish applying your gloss to your lips. After Ony had left, you ended up sleeping off the rest of your sex coma. You were woken up a few hours later to your best friend beating on your door going on and on about some house party she wanted you both to attend. Your body was screaming no but for some reason, you stood here 2 hours later with a beat face and a new outfit. You take the time to admire your body in the mirror and the way the sleek black outfit accentuated all your features. After another once over, you slipped into your shoes and headed out your bedroom door.

“Okay, bitch. How do I look?” you ask her as you step into your living room. She looks you up and down before a wide smile breaks across her face. “OKAY! Body tea! Hair long!” she hypes you up. You laugh to yourself and shake your head at her antics. “Girl, you so fucking over the top. Come on before I change my mind. You know I’m tired.” you say. “Ain’t nobody tell you to let that nigga ram you into the mattress. That's your own doing.” You laugh again as you follow her to her car.

Yall pull up to a house on the outskirts of town. Car littered the yard and bodies were scattered in between. “Damn, who house is this?” you say as yall walk up. “Girl, Eren. His parents are away for the month so he been had this shit jumping for the past week. It's been party on party.” We walked to the front door and the music had the doors rattling.

The bass of the music thumped so hard you could feel the vibrations in your chest, the frame of the walls seeming to shake with each thump. Laughter, chatter, the clinking of bottles--it was all a blur, a swirl of unrecognizable faces circled you as your friend lead you deeper into the house. Energy surrounded you both immediately as you danced your way through the crowd. You tried to put your best face on for your friend but deep down, your feelings were all over. Ony hadn’t messaged you back since he left your house earlier that day and it was unlike him.

You tried not to think about it. You weren’t necessarily exclusive but there was…something. It was strange, not being able to be in his presence all the time. You chalked it up to good dick that had your head confused and focused on being present in the moment. You weren’t exactly expecting to see him but he at least could’ve messaged you back. “Bitch this party is crazy!” your best friend’s voice interrupts your thought pattern. “Yeah, this is some wild shit. White boy knows how to throw a house party.” you respond to her. “Come on let’s go get a drink. Then you can help me come up with an excuse to run into him.” she grabs your arm and pulls you. “Mikaaa. Just talk to him. You been feigning over this boy for too damn long.” you fuss at her. She shrugs as she grabs two solo cups and fill you both to the brim.

You are lost in the moment, enjoying yourself when it happens. You world comes crashing down on you as you turn to the door and see none other than Ony. His signature black tee and jordans fit paired with the same Ony chain that was dangling over your head earlier that day.

Your heart skipped a beat. But there was something else in your chest too. Something dark, something tangled, like you were holding your breath while the air between you two thickened. He had always had this effect on you—the way his broad frame filled the room, the way his deep brown eyes searched the crowd like he was looking for something—or someone. His presence had always been magnetic, but tonight, it felt like the gravity between you two had shifted.

Because as you stood there, getting lost in his presence, you finally registered it. He wasn't alone. She was there, hanging onto his arm. A subtle yet possessive touch as she grinned up at him. You felt a knot in your stomach as the liquor threatened to resurface. Her. His girlfriend. Or at least who everyone saw as his girlfriend. The girl who didn't know

About you. The late night phone calls. The stolen moments when no one was looking. The texts that only said “you good?” but meant so much more. The one was unaware of the nights when you and Ony were tangled in sheets, whispering each other’s names as if it meant something more. Like you said, yall weren’t exclusive. Honestly, the whole thing had been a secret from the jump. But you knew the truth: you shared something between you that was deeper than just physical. Those nights with him… the tenderness mixed with heat, the way he would hold you after, his breath warm against your skin, his hands tracing every inch of your body as if he were trying to memorize you.

Yet here he was. Casually conversing with his homeboys with an arm tossed over her shoulder. Laughing and smiling like nothing had ever happened between the two of you. And that thought alone let a very nasty taste in your mouth and lit fire underneath your skin. “You good boo?” a voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see Mikasa standing next to you, a raised eyebrow and a concerned look on her face. “Yeah, I’m straight,” you lied, though your heart was hammering in your chest. “Right,” she said with a smirk. “I can tell you’re real straight with all the space you’re putting between you and Ony. What's up with that?" You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. "Ain't nothing to it." Mikasa raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Well, if you say so. But I know you bestie. I'll find out sooner or later.”

Your eyes flickered back to Ony and her as they made their way deeper into the house. Attempting to calm your nerves, you down the rest of your cup but just before you turned to go get a refill, his eyes found you. His posture stiffened the moment your gazes locked, and he froze for a split second. The smile dropped from his face as his eyes darted to her and then back to you. You didn’t look away. You couldn’t. But there was no way to stop the sting in your chest, the way seeing him so easily with her hurt, like it was a fresh wound that hadn’t healed. You both stayed locked in for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was barely a minute. “Yo,” he called, his voice a little louder than it should’ve been as he excused himself from her side. He pushed through the crowd, making his way over to you, but the nervous energy in his steps was unmistakable. You break contact first, turning to Mikasa. She was chattering with Eren, finally using the liquid courage. “Hey boo, going to get a drink and step out. Got my lo on.” you whisper to her. She gives you a squeeze of concern but you offer a smile. “All good baby.” you say before walking away.

Ony tried to get to you but by the time he wormed his way over you were gone. “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath. “Aye Mika, you seen y/n?” he asks her. “Uh, she walked off to get a drink. I’m sure she will be back soon.” she smiles at him, completely unaware of the weight of the situation. He looks around for you, a hint of desperation in his gaze. But before he could walk off and search for you, she grabs him by the arm. “Ony baby. You okay? You left me over there?” she whines. Ony looks down at her, “Uh…yeah. I was just looking for a friend. But they’re gone.” he mumbled. His arm lazily loops around her as they walk into the den.

Later in the night, things were starting to get rowdy. The music had gotten louder, the dancing more erratic. You were standing by the wall, when someone approached you. “Hey beautiful, Care to dance with me?” a deep voice rang in your ears. You look up to see a tall man with blonde hair and honeyed golden eyes. “Names Reiner.” he smiles. You smile back, “Y/n and yes. I would love to dance with you.” you say. He leads you to an open space in the middle of the floor. Your fave twerk song comes on and you allow yourself to get lost in the music. Reiner was catching all you were throwing, thick hands wrapped around your waist. You could feel him pressing against your ass as you moved.

