#trying not to sob my fucking eyes out in front of all of my extended family

[gaybabything]

Don't mind me just casually sitting through the worst fucking Father's Day brunch of my entire life

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂

Father in law!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your soon to be husband leaves you at the alter, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Literally just porn without plot, lotsa fucking, I want father in law Javi. Minimally edited lmao I just banged this out Can’t wait for you to read it!! Hope you enjoy, nasties! Mwah!

Masterlist

You rich and I'm wishin', um

You could be my mister, yum

Delicious to the maximum

Chew you up like bubble gum

You love me, he wants me

I think I want you too

Best day of your life- yeah, what a fucking joke. But what were you expecting? Ditching people at the altar seemed to run in the family. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a harsh assessment of the Peñas, especially Peña senior, who, despite all you had heard of him from your ex fiance, had always shown you kindness. 

The thing is, it becomes really fucking hard to be charitable to a family when their son humiliates you infront of the entirety of Texas. Leaves you high and dry on the steps of the biggest church in town in your great grandmother’s silk dress. It becomes even harder when you learn his mother had been in on it all along, sparing you not even a little apology, or a comforting embrace after her son's little getaway plan had been revealed. 

Instead of extending you a supporting hand, she ran away to make sure her baby boy was okay, and that this entire ordeal hadn’t taken a toll on his emotional and psychological well being. 

How thoughtful. 

Of course, you were the pathetic one– unable to look anyone in the eye, sobbing on your fathers shoulder till you couldn’t breathe any longer. So distraught and unwell even getting out of your wedding attire seemed impossible. It only made you feel even more pathetic. At some point you ended up curling up in your hotel bed, still in the “happiest day of your life” outfit, and pleading for some time alone from your friends and family to wallow in your own suffering. 

You would eat your feelings in the from of the apology chocolates the hotel had complimented for you, but you couldn’t manage to even do that without feeling like a total fucking looser. 

After all that had transpired, and after years of hearing nothing but sour things about your soon to be father in law, safe to say you were surprised to see him at your hotel room door at midnight as the ambassador the family seemingly sent to smooth things over. 

For it being only your second time meeting the man, this was far from the most opportune scenario. In fact, him showing up all sorrowful and apologetic for his shitty excuse of a son, in his navy blue suit and loose tie, made your already pathetic day all the more difficult to get through. 

Your whole relationship you had blamed every fault of your boyfriend on his absent, detached father. You’d heard plenty about the lack of childhood visits, quality time, and playing soccer that had plagued your partner’s life, and had found it quite easy and comforting to pile on every relationship problem you ever came across as the consequence of Javier Peña’s lack of responsibility and good parenting. 

What you didn’t expect, was to find that Javi Peña was a whole lot more normal and level headed than you anticipated. He was just a guy trying to make a good living and provide for his family. Sure, he was a little bit reserved, but he was only ever warm and sweet and even quite chatty with you. To be frank, you should have seen your boyfriend’s shitty behavior as a consequence of his insufferable mother from a mile away. God knew you weren’t expecting Peña Sr. to be the better of your two soon to be in laws. 

That being said, you would have never expected to be on your hands and knees, on what was supposed to be your marital bed, being pounded from behind by your ex soon to be father in-law. 

Because that's where you are now, eyes rolling to the back of your head thanks to the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. The drag of Javis cock against your walls has been building a steady heat in your belly, the stretch of him so perfect and delicious it has you pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust. 

Any other day a man like him wouldn’t have needed much to woo you– with his cut jaw, handsome features and those chocolate brown eyes you wished his son had inherited. Safe to say on a day like this one it took even less, just a few rubs on your back, a hand smoothing over your head and trailing down your waist, a few “pretty girls” and “poor things” and some fucking sympathy from someone from your boyfriends sorry family. 

Fucking pathetic. 

But Javier knows his son is pathetic, knows he is a good for nothing moron who doesn't even know what he was losing out on when he walked out on you.

“He’s a fuckin fool- look at this tight little pussy, squeezin’ me so fuckin good. Bet he didn’t fuck ya like this, huh baby? Didn’t make ya cum over and over, make ya scream… stupid fuckin boy..” Javier’s grip on your hips tightens on hearing your moan, and he curses under his breath when your pussy flutters around his cock. 

Your legs are threatening to give out under you, your knees tender from how long you've been leaning on them. Javier’s hand moves to grip the fabric of your veil, using it to pull your head back and make you face the mirror that's been teasing you all evening. “Look- Look at ya- fuckin cryin’ on my cock. ‘S the only reason ya’ shoulda’ be cryin’ in this pretty dress..” With drooping eyes you're faced with your own reflection– stains from your mascara running down your face now less thanks to the sorry of the afternoon and more thanks to the way Javi’s cock has been nudging your sweetspot. 

You watch your tits spill out of your beautiful silk dress, the fabric now disheveled and a far cry from the sophisticated, simplistic garment it once was. You can barely recognise it, but then again you can barely recognise your own reflection. “Look at that pretty little body- fuckin made for me.” 

“Yours-” you cut yourself off with a gasp, Javi’s hands squeeze your hips and your cheeks set ablaze at the way he looks at you when you catch it in the mirror. The whole sight is so debauched and depraved– you on your hands and knees for a man who could easily be mistaken for your father. But somehow it's even dirtier- the possibility of your ex finding out sends you into overdrive. 

The silk of your dress brushes against your hot skin, flipped lewdly up to reveal your bare ass, bunched at the waist, the straps drooping and threatening to fall. Javi pulls the zip down even further, watching as it hangs off your body, draped like fabric from a 15th century painting. 

Javi’s voice calls your attention back to the present moment, lewd words showing you he doesn't hold back the way his son does. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt up..” The stretch is so delicious between your legs, you feel the steady throb continue to tighten the coil inside you and you can’t help but moan. “Yeah, you want that? Want daddy to put a baby in you?” the thought makes you shiver, that name makes you shiver, has your cunt clenching around his cock. What an image- you, belly round with your father in laws child, well, your ex father in law. Unlike his son you were sure he would be the perfect husband, would bend you over ever surface in your picket fence house and fuck you just like he’s doing now. 

Deep, and hard and fast, just like you need it. Just like you've always needed it.. 

“Please daddy, want your babies, wanna be yours…” Your voice is so broken and wrecked you're afraid he can’t understand what you're even saying. To be honest you can’t be bothered much, it feels so good, his thick, hard cock feels so good pounding between your thighs there's little else you can keep your mind on. 

“Yeah? you like that sweetheart? we can play house..” you nod your head and his hand tightens its grip around your veil, exaggerating your movements, bending you to his will. “Wanna play house with daddy? can be my pretty little wife” you fist the sheets, pushing back against him with his every thrust. You do want that, you’ve always wanted that. And what better person to do it with. Sure, his wife always complained about how he was never around, but that's looking a lot more like a her problem– especially with the way Javi’s tip continues to kiss your sweet spot. 

“Yes daddy, please..”  

Javier lets go of your veil, and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the mattress till your cheek is pressed against the warm, fluffy duvet. One hand keeps you there, the other lands a quick spank to your ass and kneads at the flesh with a newfound desperation. “Won't be able to even say his goddamn name after I'm done with ya. Stupid boy doesnt know how to treat a pretty thing like you– so sweet, so gorgeous, so fucking smart. Too fucking good for him.” 

With your lips parted and breathing heavy you drool onto the covers, letting Javi pound you into the mattress and overshadow every other thought that dared cross your head earlier in the day. If his plan is to make you forget about anything that isn't him, it sure is working. You don't think you’d even want to sound out his incompetent son’s name after he’s done with you. 

As if he can read your mind his voice calls from behind you. “Want ya to be drippin with me.” the wet schick of his cock fucking into your tight, wet, hole reminds you of just how needy you are for him, and the prospect of having him dripping out of you– down your thighs, between your legs, leaving you all messy for him to come back and do it all over again, drives you absolutely insane. 

“He’s fuckin useless, just like his ma. But look at you, so fucking tight ‘round me, making all those pretty sounds, she fuckin’ wishes she was you.” His words have your cunt squeezing around his cock, and a lewd, pornographic moan slipping past your lips. “My girl’s gonna be the perfect lil’ mamma, aren’t ya, so fuckin’ pretty.” You would certainly like that- in fact you’re almost surprised with how appealing it sounds to you. 

“Gonna be perfect for you daddy, only for you.” your dress rides up even further, the front slipping further down. 

“Thats my fucking girl.” That growl of his sends shivers down your spine– possessive, and confident and dripping like honey from his lips. It was almost like it could send you over the edge by itself. The lewd creaking of the bedframe fills the room, the sound of skin on skin driving you wild. The way he handles you– firm and deft but gentle and passionate, it's nothing like his son. 

He’s nothing like his son. 

“Yeah, bet it feels good don’t it, bein’ fucked by a real man? Feel daddy so deep in ya? Nothin ever been that deep before, huh..” You shake your head ‘no’ and he coos at how pathetic you must sound, barely able to make a coherent sound, forget string together a whole sentence. 

“Make me go fuckin’ crazy, babygirl.” 

What he says is fucking filthy, there’s no denying, no justifying it. It makes you squirm, makes you even wetter, makes you want him even more. 

“Think you wanna go back to him? With daddy’s cum drippin between those pretty thighs, show him how a real man treats his girl?” 

“Gonna make ya beg him to stay, gonna talk some sense into him, just so daddy can have ya all to himself, ain't that right? You gonna sneak into daddy’s room in the middle of the night? All wet an’ achy? Beggin’ daddy to fuck ya how ya need?” 

“Wanna run away with me baby, live in a perfect little house, let daddy give ya his babies, fuck ya full’ve my cum every single night?” 

His hands roam your body, smoothing over your hips, reaching forward to squeeze at your breasts, pinching and kneading the flesh. He bends down to trail light kisses along your spine and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your head twists side to side against the sheets as you squirm, each sensation like it's heightened to the maximum, the heaviness and the throb between your thighs at an all time high. 

You know you're close, you can’t hold it off much longer. Your cunt squeezes and your toes curl. You also know Javi won't last, you can feel him pulse against your swollen walls, can feel the way he desperately thrusts into you, pushes you further down against the mattress, grips your skin with that renewed fervor, with the desperation of doing anything to hold on to the incredible sensation. 

“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy, show daddy how much ya needed this, show daddy how bad ya need his cock.” 

Your legs part even further under you, if that's even physically possible, your entire upper body being smashed into the mattress. You call out Javi’s name, followed by a string of desperate, strained, whiny daddy daddy daddy’s. 

With a strangled moan that's partially muffled by the covers you come undone, your head spins and your heart pounds in your chest, you feel yourself gush and clamp down around his cock. You feel Javi’s hips stutter behind you and his cock throb against your wet walls. The feeling only prologues and intensifies your orgasm, your body going slack and eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Please daddy, need your cum, please, give it to me..” 

Javi’s groans catch your attention as you come down from your high, still reeling from the aftershocks when you feel his cock twitch inside you and paint your walls with his hot spend. Your words are strained and slurred, but they clearly get the job done. You shiver and press your ass back against him to meet his stuttery, sloppy thrusts, and bite your lip when you feel him tighten his grip on your hip, feel him land a final spank to your ass for good measure as he slows down. 

You keep your ass in the air, face still pressed against the mattress as Javi pulls out. You hear him mutter a few strained curses under his breath as he does, and catch him looking between your legs to see his spend obscenely leak out of your used hole. He reaches his fingers to rub against your messy folds and you whine, feel him gather up your juices and push them back inside your cunt in a way that has you almost cumming right there again. 

Your dress is still pooled at your waist and he unzips it entirely, sneaking his hands under your thighs and flipping you over and yanking you towards him. 

“You really want daddy’s babies?” Your head falls back against the bed when you feel his hand cup your cunt, rub your messy, swollen folds with the calloused tips of his fingers. You barely manage to nod. 

“Then I ain’t done with ya yet pretty girl.” You tilt your chin to catch his gaze, now in nothing but your stupid little wedding veil. You’re not sure about the best day of your life, but this sure as hell contends for one of the best nights. 

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

I'm neon phosphorescent

Open like a Christmas present, oh

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it alright

Be my daddy tonight

What's up what's up

What's up what's up

Be my daddy be my daddy

Be my daddy be my, be my daddy tonight

AHHHHH feel like I’m going to hell for this one. Thanks so much for reading!! Please please please let me know what you think. I’d love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you to everyone who engages with my work, you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

[thinkinonsense]

ok so i had a thought😏😏 dbf!logan takes ur virginity and from then on u guys hook up whenever u get a chance (all the time). one night he gets done dicking u DOWN and u say u love him and he’s all like “we can’t do this anymore kid” very ANGSTYYY

i love you, i'm sorry- dbf!logan howlett x fem!reader

part two *mdni

"i love you, logan."

four little words that would send your world crumbling before your feet. the older man lifts himself from in between your chest, both of you panting post orgasm. nights like this had become a bad habit for the both of you.

from the moment logan first slipped off your panties in this exact spot a year ago, you had been wanting to tell him how you really felt. you wanted to tell him how you craved his touch when he wasn't around, how you adored the way he took care of you and most importantly, how this didn't feel 'casual' to you anymore.

seconds turned into minutes of silence, desperately waiting for logan to say something; anything.

"lo, are you going to say some-"

"we can't see each other anymore, kid." he says, avoiding eye contact with you as he pulls out.

"what?"

this wasn't real. that's the only sentence that your brain could form as you watch him put his boxers back on. you laid there on his bed, naked, vulnerable, with his cum dripping out of you and he can't even look you in your fucking eyes.

"ya' heard me." logan says, putting a cigar in his mouth and tossing your dress on the bed next to you.

"what happened?" your voice was trembling on the verge of rage and heartbreak.

"i told you a year ago not to bring that 'love shit' in here."

a year ago when he took your virginity. he promised to be gentle and to care for you. guess that didn't extend past sex for him.

you scoff, pulling your sundress over your head. "you didn't say that when you said you love how tight i fit around you or when you said you love how well i know you. was any of that even true?"

logan ignored you as he lit his cigar and waited for you to leave. you stand up and walk over to him, touching his chin and turning to so he's facing you.

"look me in the eyes when you kick me out of your bed." you spit angrily at the man you adored endlessly.

all logan could see was your eyes full of tears and your red puffy lips, trying to keep yourself together. deep down, he knew he deserved all the shit in the world thrown at him for him for breaking your heart. you would never understand why he had to be so cruel but his intentions were never to hurt you like this. it killed him.

"find someone your own age to love, kid." logan says, twisting the knife.

