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peter-parcoeur · 4 years ago

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Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland #frat!tom #enemies to lover #tom holland x reader

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cdyssey · 3 years ago

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Exit Strategies

Summary: Before they break Alexei out of a maximum security prison, Yelena convinces Natasha that they should rest, that they need to.

A/N: I finally got the chance to see Black Widow today and ugly sobbed through almost half of it. Natasha and Yelena deserved so much more—oh, my GOD, it's not fair.

AO3 Link

—

It’s only when the gas needle edges precariously below a gallon that Natasha frowns, the stark cut on her lower lip curving like a bow just begging to snap.

“We need gas,” she breaks the long silence between them. Yelena glances over at her sister’s profile, sharp and distinct even in the semi-darkness, slightly tinted blue by the BMW’s luminescent dashboard. Her angular jaw. The ribbon-like strands of red hair plastered to the side of her face. The bruises beginning to feather the column of her neck from their recent fight.

And the purple shadows beneath her visible eye.

The lines.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Yelena quips because it’s easier than being sincere, easier than dealing with all of the effed-up history between them. They used to snuggle in the same bed, wrists crossing wrists. Mere hours ago, they came close to strangling each other to death with curtains.

“We also need to rest. Can’t go taking down a multinational child soldier complex on zero hours of sleep, y’know.”

“Mmm,” comes a noncommittal reply, short, patronizing. “You sleep. I’ll drive.”

Yelena simply stares at the older woman, searching, incredulous, and frankly, a little miffed. Has she always been this much of a martyr? She interrogates her own memories—the ones from her childhood are the clearest she has—and surprisingly concludes that, yes, she’s always been this way.

Natasha would get into fights on the playground when older kids tried to bully Yelena.

And she was good with her fists.

She would always win.

“Don’t be stupid, Natalya. You’re not superhuman. Let’s pull off at an exit and get a motel room.”

“We don’t have time for that. My contact’ll be at the rendezvous spot at twelve tomorrow.”

“A few hours tops,” she promises, wheedling, glancing at the car’s central display. It’s 2:07. There’s plenty enough time for them to get some sleep and make it back to Norway, especially with how fast Natasha drives. They’ve never been under eighty-five the entire time they’ve been on the freeway. “C’mon. I stink. You stink. We both need showers and a vodka shot.”

“I don’t stink,” Natasha wrinkles her nose disdainfully. But even as she says it, she lets off the pedal and eases into the right lane. The speedometer slowly sinks from over a hundred to ninety… eighty… seventy…

“You do,” Yelena snickers, mischievous, triumphant, a little kid again teasing her older sister about a hopscotch victory. She arches a smug brow. “You smell like shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

But she watches, with fascination, as the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches, the cut on her lip quivering too.

—

They get gas at a twenty-four hour station and buy a few necessities inside—some snacks, a bottle of cheap vodka, gauze, painkillers, a pack of Skittles for Yelena.

It’s been a long time since she’s had Skittles.

They’d once been her favorite candy.

Natasha had always preferred chocolate bars.

And behind their mother’s back, their papa would indulge them.

Hush, my little kittens. He would raise a conspiratorial index finger to his mouth. Don’t tell Mama now.

“Jesus hell,” the clearly sleep-deprived cashier says, taking in their haggard, bloodstained appearances.

“We just got back from fight club,” Yelena supplies cheerfully.

“Do you got change for fifty euros?” Natasha asks.

—

At 2:40, they finally pull into a motel, a dingy, little dump far away from the main part of the city. The stolen BMW looks out of place against the worn-down building, all sleek and shiny and new. This is the kind of establishment that most people settle for, not actively choose—unless, of course, said people are two Russian killers trying to evade detection from a militant Taskmaster.

Yelena and Natasha are silent as they creep into the motel room that had been designated theirs by the scruffy faced twenty-year old working the night shift at the front desk, handguns drawn as they flick on lights and canvas the room as they had both been trained to do.

Two queen sized beds.

A boxy TV that looks like it could have been at home in the nineties.

A musty smell in the air.

A spluttering air conditioner in the window.

A framed painting on the wall of something that looks vaguely phallic.

“Clear in the bedroom,” Yelena calls after she checks under each bed.

No monsters under there.

“Bathroom’s clear too.” Natasha walks out of the side door, replacing her Glock in her thigh holster. “If the front door gets blocked, our exit strategy’s the window in the bathroom. Leads out into some woods. We can climb a tree and pick threats off from a decent vantage point.”

Again, Yelena stares at the woman in front of her, trying to reconcile her bruised and scratched face with the kid from twenty-odd years ago, the one who used to make shadow puppets on the wall for her to laugh at, who’d comb her wet hair at night when Mama was working.

There’s so little light in her eyes left, the particulars of her voice perfectly calculated to be distant.

Yelena wants to pull her hair out, wants to stomp around a little, wants to throw a tantrum and scream.

They lived together for three years.

They were sisters.

And Natasha… Natasha is distant.

“Do you always have an exit strategy?” Yelena blurts out a little stupidly. Of course she has an exit strategy. They’re trained fucking spies for God’s sake! Hell, Yelena even has a tentative exit strategy!

(She's just gonna crash through the window and start shooting.)

But she is and really isn’t asking about exit strategies.

Even as her lips formed the words, she knew this. Even as the words fell from her tongue, she felt their insufficiency and knew the depths of her own vulnerability.

Is that all you can look me in the eye and talk about, Natalya?

Exit strategies?

This is our first night together in twenty-one years, and you can stand here and tell me that the trees are the best place for blowing people’s brains out?

Natasha shrugs a single shoulder before limping over to the side table, where they’d placed their singular grocery bag.

“Go take a shower, and make sure you get all the dirt outta your wound.”

Yelena’s eyes flick downwards at her bandaged arm and then back to her sister again.

“You’re such a mom,” she repeats herself numbly as Nat draws the vodka bottle out of the bag, untwisting it with a deft motion and taking a long, practiced drag.

“Shower,” she exhales once she’s done, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “We’re leaving in six hours.”

—

Yelena takes a quick shower, ten minutes to the dot, and feels a little like a human again, even though the water was only lukewarm at best, and she has to put on her sweaty clothes from the day before. At least her hair and face are clean, the grime beneath her nails all scraped off, her wound cleansed of dirt. After she towels her hair off, she doesn’t put her jacket and tactical vest on just yet, remaining stripped down to just her undershirt and pants.

She’s slept with her gear equipped before.

On most nights, really.

Tonight, though, just for a few hours, she doesn’t want to.

(She knows she doesn’t have to—her older sister is here.)

As she hangs her damp towel on the nearby rack, she notices that the window behind the dinky toilet has been cracked open about an inch, propped up by one of motel’s washcloths.

A handgun has been strategically placed on the back of the toilet.

A Glock-22.

An exit strategy.

When Yelena enters the main bedroom again, she sees that Natasha is sitting on the bed closest to the window—(the most vulnerable position, she briefly thinks to herself)—shirt off, tenderly probing a nasty-looking laceration just below her ribs.

The dried blood blooms across her stomach like a flower.

Crimson.

Replete with thorns.

“Damn,” she breathes, and Nat quickly looks up, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“It’s not deep,” she says immediately. “Just long.”

“It’ll scar,” Yelena shakes her head.

Wounds like that always scar.