Unbeknownst to you, Ony also saw the way you were moving. Anger bubbled underneath his skin as he watched you. He was a fucking hypocrite. How the hell could he be mad at you for dancing with someone when his literal girlfriend was sitting on his lap, talking to his friends, “Ony?” she spoke, hand waving in front of his face. His eyes cut to her. “Did you hear me? I said I was going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” she had spoken to him. “Aight.” he snipped. She took her that as her queue and walked off, accompanied by another girl. “So, how long you been fucking y/n?” Eren’s question cuts through the music. Ony’s head snaps to him. “What?” he lets out. “I mean with the way you shooting daggers at Reiner, it's obvious to see.” Connie laughed through a cloud of smoke. Ony bit the inside of his jaw. “It's not like that.” he mumbled slinking down onto the couch. “You only fooling yourself but aight.”

You were in your own world. Body moving against Reiner as his hands caress your curves. You allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. “So, what do you think about getting out of here?” he leaned down into your ear. You smile but before you could answer, you were snatched up and pulled away from him. Ony dragged you around the corner and pressed you against the wall. “Ony, wha-...Have you lost your damn mind?!” you hiss. “Me?? You the one about to go home with a random ass nigga who was basically fucking you on the dance floor. You out YO mind?!” he snaps back, voice low. You let out a dry laugh. “That’s rich coming from a nigga here with his fucking girlfriend.” you spit out. His jaw clenched tightly as he stepped closer to you, invading your personal space. You hated the way your body reacted to his proximity.

He took a step closer, and your breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming, as it always was. His large frame was mere inches from yours now, the space between you too small, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You both stood in silence for a moment. “You good?” he asked after a while, voice quiet, almost too soft for the loud music. “I'm straight Ony. What do you want?,” you said, though it was a lie. You were miserable but there was no way in hell you would let it show. “Y/N I-... I'm just checking on you. Aight?” he spoke, his eyes darkening. You caught the shift in his mood immediately. Something was off with him tonight. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by an intensity you hadn’t seen before. Before you could ask him what was wrong, his hand brushed against yours, and the touch sent a shockwave through your body.

“I didn't expect it to happen like this.” he says softly. “I bet you didn’t. Don't want your girlfriend knowing our little secret, huh?” You took a slow sip of your drink, keeping your face neutral, but the words felt like they were burning in your throat. “You’re with her now. In front of everyone.” The words came out too casual, too sharp, and you didn’t like how your voice cracked at the end of them. He looked back at you, clearly flustered, and his voice dropped another octave. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, like the words didn’t come naturally. “GF/N and I are just... doing our thing.”

You snorted quietly, the bitterness starting to seep in. “Your thing?” You repeated the words like they were foreign. “Funny, if this is your thing then what the fuck was last night and this morning? Just needed something to past the time? Was that another thing, Ony?” your words cut at him. The way you said his name sent a shiver through him, but it wasn’t the kind of reaction he was used to. It wasn’t desire. It was guilt. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He swallowed, his throat bobbing like he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

"You know," you continued, voice softer now but still biting, "last night, it was just us. Just you and me. I mean where the fuck was this even going for you?” you start. “I mean I could see just the fucking but the other shit. The texts, the phone calls, the gifts. Why the fuck would you even take it this far?!" you try to keep your composure but the anger mixed with the alcohol was making it difficult.

His eyes shifted nervously toward where his girlfriend had walked off then back to you, a conflicted look clouding his expression. He opened his mouth again, but you cut him off before he could speak. "You know what. I don’t want to hear it. The excuses," you said, shaking your head, frustration leaking into your tone. "I don’t want to hear you lie to my fucking face like you been doing. And I definitely and not in the mood for the ‘it wasn't meant to be like this’ bullshit. We both know that’s a damn lie too."

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching, the weight of everything clearly sitting heavy on his shoulders. And just as you were about to walk away, he stepped forward quickly, grabbing your wrist gently, but firmly. " y/n just hold up. Please. Let me explain," he said, his voice tight. You could see the tension in his face, the way he was fighting against whatever emotions were threatening to bubble over. You stared down at his hand on your wrist, a thousand thoughts flashing in your mind. You had every reason to pull away, every reason to walk out of that house and never look back, but you didn’t. You couldn’t help yourself.

"Fine," you said through gritted teeth, “Start talking.”

Ony pulled you gently to the side, away from the main crowd, to a quieter corner of the house. The thumping bass was muffled here, the light dimmer, and for a moment, it was like the two of you were the only ones in the room. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation of what was coming next. You should be stronger, should tell him go fuck himself but you didn't. Instead you let him pull you away, adrenaline mixed with anger flowing through your body.

You leaned against the wall and watch him pacing, running a hand down his face like he was struggling to figure out where to start. “I don’t know how this got so messed up,” he said, voice quieter now, raw with guilt. “But I didn’t truly mean for it to be like this, not this way anyway. You’re more than just... whatever this is. I know that. I just—I didn’t know how to... how to deal with it.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped from your lips. “Deal with it? You didn’t know how to deal with it?” You stepped closer, your voice dangerously low now. "You didn’t know how to deal with the fact that we’ve been in bed together? That we’ve shared moments—intimate moments—over the past few weeks? You think you can just walk away and act like none of it happened? What the hell do you think this is?”

He looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time. You could see the realization in his eyes that this was no longer something simple for you. It wasn’t just a few secret hookups. It wasn't just a simple mistake. It was about the betrayal. The quiet, lingering hurt that had been building inside of you every time he pulled away after you gave him everything.