"don't call me kid, logan!" you yell at him. "i'm not a fucking child!"

"then stop acting like one!" his voice boomed back at you, spurring on more tears.

who had he turned into? you couldn't recognize the man in front of you. this wasn't your logan.

"so, you're just going to let me leave like this?" you cry, glaring at him. "give up everything we have all because you're afraid of me loving you?"

you didn't expect an answer, he already shoved your hand away from his face, no longer wanting the image of your broken heart haunting him.

logan wanted to tell you everything, explain why he can't accept your love because it will put you at a greater risks, but logically, logan knows he has to let you go.

"in ten years, when your ass is still sitting drunk on one of my fathers bar stools and he shows you photos of me and a man who can appreciate me for more than sex, a man who can admit he loves me back, you'll remember this moment because this will be the last time you ever fucking see me." you tell him rather calmly as you collect your shoes and purse.

logan watches you do as he asks and leave. if he was a better man, he would have done it differently; but then again, if he was a better man, he never would've fooled around with a twenty-something year old.

the front door slams with a broken sob escaping your lips. from the bedroom, logan could hear your car engine starting and that's when he could allow himself to grieve the life he would've had.

[fanficlibrary82]

Literal Hurt/Comfort

AN: I saw this post and had to write it or I'd go insane, so have my first attempt at writing the Merc with a Mouth; Soft Boyfriend Edition

Word Count: 912

CW: Mild language, night terror, hurt/comfort, this is a Worst!Wolverine x Deadpool, Rogue is the way she is in the movies

He was too late. Logan had finally managed to out drink his healing factor and stumbled back to the X-Mansion, only to find it littered with the bodies of his friends, his family. He walked the entire campus, trying, hoping to find a single living soul, but as the faces of Charles, Ororo, Hank, Scott, and Jean were found among the carnage, his flicker of hope began to fade. It wasn’t until he half heartedly pushed the door to Rogue’s room opened that his heart lept into his throat. He heard blood pumping, faintly, but it was there. Without a second thought he began to tear the room apart, looking for the girl, and he finally found her curled under the bed.

“Kid,” he slurred, tugging her out from under the bed and cradling her head in his lap. She was covered in blood, her body riddled with bullet wounds that oozed slowly, but she was alive. “K-kid, hey, ‘s gonna be alright, okay? You…you’re gonna be fine, we’ll get you to the city and-”

“You…left…us…” She rasped, eyes slowly finding his.

“I…I tried, kid, as soon as I heard the Professor, I-”

She took a gasping breath, the rattle in her voice an all too familiar sound to Logan. “You…you promised th-that you’d…take c-care of m…” 

Logan felt her body fall limp in his arms, but he didn’t let go, he couldn’t let her go. He pulled Rogue up against his chest, letting his forehead fall to hers. Her still-warm skin pulled a broken sob from his throat. He held her until her body grew stiff and cold. And that’s when the rage set in. He laid Rogue on top of the bed and made it a few steps into the hallway before his claws slid smoothly out of his knuckles. 

Logan let out an animalistic roar, foreign to even his own ears. He slashed everything in his path, from doors to portraits to tables, until he found himself in the Professor’s office. He stalked around the room, breath coming in short, heavy huffs that caused his chest to ache. He paused in front of a portrait of the first graduating class, their smiles wide, completely oblivious to the fate that awaits them. He snarls, slashing his claws through the canvas. If the humans think we’re just violent killers, then I’ll show them just how violent we can be.

Wade shot straight up as Logan screamed in his sleep and smacked him in the face. “Me H. Christ, Peanut, don’t scare me like that!” He gripped Logan’s arm and shook him roughly. Logan continued to cry out in his sleep, his arms beginning to flail wildly, as if fighting. Wade sat up on his knees, gently nudging Mary Puppins off of the bed. “Hey, big guy, watch that arm, you might hit-mother FUCKER!”

With a roar that was definitely more animal than man, Logan was sitting straight up, arms out, claws extended. He took a few heaving breaths as he whipped his head around the room in a panic. His eyes landed on his claws, knuckle deep into soft flesh and his expression fell. “N-no!”

Wade looks between the claws in his chest and the haunted expression on Logan's face before gently placing his hand over his unwilling attackers’. “You know, if you wanted to get inside me, all y'had to do was ask nice,” Wade teases.

Logan yanks his hand away from Wade's touch, retracting his claws and instantly covering the wounds with his hands. “No no no, fuck, no! Not again!” He exclaims.

Wade falls back against the bed and Logan follows, burying his face against the scarred skin. The older mutant’s shoulders shake and Wade tenses.

“Hey, hey, hey! Logan!” Wade pushes himself up onto his elbows and grabs at the other man’s shoulder. “Honey Badger, wake up, wake up, it's me!”

“I'm so fuckin’ sorry, I'm so sorry, god dammit,” Logan mutters, and Wade is hit with the awful realization that the Wolverine was lying across his chest and sobbing.

“Lo-James, look at me,” Wade manages to get his hands on either side of Logan's face and roughly yanks him up to meet his eye. “It's me, it's Wade, I'm okay, Peanut, look, look.” He slowly moves his hand over Logan's, gently guiding him to feel the skin that's already healed over. Logan's frantic gaze falls to Wade's chest and he smooths his hand across the surface, almost in a trance. “You're…you're not…?”

Wade shakes his head, gently rubbing his thumb across Logan's cheek. “Gonna take a lot more than that to kill me, Wolvie. You were in the Odyssey,” he replies with a soft chuckle.

Logan slowly comes out of his trance-like state, watery eyes finally meeting Wade's with clarity. “Wilson?”

Wade nods, relief flooding through his body when Logan looks at him rather than through him. “Hey, big guy, had me going for a minute there,” he nervously laughs.

“You're not…I didn't hurt you,” Logan breathes out shakily.

“Well…you didn't kill me,” Wade corrects, making Logan crack a smile. “Hurts like a bitch and a half, but at least I had you in me.”

Logan rolls his eyes and lets his head drop to Wade's chest. For a long while, the only sound is their combined breathing, so Wade dares to curl his fingers through Logan’s hair. When he hears no protest, Wade settles in, gently hugging him closer. “Don't worry, Lo. You're safe here.”

AN: Hey, I hope y'all liked it!!! Like I said, the idea came from the lovely @catgrandpa and the divider I used was made by @sweetmelodygraphics

[cherryredstars]

Cherryyyy that angsty part in husband simon hcs really fucking hurt i need more😭😭😭 maybe a one shot based on it where they're fighting and she tells him how she feels also tells him about the divorce papers then both of them are so fucking heartbroken and decide to try harder to make it work simon needs to get his shit together😒

Husband!Simon Headcanons (context)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Divorce, Some Comfort?

Unedited

There is only so much silence a room can hold before it becomes deafening.

You and Simon sit across from each other at the table, a half-full folder of documents thrown hazardously between the two of you on the rich wood- teetering on the edge. The other half is scattered on the floor, out of order and long forgotten. Neither of you make an effort to pick them up or to rescue the manila folder. Leaving everything half in, half-out and on the verge of falling apart. Simon had made an effort to catch it when he first threw it, but quickly retracted his hands when he saw it stop just short of falling.

Maybe there is something symbolic in that. In this sad, lonely picture formed between the two of you. In a place that used to be so warm and loving, now left cold and dirtied.

You haven’t looked at Simon since he had joined you at the table, and he doesn’t seem to be looking at you too. His eyes are far off, here but gone at the same time. Like always- like the nature of his life makes him. In his mind, he recalls the moments that led up to this. Slightly fleshed out images that dance in front of his eyes like war flashbacks.

The sound of his rough steps following after you when he had confronted you with the folder- clean and pristine, sitting by itself in a drawer he never knew you used- echo in his ears. He can see the dimly lit hallway the two of you walked down as you tried to escape into the living room, only stopped when he had extended his arm and grabbed you by the wrist.

“How long have you had these?”

…

“So what, huh? You’re not going to say anything to me now?”

“And say what, Simon? What can I say to you? You’ve never listened to me before. Do you want me to beg you for something? Haven’t I done enough begging in my lifetime for you to do something?”

“…When were you planning on giving these to me?”

“I can’t give something to someone who’s never here.”

Simon doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sob that had clawed itself through your chest, or the way you had turned so sharply away from him as you walked away. He had been frozen in his spot, helpless in trying to soothe you. His own words trapped behind muscle and denial as they screamed I’m here! I’m right here.

Now he finds himself lost, floating in a sea of dark, murky water with no land in sight. Buried under dirt with nothing to crawl out with. Trapped and panicked and suffocating. His heart craving to go home, but his mind telling him there might not be a home to go back to.

Not unless he fights for it.

You keep your gaze forward as his chair creaks. Wood worn in from time and not use. Simon walks over the pile of paper, smooth under his feet. A path, a bridge, a connection.

Simon’s torso fills your vision. Then his chest, and his neck, and his face. Then he’s gone again, out of your line of sight as he kneels before you. The weight of his head falls onto your lap, the crown of his head pressing into your lower stomach. His arms- usually heavy- are like feathers around your waist as he simply holds you. Your hand drifts to his hair, and you run your fingers through it in comfort.

“Simon.”

“Hm?”

“Your back and knees will hurt later.”

“I know.”

Your eyes drift down to him, watching the way he closes his eyes and simply breaths you in. Like he’s trying to remember and engrave something in his mind. You sigh softly, a tie between tired and fond of this large man.

“The papers are still all over the floor, Simon.”

“I’ll clean it up. I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Okay, Simon. Okay. I believe you.”

You look away again, scanning the mess on the floor and the folder on the table.

“Make sure you take out the trash when you finish.”

Simon squeezes you tighter, and you ignore the way your pants are starting to collect raindrops.

“Thank you.”

[pangborns]

WOULD’VE, COULD’VE, SHOULD’VE…

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be

tyler durden x fem!reader x the narrator (jack)

in which tyler entered your life just long enough to fuck it all up.

swearing, mentions of death, violence, panic attacks, manipulation, mean!tyler, kidnapping tbh, possible spoilers. (This may be the darkest thing I’ve written yet, so proceed with caution.)

Your shaky hand was quick to cover your mouth as the sobs poured out of you. You sat criss-crossed on the filthy mattress decorating the floor of the deteriorating home.

Admittedly, just two weeks ago you were a completely different person. You had a stable job, healthy friendships, and most importantly, no Tyler.

The night you met him, he had stopped you from calling the police on him and his friend for fighting in the parking lot outside of Lou’s Tavern. You remember his hand being so cold as it gently wrapped around your wrist. You remember the fear you felt in the pit of your stomach as you looked between the two bloodied men, the flush of your cheeks as they both gauged your actions, and the way you ultimately stopped your movement toward the pay phone. That was your first mistake.

“What’s your name?” Tyler questioned, he tilted his head a bit. You looked around him, watching as the man he was fighting spit out a wad of blood, he was still on the ground. Tyler stepped in front of your line of view. “Your name?”

“Oh- I’m, um, I’m (Y/N),” Your voice shook as you spoke to him. “I wasn’t looking to get involved with anything. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt…”

Tyler chuckled, pivoting on his foot to face his friend, “Y’hear that? She doesn’t want anybody to get hurt,” He was mocking you. The man behind him still didn’t say anything, he seemed lost in thought as he stared at you.

Wait a minute, you knew this man…“Jack?” You spoke incredulously, you did know this man! He worked a few cubicles down from you.

Tyler’s eyes widened, he whistled and fell back a few steps. “Jack’s got a friend,” Tyler continued his trek toward Jack, kneeling beside him. “Now, how do we know this woman, Jack?”

Jack seemed to try to stutter out an answer, his eyes were blown wide. His whole life could fall apart due to this very encounter, you could run off and tell everybody what you had stumbled upon. You could get him fired. His breathing calmed as he became lost in thought, you wouldn’t do that. You were only the woman who worked down the aisle from him, the one that asked him for paperclips as an excuse to interact, the one who emailed him the work he missed out on while he was sick, the one who so obviously had a work crush on him.

Your face was white at the realization, Tyler lowered his voice as he spoke into Jack’s ear, the two still watching you. Your work heels clicked as you started to back away, not failing to recognize how Tyler seemed to let you.

“C’mon man, she’s leaving you. She doesn’t care. She’ll probably run off and tell everybody about how much of a loser you are. What kind of guy stages fights in a run down parking lot-?” Tyler continued to egg Jack on, watching as his buddy’s face contorted.

“Wait!” Jack called out, stopping you in your tracks. “This is- he’s my friend, Tyler.” You released a small breath you were holding as he admitted that he really did know the man.

You nodded, muttering assurances to both yourself and Jack. Feigning a laugh, you started to turn around to leave for good.

“Don’t leave,” Jack pleaded, shakily standing up. “Let me- do you want to come over? To our place?”

You furrowed your brow. Our place. Was Tyler his roommate? “Why?” Your words came out shaky as you fiddled with your coat.

Jack grew quiet, he didn’t know why he extended the invitation. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue in thought.

“- we just moved in! Jack’s been eager to show it off to everybody we meet!” Tyler jumped in, patting Jack on the back extra hard as he stood up beside him.

You looked down at your dainty watch and read the time: 11:28. You stayed at work extra late today to pick up on Jack’s slack, so you weren’t too fond of any idea that didn’t include going home and sleeping.

“I don’t know, Jack. I’ve been working all day-“ Jack closed his eyes and hurriedly nodded, murmuring to himself. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Tyler was quick to cut you off.

“You heard her, Jack. She doesn’t care,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way. “She probably only puts up with you for her own personal work gain.”

The way he so openly spoke lies was incredulous. It didn’t even sound convincing! But from the look on Jack’s face, he so clearly believed those words. You furrowed your eyebrows, anger starting to settle in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s not true! Jack, don’t listen to him.” You demanded, stepping closer to the pair.

“Prove it.” Tyler stated curtly, tilting his head as he challenged you.

And that was how you ended up here, two weeks later, sitting in a decaying house surrounded by rats and roaches. The light pooling in from under the door was slightly blocked as a pair of shoes stood in front of the door. With a click and a creak, the door opened.

“Jack.” You addressed the man, watching as his hands shook while holding the tray of food. He refused to make eye contact with you, simply setting the tray by his feet and turning to leave. 

A sob escaped your chapped lips. “Jack, he’s a criminal. We need to get out of here.” You continued to plead. The man finally looked at you through his lashes. He gulped.

You could hear the countless men downstairs talking about their newest of plans to wreak havoc. Jack cringed.