“I’m no stranger to scars.” A proffered grin—slight, elusive, wry. And no sooner than she says it, Yelena spots the long, telltale surgical incision where the hysterectomy had been performed, and to the left of her belly button, there’s a scar that had once clearly been a bullet’s entry point. “I collect them everywhere I go.”

It’s an innocuous enough statement, but the contents of it jog her memory.

She's reminded of what that their mama said long ago in a military camp somewhere in Cuba.

Pain only makes you stronger, remember?

Yelena has always drawn vague comfort from the words—usually when she’s nursing her own sundry wounds, doing her best to recover from them.

But tonight, looking at Natasha’s body—which surely mirrors her own—she can’t help but think that those words might’ve been bullshit said by a poor, dying woman.

Sometimes, pain can only hurt.

“Your turn to shower,” she says, jerking her thumb emphatically at the bathroom door.

A half-smile.

Her lips are dry and cracked.

“Make sure you get the dirt outta that wound.”

“Asshole,” Natasha chuckles, the sound low and hoarse, and maybe even a little painful because she winces at the end, her bloodied fingers involuntarily drawing themselves up her ribs.

“сука,” Yelena returns, throwing herself unceremoniously onto her bed, hiding her own laughter in a pillow.

Bitch.

—

When Natasha returns some thirty minutes later, she’s already twisted her damp hair into a messy plait, and she’s fully clothed, dressed like an armed gunman is going to burst through the curtained window at any moment.

Yelena had already flicked off the lamp and bunched the stiff blankets up to her nose in an attempt to get comfortable… but she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

Waiting.

She watches, ever observant, as her sister lithely winds through the room without making so much as a sound, the graceful ballerina that the Red Room tortured her to be. She’s similarly silent as she slowly lowers herself onto the other bed, gingerly propping herself up against the headboard, angling her torso towards the door.

But this is apparently too sudden of a movement for her body to currently handle.

A hissing noise escapes past her clenched teeth.

“You should sleep,” Yelena croaks aloud, having seen enough, having heard more. “I’ll take the first shift.”

Her sister’s hawklike stare finds her in the darkness.

“What? No. Go to bed,” she snaps, obviously annoyed. “You were the one who wanted to stop for the night.”

“Yeah, because I looked over and saw that you looked like death warmed over!” She retorts haughtily. “However much you might pose otherwise, you’ve gotta have needs too.”

This quiets Natasha.

At the very least, it makes her look away.

She shifts (very incrementally) on her bed.

She plays a little with the end of her braid.

“An hour,” she says, so quietly that Yelena almost thinks she’s saying “an oar” for some bewildering reason.

“Чего?” What?

“An hour,” Natasha repeats emphatically. “Wake me up in an hour. It’s… all I need.”

“Okay.” Yelena sits up abruptly, eager to please, desperate to show that she still cares.

It’s a bit sickening, really—the woman practically abandoned her.

She got out and never looked back…

“I mean it.” Her sister doesn’t quite lay down, but she does slouch a little more comfortably against her pillows. “An hour.”

“Yah.”

—

Yelena isn’t a woman of her words, though.

She lets her sleep for two.

“Dammit, Yelena,” Natasha groans, pulling her fingers hard over her eyes. “You told me you'd wake me up."

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natalya,” she yawns, finally slumping her head against her pillow. "It didn't kill you to get a little more beauty rest."

"Asshole."

As the dark takes her away, she smiles.

Bit—

—

A soft hand on her shoulder, a gentle shake.

Yelena blearily opens her eyes to see Natasha standing over her, staring at her with that same inscrutable expression—complicated… and utterly unreadable. It gives her the impression of being pierced through all over, analyzed and deconstructed.

Even though she’s quite clothed, she feels naked.

Seen.

“We gotta get moving,” she says matter-of-factly. “There’s coffee on the nightstand. Once you wash your face, I’ll change your bandage again.”

And then, stepping away, she disappears from view. From the sounds she’s making, she’s clearly cleaning the room, thoroughly removing all traces of their less than six hour presence in this motel in the middle of practically nowhere. In mere minutes, it will be like they had never been here at all.

And so it goes for Red Room operatives.

So it went in Ohio.

When Yelena sits up to stretch, blankets that she hadn’t fallen asleep under cascade heavily to the floor.

She glances to her left.

Sees a bed that’s been all but stripped clean.

—

In the bathroom, the gray light of dawn leans against the partially opened window. Yelena sits on the side of the half-bath as Natasha makes quick and expert work of cleaning her wound and bandaging it up again, snipping the excess gauze off with her penknife.

“Looks better today,” she simply comments as she replaces the knife in her utility belt. “Might not scar if you’re lucky.”

Unspoken between them but nonetheless understood, neither of them have really been lucky.

They were orphans abandoned by their mothers.

They were children who were trained to kill.

And now they have so much blood on their hands.

Red dripping from their ledgers.

Scars on their bodies, so many wounds on their souls.

Yelena’s not even thirty yet.

(Her life has given her plenty of reasons to suspect that she might never be.)

“Pssh,” she snorts derisively as her sister finally yanks the washcloth out from the window.

It closes with a smart snap.

A decisive finality.

Yelena is just bending down to lace her boots up when Natasha suddenly speaks again, apropos of absolutely nothing.

She could have just left.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Gripping the washcloth loosely in one hand, she stays.

“There was... this S.H.I.E.L.D. guy,” she says, her voice reluctant, full of clear misgivings, “who used t’complain all the time that I never had an extraction plan. No exit strategies either. I’d just go in… complete my mission… and it’d be up to my enemy’s aim if I made it out intact.”

Yelena looks up to see that her sister’s back is turned to her, her back stiff, the sharp ridges of her shoulder blades jutting visibly through the black fabric of her shirt.

Somehow, even in a bathroom barely big enough to admit the both of them, she seems strangely small.

Young even.

She curls her fingers around the nearby towel rack like a kid gripping the monkey bars.

“I used to think that maybe that was the best way to atone for everything I’d done,” she continues, her voice ever distant, so perfectly controlled. “To be so reckless with my life that if I died during a mission, someone might actually call it heroic.”

A laugh, short and humorless, entirely disaffected from the horrible words that the same voice just spoke.

Yelena wraps her arms loosely around her stomach.

And represses the primal urge to shudder.

But wish though she could, she can’t look away from Natasha Romanoff.

Mesmerized.

Horrified.

Concerned.

She should hate this woman.

For all of these many years, she has loved her unconditionally.

“But then I got with the Avengers, you know, and I was suddenly in the public eye, tasked to save people, to try and protect my team…”

A violent pause.

Natasha lets go of the towel rack rather abruptly but neatly folds the rag over the top of it.

“It’s different when you’re on a team,” she finally shrugs. “You start making exit strategies because it’s not just your life on the line anymore.”

“So that’s what we are, huh?” Yelena can’t stop herself from asking. Her voice drips its own sarcasm; it relishes in mockery; she hopes it’s enough to hide her hurt. “A team?”

They’d once been family.

Every night, Natasha told her that she loved her.

Every night, Yelena replied just the same.

And in all the years afterwards, there was always a small part of her that hadn't lost hope that her big sister was going to come back for her one day, that she was going to bring the Avengers and rescue her—rescue all the Widows—from Dreykov.

She got out.

Thousands of girls didn't.

“For now,” comes the quiet reply. “C’mon. Finish getting ready.”

Natasha doesn’t look behind her when she walks out.

Yelena is starting to think she never does.