"I can’t do this anymore, Ony," you whispered, voice trembling slightly. “I’m worth more than your fucking bed and I damn sure ain’t no side piece to a bitch who can’t light a candle to me. I will not be the little secret you keep stuffed in your fucking pocket until you want to get your dick wet.” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you held up a hand, stopping him. “Don’t,” you said, voice shaking now. “You made your choice. And now you have to live with it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at you like he didn’t know what to say, like he was hoping you’d just forgive him without question. But you couldn’t. Not anymore. "I’m done, Ony," you said quietly. He wanted to speak but before he could utter a word, her voice cut through. “Ony, baby where are you?” she called out. He steps back just as she turns the corner. “Oh! There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Oh, HI!” she says in a high pitched voice. She slung her body onto him kissing his face before turning to you. “I'm gf/n, Ony’s girlfriend. Who are you?” she asks with a smile. You look at him then back at her, “A former friend. It's nice to meet you.” you respond to her. Ony’s heart lurches forward at your words. Former friend, He tries to silently get your attention but you refuse to meet his gaze. “Excuse me. It was nice meeting you. Have a good day. A good life for you Ony.” you say with finality.

And before he could respond, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there with his words still tangled in his throat, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air.

#aot x reader #aot x y/n #onyankopon x black y/n #fem!reader #ony x black reader #aot onyankopon #onyankapon #onyankopon x reader #ony x reader #onyankopon fluff #ony x y/n #ony #ony angst #aot angst #angst #nieceenotes

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keanusbabydoll · 2 days ago

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JEALOUSY

paring: daryl dixon x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, dom!daryl, unprotected p in v, spanking, degrading, praising, rough sex, daddy kink, punishment, doggy style, porn with no plot

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: i’m so sorry for not posting but college was stressing me out way too much and i got sick a few days ago… but here i am- blessing you with daryl dixon smut ;)

MDNI

𑁍ꨄ❦❥𖣔✰༄⁂᯽𖦹☾♡♥✯☼᪥⍟ꨄఌ❦𑁍𖣘★᪥༄❁᯽✫

“slow d-down.” is what you managed to squeak out before daryl pushed your face into the mattress of your shared bed. he had you in doggy style; angry, jealous, aggressive. his dick was hammering into your abused hole in an punishing way, never planning on slowing down or going gentle.

“ya don’t get ta tell me what ta do.” he growled out as he gripped your hips’ flesh tighter and reached around your middle to spank your pussy, eliciting a loud, muffled cry from you. you were spasming beneath him, wishing he would be more softer. but not with daryl.

and all that just because you went on a hunt with rick. daryl knew that rick was interested in you, found you attractive. he told you many times before that he didn’t like it when you spend time with rick. he was a very possessive man. you were only his. hell, if it were up to him, he’d blow a fist to every guy’s jaw who just looked at you too long for his liking. but you were bored, daryl was out as well, so you decided to just join him, not thinking about the consequences.

“goin’ out with rick. fuckin’ slut.” he continued, his pace just increasing and getting even rougher. “i thought ya knew better.”

he kept pushing his whole length into your pussy as he landed a harsh slap to your ass. “count.” he said before gripping the roots of your hair, pulling your body slightly up.

smack.

his free hand landed another stinging slap to your ass cheek.

“one.” you whimpered out, body surging forward from the sudden sensation.

smack.

“two.” you cried out as the first few tears that formed in the corner of your eyes began to pour down your face.

smack.

“t-three.”

“ya ever gonna do tha’ again without ma permission?” daryl snarled, his grip just tightening and his hips started to pound you in an animalistic pace, letting out all of his pent up anger and frustration. you tried to wriggle out of his grip, trying to get away from his torture but it was useless.

“speak.” he ordered furiously as he landed another hit to your ass.

“n-no. i promise.” you moaned out, eyes tightly shut.

“good.” he mumbles before he slapped your ass for the last time, using all of his strength, wanting you to suffer and realize what you’ve done wrong. jolts of stinging pain cursed through your whole body and a scream escaped your mouth.

daryl chuckled darkly in reply and smirked pleasingly to himself to see his fire red handprint on your ass. at that point you were a whimpering mess but you would have lied if you said you didn’t like it. daryl pushing you to your limits was definitely something you enjoyed even though it was really intense.

with his hand still tangled in your hair, he pulled you up against his chest, hips still thrusting in the same, rough pace like before. sometimes you wondered how that man could have such a great stamina- you had been going for one hour already.

“do ya like it when daddy punishes ya?” daryl rasped in your ear, his hot breath fanning on your neck. “yes!” you squeak out, throwing your head back against his chest. you didn’t even fully register his words, being to caught up by the feeling of his cock kissing that one spot that made you see stars. a spot you didn’t even know existed before you had met daryl.

and the new position only allowed him to hit it better, to hit it more intensely. your legs felt like giving out and the pleasure you received brought you closer and closer to your release. daryl smacked one of your breasts harshly before twisting and pulling on a nipple, making you whine out in pain. “is ma lil’ slut gonna cum?” he groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his cock- always a sign for him that you’re close.

“fuck! yess, daddy. i’m so-so close!” you cried out, voice latched with desperation. you needed this release dearly. he had edged you for the past hour and your core was burning for an orgasm.

you heard him chuckle darkly as he wrapped a hand around your throat with a firm grip and turned your head sharply only to claim your lips in a messy, heated kiss. “beg for it.” he mumbled against your lips, his free hand gliding down your sides and hips before reaching your pussy.

you whined out in frustration but kissed him back hungrily. “please d-daddy! let me cum! i’ll be a good girl, i promise. i only belong to you, only you can make me cum!” you pleaded him, trying your best to hold your orgasm in, but with daryl rubbing your swollen clit, it’s almost impossible.