“It doesn’t work like that, (Y/N).”

Another cry came from your mouth as you deflated a bit.

“Just give up. He isn’t going to let you leave until you join the cause.”

You sputtered, throwing your arms up in frustration. “Never! These are bad people, Jack.”

Jack pursed his lips, nodding a bit as he made his exit. The door shook as he stepped down the hall towards the stairs.

You screamed, pounding your fists against the floor. “Dammit, Tyler! Let me out!”

Your voice eventually grew hoarse and you had to give up. About fifteen minutes after your tantrum, you could hear the precise approaching footsteps of Tyler Durden.

The door cracked open and Tyler slipped in. “Heard you were giving Jack a hard time.” He tsked, not wasting a moment on a greeting.

You kept your mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Huh.” He nodded, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. A chuckle escaped from his amused smile. “I got all day, sweetheart.”

Your lip quivered as you fought back the tears. “I’m not joining your shit club.” You spit, eyebrows furrowing.

Tyler merely hummed. “C’mon hun, do it for Jack.” He teased. “Poor guy is in love with you or something! This is killing him, Princess.”

You reeled back at the nickname, cringing at his smirk. “I am going to get out of here one day. On my own accord. This shit hole will be crawling with cops in no time, Tyler. Mark my words.”

Tyler simply laughed at your threat. The thought seemed to amuse him, he lightly tapped your cheek before making his way for the door.

“Trust me, that won’t be happening.”

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 6: Darling

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: PART 6 HAS ARRIVED! Thank you for all of your support! A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and being my beta! Enjoy and blessed be! (p.s. ghost drinking an orange sodie lol) << Previous | Next >>

Simon could hear his daughter’s screams as he came up the walkway to their front door, duffel slung over his shoulder. He had returned from a month-long deployment an hour ago and only allowed himself enough time to debrief and return his weapons once on base before hopping in his car and heading home.

He entered the house, still in full gear (mask and all), to find his heavily pregnant wife pacing the living room, their crying daughter in her arms. Her eyes and cheeks were red when she turned to the door, sobbing in relief at the sight of him.

“Oh, sweetheart. What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his bag by the door and going to her.

“She has a-a cold.”

“I can see that.” He wiped at the snot and drool on Joanie’s lip with his glove. “Where’s Roach?”

“He went to pick König up. You didn’t see him?”

“No. Must’ve just missed ‘im.” When Price handed out assignments for their most recent deployment, Roach had offered (more like decided) to stay with Freyja for the duration of his absence. With König also deployed, it made sense for him to help her with the baby and housekeeping while Simon was gone. Better than staying on base – alone – for a month. Knowing someone was in the house with his family made him feel better about leaving for such an extended period, especially with his track record. The last time he had left the country, leaving his pregnant spouse behind…

Simon rubbed his daughter’s back, his heartstrings tugging at the thought of her being in pain. “Give ’er here, I’ll take a turn.”

“Si, no, you must be exhausted-”

“I am exhausted, which means I’m in no mood to argue. Go to bed, love, please.”

His pleading didn’t seem to affect her as she went back to doing laps around the couch. “The doctor said there’s nothing we can do. It just has to pass. I’ve tried everything. Chest salve, shower steam, saline – nothing’s working. Every-Every time we put her down or sit down, the screaming just gets worse. Can’t stop…moving, and your son is kicking the shit out of me-”

This was ironic, considering how Joan only kicked when Simon or one of their friends spoke or touched her belly. Now, their son only ever kicked for her.

“Freyja.”

She stopped her rambling and found he had stepped into her path; he firmly held her biceps and dragged his hands up and down. Freyja sniffled as another tear slipped down her cheek. No singular word could describe how she felt (and probably looked). Drained, fatigued, beaten, dog-tired; none quite did the trick.

“You look like shit. You need to get some rest.”

“No, Simon, please just go to…bed.”

Soon as Ghost took Joan and returned to massaging her spine, her wails simmered to quiet whimpers as she cuddled into him. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, little fingers hanging from the collar of his shirt to the top of his vest. Their baby was getting big, her senseless baby talk beginning to lean more toward coherent vocabulary. When Joanie cried a soft “Dada” against his neck, Freyja started to sob harder, the heels of her palms dug into her eyes. 

Shit. “What’s wrong? She stopped screaming bloody murder. That’s a good thing.”

“I’ve been trying to calm her down for hours! You come home, and after five minutes, you’ve fixed it. She hates me! She fucking hates me!”

“Frey, look at me.” He stopped comforting Joan for a moment to tilt his wife’s chin up, forcing her to listen to him. When she did, he took his hand back. “Babies see their mothers as an extension of themselves. She knows your heartbeat and breathing sounds; she gets food from you…”

“Who told you that?”

“…I read about it.”

Freyja softened, tears no longer flowing freely. “You read parenting books?”

“Of course I do. I want to be the best for them and you.” He pulled her into his chest with one arm, his covered lips pressing into her hair. “You are her mother. I could never take your place. You’re her home. But I’ve been gone for a month, and I’ve never been away from her this long. There’s something to be said about missing her dad and wanting some comfort.”

When Simon brushed her tears away, she turned to kiss his palm, then rested her cheek there. Freyja didn’t know how, but her husband sure had a way with words, always knowing how to make her feel better. 

“Better?”

“Mhm,” she hummed and, before she could reach to pull his mask up, Joanie whined in frustration, kicking her legs impatiently, about to start up again. Simon chuckled and let his wife go, his heavy boots thunking against the hard floor as he began what would be a long night of getting his steps in. 

“Good. Now do as Daddy tells you and go to bed. Don’t make me tell you again.”

.

.

.

Coming up on the end of her pregnancy, the ‘waddling’ stage was in full swing. If Freyja thought she was big just before Joan was born, she was almost certainly a whale now, and she was losing energy much faster than before. This time around, though, they were sure to schedule a c-section for the week before her due date. The OB didn’t put up much of an argument with her medical history and Joan’s early arrival.

Her phone pinged again as she rounded the corner toward her husband’s office.

And again.

Joan’s irritable whines became more evident as she closed in on her destination. “Si, I can only move so fast.”

“Oh, thank god.” Ghost detached Joan’s iron grip from his mask while she was distracted. She continued to kick her little legs against him, trying to get away. “She’s antsy. I can’t get her down for shit. She’s sick of me.”

He wheeled his chair around the desk and tugged her missing sock back on (to her protest) until he reached the other side and placed her feet on the floor. “See? Mum’s here. Go see her,” he cooed, her tiny hands gripping his thumbs for support.

“Dad Ghost” as she had lovingly coined Simon in his work attire, was a walking contradiction. An arguably massive man, a masked mystery to majority of the population on base, snapping otherwise cocky and egotistical soldiers back in line. Still, no one dared to laugh as he screamed at them for poor technique or a lackluster performance with a blonde baby on his hip or strapped to his back. It never failed to make her want to giggle, hearing such a soft, gentle tone from the big scary skull plate affixed to his balaclava. 

Freyja was halfway across the room when he stood their daughter between his comically large boots. “She won’t go that far,” she admonished. “If you give her too big of a task, she’s not going to even try-”

As if sensing her mother’s doubt, Joan took a steady step forward, still holding Simon’s hands in deep concentration. Then another, and another –

Until he couldn’t stretch forward anymore, and she let go, hobbling towards Freyja until she stumbled at her feet, letting out a soft baby grunt.

They both stared at each other in silence, eyes wide and mouths agape in shock. Neither spoke for a good minute, until Joanie pulled herself up again by Freyja’s cargo pants, babbling, “Mum mum mum mummm”, gnawing at the thick material and looking up with big, brown eyes.

“Did she just…?”

“I told you, she’s bloody brilliant.” Simon shot up to scoop the baby and place her in his wife’s waiting arms.

“My big, smart girl! I can’t believe it!” She squealed and giggled as Freyja peppered her face in fat, wet kisses and gently shook her. Ghost joined in, playfully nibbling at the rolls on the other side through the black material covering his face. Joanie smacked them both away, screaming with joy. Amongst all the commotion, Price stopped in the doorway on his way to their brief (which they were about to be late for). 

“What’s going on here?” he asked, fists on his hips in faux anger. “I thought we had an understanding! No fun at work without Granddad.”

“We officially have a walker on our hands!”

Price gasped and crossed the room in an instant. “And I missed it?!” He shoved the stack of mission folders at the lieutenant and stole his granddaughter from her mother, hiking her high up on his waist. “You walked without me? I’m offended, little miss, but I’ll settle for a victory lap.”

He plucked his green bucket hat off the top of his head and dropped it onto hers, earning a high-pitched shriek of delight when it covered her face. “Let’s roll, everybody. We’ve got a meeting to get to,” he commanded before marching down the hall. “Oi, lads! She walked!”

A chorus of cheers broke out in the distance, followed by a wall-shaking group chant, “Joanie! Joanie! Joanie!”

Freyja just stood there, pouting, arms crossed atop her belly. “Just once, I’d like to celebrate our baby’s milestones in peace.”

“You know that’s not possible, love.” Ghost chuckled next to her, offering a single pat to her ass as they headed to the briefing. While neither of them would be going, it was their job to know what was going on during their impending absence. The ruckus started to die down when the couple sat, and the others followed suit. Soap placed a mug of peppermint tea in front of her, which she thanked him for, and  Laswell, Gaz, and Soap filed around the table.

“Kӧnig and Roach should be here shortly,” Price said, bouncing Joan on his lap as Ghost passed out manila folders.

Gaz checked his watch with a furrowed brow. “It’s five past. Maybe they forgot?”

“Just give them a few minutes. I’m sure they’ll be here.”

“His office was closed, so he’s definitely in there. I can go grab ‘im. It’s no trouble,” he offered, the metal legs of his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up.

“Be my guest, Sergeant,” Freyja hummed, making eye contact with John as she sipped her tea, hiding her mischievous grin behind the cup. She waited for an appropriate amount of time, about how long it would take to take ten paces up the hall before she held up five fingers. 

“You’re a demon.”

“Five, four, three, two…”

“Verdammt nochmal!” 

There’s a loud bang, eerily similar to the sound of a six-foot-six body slamming into the floor. Boots thunder against the ground until Gaz appears in the doorway again, eyes wide and blushing like a madman.

“Genau deshalb habe ich das Militär verlassen, keiner von euch hat den Anstand, verdammt noch mal anzuklopfen!”

“Didn’t knock, did you.”

“Nope.”

“How bad?”

König stomped into the meeting, red as a tomato as he jerked his long, tangled (read: freshly fucked) hair into a knot at the base of his neck before slipping his hood on. Roach walked in behind him, grinning like an absolute idiot (read: clearly the one doing the fucking), albeit a bit flush, and his clothes untucked and wrinkled as he plopped beside John. 

“At least I didn’t get knifed this time.”

“Der Tag ist noch jung, Unteroffizier.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounded like a threat.”

“It was,” Freyja sang, her body shaking as she attempted to withhold laughter.

By the time Price had finished divulging the details of the op scheduled for the end of the month (which was also around the time of her c-section, which left Freyja and those deploying disappointed), Joanie had escaped his hold to crawl across the table and landed in her mother’s lap. She sat back against Frey’s round belly, happily gnawing on a teething ring while the captain combed her fingers through her soft, blonde curls. 

John cleared his throat and leaned back, tipping the chair on its back legs. “So…In a shocking turn of events, Roach is the top–”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, CAPTAIN?!” Soap screeched after choking on his coffee, leaving a stain on his shirt as it dripped from his nose.

“Oh, mein Gott…” 

“I don’t know. What did I say, Sergeant?”

Across the table, Roach held his lips between his teeth as he wheezed, quickly signing, “Only for my king.”

“PLEASE PLÖTZE! Stop talking!” König, finally deciding he’d had enough, shot up from his seat and practically sprinted out of the room, almost bonking his head on the door frame on his way out. A moment later, he stormed back in and snagged his forgotten file awaiting him in Roach’s outstretched hand before turning back out.

Biting his lip, Soap muttered, “Interesting…” to himself, eyeing the Austrian’s retreating form before flicking back over to Roach. The Brit was already looking at him, probably having heard him being sat next to him. He winked with a devilish smirk, and practically purred, “S’alright, happens tae th' best o' us.”

.

.

.

A few days shy of their next mission, and the birth of the newest Riley, the gang gathered around their living room for one last game night before Roach, König, Soap, and John departed for another mission. Roach and König were less than pleased to be missing the birth of their godson, but it couldn’t be helped.

Kyle placed a red eight down on the stack of cards, ending his turn. “C’mon, mate, what’s the wildest thing you’ve done on a mission?” he prodded, raising a brow in Simon’s direction. “You know all our stories. It’s only fair.”

The two shared a knowing look, and Freyja giggled once before Kyle interrupted, “Besides that, you heathens.”

Simon pressed against the kitchen chair he had dragged in for himself, seriously considering what he would consider the most outlandish activity he had partaken in outside of combat. Particularly, that didn’t involve screwing his wife in places they shouldn’t, like public places, sniper lookouts, cars, or supply closets…

Before he could drift too far, he caught the saucy side-eye his wife was throwing him from her deep armchair.

“No.”

Soap peeked up from his hand with a quirked brow. “Does Ghostie have an embarrassing secret? Now we have to know!”

“It’s not a secret, and I’m not embarrassed by it just because I don’t flaunt it around,” he said, shot back the rest of his whiskey, and replaced his mask. Simon didn’t always wear it with their friends; he just so happened to feel inclined to it that night. There was no rhyme or reason as to when he needed the comfort; the urge just came and went as it pleased. 

He tried his best to sound completely disinterested, hoping the discussion would blow over as he threw down his card. “Blue.”

Unfortunately, his plan did not work, and all interest in their game of Uno was lost. Kyle threw his hand down on the table, completely giddy. “WHAT IS IT?! TELL US!”

Simon groaned, throwing his cards at his wife, who simply laughed. “See, look what you did.” He sighed and begrudgingly unhooked his mask from behind his ears, tossing that at her too. After a beat, he let his tongue loll out, revealing a silver ball.

Several (if not all) of their jaws dropped, save for Freyja’s, who was utterly thrilled that this was happening.

Johnny was the first to speak. “Is…that…” he stuttered, staring unabashedly in disbelief. 

He snapped his mouth shut again once everyone had had a decent look. “Alright, can we move on please–”

The Scot pounced across the space, clearing the coffee table as he knocked Simon out of his chair, taking them both down into a heap on the floor. They wrestled as he tried to dig his fingers into Ghost’s mouth and pry it open again. “LEMME SEE!”