#natasha romanoff #yelena belova #black widow #mcu #black widow spoilers #reginianwrites #f: mcu #I HAVE SO MANY GD EMOTIONS

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bqstqnbruin · 5 years ago

Text

Paper Rings

So yes, it is 2 am and here I am just finishing this, but oh well (ignore typos, I’ll probably reread it in the morning and catch them all. Or point them out, I’m fine with that). But keep supporting the Black Lives Matter movement! If you want or need any resources I’m totally happy to help you find them! OR you have any that you wanna share, please do!

Shout out to @bandgirlsclub for helping me with the Instagram part, she’s the greatest and you should read all her stuff!!

This was requested and inspired by Paper Rings by Taylor Swift. I hope you like it!

____________________

March

“We’ve been here for twenty minutes and they’re already stoned out of their minds?” you say to your friend, your voice high like it does when you can’t believe the world around you. You weren’t one to smoke, and normally you didn’t care if people did, but when you didn’t know anyone around you besides your friend from work, you started to worry.

“We were late, and they live here. It’s no big deal. Like you always say, you don’t care if people do it as long as they’re safe and they don’t make you do it if you say no,” she says, going to join them. You stood off in the corner, just watching the scene unfold; you hated being the only sober one at a party, but it looks like that was going to happen tonight.

“So you’re not one to smoke, either?” someone says, startling you.

“Oh, my god. Uh, no, clearly I’m paranoid enough as it is.”

You both start laughing, him handing you the drink that was in his hand. You look down at the clear liquid, not sure what it is. You look back up at him, eyebrow raised, lifting the cup to your nose to see if it smelled like vodka.

“It’s just water. Something tells me you need to stay sober tonight, too.” He gestures over to your friend, whos already giggling like nobody’s business. Apparently, you were either going to be staying over at whoever’s place this was, or you were going to have to get her home.

“Are you the babysitter tonight?” you ask.

He nods his head, his curls bouncing as he does, “That and I have to be up early tomorrow and something tells me that a hangover and traveling across the country isn’t the best combination.”

“You get to travel for work? I would love a job like that.”

“Uh, yeah. What do you do?”

You roll your eyes, exhaling. “I’m an HR rep for an insurance company. It’s so exciting,” you say with the most sarcastic tone. You didn’t hate your job, but you would give anything to do something else if the money wasn’t so good. “What do you do?”

“I play for the Avalanche.”

You nearly spit out the water right in his face, “Like the hockey team?”

“Do you know of another Avalanche I could play for?”

“Touche.”

You spend the rest of the night talking to Tyson, as he said his name was, while everyone around you just kept smoking whatever they had. You ended up on the balcony of the apartment, looking up at the sky, a breeze cooling you off in what was otherwise an unseasonably warm night for the end of March.

“It’s amazing how many stars you can see considering how close we are to the city,” you say, breathing in the clean air. You couldn’t remember the last time you say the sky this clear and naturally bright. It was calming, the moon bringing out a more tranquil presence than you had expected.

“Sometimes when we don’t stay directly in the city we’re playing in I’ll go up to the roof at night and just look up. It’s easy to get lost in the stars even when you’re down on Earth.”

“For a hockey player, you sure have a way with words,” you tease, knocking your shoulder against him as the two of you lean on the railing of the balcony.

“And for someone in HR, you’re surprisingly likeable.”

You turn to him, not sure if you should be shocked or flattered, “How many unlikeable HR people do you know?”

“I’m basing everything off Toby from The Office.”

“Toby was not that bad! He was just...weird.” You both laugh and launch yourselves into a debate about the TV show, talking for hours until the sun starts to come up.

“Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late. Early?” you say, turning to look inside. Everyone was still your, your friend on the couch while the guys around her were on the floor, all asleep.

“Yeah, but I’m guessing you don’t need to be up in,” he runs his hand through his hair, checking the time on his phone, “Fuck, I need to be with the guys in less than an hour! I have to go!” He gets up, reaching for his keys in his pocket. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I really do hope we can see each other again.” And just like that, he leaves.

You sit there, shocked that the night actually just happened. That was easily the best night you’ve had in a while. The last time you stayed up like that was probably the night after your high school prom, talking with your best friend and now ex-boyfriend. You want to see him again, but if he’s a professional athlete who couldn’t even get your information, then what was the point?

“Hey, babe. Do you want to go back to your place or mine?” You practically jump out of the chair that you had been sitting in, falling asleep after finding Tyson on Instagram and following him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Wanna get food first? I was promised dinner last night and ended up drinking a lot of water instead,” you say, checking your phone.

Tyson Jost (josty17) started following you.

“Sure. The dinner down the street from work?” she suggests, pulling you up out of the chair, going back inside.

As you’re careful not to step on anyone who’s still asleep on the floor, your phone dings with another notification from Instagram: josty17 sent you a message.

“I’m down.”

June

Four. Four books was all he had on his nightstand, and all he seemed to have in his entire apartment. “We need a trip to Barnes and Noble or something, you need more stuff to read for me,” you whine, picking up one of the books you’ve already read twice since starting to date Tyson. You were lying on your back in his bed, holding the book up over your face and praying that you don’t drop it on yourself.

“Am I supposed to buy books for you?” he asks, flipping through the channels to find something to watch.

“Well, no, you could buy books for yourself and then I’ll read them once you’re done.”

“I don’t really read that much.”

“But reading’s fun!” you say as he looks at you, his eyebrow raised. “Oh, stop that, you just need to find the right book.”

“And I’m assuming you have a list of books that you want me to get?” he teases, jabbing his hand into your side to tickle you.

“Yes, stop that!” you let out, not hiding your laughter but almost kicking him in the face in the meantime out of reflex, “Fiction or nonfiction?”

“You’re gonna tell me both, aren’t you?” He looks at you, smiling as you nod your head. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Go ahead.”

“Well I personally love Educated by Tara Westover, Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston-”

“Woah there,” he cuts you off, putting his hand over your mouth to get you to stop talking, “I need more than just titles here if I’m gonna buy them. You don’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

“Gross, cliches. But you actually want to hear me sit here and talk about the books I like?”

“You’re cute when you talk about things you’re passionate about, and you hate your job so it doesn’t happen often.”

“Two cliches in like five minutes? That’s gotta be a new record for you, Josty.”

You both start laughing as he turns his attention back to his TV, finally picking a channel to settle on before turning back to you. “I know it’s only been a few months, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his third cliche. Third time really is the charm. “So,” you kiss his cheek, pulling away before he can turn and kiss you more, “Invisible Man is about an unnamed narrator; he’s a black man living in America before the Civil Rights movement, and it’s about how he feels as a black man in white America.” You spend the rest of the night telling him about all your favorite books, him nodding along and smiling as you don’t shut up, knowing that he won’t remember any of the book titles that you told him.

He just loved the way you got excited over stuff like this.

January

“I feel like two gallons of paint is a lot for one room,” Tyson says, handing you the blue paint your brother asked you to pick up. He grabs the rest of the supplies from the back seat of your car to lug up to your brother’s new place. He bought it as his first home with his new wife and asked you to help them paint it. It was getting you a free dinner, so why not?

“We’re only doing his bedroom today and apparently two gallons is enough for a standard-sized room, whatever that means.” You walk up the path to his new house. It was the first time you had seen it, so you were excited to go in even though you knew everything was covered in tarps and plastic.

“My little sister!” Tommy yells as soon as you approach the door. You didn’t even have the chance to knock, him startling you and causing you to almost drop the cans of paint right on his porch.