“ma good girl.” he whispered before pulling you in again. “ya are allowed ta cum.” he sped up his hips, the sound of your skin clapping together growing louder and his digits circled your clit faster. your moans and cry’s were muffled by his mouth and you were at the verge of cumming, just mere seconds away.

with a last thrust of daryl’s hip, hitting your special spot roughly, he sent you over the edge. you tore away from his lips and let out a sinful scream, letting him know how good he made you feel. your eyes were tightly shut as you let your orgasm crash through you, feeling it in every single part of your body. daryl fucked you through your high, wanting you to experience it to its last bit- but also chasing his own.

he harshly pushed your upper body forward again, grabbed both your wrists and held them tightly behind your back. his head leaned back in ecstasy, the feeling of your velvety walls making him go feral. he used his whole strength fucking into you, being extremely close to his orgasm. you couldn’t contain your screams anymore, the overstimulation sending shock waves through your whole body. his free hand gripped your hip as he used you as his own personal fuck toy, only thinking about his pleasure. “fuck, gonna fill this pretty pussy up.” he growled.

and when your walls clamped down on his dick firmly, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. with a guttural groan and stuttering hips, he spurted his seed deep inside of you, painting your perfect walls in white. your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his cum filling you to the brim- something you’ve always enjoyed.

finally, after a few more thrusts, daryl’s pounding came to an halt and he breathed out heavily. “fuck.” he groaned as he slowly pulled out of your slick hole, both of you moaning at the loss. he released both your wrists before he collapsed beside you, a hand placed on his chest- dearly trying to catch his breath. you laid there motionless, you were completely fucked out and exhausted from his sweet torture.

“c’mere baby.” daryl whispered as he pulled your form into his embrace. he snuggled up against your back, his face nestling in the crook of your neck while a hand around your waist pulled you in closer. “ya did so good for me.”

you didn’t reply, your mind was still clouded with the intense after waves of your orgasm. “i wasn’t too rough, was i?” daryl suddenly asked, sounding more concerned now, considering the fact that you hadn’t said a word or moved a single muscle.

“maybe a little, but i liked it.” you tiredly mumbled but still with a smirk plastered on your face. daryl chuckled at your reply and kissed your cheek, relieved that you enjoyed it. “i love you, y/n.”

“i love you more.” you replied before drifting off into a deep sleep.

REQUESTS ARE OPENED!!!

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togglesbloggle · 2 days ago

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Insofar as I have a principled position on the matter- and I don’t, not really- it’s this: art does have the ability to alter our values and our way of interpreting the world. It’s absolutely a live grenade, and should be taken seriously as such.

Like, of course it does! Probably you can point to some book, some film, some story somewhere that touched you not just deeply but irrevocably. There are moments of aesthetic experience which give a before and after to our lives, just as surely as moments of extraordinary suffering or extraordinary joy can.

I’m lucky enough to have more than a few I can list off, personally. Profoundly transformative ones like Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited or the music of John Cage, sure. But maybe even more interesting (tractable?) to me were small moments of grace like the one I found in the Dragonlance novels by Weis and Hickman: the dark wizard Raistlin Majere wove back and forth across the line between ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ in exactly such a way that, after reading his books at a young age, I immediately and quite distinctly overcame my fear of the dark.

What a wonderful thing for a book to do! I’d be hard-pressed to explain exactly how, if only because I’m such a different person now than I was then. Perhaps your own intuition will bridge the gap a bit. It was all tied up with this distinction between good and evil, you see, and with the ability to stare in to the face of evil things without flinching, to understand that they have contingency and history just like good things do, and to be in some sense in community with them.

That was a long, long time ago, and I don’t think my model of the world even has evil in it any more, not in the sense that I believed in it then. But my fear of the dark never came back, either.

I don’t believe for a minute that Weis and Hickman had any idea that they were giving me that gift in particular, nor did they have any sensible means to achieve such a goal even if they somehow wanted to. It wasn’t a transformation mediated by intent, you know? It didn’t reduce to an argument that I believed or disbelieved in some intellectual way, or to some specific controlled experience that the authors had planned for me.

Art is transformative, but not in the way that effective polemic is transformative. It doesn't (principally) reason with us or persuade us. Rather, I think art is dangerous for the same reasons that travel to a foreign country is dangerous, or a friendship with somebody new is dangerous. It threatens us by expanding our conscious history to include new categories of experience, that is, by changing the context in which we go about the business of living.

It's wrong to think of art mostly as a tug-of-war dragging hapless consumers from one ideology to another, with the victory going to whichever faction can fill the algorithm with mass-produced and doctrinally compliant stories clamoring endlessly for their views. Normalization has its power, don't get me wrong, but there will always be far greater power in a single glimpse over the horizon.

Think about Whoopi Goldberg's account of seeing Nichelle Nichol's Uhura on television:

“Well, when I was nine years old Star Trek came on. I looked at it and I went screaming through the house, ‘Come here, mum, everybody, come quick, come quick, there’s a black lady on television and she ain’t no maid!’ I knew right then and there I could be anything I wanted to be.”

Once. It took one time, and the walls fell away, and everything was possible. The fashions and approved styles may come and go with the seasons, but the outer perimeter of our experiences, and the sense of what the world could be, can only ever grow, and sometimes it grows by leaps and bounds in an instant.

I guess this is why I tend to think of censorship and control over media as basically quixotic. Sure, with enough energy you can control what's normal and what's public, but controlling what's possible is an exercise in futility on a grand scale. You can never win that fight, only lose it fast or slow.

We all have this remarkably unpredictable collection of soft places and hard places: some things in us that deform to match the shape of their environment, and other things that break us before they can bend. And we all try to find a way to make these strange shapes work within the limits of our own experience and the world as we understand it. Some of us thrive in communities and cultures where others die gasping, and some of us spend our entire lives trying to smash through excruciating barriers that others can't even detect.

Art is one of the things that expands those limits, gives the strange creature inside us a little bit of room to stretch and grow and find a space for the hard bits to arrange themselves as they need to be. But it can't do that without changing the soft parts as well, because the soft parts need external force to maintain their shape. Socialization and ideology can only weakly bind us, because they rely on deliberate and conscious pressures to conform; ignorance is stronger, because it denies us the choice altogether. Without art, you'll never really be able to learn what kind of animal you are, as opposed to the kind of person your world has told you to be. But art will change you, too, as discovery always will.

The life you have now has real value- great beauty, and great meaning. For all that you are defined in part by the walls of your cage, knowledge and new experiences are not something to accept lightly, and they can never be undone. All I can say, really, is that I've never once regretted it.

#Some late-night posting from a bed with far too little sleep in it

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mothmans-left-buttcheek · 2 days ago

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This fic is just a treat, I’m dropping my in-time-reactions to it just cause I had a great time reading it😂

“His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest.” Oh my god… oh, my god.

“until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.” HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Go mom!