“JOHNNY!” Simon roared, bucking and thrashing his hips in attempt to get the man off, but he quickly scooted up until he sat firmly on his chest, knees pinning his shoulders as he yanked the piercing back out.

“Awe, so that’s why you’re always fuckin’ like horny teenagers! Oh, ah bet that feels good on your cu-”

“SHUT UP, SOAP!” “THAT’LL DO!” 

Freyja whipped her slipper at Johnny’s head, which he swiftly dodged. Meanwhile, Gaz was face down on the floor, having a fit and struggling to breathe. Price looked like he would actually rather die than endure another moment of the scene unfolding at his feet. Kӧnig was carefully weaving between people and furniture to remove Soap before he got hurt, and Roach stayed in his spot, mouth open in silent laughter.

Thank God Joanie was a heavy sleeper.

“Are you gonnae sit there ‘n tell meh that a’m wrong? A husband should always eat arse!”

“JOHNNY, OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

Kyle finally caught his breath and cut back in, “But does it WORK?!”

Everybody froze, including Kӧnig, whose hands looped under Johnny’s armpits, about to extract him. From underneath him, Simon glared up at his wife (who started this whole fucking mess). “Freyja–”

But Freyja, being the brat she is and loving the chaos, “…It works.”

Simon covered his face with both of his now freed hands, so utterly sick of her shit as the sergeant shook his shoulders, he and Gaz both screaming like madmen. Kӧnig still hovered over them, ready to remove Johnny if Simon called for it, his red hair up in a neat top knot at the crown of his head. A few strands hung loosely by his ears and at the peak of his forehead, framing his pale skin.

“AAAAAYYYYYY, SO YOU DO GIVE GOOD HEAD!”

He removed his shield at that, looking up at Johnny with a confused expression. “Who said I don’t give good head?”

Price flinched with a crinkled nose and grabbed his hat from the back of the couch. “That’s my cue.”

“Scary guys either have monster cock or scary good head,” Kyle stated as if it were pure fact.

“But he has both.”

“I can’t fucking take this.” Simon finally shoved at Johnny and the Austrian lifted him with ease, standing the Scot back on his feet.

Soap dusted off his pants. “Damn, you’ll have’ta get one’a those, Köni,” he teased and turned to face the giant, looking up at him with a boyish grin. 

König’s skin, ever the shy one, immediately painted itself a rosy hue, unable to be hidden by any hood or mask. Even Roach was taken by his brashness and turned a little pink himself, choosing to sip his drink. König was, unfortunately, frozen in place, wide eyes staring down at Johnny’s proud face.

Three seconds pass.

Then two more.

Then three again.

“OH MY GOD, THAT WAS THEM?! The threesome you told me about a few weeks ago, was them?”

With nowhere else to go, König collapsed onto the couch and pulled the neck of his sweater over his face. “Verdammter Himmel, Johnny…” If he could crawl into a hole and die, he would.

“What can ah say? M’services are world-class.”

“Can confirm,” Roach added, having put his glass down so he could use both hands to talk.

Johnny raised a brow and dragged his eyes from Roach’s shoes, slowly up his shins, then his thighs and chest before settling on the challenging smirk on his freckled face. “‘S that so?” he asked, stepping into the space between Roach’s knees and the table.

Roach simply nodded, looking up at his boyfriend through hooded lashes, resembling a lovesick puppy with shocking accuracy. He knew exactly what he was doing, too, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. Roach was a…talented flirt, to say the least.

His glass was carefully removed from his hand and placed on a coaster. Without a second thought, Soap wrapped his fingers around Roach’s wrist, dragged it behind his neck, and tossed the man over his shoulder. Gaz gaped, completely dumbfounded into silence – flabbergasted, if you will. He paused in the entryway, looking over his opposite shoulder.

“You comin’, Kö?”

König, still tucked away in the corner of the couch, peeked out from the cocoon he had created with his sweater. Even his forehead was tinged red, still. He openly stared for a bit before mustering up enough courage to rise again, and in an impossibly meek voice for such a large man, replied, “...Yes, sir,” and loosely tangled their fingers together.

Kyle threw his hands up then dropped them onto his head, dragging his cap back a bit. “WHAT IS GOING ON?!”

Freyja offered a sympathetic pat, her bottom lip jutted out. Poor Simon, who had returned to his seat, covered his mouth with one palm as he tried to contain his chuckles. He pulled his mask back on after retrieving it from the floor.

“Don’t worry, Gaz,” she said and poked his cheek. “We’ll find you a nice girl.”

“I GET AROUND FINE!” He swatted her hand away, glowering at her. “You’re all just a bunch of slags!”

He jumped up, abandoning his beer and putting his hat back in place. “Where’s my niece? I need to restore my innocence,” he grumbled, trudging upstairs.

“Simon, did he just call us sluts?”

“Yes, darling.”

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Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[florrysgf]

NOT PART OF THE PLAN! stu macher x fem!reader

SUMMARY: in which you discover your boyfriend, stu is hiding a dark secret, which leads to you crumbling his and billy’s plan

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of drugging, manipulation, blood, murder, mentions of death, gunshots, stabbing, mentions of vomit

WORD COUNT: 1.9k +

You muttered a low “Fuck,” under your breath as you forced open your eyes. Your eyelids were heavy. You struggled as you lifted your head up from the pillow, it felt as though it weighed a ton. It took a couple of seconds for your eyes to adjust to the bright light, and for you to realise where you were. The digital clock on the bedside table was the first thing to catch your eye. Shit, how much did you drink? It was past 1AM, and Stu was nowhere to be seen.

You internally scratched your brain for any recollection of the previous night. You remember drinking, a lot, which you presumed caused you to pass out in Stu’s bedroom. But what confused you the most was the fact that Stu wasn’t lying beside you. There was no way the party was still going on. There was a curfew in place, and you distinctly remember having to drag a girl out of the house by her hair because she was so drunk.

You forced yourself up out of the bed and trailed down the hall to Mr and Mrs Macher’s bedroom, where you hoped to find your boyfriend. Instead, when you opened the door, you were met with a rather stomach-churning sight. You let out a gasp, a peculiar feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. Blood. Everywhere. Up the walls, on the floor, splattered across the bed.

“Oh my god. No, no, no.” You repeated to yourself, immediately rushing to sprint down the staircase. If you ran any faster, you’d go flying.

Just as reached the bottom of the staircase, the scene infront of you stopped you in your tracks. Randy was lying unresponsive on the floor of the foyer, blood seeping out from his chest whilst a hysterical Sidney stood over him. By the door, you locked eyes with Billy, but this was not the same Billy you once knew. He stood smirking, scratching the side of his head with the barrel of Dewey’s gun. His white cotton shirt was soaked in blood, and the barbarous look in his eyes was haunting.

You felt sick to your stomach. Was it Billy all along? All this time, your best friend was the one you should’ve been scared of and you were blinded to it. “What the fuck is going on?” You croaked out.

“You know, Y/N. I always thought you were smarter than that.” Billy chuckled, referencing the gun in his hand, “C’mon. Put two and two together.”

You were trying to process too much at once, and it was beginning to get too much for you. The masked killer running around was right under your nose the entire time, and he just shot one of your best friends. Fuck! You trudged your way over to where Randy was lying. The carpet beneath him was quickly turning red with his blood, and his skin was growing more and more pale by the second.

“Is he dead?” Sidney asked between sobs.

You found his wrist, frantically searching for a pulse. You felt the tears prick in your eyes as you were unable to find one. Your emotions built up, a sudden wrath took hold of you, prompting you to pick up a vase that was placed on a table by the front door. You tipped the flowers out onto the floor and ran up behind Billy, smashing the ornament over his head. “You sick fucking bastard!” You cried.

The brunette boy screamed out, using his free hand to grasp hold of your ankle, dragging you down to the floor with him. You whined, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but it was no use.

Instead, you used your right leg to kick him the torso, causing the gun to fly from his hand. A small, yet determined smirk formed on your face as you extended your arm out the grab the weapon, at the hope of freeing yourself. You were so close. Just a few inches fur—

“Bitch.” The Loomis boy spat, stomping his foot on your wrist, stopping you from reaching the gun and causing you to yelp out in pain.

You were forced to put all of the pressure on your other arm as you forced yourself to stand up and attempt to tackle him again. You lunged forward at him, only for the loud ring of his shotgun to fill your ears. You audibly gasped as the bullet tore through your skin, deflecting off your right rib. It felt like your insides were burning out. As though it were a reflex, your hands cupped the bullet hole in your side, your vision blurring at the sight of blood pouring out.

Stu came running into the room at the sound of the gunshot. The beige sweater you once bought him was now red with blood, the cotton torn to shreds. You didn’t even notice the kitchen knife in his hand.

He watched your body collapse against the wall, his face dropping instantly as he turned to the brunette, who looked just as shocked as you did. “What the fuck, man?!” He spat.

Sidney rushed to your side, tearing off her denim jacket and holding it to your gunshot wound, trying her best to apply pressure to it and stop the bleeding. She’d already lost Randy and Tatum, she sure as hell wasn’t going to lose you too.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your boyfriend shrieked, staring aimlessly at Billy, who simply cocked his head to the side. “We had an agreement, man! You promised me she wouldn’t get hurt!”

The Loomis boy simply shrugged his shoulders. “She got too cocky.” He supposed, “I told you if she got in the way, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.”

“You promised, you dick.” Stu whined, dropping the knife to the floor and kneeling down beside you. His hand reached for yours, only for you to slap it away.

“Don’t touch me!” You snapped, causing him to tense up. More tears began to fall down your already stained cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. How could he do this to you? You grabbed the jacket from Sidney’s fingers, pressing it harder to your torso with a wince as you tried to stand up, using the wall to help you.

Once you were up, you stumbled into the kitchen with a stiff Stu traipsing behind you. Sidney tried to follow, but Billy was quick to grab hold of her, pulling her to his chest and holding the gun to her head.

“It was you. It was you all along. It was all you.” You muttered, mostly to yourself, pacing up and down the kitchen. Even saying it out loud, you couldn’t comprehend it. You turned around, gawking at him through glossy eyes, silently begging for an explanation.

Stu frowned, attempting to get closer to you again, but you took a step back, gripping the counter with your fingers. “Y/N, please. You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it?” You scoffed, tightening your grip on the marble counter as the pain in your stomach started to become unbearable. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to stand. “Then explain it to me, Stu! Explain to me why you killed all those people! Casey, Tatum, Himbry, Randy - why’d you do it?”

The tall, blonde boy was unable to look you in the eye. God, he felt so ashamed. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, this wasn’t the plan. “It was Billy.” He mumbled, causing the brunette on the other side of the room to roll his eyes. “It was all Billy’s idea, he made me do it. I swear it, Y/N, please. You have to believe me.”

Peer pressure? Was that his motive? Did he really expect you to believe that? You knew Stu was easily led, he always had been, but now it all made sense. The sick jokes, the slasher references. There had always been something about him and you were too stupid to notice it. Either that or he was too good at hiding it.

His fear grew bigger as you stayed silent. It made him feel uneasy, he didn’t know what you were thinking and that terrified him. He had to get you on his side. He had to make you believe him. “He promised to leave you out of it if I helped him. That’s why we put you upstairs, to protect you!”

“Oh my god…” you whimpered, tears falling from your eyes as the realisation washed over you like a wave. The beers. Holy shit, the beers. “You— you drugged me.” You whispered somewhat sternly.

Stu’s eyes, too glistened with tears. He shook his head, neither conforming nor denying your statement. “To protect you!” He repeated, defending himself, his voice dropping down to the usual soft tone you knew and loved.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You gawked at him, eyes wide.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt!” He whined, throwing his arms in the air, eyeing your gaping wound. “You weren’t supposed to get shot, that was not part of the plan. All I wanted was to keep you safe, that’s all I wanted! Fuck, if you had just stayed upstairs like you were suppo—”

You cut him off, almost laughing at what you’d just heard. “Are you saying this all my fault?!”

“Y/N, honey, I love you—”

“You’re psychotic.”

“It’s not my fault—”

“You’re a murderer!”

“I did it for you!”

You let out a groan, clutching your stomach with your arm. Your entire body ached, you were exhausted. “What do you expect me to do, Stu?” You sighed in defeat. “Drop everything and forgive you so we can run off into the sunset together? Act like none of this ever happened?”

Stu ran out of words. He couldn’t think of anything else to say to convince you to be on his side. He didn’t want to lose you, that was the last thing he wanted. You were all he had left. He could tell you were tired, tired of everything. You just wanted it all to stop. As harsh as it may sound, in that moment, you wished you never met him. The boy inched closer to you, holding his arms out. He just wanted to hug you, hold you in his arms and inhale your scent, without a care in the world.

You flinched as his fingertips brushed against your skin. You felt sick. In a panic, you reached out behind you, swiping a kitchen knife from the block on the counter, and holding it out infront of you.

Stu took a rapid step back, gawping at your shaking hand. “Baby, what are you doing?” He carefully asked.

“I said… don’t come… near me.” You whispered. Now Stu was scared. Not because of the knife in your hand, but because you were turning pale. You were sweating. Your entire body was trembling, relying completely on the counter behind you to stay upright.

“Y/N, baby, give me the knife.” The blonde pleaded, looking at you with begging eyes.

Suddenly your eyes felt incredibly heavy. You let out a gasp, your grip on the side loosening. The knife slipped out of your hand with a loud crash, and your body collapsed to the floor with it. “Shit! Shit!” The Macher boy cursed, kneeling down bedside you at an instant. He picked up your head, placing it on his lap. His stomach churned as you began to spit up blood.

Once he was preoccupied, searching frantically for something, anything, to stop the bleeding, using the little strength you had left, you reached for knife, grasping it and plunging it straight into his back. “Bastard.” You spluttered, dropping the knife to the floor, lying back down as your boyfriend face-planted the ground, the kitchen knife poking out of his back.

[abbys-wifey]

falling for you

pairing: tara carpenter x female reader

warnings: embarrassing y/n.

a/n: the requests are being written guys i apologise for the time it’s taking

The first time I see her is on my way to my bio lecture. She was walking in the other direction, books tucked comfortably under her arm as she laughed with some curly haired girl.

It was crazy how fast I managed to fall for her, both physically and mentally.

Stumbling forwards I brace myself for the pain as I land face first into the concrete. “Oh shit are you good?” I curse whoever the higher power of this world is as the girl rushes over to my side.

“I’m good, just clumsy.” I manage to laugh through my embarrassment as I push myself to my knees, wincing as I run my hand over my face. “Your bleeding.” She contradicts monotonously as her eyebrow raises.