“Hey, jackass,” you say, bitter that he scared you.

“And you must be Tyson,” Tommy says, taking some of the supplies from him and leading you into the house.

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet, you,” he responds, clearly a little confused by the ‘jackass’ greeting. You might have forgotten some details about yours and your brother’s relationship on the drive over. It was the one where insults like jackass and dumb shit were terms of endearment.

“Shit, bub, you have a nice place!” you look around, admiring it. “Erica must have been so happy when you found this.”

“She was ecstatic. She was even happier when you agreed to help paint for the price of some dinner.”

“Painting is calming and food tastes even better when it’s free, how can I say no?”

He opens the door to the room at the end of the hall. “This is the master. Do you guys want to paint here while Erica and I finish the guest room and work on the living room?”

“Yeah, works for us,” Tyson answers for you.

Tommy leaves the two of you alone to start painting the entire room. You open the can of paint, revealing a light blue paint.

“Remember that night last month when one of the guys dared us to jump in the pool?” you ask Tyson as he pours the paint into the tray.

“Yeah, why?”

“This is the color of blue that I thought we were going to turn if we stayed in the water any longer.”

“Ya know, you’re the only girl I’ve dated that would complain about being in the water with such a hot guy,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, so you’ve dated actual psychopaths?” You joke, rolling the first coat of paint on the wall.

“I’ve only dated one psychopath, and that’s you. But everyone’s a little crazy, most people just call it unique.”

“Can I ask you how many girls you’ve actually dated?”

“You can ask but do I have to answer?” he says, your backs facing each other as you paint opposite walls.

“Please? I’ll tell you mine. Oh come on, what couple doesn’t talk about their old relationships?”

“Healthy ones?”

“Tys.”

“Fine. I’ve been in three serious relationships, or I guess relationships lasting more than four months, not including ours, and one really serious relationship.”

“What’s the difference between the serious ones and the really serious one?”

“Wait, no. Your count and then I’ll tell you.”

You roll your eyes knowing that he can’t see you, letting out a sigh. “A boyfriend in highschool and one in college. Now you.”

“No way,” he says, turning towards you to get more paint.

“What do you mean? I’m not the type to date around. If I’m going to date the guy I want to make sure it has potential for something that’s more than a fling.”

“Well, how can you grow as a person if you don’t give other people a chance? Isn’t it an important part of life to get hurt sometimes?”

“I’m not saying I’ve never gotten hurt before, I just wasn’t in a relationship when I did.”

“How does that work?”

“I thought this was I ask, you answer, you ask, I answer?” you ask, whipping around. Tyson was already facing you when the excess paint comes flying off your roller and splatters across Tyson’s face and chest. “I am so sorry!”

He gets a mischievous look on his face as he dips his hand in the can of paint, “No, no, no!” you screech as he splatters you with paint. The two of you start throwing paint at each other, at one point Tyson grabbing you by the face right after he put his hands in the can.

You’ve wasted half a can of paint on each other when Tommy comes knocking on the door, “What the hell are you two doing? Is this some sort of kinky sex thing?”

You scream, grabbing onto Tyson out of reflex, “That is not something I would talk about with you, and no! Go back to your wife!” Tommy just shrugs and leaves, closing the door slowly behind him. “Was this a fight?” you ask Tyson once you hear your brother go down the stairs.

“Maybe? We can say yes. What kind of couple doesn’t fit?”

“Weird ones,” you say, both of you laughing as your dripping with paint.

“I love you,” he says, “And I want to kiss you, but I don’t think the paint would taste good.”

“I love you, too. But yeah, no. Please don’t eat the paint.”

December

“Why are you giving me the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” Tyson asks, walking hand in hand with you through the streets of Denver.

You stop and pull him aside, “I don’t think you understand what the cold shoulder is.”

“It’s when someone is intentionally unfriendly.”

“Am I being unfriendly”?

“You haven’t talked to me since we left the restaurant.”

“I’ve been thinking!” you defend yourself. When you get deep in thought, you sort of shut down from the world around you. You still move about like a normal person, but the interaction between you and other people is minimal.

“Thinking about what?” He lifts your chin, trying to get you to look at him. You bite your bottom lip. He knows you’re thinking about something that’s bothering you.

“How long is this going to last since you’re always going to practice and traveling?”

Since that night you met, you had been talking nonstop. You feel hard and fast for this boy who was never home at the start of whatever relationship you had with him. Once his season was over, he started taking you out on dates; the two of you probably went on actual dates at least twice a week, and hung out the other five nights at your apartment, his apartment, or at whatever party one of you had been invited to. He was your boyfriend in every sense of the word, but would that end once the season starts.

“What do you want to happen?” he says, smiling, pulling you closer to him.

“Well, I like what we have. I don’t want it to end.”

“I wasn’t planning on ending it, where you?”

“No.”

“Then why worry?”

“I mean, do you want this last?”

“Of course I do. Come on.” He puts his arm around your shoulder, leading you down the street. He takes you into a Target, “Whatever you want, I will buy you.”

“That’s dangerous, bud. You know what I’m like in Target,” you tell him as he steers you towards the jewelry department.

“What about this?” he says holding up a ring.

“Is that just a ring, or is that a promise ring?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“It’s going to be nothing if you don’t start making decisions!” You both start laughing as he slips the ring onto your right ring finger.

“I like a promise ring.”

“Wait, actually,” you say, taking the ring off and grabbing Tyson’s hand, “Come with me.”

You lead him to the party section of the store, down the aisle with all the tissue paper. “Pick a color.”

He looks at all the options, the solid colors, striped pastels, polka dots, rainbow, scalloped paper. “I like the red.”

“No. Green,” you ignore him, picking up the package of green tissue paper and pulling him down on the floor to sit with you.

“Then why did you ask?” he cries as you tear open the package, “Um, isn’t this stealing?”

“No, you’re gonna pay for this. What you’ve never opened a bag of chips and snacked while shopping before?” He laughs at you as you start folding the paper into strips. You reach for his right hand, wrapping and folding the paper so that it stays on his ring finger. You do the same thing for yourself, holding your hand up to admire it.

“What is this?” he asks, smiling, shifting his gaze between the ring and you.

“Paper rings. I like these better. I don’t need something flashy from you to prove that you want to stay with me,” you say as he pulls you up off the floor, pulling you into a hug, “Plus $1.59 is a lot less of a financial burden than any ring that I probably wouldn’t wear.”

“I love it,” he says, kissing the top of your head as you walk to the register to buy your rings.

September, three years later

“Happy anniversary, babe,” you say, hugging Tyson from behind and kissing him on the cheek as he sits at the kitchen table, the dinner he made sitting in front of him.

“Happy anniversary, my beautiful wife.”

“Can you believe we’ve already been married for a year?”

“And yet it feels like I’ve known you forever.”

You start laughing, nearly spitting out the wine that you were drinking. “There’s that cliche crap I love from you.”

“Do we want to do presents now or after we finish eating?”

“That depends: is the gift something that actually can be given right now before the food gets cold?”

He stops for a moment before realizing what you mean, “One of them yes, the other is definitely in the bedroom.” He puts a large box on the table, wrapped neatly with a bow.

“I have to go get yours, wait!” you say, running down the hall to the closet where you were keeping his.

“Open yours first!”

You take off the bow, ripping through the paper. Inside the box are a bunch of books: Their Eyes Were Watching God, Educated, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Blind Side, and Native Son. “Are these all the books that I suggested to you years ago?”