“and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.” And some people never grow out of it oh my fucking god, on a personal note I went to film school and the film bro stereotype is so real. Now in this fic the reader is fem and there really isn’t a stereotype for women in film to fit into, so there’s hope that she’ll recover and allow Stanley Kubrick to be one of her interests and not her whole personality when she grows up😂

“You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble” oh no

“but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.” Oh no

“Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide.” OH NO

“Yes! Or the syph!” DOES SHE MEAN SYPHILIS??? WHERE WOULD A MIDDLE SCHOOL BOY GET SYPHILIS FROM????

“The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well.” So then where did Cindy get mono that lying little eleven year old bitch???

“and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.” BRO DOESNT GET LAID TILL HIS (first) SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL PLEASE SOMEONE BRING THIS BABY BOYS HOPES DOWN BEFORE HE GETS LOST IN THE STRATOSPHERE

“Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.” SHUT THE FUCK UP TOMMY HAGAN??? That ass kisser the plot completely forgot about by season three??? Yeah of course he’d get mono in middle school that fucking cuck

“But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono.” I WOULD!! SHIT I WILL, LEMME PICK ON A MIDDLE SCHOOLER PLEASE

“In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.” Okay that went hard af

“I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN-” KANGKANDISJDJDJ

“GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!” L’chaim!!

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!” No way, wait, you’re lying

“… when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.” Oh my god kids are so gross😂 (this is a really cute moment though)

“Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike.” I KNOW THATS RIGHT

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.” Oh my lord I just know that’s gonna stick around till their married and own a house

Who knew a film about freewill, conditioning, and the conscious choices between good or evil could elicit such a sweet romance? It’s so innocent and wholesome, while taking inspiration from a film that’s anything but. But isn’t that just like Eddie and an MC who takes after him? Enjoying dark and taboo subjects while still being pleasant🖤

Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

#eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic

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casually-eat-my-soul · 1 day ago

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I was tagged by the very lovely @demonicfaerie so here is an angry stiles blurb that I dont exactly know what to do with but that I really wanted to get the idea down.

This is based on my headcannon that stiles and Jackson actually have know each other the longest. And that Jackson is the only other person who knows stiles real name.

The pack makes jokes about Stiles, saying that he never really gets angry, sure he gets defensive but never angry. Until the day Jackson calls Stiles by his name.

After the whole kanima disaster, Derek moves forward trying to connect to his betas. Including Jackson. Especially since now that he is a werewolf which shifts the dynamics because technically he’s now Derek’s first beta.

One afternoon during pack training when tensions were raising higher than usual. The pack had devolved into using grunt and growls as form of communication. Snarling with a little to much teeth.

So Stiles, in Stiles fashion begins making sarcastic remarks to try and settle the situation. After Jackson take a hard tumble with fighting Derek, Stiles quips about Jackson still being a fake werewolf. Especially after spending so much time in lizard scales.

Jackson spits blood from his mouth, turns to him, anger rolling in his chest. A self satisfied smirk forming as the words drip from this lips. — you would know all about fake identities, wouldn’t you Mieczyslaw.” — Stiles goes deathly still and the air shifts. Like the moment before lighting strikes.

The pack is immediately on edge. Derek makes his way towards stiles. The hair on the back on his neck standing up, putting his arms out as if he’s trying to calm down a wild animal. The way Stiles chest heaves with exertion like a cornered, feral animal. Derek knows what it’s like to watch a predator prepare to strike.

Derek swears he doesn’t see Stiles move. One second Stiles was standing on his porch steps, body tense like a spring coil about to snap. In the next second Jackson is on the ground with Stiles on top of him and the smell of blood in the air.

Lydia is shrieking for Stiles to get off Jackson. The betas step backwards from the carnage. They want to help but all their instincts are begging them to flee.

And Stiles is screaming, between the sounds of fist hitting flesh, — you don’t get to call me that — Stiles is screaming — I’ll rip your tongue from your fucking mouth. — stiles keeps hitting Jackson — That name belonged to my mother — just repeating over and over again. Stiles is screaming.

It takes Derek and Boyd to pull him off Jackson, even so he fights against their hold. It was surprising to the werewolves, the fact that they were struggling. Stiles was going rabid between them, still screaming — let me go, I’m going to rip his throat out with my teeth — and Jackson was still on the ground, not healing, covered in blood.

Derek barks out and order to get Jackson to Deaton or Melissa or both as fast as possible. Boyd slowly releases Stiles just in case he’s needed to grab him again. The minute the hold on him slacks fighting is throwing himself towards Jackson again. Derek barely catches him.

While the betas clear out, Derek throws stiles over his shoulder. Stiles still fighting against his hold. It’s only as Derek steps into his bedroom and sets Stiles on his bed, does he calm down. It’s like all the fight drains from his body.

Instead panic takes its place. Stiles fights to breathe with the same vengeance as he did Jackson. Clumps of broken sentences echo out between his sobs — not his, not his, nothis, nothisnothisnothisno — the more panicked he gets, the faster it comes out.

Derek holds him until the panic subsides and a there nothing left but silence.

The pack doesn’t mention Stiles’ breakdown the next day, or the next. And Stiles likes pretends like nothing happened. Everyone else would to, except for the fact that Jackson is barely healing, healing slower than a healthy human would. Stiles smile is a tad bit to tight and the pack is a tad bit too cautious of him.

They also don’t mention the fact that the bruises only go away after Jackson apologizes. Even so they don’t really make jokes anymore.

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aesthyuckic · 3 days ago

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🌻💐 sunflower! ┊͙✧˖*°࿐

me being delulu as always… fem!reader tw: one swear n deluluness. this is fan x idol okay. wc: 1k

Oh, it was almost too exciting to be able to see Haechan again. A smile unknowingly blessed your face as you tried to breathe. Truthfully, you never understood how fans would pass out at the sight of their artists but then last year you saw him… In absolute awe as you saw him up on that stage, being so close felt so surreal and suddenly you understood those fans as you became lightheaded as he just walked by.

After being a fan for years, never thinking you’d get to see him perform live… Somehow you didn’t cry but after the fact, you cried so bad as you felt overwhelmed with many emotions that you didn’t completely understand. Being able to hear him sing live, his voice so much more sweet and lovely in person with his dancing somehow looking even better in real life… Something in your inner teen felt healed by the experience. He truly shined on the stage and seeing it with your own eyes you were in utter awe.