Seeing her up close made me want to fall over again, her perfect brown eyes that could swallow me whole and her nose adorned in little freckles that made a trail all the way down her cheeks. “Did you get a concussion or do you always stare this hard?” She asks scrunching her nose slightly.

“Neither?” I chuckle awkwardly willing the floor below me to open up and take me away from this pride shattering situation. “Ok, well if your ok then I have a class to get to. Try not to hurt that pretty face of yours anymore alright?” And with that she sends me a smile and a wave before heading back to her curly haired friend and continuing on her path to class.

………

“You fucking fell over in front of her?”

“Shut up ok, I didn’t mean to.” I hiss at my best friend Charlotte who doubles over in laughter earning a glare from our bio teacher.

“Oh that’s beautiful. I wish I was there.” Charlotte cackles wiping a tear from her eye. “Did you at least get her name?” She asks still recovering from her laughing fit. I run a hand down my face once again forgetting about the cut running across the side of my cheek. “Fuck ow.” I inhale sharply making sure it hadn’t re opened before turning back to my friend. “And no I’m a fucking idiot. You know this. I can’t talk let alone flirt with pretty girls. Especially ones who flirt back and call me pretty.” I sigh and rest my hands under my chin. “Besides this campus is massive, I doubt I’ll ever see her again.”

Charlottes eyes roll playfully. “Your life is sad. So pathetically sad.” Her hand rubs my back as she turns her attention back to our teacher.

………

With an aching head I manage to sit through the rest of my classes for the day and answer the many many questions on what happened to my cheek. None of which I answered honestly.

And with my last class over I go to head back to my apartment with Mac Miller blasting in my ears but a light tap on my shoulder forces me to pull out my airpods and turn around.

“Hi, sorry for interrupting your music session, just wanted to make sure you were ok after your… fall, earlier.” The same short brown eyed girl from earlier smiles up at me, her eyes lingering on my cheek.

My heart skips a beat (or five) and my hands rush to tuck my stray hairs behind my ears. “Oh uh that’s ok. I’m alright just got this to deal with when I get home.” I shrug nonchalantly as if the cut on my cheek didn’t make me sob in a bathroom for ten minutes.

The girl laughs, a sound that makes me believe I just ascended into heaven. “Yeah you better make sure that doesn’t scar. Although it’s a known fact that chicks dig scars so.” She smirks cheekily and winks.

“My names Tara by the way.” She extends her hand and I take it slowly. “Y/N. My names Y/N.” I shake her hand gently, our hands remaining intertwined for longer than is considered normal.

“You know how to take care of your cheek?” Tara asks leaning on her tippy toes to get a better view of the wound. “Uh, I’ll just have a shower and hope it gets better I guess.” I laugh awkwardly as Tara shakes her head, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“This might be forward but can I come to your apartment? Just to make sure you treat your cut well. I’ve had my fair share of wounds I know what to do with them and I’m sure you don’t want your face scarred forever.” Tara shrugs before looking down at her shoes that dig awkwardly against the pavement.

“I’m ok with it. So long as you don’t plan to murder me.” I chuckle causing Tara to place her attention back on me, her eyes rolling playfully. “Please, I’m five foot basically nothing. I think you’ll be fine.” She retorts as the two of us slowly begin walking towards my apartment.

“You never know. They say the small ones are the ones you need to watch out for.”

……

Arriving back at my apartment, Tara is quick to ask where my bathroom is before tugging me towards it. “Have a shower and hope.” She scoffs as she mocks my earlier words. Shoving me against the bathroom sink, although she apologises at the unnecessary force used, Tara rummages through my medicine cabinet until she finds what she’s looking for.

Antiseptic.

“This is gonna hurt.” She smiles apologetically before moving to stand between my legs, her brown eyes catching mine. “Is this alright?” She asks, slowly reaching up to grip my jaw. “Better than ok.” I scrunch my nose up as she blushes before letting out a whine as she finally presses the liquid to my wound.

“I knew you were trying to kill me.” I breathe, trying my hardest not to look like a wimp. Tara’s eyes flicker to my own filled with worry before returning to my cheek as she dabs away. “Trust me, this is the least painful part.” She chuckles. I don’t reply, simply fixated on her concentrated face.

Once again I find myself following her trail of freckles and losing myself in her brown eyes. Only this time I don’t have a concussion to blame it on when she catches my stare.

“So what’s the excuse this time?” She whispers, her nose basically brushing mine as she gazes up at me.

I can’t reply, my voice stuck in my throat as her dimples appear following her toothy grin. Mustering up as much courage as I possibly can I let my hand fall upon her waist pulling her further into my legs. “I don’t have one.” I manage to breathe out as her breath hitches.

I watch as Tara’s eyes fall to my lips, her tongue running over her own. “Just kiss me.” I whisper surprised at my own confidence.

But confidence is key as Tara’s lips connect with my own, her hands leaving my jaw to tangle themselves in my hair as I squeeze her waist gently.

Capturing her tongue with mine is something that I had yet to even imagine, the feeling of euphoria rushing through every nerve in my body.

Only when breathing becomes a problem do I pull back and grin at the flushed face of the brown eyed girl before me.

“Your beautiful.” I sigh moving a hand to her cheek and caressing it lightly. Her lips twitch upwards as she shrugs. “Your cheek is still not treated. Let me finish my job and we can finish this later.” She teases softly before leaning in to peck my lips once again.

“And I promise you. We will.”

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

gone like him

@sparklingcid3r got me in my feelings about Darry's feelings after Dally's death so I wrote a fic about it <3

Darry didn’t usually have nightmares. He slept fitfully after their parents died and barely slept at all while Ponyboy was missing. But he never had nightmares. And then he watched Dallas Winston be gunned down just feet in front of him. 

Darry had seen so much violence in his life. Being a greaser made sure of that. He’d seen broken bones and faces so beaten he couldn’t recognize them. None of it even compared to watching Dally’s body jerk as bullets riddled his chest. 

The cops had turned to the five of them and for a split second, Darry was certain that they would open fire on them and there was nothing he could do to protect what remained of his gang, his brothers. 

But they hadn’t. 

Darry’s dreams weren’t as merciful. 

In his nightmares, he watched his boys be shot. He saw Steve lying on the ground, a pool of blood haloing his head. He saw Two-Bit leaning against the curb, trying in vain to stop the blood seeping from his stomach. He saw Soda with bullet wounds in his chest, but alive enough to sob and scream as he cradled Ponyboy’s lifeless body. 

Two-Bit and Soda looked at Darry. Their eyes were filled with fear. “Darry-” Soda gasped through a sob. His eyes lifted above Darry’s eyes. 

With a trembling hand, Darry reached up and felt a bullet hole in his forehead, hot blood weeping down his nose. 

Darry jerked up with a gasp, drenched in sweat. It took him a moment to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. Darry dragged a hand down his face. That nightmare had been plaguing him for the better part of two weeks. Every few days he would wake up with a gasp, the image of his gang full of bullets lingering in his mind.

At this point, he knew there was only one way to get back to sleep. He threw his blankets off and padded into the hallway. Soda and Pony’s bedroom door was cracked open so he nudged it open. 

The two boys were sprawled out, legs thrown everywhere in ways that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Soda was snoring. God, he loved them so much. In the moonlight, he could see Pony’s eyes blink open and find him in the doorway.

“Darry?” He asked, lifting himself onto his elbow. 

“Hey, Pone,” Darry sat down on the edge of the bed next to his baby brother. He reached out and pulled the blanket up around Pony’s shoulders as he laid back down. “Just checkin’ on y’all.” 

“Nightmare?” 

“Yeah.” Darry gave up lying about it a few days ago. All three of them were struggling after losing Dally and Johnny, it didn’t help Soda or Pony if he was hiding how he was feeling. “Just needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“Soda keeps kickin’ me,” Pony mumbled. Darry chuckled. Then Pony met Darry’s eyes sincerely. “Are you okay?”

Darry nodded, “Go back to sleep.” Pony snuggled back down into his blankets, making Darry hold back a laugh as he kicked Soda’s legs off of him. Darry just sat there for a few more moments. He watched Soda and Pony’s chests rise and fall evenly and listened to Soda’s snoring. Whatever tension was left from his nightmare dissipated with each passing moment. 

When he finally was able to pull himself from his brothers, he padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. As he extended the cup under the faucet, Darry noticed his hand trembling something awful. 

With the glass barely filled, he set it to the side and leaned over the sink. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced deep breaths. But with closed eyes, all he could see was Soda and Pony, lying in their bed, the sheets stained with blood. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face. He was going fucking crazy, he was losing his mind. He just saw the two of them in bed, he knew they were safe and unharmed. But his racing heart didn’t trust that.

“Darry?” 

He turned around to see his brothers standing in the doorway. They were both bleary eyed, but were looking at him with concern. Fuck. 

He turned back to the sink and looked down at the water slipping into the drain. “Go back to bed, y’all.” Darry’s hands were clenched on the edge of the counter top, knuckles white. “It’s late.”

“We know,” Soda’s voice was so fucking gentle, as though he was afraid of spooking Darry. He felt his brother’s hand on his back.

“Pone, you didn’t need to wake him up,” Darry told them, still not looking up.  “I told you I was okay.”

“No, you didn’t,” the smartass said. “You just told me to go back to sleep.” Darry felt Ponyboy nudge up against him, but he couldn’t bear to look at him. There were tears in his eyes, he couldn’t let his brothers see. 

Of course, Soda didn’t like that one bit. He pulled on Darry’s shoulder and turned him around. Darry found his brothers looking up at him with those damn puppy eyes. Soda hugged him tight around the middle, Ponyboy quickly following suit. 

There were a lot of things Darry liked about being big, but the best one by far was his ability to hold both his brothers at once. Tears slipped from his eyes. 

“You’re okay,” Ponyboy murmured, mimicking Soda’s usual words of comfort. 

After a long, long moment, Darry pulled back and looked at the two of them. “The same dream?” Soda asked. 

Darry leaned back on the counter and took a drink from his forgotten glass of water. “Yeah.” He’d confessed the contents of the dream when Soda had woken up to find Darry sleeping on the floor of their bedroom. “But like I said, I’m-”

“You’re not fine,” Pony said sharply. For the first time that night, Darry really looked at his little brother. There was more than just worry, there was fear. His lip trembled ever so slightly and then he repeated quietly, “You’re not fine and I’m sick of you pretending that you are. None of us are fine, Darry.”

Soda squeezed Pony’s shoulder in reassurance, “He’s right.” Darry moved to drag a hand down his face, but Soda caught his hand and put it to his chest, right where the bullet holes were in his dream. “We’re not fine, but we’re together and we’re here. And we’ve got nothing if we can’t lean on each other.”

Under his palm, Darry could feel Soda breathing. He could feel his brother’s blood flowing through his veins. And he let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry.” Tears brimmed in his eyes, he reached out and put a hand on Pony’s chest as well. Pony gripped his wrist, holding his arm in place. “If I were to lose either of you, I-” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale. He hated the waver in his voice. 

“It’s my worst nightmare,” Pony said softly. He glanced between Soda and Darry shyly. “The-the worst dreams I have are about losing either of you, both of you.”

Darry pulled Ponyboy into an embrace. He didn’t know how to be comforted, but he had learned how to comfort his brothers, that he could do. So he kissed Ponyboy’s head, “We ain’t going nowhere.”

“Damn right,” Soda agreed, but he was looking at Darry, not Pony. 

Darry swallowed thickly, “I love you both, so goddamn much.” 

“Enough to go back to sleep?” Soda teased, poking Darry. 

Darry chuckled and ran a hand over Pony’s head absentmindedly. “Yeah, alright. You two get back to bed, I just need some air.”

“No.” Soda grabbed Darry’s bicep and Ponyboy’s hand. 

The two of them pulled Darry into their bedroom and bullied him onto the bed. They each curled up on one of his sides before he could even try to sit up. The three of them barely fit in the bed together, but none of them cared. 

Darry could feel Pony’s breath on his arm. The pulse point on Soda’s wrist was pressed to Darry’s hand, there was no doubt it was intentional. Even though he was already sweating with the two of them in bed and that Pony and Soda definitely needed to clean their room, Darry got the best night sleep he’d had in weeks.

[obetrolncocktails]

To the Stars Who Listen | Jake Kiszka X f!Reader

📸: @j.bakermedia on Instagram

Warnings: MSG Discussion including dreams coming true, Jake fluff, tears, and lots of them, oh and some more fluff fluff fluff

Word Count: 1,429 (A quick read)!

A/N: I literally wrote this mini fic while watching the livestream and crying, so I hope you guys enjoy. 😭😭😭😭

“We fucking did it,” He said breathlessly, practically flying into your arms, knocking you off balance. You grounded yourself quickly, wrapping your arms around him. “We fucking did it,” he said again into the curve of your ear, this time, his voice trembling as he repeated himself. You tucked your face into the curve of his neck, kissing his slick skin. Watching from his side of the lower bowl, his passion while playing had rendered you speechless, dissolving your composure into little more than a helpless pool of tears for the majority of the show. 

“I am so incredibly proud of you, Jake. My baby. Your dreams just came true!” You hugged him as tight as you could, swinging him from side to side as his breath hitched, trying his best to not sob. Lifting your face, you looked up at him, aware of the tears that streamed down his face a thin, glistening line. You watched as his lips quivered. Reaching up, you swiped the tears away from his cheek, moving to squeeze his shoulder. “Go to Josh. You need him more than you need me.” 

“I-” he attempted to argue, but you shook your head and reached for his hands. “You’ve worked your entire life for this. I’m not going anywhere. Go to him.” He looked at you for an extended moment, more tears welling in his eyes. You reached for him, hugging him tight one last time and kissed him, pulling his face to yours.

 “I love you, Y/n,” he murmured against your lips. 

“I love you too,” you told him, squeezing his hands below you. 

“I’ll find you,” he assured you and you nodded. 

“Go!” you practically shouted at him, pushing him away with a chuckle. 

“Okay!” he grinned, wiping his eyes, squeezing your hand one last time before turning to sprint to find his brother. You watched him move, searching the backstage area for Josh until he spotted him. The tears continued to flow as you watched them embrace, their expressions of utmost earnestness as they cried together, laughed together and held each other. You hugged yourself as you watched them, smiling when you saw Danny and Sam doing the same. 

“We fuckin slayed Madison Square Garden,” Danny shouted with amazement. 

“I need a fuckin’ beer,” Sam admitted, offering an exhausted chuckle.