“Some of them, yeah. The others I actually got and have been reading on the road using the Kindle App on my phone. Who would have thought books were good?”

“You sound like an idiot. But I love this! I can’t believe you remembered!” You get up and kiss him, shoving the gift you got him in his face. “Now it’s your turn!”

He opens the bag, his face lighting up when he sees what it is. Last season, the Avalanche won the division, winning the Campbell trophy. You and some of the other wives and girlfriends were allowed on the ice, you jumping into Tyson’s arms as he lifted you up and kissed you. Someone got a series of pictures of that night, and you got them framed for him. “Babe. I love this.”

“I think we set the bar too high for anniversary gifts,” you say as he kisses your cheek.

“Yeah, next year I’m just going to sleep with you.”

“Tyson!” you squeal, throwing a piece of lettuce at him from the bowl of salad that was in front of you. “That’s so crude!”

“Yeah, maybe. But I have one more gift for you tonight.”

He puts a small box on the table in front of you. “What is this?”

“Well, open it!”

You shake your head, smiling at how eager he was. What could it be? Inside the box are two green pieces of paper. “Are these the paper rings we made at Target? You kept these?”

“Yeah. You said that you didn’t need jewelry to know that we were going to stay together. That was the night I knew you were the one, craziness and all.”

You can’t help but start crying over how sweet that was. You couldn’t believe he had kept something like two pieces of tissue paper. How many people can say paper rings were a symbol of their relationship?

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagines #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche imagines #avalanche #nhl #nhl imagines #paper rings #taylor swift #hockey #hockey imagines

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angstysebfan · 5 years ago

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If You Love Me, Why Did You Hurt Me? 2/?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Other Avengers Mentioned: Steve, Sam, Natasha, Tony Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism; cursing

Summary: You dated Bucky for 5 wonderful years! You thought he was the one! Then, without reason, he ends your relationship, and gets a new girlfriend 2 days later! While you are both Avengers, you still have to see him, and his girlfriend.

Series Masterlist

2 weeks later and you still have trouble thinking what could have gone wrong. You go to step out of the bed and step on the empty vodka bottle on the floor. Guess you have to get another bottle. Alcohol is the only thing that helps you feel numb enough to get sleep, or to even function. You slowly get out of bed and head into the bathroom.

Once you are dressed in your workout clothes, you peek you head out to make sure the coast is clear. The last thing you need is to see your ex boyfriend or his new girlfriend in the hall. You have been actively avoiding them, since he introduced her to the group 2 days after you broke up. They were all confused, but try to be nice to the girl.

Brittney was the complete opposite of you. Where you had dark hair, she had platinum blonde (definitely store bought), and where you were short and had curves, she was tall and skinny. The only curves on her were the 2 fake breasts she had. She was everything you were not. Everything he apparently wanted.

You quickly walk to the end of the hall to get into the elevator. You wait as it comes up, hoping not to see the “lovely couple”. Alas, as the elevator reaches your floor, you here the giggling inside. You knew who it belonged to. You quickly put on a blank face, “don’t let him see your pain”, you thought to yourself.

The elevator door opened to see Bucky and Brittney in a loving embrace, kissing eachother stupid. They weren’t moving, so you cleared your throat. Bucky quickly pushed away. Brittney looked at you, almost smugly. Bucky had somewhat of the decency to look apologetic. The 3 of you stood there for what felt like forever, but it was probably 5 seconds.

“Are you moving? I need to get into the elevator” you said to no one in particular.

“Oh, yea. Sorry” Bucky said, quickly grabbing Brittney around the waist and leaving the elevator.

You jumped inside and hit the button to heads towards the training room. As the doors closed you looked out and saw Bucky looking at you. For the first time in 2 weeks, he actually showed an emotion when looking at you. Sadness.

You entered the training room and went straight for the treadmill to warm up. 15 minutes and 3 miles later, you jump off the treadmill and start wrapping your hands. You were going to dance with the punching bag. You put your headphones in and started going at it.

Sweat was dripping from you, but you didn’t feel tired. You just kept seeing them kissing, and a new wave of anger would surface. You didn’t notice anyone entering the gym, and just kept beating the punching bag harder and harder. You knew your knuckles were bleeding, despite the tape, but you did’t care. You needed the pain. You needed something, anything!

When you stopped for a second to take a breath, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You quickly turned around and swung. Steve grabbed your wrist, “Woah, killer!” You take your headphones out of your ears.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Steve looked at you concerned. “Yeah, I guess you didn’t with your headphones in. You okay? You look like crap!”

You breathlessly laughed, “You can say shit, ya know. Cause I know I look worse than crap. I feel worse than crap.” Your eyes started to water, but you quickly shook your head. “Did you need something?”

Steve kept his concerned father look. “I just wanted to see if you were okay. I haven’t seen you much. You’re either in your room, leaving the compound, or in here with headphones on.”

“I’m... fine. I’ll be fine. I’m not the first woman to have her heart broken, right?” Steve sadly smiled at you. You look down at the floor so you don’t see the pity in his eyes.

“Did you want the bag? I’m almost done.”

Steve looked at your hands. The blood starting to seep through the tape. “You are done. No more bag for a few days. Let your hands heal.” Then he turned and left the room. Once you knew he was gone, you quickly put your headphones back in and started to beat the bag again.

After your work out, you went up to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Walking through the common room, you see Bucky and Sam talking. Since Bucky was the last person you wanted to see, you tried to quickly grab your bottle and leave without being noticed, but of course, Sam never makes things easy.

“Hey y/n! Good workout?” He waved you to come over. You waved your hand meaning “no thanks” and said, “Yeah, now I gotta go run errands. See ya.” You quickly left the common room and headed toward your room. You missed the longing look from Bucky as you quickly left.

After a quick shower, you head out to the liquor store. You also figured you should get food, because you no longer take your meals with the team. You don’t want to be in the same room with Bucky (or Brittney) any longer than you have to.

45 minutes later you enter back into the common room from the elevator. You start heading toward your room, when your arm is yanked from behind.

“Where have you been sneaking off to?” Natasha. She looks at you with sad eyes, and you look anywhere but her face. You were tired of the pity in everyone's eyes. It made you want to cry.

“Just had some errands to run. Ya know how it is.” You go to turn back around, but she doesn’t let go of your arm.

“You just ran errands 2 days ago. In fact you run errands every other day. What’s going on?”

You knew she knew exactly what you were doing, but that doesn’t mean you had to tell the spy. You just shrugged your shoulders.

“Just get inspiration to buy things.” She looked at you like she didn’t believe you, but decided to keep her mouth shut. You turned and walked to your room.

“FRIDAY lock my door, and don’t let anyone in please.” “Yes Ms. Y/L/N.”

You sat on your bed, took out you laptop and put on the saddest movie you could think of. You took out 1 of the gallons of vodka you bought, grabbed your snacks and settled in for the night.

By the time the movie was done, you ran out of snacks, and you finished most of the bottle of Vodka. You were now do drunk you couldn’t feel anything. That’s exactly what you wanted. You laid on your bed and just stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

The next day, you wake up to a loud knock on your door. Your head is pounding from the amount of vodka you drank, and all you wanted to do was sleep, or puke.

“FRIDAY who is at my door?”

“It is Mr. Stark ma’am.”

You groaned. “Tell him to leave me alone please.” You turn to lay on your stomach and put the pillow over your head.