Being a sunflower since the Neocity: The Origin tour and only getting to see him for the first time at The Dream Show felt bittersweet. You remember watching the content from that tour almost religiously as it gave you some comfort and always made you smile. Seeing how he was gifted sunflowers by fans then and with every tour in every country, slowly you wished for that to be you. You were never good with words, a gift was always the best way to express appreciation for you. And then it was you as you calculate the toss of the sunflower you held all night onto stage to make sure it doesn’t cause issues with him or any of the other members.

He sees it and then he somehow knows as he looks back and smiles at you for just a second before he goes to pick them up. Your legs shake under you as security approaches you to tell you to go back to your seat. Only months later, watching your concert videos back do you notice how his smile appeared brighter that night after the fact. Only did you realize perhaps the head pat he gave out as he said goodbye to your side of the stage was possibly meant for you by the way he looks in your direction.

And then, here you were again only with send off this time. Somehow you found yourself at the barricade in a sea of other fans that chatter as they waited for the boys. You felt nervous but knew you’d managed to be able to talk to the other members but if you could actually get words out to Haechan, would they be coherent? That was the question.

While in your own world, the door opened and the room filled with screams as they came out single file. Every member looked around to wave and smile, the very last member being him… He looks so sweet as he smiles and his eyes are filled with a light as he kindly greets everyone he sees. When he turns, you feel petrified as you feel his eyes lock with your own. You feel the world slow just like you did in the moment you tossed those flowers to him months ago… His smile seemed to drop and in turn, you felt your heart drop. There’s no way…

Then you see him swiftly move pass the others to get to you. Oh shit…

He points at you and an even bigger smile is seen as he stands on the other side of the gate as a simply says, “Sunflower?”

For some reason, your mind instantly went he must be talking about the clip in your hair which you reach up to run your fingers over. How stupid were you to think for a moment he’d remember you?

“Oh, yeah!” You laugh, nervously. “I’m a sunflower.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You gave me sunflowers last time I was here...”

“Oh!” You managed to say, now well aware of how you shook. “I’m so sorry about that. I-“

“No. It made me very happy!”

He smiled at you. Oh my, how you looked so sweet towering above you and how you were not crying you don’t know. Yet, what he said was all you wanted to know…

“I’m so glad…” You admit. “How do you remember me?”

“You left…” He struggled with the right word. “A memory? You laughed about it after and you hid whenever I looked at you.”

You do remember laughing at his security as they came up to you. It was also true whenever he looked your direction you’d hid behind the girl in front of you. He even tells you he didn’t expect it from someone who seemed so shy.

“Where’s my gift today?” He asked. “You didn’t throw it up today…”

Without much thought, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter which you hand to him. He looks around before he sneaks it under his arm as security’s focus is elsewhere. Before he goes to others, you ask for a photo and he quickly signs the photocard you have of him.

“What’s your name?” He tilts his head a bit and you actually feel weak by it as he looks at you.

“Whatever you want it to be.” You shrug.

It gets a laugh out of him as well as the others surrounding you.

“For now, I’ll call you sunflower girl.” He nods as he finishes signing the photo card in his hand before handing it back to you. “Every time I see you, I look forward to a gift from you.”

He smiled before he winked and walked down the line. You didn’t fully process that until the girl beside you gave you the video. You don’t remember how long you screamed into your pillows for. It’s not like he had to tell you that, you would’ve ended up doing it anyway.

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 days ago

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Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 47

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,370ish

Summary: Logan gives his all in one final fight.

Warning(s): canon violence, injuries, character death(s)

Notes: I'm actually so scared that this chapter will flop because I'm an over thinker... Also, I posted a new Everyday Moments one shot! Check it out here!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Dr. Rice ran other drone over what he believed was the abandoned base. Just to make sure that no one was left behind as he continued up the mountain, chasing after the kids. His screen beeped as the drone found a sign of life. Dr. Rice smirked as he picked up his radio.

“I need the last car to turn around,” he ordered. “Make sure you have a glass case. The X-Men, Ember, is back at their little hide out. Grab her and bring her to me.”

~~~

You woke up when one of the stairs creaked. Your senses were immediately on edge. Logan wasn’t lying with you and there were more slow and heavy footsteps than his. You peeked eye open to see black boots coming to surround you. Your heart began hammering in your chest. Where was Logan? Did they do something to him?

You heard the guns cock and you knew that they were going to try to take you. You weren’t about to let that happen. Before anyone could shoot, you formed a circle of fire around yourself, making sure the flames were taller than the men. They exclaimed as they stumbled back.

Your flames quickly ate the old wood floor, causing you and the men to go falling to the desert ground. You picked yourself up and blasted the men with more flames before running off. You noticed the military truck and ran over to it. It didn’t pass you that your body was already more tired than usual after using your mutation. But that wasn’t something you had time to deal with right now.

The radio was going off about the kids that were trying to get to the border and to stop them before they did. That’s when you knew where Logan had ran off to. He left you to go help the kids—to go help Laura. Though you were furious at him for leaving you, you were proud of him for rushing to save his daughter.

Before you could drive off to help the others, two darts hit your arm. You gasped as your eyes fluttered close and you collapsed against the seats. The remaining soldier limped over and grabbed the radio.

“Dr. Rice,” he called, “I’ve got Ember and I’m bringing her up.”

~~~

Laura didn’t know how to deal with saying goodbye to you and Logan. So she didn’t. Though, as her and the other children were running away from the soldiers through the woods, she wished she had. The soldiers attacked as they chased the children and the children used their mutations to retaliate. Rictor, the oldest and the leader, urged the children to keep running to the border. It was the only way to freedom.

As Laura ran, she noticed one of her friends being tackled by a soldier. She released her claws and screamed, jumping onto the soldier. The soldier rolled off the other child as Laura plunged her claws into him. The familiar sound of Logan yelling at her turning her head back in the direction they came. Up the hill came Logan, moving faster than he had in years. He roared as he unsheathed his claws and began taking out soldiers. The Wolverine spun and leaped like he did in battles years ago.