The boys’ families filtered backstage shortly after, the boys doling out hugs to everyone, but taking special time for their parents. You watched as Karen kissed her boys, throwing her arms around their necks and kissing their faces. Lori reached for Danny, and though he towered over her, he pulled her in, wrapping his body around hers. 

“They were shouting your name,” Lori told him. “All of them,” she squeezed him tight. “I am the proudest I’ve been since the day you were born.” 

You stood to the side, wiping at your dripping nose and swiping away the tears. 

“Awe, come here,” Josh said, reaching his arms out to you, hugging you tightly. You sobbed freely over his shoulder, squeezing him tight. “I’m so proud–I don’t know what to say,” you chuckled through your nose. 

“So don’t,” he said. “Just–take it all in,” he said, squeezing you one more time before stepping back. “Thank you for believing in us, and even more importantly, in Jake. He loves you so much, Y/n. You have no idea.” 

You wiped at your tears, becoming aware of how disheveled you most definitely looked. “Speaking of the devil,” He said, taking a step back as Jake reappeared in front of you, his hair combed, looking slightly refreshed. Everyone around you went silent, turning to stare at you and then back at him. Jake stepped forward into the circle of people.

“Today is a huge day for all of us,” Jake said, his gaze moving over everyone. “It’s been my dream to perform here on the same stage as so many legendary performers. Since we booked this venue, I’ve silently panicked and dreaded,” he laughed, and everyone smirked in response “This performance…It’s a lot to live up to,” he explained. “And I couldn’t have done it without these three,” he said, waving his brothers over, who wrapped their arms around each other. “I love you guys so much. Thank you for helping me live my dream every single day. I’ll never have the words to truly explain how profound of an honor it is to be your brother and partner in crime.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw people filtering into the backstage area, and you immediately recognized your parents and your siblings, coming to stand quietly by Karen and Kelly. Confusion rattled your mind as you mouthed to them “What are you doing here?” Your mother tilted her head toward the boys, silently telling you to pay attention to them. 

“And you,” Jake continued, looking from your family and back to you. “You are the love of my life,” he said, taking a step forward. “I said that this was a dream to perform in,” he explained, “but I’ve realized over the last two years that it’s okay to have more than one dream in life.” He took a final step forward, taking your hands in his. “When we signed the deal to perform here, I was ecstatic, but there was one more thing I wanted to do that would complete this dream of mine.” You watched as he dropped one of his hands, digging into his pants pocket. In a moment of awe and amazement, you watched as he dropped to the floor on one knee, opening a black velvet ring box, revealing the most gorgeous engagement ring you’d ever seen. 

“Jake…” You began, but he spoke again. 

“Y/n. I’ve waited my entire career for this night,” he explained. “But I’ve waited my entire life for you. Will you make my dreams come true by marrying me?” He asked, his smile the widest you’d ever seen it, his eyes filled with wonderment and hope. You chuckled out of surprise, covering your mouth, feeling your throat ache as the tears began to pour all over again. You nodded yes. 

“Of course, Jake. Yes, I’ll marry you.” He pulled the ring out of the box and reached for your hand, putting it on the wrong finger. 

“That’s the wrong–” Josh blurted before Karen reached her hand up to cover her son’s mouth. 

Jake apologized quietly to you with a grin before switching to the appropriate finger. You leaned down to kiss him, not wanting to wait for him to move upright. He pulled you into him, kissing you breathlessly, uncaring of his family’s presence. Everyone cheered and clapped as you lifted your hand in the air, showing off the ring. 

“She said yes!” Sam shouted before beginning to hoop and holler over the family. Lori and Karen took ample pictures while Kelly and Daniel Sr. butted shoulders with soft grins. 

***

“I got you something,” you told Jake as you both stepped into the hotel room. “When you accused me of being weird earlier,” you grinned, stepping into the bathroom. You reappeared with a huge bouquet of red roses, finished with baby’s breath in a large vase. There must have been fifty roses in the bunch. You watched as his eyes widened at the arrangement. “This is why I couldn’t make it to soundcheck. Surprise!” You watched as his cheeks pinkened, his eyes growing glassy once more. He took the vase, bending to smell them before setting them on the closest dresser before returning to you. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, lifting his thumb and forefinger to your chin, tilting your face up to kiss your lips, lingering there for a long time, as if communicating to you all the words that he didn’t know how to put together just yet. 

“It’s the least I could do for my rockstar boyfriend,” you said, raising your eyebrows as you hovered above his lips. 

“Correction. Rockstar fiancée,” he said, reaching down for your hand, rolling the ring around your finger. You lifted your hand for him, looking at the ring.

“It’s beautiful, Jake,” you said. “Really. And getting my family there? You have a knack at never letting something be completely about you. You’re selfless to a fault.”

“Well, let me show you how selfless I can truly be,” he said, reaching to turn out the light and pull you into the bedroom, the walls illuminated by the soft lights of New York City, the sounds of cars whisking by on the streets below.

Taglist: @doodle417 @watchingovergvf@capturethechaos @ace-harrington @gvfvanfleet @flo-gvf @sacredthefran @jjwrites @jmkho @joshsindigostreak @gold-mines-melting @allieisacrybaby@sammysprincess@gretavansara @dannythedog@demolitionndann @gretasmokerising @sonicbaptism@vixenstail @hearts-hunger@malany-gvf@cal-a-bungaa @rhythm-of-space@alwaysonthemend@meetingthestardust@ageofsinners @katelynn-gvf @ageofwagner @sacredthethreadgvf@takenbythemadness @st4rdust-ch0rds @joshysgirl @gvfvanfleet @gretasfallingsky @madneedshelp @lipstickitty @myownparadise96 @meetingthestardust @vanfleeter @sacredthefran @mini-vann @sacredthethreadgvf@love-and-greta@gretafaninheat @positivegvfthings @loveisonaroll@writingcold @tearsofjosh @meetingthestarcatchers @tripthelightfatality @puzzle-gvf @takenbythemadness @intotheether-gvf @whiterosekiszka

[sunflowersbones]

The Hand That Feeds - V

Warnings: This fic will contain NON-CON, DUB-CON, abuse of power, violence, guns, gun violence, emotional manipulation, alluded to Mafia!Bucky. My warnings are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

18+ only. This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary : Your best friend’s and yours entire lives have revolved around violence, death, greed and fear. You’ve always had each other and took comfort in the fact that none of this was your doing; you never had a choice. But what happens when time winds its roots around you, such that even when given the opportunity to leave, he neither leaves nor lets you leave. {mafia au}

NOTE: well well that was ride. I'd really appreciate it if you guys would talk to me though. Feed back on the writing or just chit-chatting about the characters is completely welcome. Hope you enjoy!

~

You pace around Bucky’s room, waiting for him. The warm orange of his walls had always comforted you; this room used to be your safe haven. You feel jittery all over; your anxieties are building up; you just want this over with.

The door slowly swings open as Bucky enters; unlike the last time, he does not carry anger in his voice; in fact, he’s deathly silent. His tacit nature alarms you, his stare makeing you increasingly uncomfortable; you decide to speak up, but he beats you to it.

“I can’t believe you fucking tried to leave like that, like a thief.” He marches towards you with his hands extended, his fingers pointing at you. His sudden change in behaviour surprises you. You move back, alarmed; you trip on your heel and clumsily land on the bed.

You’ve never seen him so angry before, at least not towards you. Your fear might have reflected on your face, for he stops in front of you and takes a deep breath, his anger melts into pain and then annoyance as he shakes his head, looking at you.

“How could you?”

“I don’t want to be here,” you grit back. “It’s not safe.”

“Not safe!?, not fucking safe!?” He shouts back as he hits the wall beside him with his fist.

“The only reason you’re safe and that your family is safe is because of me.” He snarls, pointing at himself.

“You think everybody else who once worked for my dad has the luxury of protection?. You know, if this was anyone else, they’d be greatful.”

You feel your anger overclouding your fear as you shout back. “Grateful!?, grateful for what?; grateful for you deciding how I should live my life?, grateful for you treating me like I’m your personal property now, grateful for you touching and prodding me?” You feel your voice crumble as tears well up in your eyes.

“I used to be scared of this world, Bucky; but now I’m more scared of you.”

He looks at you like you just stabbed his heart as he rears back. He immediately rushes over to the shelf nearby and draws out a gun.

He loads the gun and turns over to you as the blood drains from your face. Before your mind can even comprehend what is happening, he shoves the gun into your hand, his hands wrapped around yours.

“If I am what you’re most afraid of, then why don’t you just kill me?” he whispers to you, his voice almost unrecognisable as he forces you to press the barrel to his chest. You’re a sobbing mess now; your hands quivering in fear, your fingers terrifyingly close to the trigger. Unable to move, unable to do anything to stop this, your eyes pleadingly gaze at him.

“That is what you’re doing anyway, so why don’t you just actually do it?”

You try to pull your hands off, but he’s much stronger than you are.

“Please Bucky, please just stop.”

“I’d rather you do it, Y/N; I’d rather die. I’d rather die than live without you.”

“I love you,” you wail back. “Please, please don’t do this. Stop, just stop.”

“You love me?” he whispers back his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you...”

As he continues chanting, you feel his hands loosen around. You use this opportunity to move your hand and throw the gun away. You hear it clatter on the floor, away from him, as you sob a sigh.

“I love you so much more; you don’t even know; you can’t even comprehend.” He cries out as his hands move forward to hold your face. He kisses you, as you feel his hands go down to toy with your dress. The irony of the situation mocks you.

He rears back to rid his shirt, while his desperate hands scrunch your dress. You gasp as you feel him hard as he presses himself against you. He leans in to kiss your cheek, his heated breath tickling you. He’s overwhelming you; all of this is overwhelming you. You can’t think straight; you need some time.

 “Bucky, can’t—can’t we wait for a while?”

“No. No, there’s no need for that.” He whispers his voice filled with pain, determination and lust. You hear him unzip his pants and pump his cock. His hold on your shoulder painfully strong as he pushes you into the bed.

“No more waiting.” he buries his face into your neck as his teeth slightly graze you. He slowly pushes himself inside you. One of his hands lands on your hip while the other latches on to your hair. You moan as he fucks you, his thrusts slow yet deliberate.

You move your arm around to hold onto the sheets to ground yourself as he rocks your body back and forth. But his hand snatches yours and places it on his cheek, his large palm covering yours. His pace slightly increases, his eyes gaze into yours as he kisses your palm. He moves his face slightly to the side as he sucks on to your thumb.

The feeling of his wet mouth makes you mewl. You hear his breath hitch a little as your aching core clenches him hard. He moves his hand to your jaw as he kisses you again.

“I loved you yesterday,” he says, thrusting into you. “I love you today, and I will love you tomorrow.”

“Till death do us part, doll.”

And those were the same words he said to you a week later, as you were surrounded by your family and friends as they celebrated your wedding.

Your mother and Bucky’s parents gleamed. You look over to Steve only to find a glad, warm smile. Nat’s eyes were nearly tearing up as Tony, Sam, and Clint fooled around. All of them are happy, elated even. But what not one of them is; is surprised. It's almost as if everyone expected it would happen; it was only a matter of when. It was almost as if your misfortune was preordained.

And as you say those words back to him, his face and smile the same as ever. You convince yourself that the blues in front of you are the ones you’ve always loved. You convince yourself that their shade still remains the same, that they haven’t twisted into something deep and darker. That love for you has always been true blue...

*

@scott-loki-barnes @cjand10

[disappointmentofthefam]

Love?Love. (part 4)

Andy Barber x Reader

warnings-kind of a slow, filler chapter, nothing much happens but its important to thee plot ig WHATEVER.

Paralyzed.

Y/n was paralyzed in her place.

"Hello? Please move out of the way," Laurie pushes her way through her, "who even are you?" She grimaces.

Unable to answer the woman with the mountain-sized lump in her throat and the squeezing of her heart, y/n runs out of the house.

Girl grief is ugly. There is no smoking-out-the-balcony-in-just-her-panties or the sexy-dancing-in-her-bedroom-while-planning-revenge. No, the movies had gotten it all wrong.

Girl grief consists of puffy eyes, a bloated face, runny nose, ugly thoughts and very unkind assumptions about one's own self.

you're so stupid, so so so so so stupid!

look at yourself, she cries in front of her bathroom mirror, you're so ugly.

she pinches the extra mass on her stomach, how did you even assume you meant something to him?

She excuses herself from dinner, "im not hungry,mom!" while clutching her chest and sobbing into the pillow.

he had a wife the entire time. Of course he did! He would never ever go for me! Laurie is so skinny, she's porcelain, so perfect. I don't compare! I can't compare to her! she's her and I'm ME.

she lies in her bed awake the entire night, playing those moments with Andy over and over again, trying to find solace in the warm memories.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Back at The Barber's residence

"Laurie?" Andy's eyes widen in surprise and concern for y/n, "What are you doing here? Where's y/n?"

"y/n huh? Is that the name of the girl you were plannin on fucking tonight?" Laurie's voice is filled with malice and contempt.

Andy's fists clench at the way his ex describes y/n, "One,that's none of your business and two, she's not just some girl who I wanted to fuck."

"Jesus, Andrew," Laurie gives him a vicious smile, "You're going to fight with your wife over some dumb piece of ass?"

This fucking did it for Andy, As he lurches forward and grabs her wrist "I dare you, fucking say that again."

Laurie snatches her hand from his tight grasp, "Whatever," she rubs her wrist, "i don't give a fuck about her, I'm here to see my son."

"He's in his fucking room," Andy gives her a sarcastic smile, "and by all means, do not make yourself comfortable in my home." With that he leaves the house, and calls y/n.

His relationship with Laurie was um……….. as diplomatic as it could be, for the sake of their son. He could barely tolerate her presence, especially after she constantly treated him like her own personal trash can, putting him through the worst, over and over again throughout the rough course of their marriage.

And still she just wouldn't go away!

fuck y/n pick up,angel

…………………………………………………………

18 missed calls and 23 (unopened)text messages later, Andy decides he can't risk losing her.

He finds a girl who despite all the horrors of life, shines like a ray of motherfucking sunshine,the only woman Andrew Barber would embarrass himself for. No way he was going to lose her, not without a fight.

So there he is. At her doorstep as he rings the doorbell.

"Yes?" A woman, Y/n's mother, he guesses, opens the door, "Mr. Barber! Welcome, welcome," she extends a warm invitation.

So this is who y/n gets her sweet soul from

"Another time, Mrs. y/l/n," Andy returns a small smile, "is y/n here?"