Once there is silence, you think he is gone. Suddenly your door opened and in came Tony Stark. You look over your shoulder and scowl at him.

“This is an abuse of power. I said leave me alone, not come in.” You quickly shove your head back under the pillow.

Tony comes over and sits on the edge of your bed. “Talk to me kiddo. I’m worried sick here.” You just groaned.

“I’ll sit here all day if I have to.” Tony says as he surveys your room. The empty food containers, and several empty vodka bottles. His heart feels heavy. “Please talk to me.”

“I’m fine Tony.” You say muffled under your pillow. “I can handle it.”

“Kiddo, you know how much you mean to me. I can’t sit by, while you slowly kill yourself.”

You move the pillow and turn to face him. “I’m not going to kill myself. I just need something to help me sleep and to not feel the pain. Give me another week and I’ll be back to my old self.”

Tony shook his head, looking at you with sympathy in his eyes. “I wish I could believe that kid, but I know that’s a load of bullshit. I can’t have you doing missions when you are in this condition. You will put yourself and everyone else in danger.”

You quickly sat up. “Tony, I swear I am fine! Don’t take me off missions, please! It’s all I have left!” You started crying. You could not believe that Bucky had officially ruined your whole life.

“If I can’t go on missions, then what’s the point of being an Avenger?”

Tony hugged you, and surprisingly, you let him. “You won’t be off forever. Just for a little while until you feel better without liquor and hurting yourself. You will always be an Avenger.”

You’re sobbing now. How did you let it get this bad? “This is why you never show emotions!” you think to yourself. Tony is rubbing your back as you continue to sob. You turn and look out toward your open door and see Bucky standing there with a sad expression on his face. Suddenly you sadness turns to anger, no... rage.

“What the fuck are you looking at Barnes! This is all your fault! You did this to me! You ruined my life!”

You quickly got up and walked to the door. Bucky didn’t move and looked shocked at your outrage. “I fucking hate you! I never want to see you or speak to you again! You ruined me!” You slam the door and fall to your knees.

Sobbing loudly. Tony quickly runs over to you and holds you in his arms. He rocks back and forth whispering “it’s okay” over and over. He plants several kisses on the crown of your head.

Meanwhile Bucky looks at your closed door. He feels completely helpless, because he knows you are right. He did ruin your life, in more ways than one. You will never forgive him for this. Tears start slowly falling from his eyes as he hears your sobs from the other side of the door. All he wants to do is go in and hold you. Beg you for forgiveness and kiss you, but he knows he can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He turns and walks to his room. Once the door closes, he slides against the door until he sits, and sobs quietly.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

I know this is only chapter 2, but I am really enjoying writing this. The thing I love is that I have no plan as to how this is going to go. I am just writing as it comes to me. Please tell me what you think!

#bucky x y/n #bucky fic #bucky and reader #bucky angst #heartbreak

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 4 years ago

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Cross Timbers

Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum, Sam Winchester x Jody Mills, no warnings, mildly PG-rated Chapter 1 - 1830 words Chapter 2 - 2265 words

A/N: This story was just a passing idea until I brought it up in my Slack chat and got a ton of great ideas from the folks there! Friends, I hope I have remembered everyone’s ideas and done them justice. Thanks for this and everything else!

@boondoctorwho , @cherry3point14, @cracksinthewalls, @dawnie1988 @fookinghelljensensthighs , @icemankazansky, @itmighthavebeenintentional , @justcallmeasmodeus , @lastactiontricia , @mskathywriteswords , @rockhoochie , @there-must-be-a-lock , @thoughtslikeaminefield

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ Dean hated camping. He hated tents, and Thermarest sleeping pads. The only thing he didn’t hate was Pudgie Pies. And Donna, and that blessed air mattress that she procured in the middle of the night, finally allowing him a few hours of blissful sleep.

Not that he would admit it.

He also hated trying to make coffee while camping. He walked to the pump for water and then lit the gas camp stove to heat it and then loaded the grounds into the french press. What ever happened to a good old motel coffee maker or cup of gas station joe?

Then he looked up. On the opposite end of the table from where he was making coffee, a raccoon was perched, sorting through the scraps of dinner from the night before. Dean screamed, and so did the chubby trash panda. Dean reached out and grabbed the nearest things at hand -a pie iron- and brandished it at the little thief.

Sam popped out of his tent, already dressed in running gear, gun in hand, ready to protect his brother. He had the good sense not to say anything as he watched Dean face off against a raccoon.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

Sam turned and set the gun down in his tent while Dean chased the little thief out of the campsite. He was stretching for his morning run when Dean came back, checked the french press, and leaned back against the picnic table. Their eyes met, they nodded, and that was all they needed.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

When Sam came back from his run, the whole campsite was alive with action. There was a blazing fire in the fire ring and everyone was drinking coffee from blue enamelware mugs. Both eggs and bacon were hot on the camp stove.

“Hey, been waiting for you, big guy!” Dean joked, a happy grin on his face. “Did you manage to outrun the wilderness?”

“Did you ever get rid of that raccoon?” Sam teased back with a lopsided smirk.

Donna laughed out loud, while Jody pretended to hide her smile behind her coffee cup.

“I didn’t know you could fence like that,” Sam continued. “Can you teach me?”

Dean clapped his younger brother on the shoulder, hard enough to make his coffee slosh, before settling back into his seat by the fire. He gestured to the empty chair.

“Hey, I made breakfast, and that coffee you’re enjoying, Sammy. Sit down.”

The four of them lingered around the fire while the sun rose high in the sky. Light filtered down through the trees in wide shafts, warming the air and kissing the rocks with gold. Finally, Jody and Donna exchanged a look.

Jody stood up, hooking her thumbs in her pockets. “Well now, boys, I think you have … fishing and such. Leave us girls be, here.”

Donna hopped to her feet, too. “Yah, go on now, shoo.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke.

Dean opened the back door to Baby, and pulled a fishing pole and tackle box off the seat. “Wanna go catch some fish?” he asked Sam as he shut the door carefully. His shoulders were relaxed, his smile wide.

“Nah.” Sam shook his head as he closed the back door to his SUV. With an eager look on his face, he held up a cardboard box with tubes poking out of the top. “I want to try building this hydration system. I’ve been studying up on it for weeks, ordered all the parts online. I can’t wait to see how it works. Have fun, though.”

Dean rolled up the leftover breakfast eggs in a couple of tortillas and wrapped them in foil before tucking them in his shirt pocket. Sam tossed a couple of protein bars in his box. With one last smile, the brothers headed off in opposite directions.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

Jody and Donna gathered up towels and shampoo before heading in the direction of showers indicated on their park map. The bunkhouse was rustic, stalls open to the sky, but the water was hot. Once they were clean, Donna dressed in a light sundress, while Jody put on yoga pants and a tunic top.

Back at the campsite, they built the fire back up and settled down. Donna went to one of the coolers and pulled out a pack of White Claw.

“100 calories!” She held one out jokingly, striking a pose, pretending she was in an advertisement.

Jody laughed and shook her head. “I know we’re taking it easy and not living by the clock, but isn’t early?”

“Hey, it’s after noon. The boys are having fun, the girls can too!” Donna raised her can in a mock toast. Her smile was warm as the sun.

Jody shrugged before heading to another cooler. She got out vodka and tonic water, pouring them together into an enamelware mug.

“Really, Jodes?” Donna protested. “It’s vacation! Treat yourself!”