Logan continued to fight his way through the soldiers, eventually reaching a circle of them that had surrounded Laura. He yelled as he raced for the nearest soldier and began taking them out. Laura leapt into action, using her claws just as her father did. More soldiers came towards them, shooting.

“Get behind me!” Logan ordered. Laura moved behind him without question.

Bullets hit Logan as he charged forward, Laura only steps behind. He plunged his claws into the soldiers, quickly ending their lives. Laura ran up Logan’s back and jumped onto a soldier, willingly fighting alongside her father. After the group of soldiers were finished, Logan looked down at his bleeding woods with heaving breaths.

“You took all the medicine,” Laura stated upon realization. Logan was killing himself quicker to ensure her safety. Logan leaned forward as he gasped for more air, the pain coming back. “It’s wearing off.”

Logan ignored Laura as he took one of the guns and stumbled up the mountain to a clearing where the trucks had gathered and the captured children were circled up. Laura and him watched as another truck joined them. Logan’s heart stopped as the bed of the truck was opened and he caught sight of you.

“No,” he breathed out.

He had left you for your safety and so that you didn’t have to see him like this. But he had only failed you yet again. He clenched his jaw as he eyes searched the area, coming up with a plan.

“Go to your friends,” he told Laura. She made no immediate move to go, simply staring at him. “Go.” Laura began walking away. “Laura?” She paused, glancing back at Logan. “You’ll know when.”

Laura rushed off, heading around the trucks towards her friends. Logan coughed as he gathered his remaining strength and limped into the clearing.

“Nine o’clock!” A soldier announced. The soldiers aimed their weapons at Logan.

Donald Pierce, Dr. Rice’s right hand, laughed. “That green juice is wearing’ off, huh?” He taunted. “You know, for an old mute, it’s kind of a short high. Be hard to keep them claws out, soon.”

“Please stop, Mr. Howlett,” Dr. Rice requested as he came walking over. “I’m gonna have to tell these men to fire on these children. You don’t want that… Or on your wife.”

You gasped as you were harshly grabbed and dragged over to Dr. Rice’s side. Logan growled, fists clenched harder as he watched them move you around like a rag doll.

“She’s a special one… Rare,” Dr. Rice continued. “But I think you know that. Her regenerative phoenix mutation could be the next step in my research.” Logan coughed, growing weaker by the second. “You can see the effects of the serum are wearing off. You will not survive further wounds.” Dr. Rice stepped closer. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Zander Rice. I believe you knew my father on the Weapon X Program.”

“Yeah,” Logan coughed. “He’s one of the assholes who put this poison in me…” He lifted his claws up. “I think I might have killed him.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Why don’t you show some respect, mutie?” Donald teased. “You’re lookin’ at the man who wiped out your kind.”

“My friend Donald overstates. He makes it sound more brutal than intended. The goal was not to end mutant kind, but to control it. I realized we needn’t stop perfecting what we eat and drink. That we could use those products to perfect ourselves. To distribute gene therapy discreetly through everything from sweet drinks to breakfast cereals. And it worked. Random mutancy went the way of polio. We embarked on our next endeavor.”

“Growing mutants of your own,” Logan wheezed.

“Precisely.”

“Dangerous times, James,” Donald commented.

“You don’t get to call him that!” You shouted, earning you a hit to the face.

Logan lifted the hidden gun and shot Dr. Rice through the neck. He shot again, hitting Donald’s hand. You screamed out as you let your hands be covered in balls of flames. You began attacking with your flames as Laura jumped in and Logan chased after Donald. Donald ran over to one of the trucks and opened up the back of it.

“It’s show time, boy!” He exclaimed.

Logan’s duplicate leapt out and tackled Logan to the ground. The two began fighting as you continued to take care of the soldiers. Laura snuck around and got the soldiers on the edge while you took care of the ones in the middle. You stood there catching your breath when Logan’s duplicate plunged its claws into Logan and threw him against one of the trucks.

“Logan!” You screamed.

The copy rushed over to Logan, with Logan barely having enough time to use one of the broken truck doors as a shield. He stood up, using the door as a weapon, as you got back to taking out the soldiers. The duplicate roared as it gained more strength to fight. It kicked the door, sending Logan flying back. You ran up to the duplicate and began throwing fire at it. The copy moved through your flames like it wasn’t a problem. It went to strike you with its claws when Laura screamed and jumped onto it.

“Laura!” You shouted. “No!”

Donald grabbed a spear gun and shot it in your direction. It went through your leg, causing you to collapse with a scream.

“Y/N!” Logan groaned crawling your way.

Laura yelled as she landed on top of the duplicate and hit him with her claws over and over again. Logan made it over to you and cut the wire connecting you and the spear to the gun. He pulled you into him and grasped onto the spear.

“I got you, baby,” he wheezed. “It’s gonna hurt.” He yanked out the spear, causing you to cry out. He pressed a kiss to your head as you leaned further back into him.

Laura continued to fight off Logan’s duplicate as the children freed themselves and dealt with Donald and the remaining soldiers. The copy tossed Laura into a tree before Rictor used his powers to land one of the trucks on top of it.

“Go,” Logan coughed, pulling you up to stand. “Go, go, go!”

He pushed you and Laura towards the others near the tree line. You and Logan turned around as you heard creaking from the truck.

“Go!” Logan yelled, pushing you away.

The copy leapt over the truck and buried its claws into Logan. The children began rushing towards the woods again, with you and Laura staying put.

“No!” You screamed.

“Go!” Logan shouted, blood coating his mouth. “Run!”

Keeping its claws inside of Logan, the duplicate dragged Logan away. You rushed forward to do something, but the duplicate easily hit you away, causing you to fall back to the ground.

“Run!” Logan repeated, his voice pleading with you to go as he was dragged away. “Go, sweetheart!”

The duplicate threw Logan onto a tree, causing him to be impaled by one of the branches.

“JAMES!” You screamed.

Your emotions took control of your powers and a large flames sparked from you and rushed over to Logan and his duplicate. The copy was engulfed by the flames, causing him to stumble back. The flames grew hotter as you stood up, your finger-tips flaming. With a subtle move of your fingers, the duplicate was turned to ash and the fire disappeared. You fell to your knees, gasping as that had quickly drained your energy. Laura raced over to your side, helping you up and over to Logan.