"Yes, yes, she's up in her room, did you need anything?"

"Yeah….uh….." Think, Andy, think, "yeah I needed her help with uhhh…. she told me that I could borrow this book from her….. it's about uhh….historic politics."

historic politics? that's the best i could come up with? HOW AM I EVEN A LAWYER

Her mother disappears upstairs for a moment, and then returns with a tight lipped and disappointed smile, "I'm sorry but she's feeling a little sick right now, maybe you could come back tomorrow?"

With droopy shoulders,Andy gets into his car, because going to his house was not an option,not until Laurie was out of there.

………………………………………………………………………..

The next morning, Y/n goes to unbelievable lengths to avoid running into Andy. Although she does receive a bouquet of sunflowers, sent anonymously, with a small handwritten letter attached to it:

"Angel, please give me a chance to explain, I promise it's not what it looks like."

that's literally the classic phrase of a cheating man, I'm not falling for it

"Come on,y/n, we both know you deserve better than being someone's mistress,"her best friend had said, "flowers will never change the fact that he has a wife."

y/n even goes as far as to tutor Jacob at her house.

Jacob is a little confused as to why y/n brought him here. " So, what happened with you and dad-"

"Nuh-uh,the only questions i will entertain are about nomenclature."

……………………………………………………………………………..

As the night falls, y/n can't help but get a little curious about Andy.

is he doing okay? who am i kidding,he's probably unaffected.

how could he be so okay?

tears well in her eyes once again.

how could he be so okay while i can't even digest half of a toast without throwing it up!

As curiosity gets the best of her, y/n slowly peeks through the curtains in her room,getting the full view of Andy's bedroom through his unshielded window.

Damn! doesn't this man have a sense of privacy?well,shit, what else could you expect from a two timer, rich,white man.

Suddenly, Andy appears into her view, he's wearing nothing but a towel, lowly hanging from his pelvis.

His hair looked wet, framing his forehead gracefully.

His arms flexed as he took another towel and started drying his hair off.

Fuck you, Andy, you're making it really really hard for my self respect!

………………………………………………………………………….

Over the course of the next five days, y/n continues with her little routine of trying everything in her power to avoid Andy while more and more bouquets pile up in her room with different notes attached every day:

"take your time angel, you know I'll be waiting for you."

"i loved the way your lips felt on mine."

"angel, You're driving me crazy."

and so on.

"Why does she have to be so stubborn?"Andy grimaces as he settles down on the sofa with a beer in his hands.

"Look at you! Andrew Barber, finally at the mercy of romance." Sam, his best friend quips from beside Andy.

A few beers in, Sam's mind sparks with an idea,"I'll throw a party at my house this weekend!"

Andy rolls his eyes, "My love life is literally in the burning pits of hell and you want a party?"

"No, dumbass, I'll invite Y/n too!"

Andy sits up straight,an eager smile on his face, "YES! A party it fucking is then!"

See you soon, angel

[primrosechronicles]

"Love's Serendipity in the Enchanted Garden"

A Miles Morales!1610 x Princess!Reader Fanfiction

Summary: As a princess, you find yourself in an arranged marriage, tears stream down your cheeks as you seek refuge in the flower bed. There, you weep and sob until a kind boy discovers you in the garden. Warnings: Minor swearing Word Count: 2551

With tearful eyes, you storm out of the Throne room, angrily wiping your tears as you march within the castle walls. How dare he! Your own Father, the Emperor, has arranged a marriage for you, and to make matters worse, it's with the child of one of his fuc— freaking Captains! All you wanted was to find love on your own terms, not have your dad play matchmaker! 

You reached one of the numerous Royal gardens and simply sat down, letting your emotions flow freely. Tears streamed down your face as you found comfort sitting in the flower bed; you could care less about your dress getting dirty! you’re about to be wed off to a stranger! 

After what felt like hours of crying, you caught the sound of rustling; fear gripped you. You quickly huddled up, burying your face between your knees and listened to the flowers being pushed around. Terrified for your safety, you closed your eyes tightly. Then you heard a voice: “Are you alright?”

With a sniffle, you opened your eyes and lifted your head and notice a boy extending his arm towards you. You reach out, and he gently pulls you out of the flower bed. Now; you have the chance to properly observe his face, and oh man.. is he cute, from his beautiful brown skin to his curly black hair, freckles that give him a vague resemblance to a baby deer, and his gentle brown eyes that are carefully assessing your body for any injuries. You now stare at your dress regretting ever sitting in that dirty flowerbed, you can't believe your dress is ruined especially now when there's a cute guy in front of you!

“Are you okay? Did you fall? Did someone push you? what happened?” he frantically asked as he gave you his handkerchief to wipe your tears with. You gratefully accepted his handkerchief and used it to wipe away your tears. “its..” hic “my dad he-” hic. 

He placed his arm on your shoulder. “It’s okay… just— just breathe.” He said as he himself took a deep breath. Following his lead, you took deep breaths, and after a few moments, you managed to compose yourself and find some peace and calm. Both of you remained in silence, with him patiently awaiting for you to continue; calm and composed while you, in contrast, is panicking trying to find the right words to explain why you ended up crying in the flower bed in the first place.

“My dad arranged for me to be married to someone i don't know.” you finally spoke, a tear falling down your face.

He thought for a second, then spoke: “What a coincidence.”

Confused, you raised your head to look at him “Coincidence?”

He wiped your tears away with his finger, your stomach filling with butterflies as he did and he softly said. ”I’m in the same situation.” the rays of the setting sun illuminated his face beautifully; Was he a fucking angel sent by god himself? “My dad didn't even bother to tell me who she was or what family she was from.. he just said that she was a nice lady and that to trust him, like what? How's that gonna make me feel better? What if she acted nice in front of him but actually she's mean? what then?”

You chuckled and nodded, understanding where he was coming from. “I totally get that, like, what if my husband is a drunkard or cheats on me in the future? i don’t want to be with someone like that..” you said before shouting: “He didn't even tell me his age!” He winces “oof.. now that’s scary..” “I know right?” 

Moments pass and you both fall into a comfortable conversation.

“I just want to marry someone of my choosing, to marry someone I want to love.” you said longingly.

He nodded and said “buutttt.. there is a possibility of us falling in love with the person we are arranged to.”

You scoff “it’s unlikely for me to fall for someone i’ve never met, let alone someone im supposed to be married to.”

“Judging from the way you’re dressed, I'm sure your father picked someone suitable… it's not like your father just played eenie meenie miney mo on your future husband right?” He suggested, hoping to ease your fears.

You agreed to his thought process. “true.” 

Gradually, the conversation shifted to other subjects, and you both engaged in endless hours of talking, filled with laughter and shared dreams. However, the pleasant moment was interrupted when a servant unexpectedly approached the two of you.

“My Lady, your father is calling for you” she spoke plainly.

With a hint of annoyance, you rolled your eyes, feeling reluctant to meet your father, especially after he arranged a marriage with a complete stranger. However, as the Emperor himself, you wouldn't dare disobey him, so you reluctantly left the boy behind.

“I’m so sorry but we have to cut this meeting short, may we meet again!” You say after you curtsy, before hurrying into the castle to prevent your father from growing more impatient.

The boy remains standing there, extending his arm as he watches you and your servant run into the castle. "Wait!" he calls out, but then lets his arm drop to his side. "I didn't even get her name..." he murmurs to himself disappointedly.

After closing the grand doors, you walk into the dining room and make your way to the vacant seat beside your father, sitting down with your hands resting on your lap. Gradually, the room comes alive as servants enter, filling the room with the sound of clinking plates and the arrangement of food on the table. After setting the table, the servants then line up along the walls, ready and attentive, waiting to assist in any way needed. 

You place a napkin on your lap and start dining, After a few minutes of eating you speak: “Is he… my age?” Your father only nodded in response. 

“What does he look like?” “ You'll know during the ball next week.”

“Is he a marquis? a count?” “He's a future duke.”

“is he… handsome?” “He's often described as a cutie patootie by the ladies” 

“Why him?” “He seemed the most suitable.” 

You eat more before speaking again “Father, you have no right to tell me who to marry, Please… break off the engagement..” Your father sighed before shaking his head “i’ve already signed on it, Morales’ son is a good man, I only want what’s best for you..” You scoff “what’s best for me? are you fucking serious?” “language.” “What's best for your daughter is letting her choose her own husband!” You say before standing up then storming out.

The emperor let out a loooong sigh after you left, before continuing to eat his food.

After angrily slamming the door to your bedchamber, you run to your bed and start to scream and cry on your pillow. why why WHY? why… doesn't he get it? 

You remain motionless, your face buried in the pillows. A few minutes pass as you continue to cry and thrash your arms around; your lady-in-waiting, Mrs. Eliza Albertine, enters the room and softly taps your shoulder.

“My lady…? Are you alright?” 

You lifted your head and looked at your lady-in-waiting, your mascara smudged from the tears and your hair disheveled and untidy. “noOO!” you cried out.

“What ever is the matter?” 

You look down and bit your lip “my…” hic “my dad ruined..” hic, you stopped and took a few breaths remembering how the boy demonstrated earlier.

“my dad arranged for me to be married to a stranger…” “well… I'm sure it can't be that bad, your highness…” 

Suddenly, you sat up and let out a shout: “can't be that bad?! Are you joking me?! my life is about to be over Eliza!”

Eliza let out a sigh and averted her gaze from you, and you couldn't help but feel guilty for raising your voice at her. “I’m sorry Eliza that was uncalled for—” “did you know i was arranged to be married?”

You looked at her with a shocked expression “What..?”

“Yes, me and my husband were strangers when we kissed at that altar.” She looked down and held your hand. “I understand how you’re feeling, and… it's going to be alright, you have to understand that your father is doing this for your safety.”

You turned your gaze away. After a brief pause, Eliza stood up and performed a curtsy in front of you. “I’ll get going now.. I hope all goes well.” She said after exiting your bedchamber.

With a heavy sigh, you make your way towards the balcony to contemplate your situation or maybe even strategize an escape from the impending marriage. As you gaze into the distance, your eyes are drawn to the garden where you had encountered the kind and gentle boy earlier. Your stomach becomes swarmed with butterflies as you thought of him.

“Fuck it.” you whispered to yourself as you walked towards your door.

You walked through the ornate corridors of the castle, Your footsteps echoing with urgency. The thought of your impending arranged marriage with a complete stranger made you feel scared and worried, you yearned for an escape from the suffocating reality of your marriage.

Finally, you walked through the garden's entrance, the moon’s light welcomed you as you ventured deeper into the lush greenery, seeking solace inside the flower bed you cried in earlier.

Your heart longed for love to find on your own, not through an arrangement made for political alliances. The thought of being bound to someone you have never met, let alone loved, was too much to bear. 

As the soft breeze whispered through the leaves, Your mind wandered to a life of your own choosing, a life filled with genuine affection and shared dreams. But reality had other plans, tugging at your heartstrings, reminding you of the duty you must fulfill as a princess.

Tonight is the night you are set to meet your future husband, a man your father has chosen for you. With a roll of your eyes, you can't help but scoff at the mere thought. The idea of even liking, let alone loving, the man your father selected makes you want to jump out a window. But alas; you may have been trained in sword fighting but you don't have strength to ever go against your Father.

The grand ballroom was adorned with dazzling chandeliers, casting a radiant glow over the elegantly dressed guests. As the orchestra played an upbeat melody, you stood near the edge of the ballroom, trying to hide your anxiousness behind a polite smile. You noticed the guests arriving one by one, but there was one arrival that would change everything.

Through the sea of beautifully attired nobles, you saw a figure that caught your attention. A Boy, with the same dark skin, curly hair and freckles as the boy who comforted you at the garden. It couldn't be, could it?

Holy fuck.

In that moment, your eyes met his, and a flicker of recognition passed between you. It was him—the same boy, who looked like a baby deer. He was the one who had comforted you in the flower bed, the one who wiped away your tears and made you laugh. How could fate be so cruel and be so intriguing?

As he drew closer, you tried to steady your racing heart. There was something in the way he looked at you, something familiar and kind that softened your resistance. You realized that the connection you felt in the garden wasn't just fleeting; it was something deeper, something you couldn't easily forget

He approached with a warm smile, and you found yourself unable to look away. The noise of guests and music of the ballroom seemed to fade away, and for that brief moment, it was as if you two were the only people in the room.

Mr. Morales and his son spoke in unison, "Good evening your royal highnesses, We are honored to be in your presence," and then gracefully performed a bow as a sign of respect.

“Oh hush now Morales! You musn't be so formal now, especially when our families are soon to be united.” Your father said as he shook your future father-in-law’s hand. 

Mr. Morales laughed in response then turned to you “Your highness, this is my son Miles Morales, my heir.”

“And your future husband” Your father added. 

Miles walked up to you and planted a gentle kiss on your hand, then gave you a playful wink; His charming gesture elicited a chuckle from you, unable to resist his flirtatious charm.

While your father, the Emperor, and your future father-in-law engaged in a lively conversation, you and your future husband found yourselves unable to join in. Amidst the animated atmosphere, he turned to you, the light from the chandeliers delicately accentuating his features, and asked, "Would you honor me with this dance?” You smiled and took his hand, excitedly pulling him to the dance floor.

Throughout the evening, you found yourselves drawn to each other, engaging in conversations and dancing together. The initial reluctance you had felt was gradually replaced by curiosity and a newfound sense of comfort.

Feeling tired, you and Miles decided to escape to the very same garden where your first encounter took place.

You took a deep breath, a mix of emotions swelling within you. "Okay, uhm... This is just unbelievable. You? My future husband?" Your voice held a touch of awe and amazement.

He nodded, "Indeed, I am. Are you disappointed?"

Your eyes softened with sincerity as you replied, "No, I'm not disappointed." The love in your voice was unmistakable.

He let out a sigh of relief, a hint of vulnerability shining through. "Good," he said with a gentle smile.

Breaking the momentary silence, you mused, "Fate is so weird, isn't it? It brought us together in the most unexpected way possible!"

He joined in, his laughter mingling with yours. "I agree! My father said I was marrying someone important, but I didn't expect it to be someone from the Royal Bloodline!"

In that instant, your laughter turned into something deeper, an unspoken understanding passing between you. The garden, where you first met, now seemed to hold an even more magical significance.