Jody smiled, her dark eyes crinkling, before she pulled out a ziploc bag of lime slices. She squeezed one into her drink with a flourish, raising one eyebrow in Donna’s direction. “There you go. Fancy!”

The two of them sat side by side, talking, relaxing, basking in the sun. It was rare for them to have down time like this. No responsibilities, no monsters. They knew the Winchesters were nearby and they savored the moment, feeling safe and happy.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

The sun was still bright but low in the sky when Sam and Dean returned to the campsite from opposite directions.

Sam greeted his big brother with a wave. “Hey, man, I don’t see any fish.”

Dean looked around before he retorted. “Oh yeah, well, I don’t see any water.”

“Do you want to come see the gravity powered water filtration system I set up below the falls?”

“Hell no.” Dean was cut off from saying more by the press of Donna’s lips on his, as he slipped his arms around her.

“Ready to make dinner, Champ?” she asked, tugging him towards the picnic table.

Sam pretended to ignore the two of them as he walked over to Jody. He held out one hand without speaking, and she took it.

“Show me what you’ve been up to?” she offered, smiling softly and getting to her feet. Their fingers laced together as they left the campsite, headed towards the sound of running water. Sam gestured eagerly with his free hand as he began to explain.

Jody listened with interest as he showed off every tube and mechanical bit. When he cupped clear water into his hands, she drank from his palm. It tasted a little like minerals, clean and stone-cold.

Then he set a collapsible water jug under the stream to fill with filtered water.

While it filled, he talked on and on. Finally, Jody reached for him and silenced him with a kiss. He was caught off guard, speechless. She tugged him down to sit on the stones that bordered the stream. She pulled up her yoga pants and he cuffed up his jeans. They dipped their feet into the flowing water.

Jody leaned her head on Sam’s shoulder. It was still a new experience for her, but not unwelcome, to be with a man who made her feel so safe. He slipped his arm around her waist before he turned and kissed her again.

Beautiful, he also made her feel beautiful. It had been a long time since Jody felt so good, relaxed and warm and loved. The sun was setting when Sam stood up and tugged her to her feet. He reached for the carrier, now filled with several gallons of water.

“Let’s head back, hm?” She lifted her face and kissed him. “See how Dean and Donna are going on dinner?”

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

Back at the campsite, Dean and Donna were busy at the picnic table, but it had nothing to do with dinner. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs crossed around his waist, while his hands tangled in her long blonde hair, tilting her mouth up to his as they kissed.

“Ahhhem.” Sam made an exaggerated throat-clearing sound that almost not quite covered his smirk.

The two of them pulled apart languidly, not the least ashamed at being caught. Dean held out one hand and helped Donna to her feet before he gestured to the foil packs on the table as she spoke.

“We, uh, got dinner ready.”

Jody shook her head with a bemused look at Donna. “But the fire has to be built up and then burn down to coals, nah?”

“Oh yah,” Donna answered. “Oh shoot, Dean, what’ll we do now?”

Dean darted a look towards his brother.

“Uhhh,” Sam thought quickly. “You know, the meal I was going to cook tomorrow is easy. Let me cook tonight and we can grill tomorrow.

“Oooh, your big surprise dinner.” Dean tilted his chin up, challenging. “What is it, Sammy, kale smoothies? Rabbit food salads?”

“Actually...” A dimpled grin crossed Sam’s face. “Mac and cheese. And I brought the marshmallow fluff.”

Dean burst out laughing.

“I’m kidding. I'm not three anymore. But I did buy the good stuff.”

“Kraft?” Dean exclaimed as Sam held up the familiar blue boxes. “I’m really surprised you didn’t buy some kinda Annie’s gluten-free crap.”

“Hey, you’ve had Annie’s and you liked it.”

“Wasn’t the worst,” Dean mumbled.

Sam continued, undeterred. "Sit down, and let me cook for you for once.”

Jody hurried to his side. “Let me help you, Sam.”

He turned and kissed her full on the lips. “I know I’m no great cook like you or Dean. But I think even I can handle this. Sit down, relax.”

While the water heated on the camp stove, Sam got out bottles and ice: Margarita mix for Donna, whiskey for him and Dean. For Jody, he packed something special: everything he needed to make a Cosmo, including cranberries already skewered on toothpicks. He took one and perched it on the rim of her mug.

“Really?” Jody smiled up at him as she took the drink, her fingers lingering around his. “You know I’m not a fancy kinda gal.”

Sam’s face was soft, his eyes locked on hers. “I know, but you deserve a treat now and then.” He lowered his mouth and kissed her.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

Dinner was quick and easy, but satisfying. Sam opened a can of green beans, and Dean got out the hot dogs. The four of them lingered around the fire long after the simple meal was done, drinking and talking on into the night. The four of them had more than their lifetimes’ worth of stories to tell. But they were stories of fighting, of blood and loss.

Instead, they talked about good things from the past, happy memories shared with family and friends. They laughed as they recalled moments early in their respective relationships: Dean and Donna’s trips for donuts or burgers, Sam and Jody’s movie nights.

As the stars came out, Dean got up and fetched his guitar. Donna moved her chair closer, her knee brushing his, as he played and sang, classic rock and slow blues songs. Donna had a golden voice that blended well with his low rich one.

Sam and Jody listened for a long time before Sam took a turn with the guitar. He picked out songs without words, quiet and dreamy. Jody rested her chin on one hand, watching him, and he smiled fondly when his eyes met hers.

The four of them lapsed into comfortable stillness. The fire had burned down to embers, warm and low. The forest was full of soft nighttime noises, rustling and murmurs, and somewhere an owl called. Donna was sitting on Dean’s lap, resting her head against his shoulder as the two of them whispered back and forth. Sam was holding Jody’s hand, stroking her fingers with his thumb, watching her face in the fading firelight.

Donna yawned, and Dean smiled.

“Bedtime, love?” he asked. His green eyes shined bright as she looked at him and nodded. She stood up and slipped an arm around his waist. Arm in arm, they walked to their tent.

Sam lifted Jody’s hand with his for a kiss before standing up. Carrying the guitar over to Baby, he placed it on the backseat and locked the door. “Don’t want to hear what raccoon bedtime music sounds like,” he joked.

She laughed then, head back, mouth open, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Shhhhh.” Sam pressed a finger against her lips before his mouth closed on hers. The last notes of her voice still echoed off the trees as she hummed into his kiss.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

In Dean’s tent, a small electric lantern hung from the center ridgepole. Bare in the narrow beams of light, the pair below were both golden and freckled. Dean was strong power while Donna was all soft passion. As he rose over her, his hands tangled in her blonde curls and hers roamed his body. The air mattress dipped and bucked under their movements. The pillows stifled their soft moans.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_

In Sam’s tent, he lit a few short candles in tall glass holders, filling the tent with flickering shadows. He pulled Jody to face him, side by side on the stacked bedding. He murmured endearments as he pressed kisses over her neck and then lower. She whispered his name as she pulled him closer. The two of them were perfectly matched, moving in sync. They breathed hard as they sought and found one another in the darkness.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ Tent sex, Dean thought as he drifted off to sleep. That was another thing he liked about camping.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ _/\_ SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness Dean Curious:@adoptdontshoppets @awesomesusiebstuff @deangirl7695 @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @stoneyggirl @wayward-gypsy @winchesterxfamilybusiness Cross Timbers Tags: @deangirl7695, @elliloumom, @meeshw777

#winchester camping trip #dean x donna #sam x jody #winchester brothers fanfiction #cross timbers #take me away

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rxgerthatt · 6 years ago

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deep in her trauma, as in the crater of a wound

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary - a year of mind control, leaves your mind filled with shadows. Steve wants to love you.