“No, no, no,” you cried as you collapsed next to him. Tears fell freely down your cheeks as your hands hovered over his body.

Laura went on Logan’s other side and used her claws to cut the branch that was impaling Logan, allowing him to slide to the ground. Your hands trembled as you reached out and steadied him while Laura knelt down and began crying too.

“Take Laura,” he gasped. “Take Laura… and her friends… and hide.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I—I can’t. Not without you.”

“They’ll keep coming, sweetheart. You have to.”

“No… James…”

His hand weakly moved and you quickly grabbed onto it. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I wish I could have done better… for you…”

“Stop that. You were perfectly enough… everything I needed and more… I love you, James, so much.”

“I… I love you forever, sweetheart… Forever… Listen,” Laura grabbed Logan’s other hand as he tried to hold hers, “take care of each other… you… you don’t have to fight anymore… Either of you… Go… Don’t be what they made you… Y/N… Laura…”

“Daddy,” Laura cried.

“Ah,” Logan smiled, bloody and broken, “so… this is what it feels… like….”

A sob tore through you as Logan took his final breath.

“No! No!” Laura cried. “Daddy! Daddy!”

You fell forward, not caring about his blood as you clung to him as if it would fix everything. The children came back into as you sobbed into your husband’s dead body. Laura reached over Logan to grab onto you as she mirrored your actions.

~~~

In all your long life, you had never fell a heartbreak like this. It was raw and desperate, clawing at you as it threatened to drag you down into the pit of darkness. Laura was clutching your hand as you stared at the spot where Logan’s body now lay. It was killing you inside.

The Wolverine was dead and buried in a soon to be forgotten spot in the woods. He deserved better. Especially as he was your husband, you believed he deserved the world, even in death. The pile of rocks and the stick cross did not do enough to honor the man you loved. Your everything. Your hero.

Laura’s hand gripped yours tighter as tears slipped down her cheeks and you held back another sob. You knew you needed to continue on with Laura, it’s what Logan wanted. But you didn’t know if you could do that. You didn’t know if you could leave his body here alone while you went on to live the rest of your life. You didn’t even know if you could live the rest of your life without him. This would be different than any other time before. This was permanent.

“Let’s go,” Rictor said. “We gotta move.”

The children turned away and began to walk off. Laura moved forward slowly, leading for you to follow. She let your hand go and grabbed the stick cross. She knelt down and turned in over to be an ‘x’. You inhaled sharply at the significance of it. Laura stood up and looked at you for a sign of anything. You nodded as more tears slipped down your cheeks. You reached for her hand again, giving the grave one last glance before you and Laura headed for the border.

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misswynters · 15 hours ago

Text

Jinx comforting depressed reader...as best she could

featuring. jinx x platonic! sister reader

requested by anon

Jinx wasn’t the best at handling emotions, well at least not the messy, quiet ones that didn’t come with explosions or screaming matches. But when she saw you, curled up on the edge of the old couch in the hideout, staring at nothing in particular, she couldn’t just walk away. It wasn’t the first time she’d found you like this, but it still hit her like a sucker punch to the gut every single time.

She approached cautiously, her usual chaotic energy dialed back to something softer. The quiet shuffle of her boots against the floor was the only sound as she made her way over, dropping down beside you with a loud plop. She stretched her legs out in front of her, slouching dramatically, trying to fill the space with her presence alone.

“You know,” she started, twirling a strand of her blue hair around her finger, “I was gonna blow something up today. Had the whole thing planned out—fireworks, kabooms, the works. But then I thought…” She leaned her head back and tilted it to look at you. “Maybe explosions aren’t what we need today.”

You blinked slowly, finally glancing her way, your expression unreadable. “We?”

“Yeah, we,” she said with a shrug, nudging your leg with hers. “You’re my partner-in-crime, remember? What’s the point of causing chaos if you’re not there to laugh about it after?”

You let out a faint snort, the first crack in the wall of silence that had been surrounding you all day. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Jinx’s grin widen.

“Ah, there it is! I knew you still had some life in you, sis.” She pulled herself up into a cross-legged position, turning to face you fully. “Okay, let’s make a deal. You talk to me—about whatever’s got you all doom-and-gloom—and I’ll make it worth your while.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘worth my while’ supposed to mean?”

She smirked, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Guess you’ll have to find out. But you’ve got my full attention, which, let’s be real, is worth its weight in gold.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Jinx always had a way of breaking through your walls, no matter how high you tried to build them. You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap.

“It’s… hard to explain,” you murmured. “I just feel… heavy. Like I’m stuck in this fog, and no matter what I do, I can’t get out of it.”

Jinx’s expression softened, the teasing glint in her eyes replaced by something gentler. She reached out and took your hands in hers, her grip warm and grounding. “Yeah, that fog sucks,” she said simply. “I’ve been there. And it feels like it’s never gonna go away, right?”

You nodded, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

“Well, here’s the thing,” she continued, squeezing your hands lightly. “That fog? It’s a liar. It wants you to think you’re stuck forever, but you’re not. You’ve got me, and I’ll keep dragging you through it if I have to.”

Her words were unpolished, maybe even clumsy, but they hit exactly where they needed to. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, and before you could wipe it away, Jinx was leaning over to wrap you in a tight, slightly awkward hug. She smelled like gunpowder and oil and something uniquely her, and it was oddly comforting.

“Okay, okay, no more crying,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Because I’ve got a plan.”

You sniffled, your curiosity piqued despite everything. “A plan?”

“Yep!” She stood up and offered you her hand. “We’re gonna do something that makes you smile, even if it kills me. And I’m not talking about one of those fake, polite smiles you do when you’re pretending to be okay. I mean a real one.”

You hesitated for a moment before taking her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. “What did you have in mind?”

She grinned, her excitement infectious. “Oh, you’ll see. But fair warning: it might involve paint, glitter, and me being an absolute menace.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you laughed. A small, genuine sound that made Jinx’s chest swell with pride. “There’s my sis,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go make a mess.”

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