Hand in hand, you danced under the moonlit sky, the faint sound of the party's music serenading your love story. Fate had indeed woven a tale you could have never imagined, but as you gazed into each other's eyes, you knew that this unexpected journey was leading you exactly where your hearts wanted to be but one thing was certain—meeting Miles tonight had shifted your world, and maybe, just maybe, love could bloom from a connection that started in the serenity of an Enchanted Garden.

a/n: FINALLY! after hours of procrastinating and listening to "classical music to sleep or study to" on spotify.. I FINISHED IT! this is my first time ever writing a fic... TY MY BESTIE FOR HELPING ME ILY!

[robthegoodfellow]

A Little Death Do Us Part

VANISHED from fandom to work on this thing. as usual it ballooned 🙃 warnings: necromancy, character death (hence the necromancy), dubcon (on account of the necromancy)

My entry for @bigbangharringrove with art I adore by LucaDoodleDoo who also served as cheerleader when I fell behind and suffered from near fatal narrative maximalism. Here's the first chapter, or read on AO3 💛 (3 chapters up, rest day by day)

Billy had been dead for four days when Steve finally made a breakthrough, muffled cracks as bones restitched and the crushed chest cavity filled, the rasp of rusted lungs expanding with breath. He waited, held his own breath like that would encourage another from the sorry test subject lying inert on the table.

The chest deflated, but only a little—his heart leapt as it rose again, an easier inhale, and Steve would have sobbed, except he had no air, could only manage an anguished choke. It wasn’t anguished, though, just pure exhausted relief, hope, after three nights without sleep, using every trick in the book to keep going, keep trying, not give up.

An ear twitched, then—the tail, the tip curling absent-mindedly.

Within minutes, Mews sat on his haunches, staring at Steve fixedly, even more fixedly than normal, before he’d been hit by that truck, but other than that, he seemed—fine? Fine! Even the sickly-sweet eau de rot was dissipating, ginger fur shedding the greasy dullness of decay.

So it took every ounce of self-control not to go haring off to the basement crypt and work his magic there, on the true intended recipient of his tireless trial and error.

Gods in hell, so many errors. And such a trial. One attempt had backfired so spectacularly that Mews had almost decomposed too far for restoration, crumbling before his eyes as Steve scrambled for the counter spell. Another had awoken the cat but hadn’t healed him, and also imbued him with a ravenous hunger for human flesh. The scratches that crosshatched Steve’s every limb had only just begun to scab under the bandages. He’d had to go for the bat that time, beating at the mangy monster like he was trying to win whack-a-mole at the fair, then gulped down every leftover antidote to zombie infection in the medicine cabinet he could find.

He'd been steadily working his way through the moldy copy of Untethered Netherworld: New Necromancies—several editions out of date, banned in every state but New Jersey—and he was running out of both spells and time. Reanimation for more nefarious purposes—raising undead armies and whatnot—had more wiggle room, but true revivification had to be performed within a week of the victim’s death, and the sooner the better.

He didn’t want a shell of Billy, something better off dead. He wanted Billy. Needed him back.

For that, he had to be patient, thorough; do this right. Follow the checklist. Consulting the items hastily scribbled on the back of a takeout menu, he frowned.

Responds when called.

Well, fuck. Did cats ever respond when called? Mews certainly hadn’t—and Steve still wasn’t sure whether that was due to aloof mulishness or because he maintained some preferred moniker that they weren’t privy to.

Nothing for it but to try, though.

“Mews?”

The cat blinked, swished his tail.

Good enough, Steve figured, checking it off. 

2. Reacts expectedly to stimuli.

Didn’t exactly have a toy mouse handy, but after rooting around in the junk drawer, he dug up one of those keychain laser pointers. Aimed it at the floor in front of the table, and… skittered it around.

Mews launched from his perch, paws extended—pounced on the zigzagging red and kept pouncing.

Another check. 

3. Craves appropriate sustenance.

What did cats even eat, aside from… cat food, which he’d neglected to restock. Tuna? Saucer of milk? Cartoons all seemed to think so.

“Stay here,” he said, though Mews had never been the kind of cat that talked. Locking the workroom behind him, he set off for the kitchen. Pantry had to have at least one can of Chicken of the Sea. 

.💀.

The thing was—Steve should’ve known Billy was possessed. Should’ve been able to tell right away. He’d slept next to that… thing at least two nights and hadn’t noticed. How hadn’t he noticed?

He’d kissed him and really been kissing it—wrote off the delayed response, a pause before the returning press, as simple distraction. Held him but really held it, and attributed the strange stiffness to stress, stroked the broad back until he slept—or seemed to.

Because while Steve slept, Billy had been a marionette wreaking havoc, his hijacker attacking at random, opportunistic, installing its brethren on behalf of its master.

On the third morning, the day before he died, when Steve had been watching coffee drip into the pot, the shatter of ceramic spun him round, disoriented. And Billy, eyes streaming, so blue, burning blue—he’d shoved his waiting mug off the center island, was gripping the counter, teeth gritted with effort.

“Go,” he’d grunted between clenched jaws. “Go.” His hand gripped the other mug—Steve’s—and his voice sharpened, urgent. “Run.”

Steve barely dodged it, the mug cracking into the cabinet by his head with far more force than humanly possible, and his childhood training had kicked in. For once, it paid to have been born to parents whose vigilance bordered on paranoid, always on guard against rival families, enemy estates.

He grabbed a kitchen knife, threw every chair in its way, and bolted for the door, slashing behind him as he fumbled with the locks. And ran. Because he trusted Billy with his life, implicitly, knew when a command was the kind performed without question—the tone, the bluntness, the context. It was how they’d survived as an unaffiliated pair, all these years.

But that also meant precious few allies to turn to in times of need. Billy’s sister wasn’t his first choice, but she lived closest, and fleeing on foot put proximity at a premium. To her credit, she’d tried—Steve didn’t fault her for her role in the outcome—Max had just placed her trust in the wrong people. In people that prioritized killing the thing in Billy, rather than saving Billy himself.

Of course, it didn’t help that Billy had been of the same mind.

Now that he’d found a means to bring him back, Steve could admit another reason he hadn’t closed his eyes longer than a blink since the moment Billy went slack: to avoid the endless replay projected behind his lids—of Billy standing between the girl and the monster, a conglomerate creature of melded prey, raw matter drained of humanity, remade into an ever-growing puppet of destruction.

He'd wrested control once more, like he had in the kitchen, long enough to speak the words to unmake the abomination—words he alone could know, unbeknownst to the puppeteer, as the son of a witch infamous for having contracted with a god of death so powerful none could speak its name and live. None could hear its name and live. And none knew it, save two, for a while. And then one. 

And then none.

Billy spoke it. Steve saw his lips shape unfamiliar words. For the sake of the girl. 

.💀.

A checkmark next to every item on the list—that’s what broke him, finally. Not the most dignified position, kneeling over a litterbox, scooping sandy nuggets into a trash bin while fighting tears of joy, suppressing hysterical, ecstatic laughter, but—Mews was a cat, just a normal cat again, to all appearances, which meant—

He could have Billy back. Had proven wrong every tutor who’d dismissed Steve’s lackluster abilities as beyond the help of instruction. Sufficiently motivated, he’d managed every spell he tried—so it wasn’t his fault he didn’t fully know what each spell would do. This was on his teachers for slouching on the job, handwaving him through his studies to collect a paycheck.

Closing the lid of the bin, Steve stood to wash his hands and swayed, so light-headed he would have toppled were it not for a steadying arm flung to the wall. He breathed slow, eyes closed—opened, and the room had stilled its spinning.

Even so—he needed sleep. If he attempted the most important magics of his life and fucked it up from fatigue, he’d endure the rest of his days tormented by curdling regret.

“Bed, Mews,” he called, out of habit.

They’d held out a week, after Dustin had entrusted them with Mews’ care while he was apprenticing with the bigwigs at Know Where Corporation for the summer. Mewsy prefers sleeping with a buddy, Dustin instructed, among a litany of other highly specific edicts. Well, I prefer fucking my husband without witnesses, Steve had replied, just to see him pull a face, and Billy had chirped, faux-innocent, Unless the price is right. Or unless plied with endless mournful meows and wide, shining, plaintive eyes, apparently, because in no time they had a mound of fur curled at their feet from dusk till dawn.

Despite his exhaustion, despite the comforting warmth of Mews that bled through the covers, despite the meditation exercise to clear his mind, Steve couldn’t drift off for hours, couldn’t stop the steady leak of tears that oozed from the corner of closed lids to his unwashed hair.

Because Billy’s side of the bed was an echoing void at his side, an emptiness cold and loud as an arctic gale. Now and then he nudged Mews with a foot just to hear him snuffle, like an anxious mother checking her silent newborn still breathed. 

Think of a wonderful thought, he heard—Billy’s voice, hushed and fond. And like he always did, Steve huffed, “Okay, Peter,” and finally sank into memories that didn’t stab at him the way they had for days.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself, and relaxed. By this time tomorrow, Billy would be whole and hale and back in his arms. He’d kiss him and hold him. Tell him he loved him.

Tomorrow.

Chapter 2

[joonipertree]

love in all its glory (in all of its efforts)

Love is a million things. It's fear, fondness, warmth, endearment, the want, the compromises, the desperation.

Rin loves you in all of its complexities.

(or: he fucked up and realised he adores the fuck out of you)

cw: blood (not a lot), brief mention of past head injury.

pairing: Haitani Rindou × gn!reader

tags: angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, Haitani Rin is very much in love, fluff

A/N: I got my heartbroken a few months ago and I wrote this to redefine what love is for me. love takes effort and I simply wish someone would try with their everything.

Rin’s bike had sped through the streets he didn’t really want to care to remember, (hearing the shrieks of fifteen year old you, telling him to slow down. He didn’t listen like he never listened to you back then. ‘You’re gonna get hurt, jackass.’). 

It swerved into your neighbourhood and he nearly crashed to a stop, stumbling onto the curb and letting himself run on autopilot. When he made it to your gate, he jumped over (hearing your grunts as you tried to parkour yourself in like he did. 

‘I am more than capable of doing this but help.’ 

He remembered laughing as he held out his arms for you.)

Rindou’s body slammed into the wooden door, fists thumping in the same pattern you used to do whenever you knocked at the door. His breathing had turned quick and laboured, eyes blurry as he tried to hear for any signs of life but the house was dead without your laughter in it. 

(The sounds of snorts and hiccuping filled his ears, you always laughed like that with only him, always leaned against him.)

He moved, not caring that his bare shoulder bumped into the spiky concrete of your porch where doodles of butterflies and crude drawings had faded with time. 

(‘You’re so disgusting, Rin! Have some respect for my house. Don’t touch my sun!’)

One foot felt the grass and the dew stuck to his sole. 

(‘You literally wear the most basic things it’s fine if they stain, I’m wearing something pretty--- fuck that’s cold.’ )

He jumped over the large protruding rock that had split his head open.

 (Your sobs and wails as clear as day as you shrieked, ‘Rin! Please don’t leave me! I love you!’) 

Why the fuck did he leave? What peace could he have found in your sorrow?

The swing that limply hung by half of its ropes filled his vision. (the memories of him sitting on the once intact seat with tears running down his cheeks flooded his mind. He didn’t remember the reason for his pain but he remembered you, his blue penicillin. You sat in front of him on the ground with your legs crossed, patiently waiting for him to speak.)

(You always listened. Always. Why didn’t he? )

His palms burned as he grappled the jagged bark of the oak tree, nails digging in and toes propelling him upwards (‘Be careful!’). His nail broke. (‘I would probably die if you fell on me right?’) He lost his footing but he only slid an inch before going forward. ('I’ll step ten feet away just in case….do you wanna rob houses?’) His foot solidified on the one sturdy branch there was. ('Listen, you either save the kitty or you die trying…do not throw her off, motherfucker.') Your shrieks echoed through as he moved on quick feet so that his older and burdened body wouldn’t cause him to free fall to the ground. 

Your window was a few inches away from the crooked reach of the tree and he extended his crooked hand to grab onto the ledge. The window was already half way open, (just like the nights when he would sneak in at midnight to find a broken you on the floor, showing the shards of your soul that caused your hands to bleed.) Blood smeared on the underlay of the pane as he pushed it all the way up, head ducking and one leg making it to the floor of your bedroom. 

( ‘Rin.’ 

You would smile through your tears, voice cracking and he wondered if any smile he could ever make out of sheer joy would ever match the one that had tears collecting at the corner of your mouth. If a crack in his heart sounded the same as the one in your throat. )

He stopped and searched the room that was shrouded in emptiness. His eyes landed on the lump of blankets that had a tuft of  hair and black headphones peeking  out from the top. He knew for a fact that the lump in his throat could beat it in its enormity when all you looked like was a tiny ball. You were so fucking small and he fucking wished you were small under his embrace rather than on your own.

What if you disappeared from his grasp as he wrapped you in his arms?

His body heaved in exhaustion, lungs constricting as if to punish him for his sins that only held weight because your pain weighed them down. His heart hurt from its pounding and he knew it wanted to escape, bleed out all of his love for you because all it thought it could do was paint your floors for you to see

 His hair was left dishevelled and tangled, covering half of his face and he wondered what it would take for it to leave his sight for the rest of eternity, what would it take to never blink again if it meant looking at your every small movement and uneven breath. 

He barely saved himself from crumbling to his knees as his shaken legs walked o you, knowing that the only oxygen they would accept is the one that you would provide. His wounded hands push your shoulder towards him, as if they didn’t scream for letting even a drop of his tainted blood to smear your soft skin. 

And when your head landed on his chest, a bit too abruptly, he wished that his ribs could soften so his bones didn’t hurt you. And he held you, not letting him take your warmth but letting himself pour every ounce of kindness you handed to him unconditionally, trying to increase it tenfold. 

There was stillness, the song through your headphones playing into his ear as he pressed his cheek against your head. He couldn’t make it out, didn’t care enough because music would only echo in his hollowed out chest. 

The earthquakes came in waves, limbs twitching as if to find purchase. The trembles were followed by salt water and Rindou was ready to swim you to the shoreline, against the pull of the hurricane.

But, you were still. You were a stable wooden floor that wouldn’t bend under the shoes of man. And he realised belatedly that the tears were his. They were yours to see. Everything that was his was yours and he knew that the day he felt your small chubby hands take his awkward slender ones. A sob clawed out of his throat like it had waited for the day it could see light.

 And you-

(the you who was so human that humanity was loved by him for a second, you whose existence meant the existence of deities that grew out of the earth to watch over it)

 You turned in his hold and held his face, wiping away his pain with a single swipe of your thumb. And he knew that destiny was bullshit when your effort had caused you to look up at him with concern (and with the sun that had decided to wait out its dying days in them.)

He loves you.