Warnings - suicide mention/PTSD/alcohol abuse/SMUT

When you come home you’re not the same. You’re a hollow body. Scar smeared eyes and scattered thoughts.

Steve Rogers was on the first jet back to the compound when he heard the news. You were home. And it was as though his heart began to beat in the cavern of his chest once more. And colour seemed that much brighter.

He’d spent a year. 365 days of hunting like a rabid wolf, chasing the smallest of leads anywhere it would take his yearning soul. A year of sleepless nights - howling into the void, salted tears coating his lips. Screaming when he thought no one was listening. Crying silently when he knew they were.

“Where is she?”

“Steve,” Natasha’s eyes were sorrowful. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Steve’s brows turned angry - face hard, jaw clenched. “Where is she Nat?” It was a demand more than a question. Captain America seeping out in defence - raw and powerful.

“Psychology.” Steve pushed Natasha aside, the red head calling after him once more. He stopped, looked over his shoulder because he knew she was relentless - she wouldn’t let him leave without hearing her out.

“Whatever she’s been through,” her arms folded across her chest, somber expression. “It’s been a lot. She’s won’t talk.”

***

A flowing dress. Blood splattered like gaudy red paint across white and deep, dark hell. It was like a scene out of an old time horror. You know the type? The kind where the girl kills her captor - chops him into tiny pieces for freedom.

You didn’t feel free.

You flinched at the feeling of wet cloth on your skin - dark gore streaked across your skin like grease. Kind eyes met your gaze, a warm smile that reached even the darkest parts of her eyes. And you wondered what it was like to look so unconfined.

“Hello (Y/N), I’m Dr Wyatt,” She introduces herself. Her voice matched her appearance. She was all glowing pale skin and freshly applied makeup. Bubblegum pink hair that curled in the softest of ways. She was a pretty girl.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Her question was simple. But it did not warrant a simple answer. Everything was confused. Loud thoughts clambered to escape the shadows, dug their claws into your cerebrum - screamed to be released.

“Got any whiskey?”

Dr Wyatt looked taken aback. “(Y/N). Do you know where you are?” She spoke slowly, almost patronising. And your patience was wearing thin. Heels of your hands pressed into your eyes - colours twisting and pulsating in the dark.

“Yes, I know where I am,” you replied impatiently. “Do you have any whisk-“

“Captain Rogers,” Dr Wyatt cut you off. Your head whipped up, eyes adjusting to the harsh lighting and oh my fucking god there he was. He was no longer a thought, or a dream - he was real. In the flesh real. The type you can touch and feel beneath your fingertips.

He stood at the doorway, clad in the stealth suit. He was all grime painted skin and messy hair. Adonis carved in the mountains that came to earth in the mist - golden, glowing in the evening sun. And piercing blue eyes that saw right through you. And you wondered if he still could, even after everything. He was just like you remembered him. But you could see the shadows.

And you must of looked really fucking stupid because you gaped at him like a fish out of water - as though you’d never met him. As though you’d never loved him in a happier time. In another lifetime you longed for but couldn’t have.

The doctor cleared the room, mumbled something about giving you both a moment. But you didn’t care to listen because you could only focus on him - part of you waiting for him to vanish like so many times before. But he didn’t.

Steve crossed the room to you, closed the space that had been open for so long. Neither of you knew what to say. What could you say? It was sad and tragic and fucking surreal, and neither of you knew what to do in this situation.

His hands caressed your cheeks, and for the first time in a year you felt warmth. Not the unfriendly touch that mauled at your skin and tore at your flesh - callous, evil strokes. True warmth.

And he studied your face as though it were his last chance. His name passed your lips like a silent prayer - pleading.

Sweetheart. My love. Sugar. Doll. Baby.

“You’re safe now,” he pulled you against his chest, and you felt him.

You’re safe now.

***

He noticed the changes. The way your eyes were clouded over with an unbreakable grey haze. The kind that muted that fire that was once there - snuffed it out.

The way you flinched when he touched you, but relaxed when you realised it was him. And it was almost as though you had to remind yourself - you were free.

And you never talked about what happened. You drank vodka and bourbon and anything alcoholic. Anything to make you forget. You were sarcastic and you giggled and you acted like you. But you weren’t. Because no matter how loud you laughed, or how wide you smiled, it never reached your eyes - not like it used to.

You took Paroxetine with a glass of Jim Beam before bed. And you looked at Steve as though he were an apparition - skimmed your fingers over his face and in his hair and he cried at night.

He cried for you. He would always cry for you.

***

He caught you with a bottle of merlot, hand fisted around the neck, white knuckled and feet dangling over the edge of the sofa. It was five in the morning. You couldn’t sleep.

Moonlight poured blue through the compound and you looked liquid beneath it, as though you were birthed in the night. Your hair sprawled around you and your face flushed violet.

You smiled at him. A drunk smile, wine stained lips pulled over gleaming teeth - pained, tormented. It never reached your shadowed eyes.

“You wanna drink, Cap,” you popped the P and giggled, that slurred giggle that told him you’d had way to much merlot for it to be genuine.

Steve moved to kneel in front of you, held your face in his hands and you jumped at the contact. “You’re losing it sweetheart.”

“Will you stop Steve,” your gaze turned fiery, sloppily pushing his hands away. “Everything’s fine.”

Anger. Surged through his body in the most unnatural way at your ignorance, your want to disassociate and ruin yourself. And he felt guilty. He felt guilty because he shouldn’t feel like this. It wasn’t your choice. None of this was your choice. And he -

“Do you remember out first mission together?” You asked then. Abrupt. Straight from your thoughts unfiltered. You were trying to piece together happier times.

“Yeah,” Steve replied sadly, giving you a sad smile. “It was in Warsaw. You chopped an aliens head off - saved my life.”

“Did you love me then?” You pushed.

“I loved you always.”

***

You go for walks in the woods on harder days. Barefoot, the fire of autumn crunching beneath your form as you wander aimlessly - hoping to find yourself. The old you.

Dr Wyatt tells Steve she’s concerned you’ll try something that you can’t come back from. Buying the one way ticket to escape a temporary problem, because you don’t understand that sometimes it’s okay to not be okay.

So naturally, all of the Avengers keep a close eye on you. Even when you’re in the woods.

“I know you’re there,” you say as you slump down at the edge of the river, shouting over the water to the person who’d followed you from the compound.

Bucky.

He snickered as he dropped down beside you. “Didn’t think I was makin’ myself that obvious doll.”

“You’ll need to do better than that to fool me,” you replied, pulling a hip flask from the pocket of your wrecked jeans. “That sad excuse for stealth could getcha killed.”

“Damn, harsh as ever I see.” He pouted.

You gave him a side smirk. “Only honest.”

Silence stretched between you both. The whirring of his arm and the rushing sound of cold water the only thing to fill the void. That was, until you broke it.

“I take it Steve sent you down here,” you stated more than asked. You didn’t need him to tell you the answer, you already knew. Steve Rogers was in some ways a control freak. He liked to know everything so he could plan. You used to admire it.

Now it scared you. It scared you because it reminded you of him.

“He’s just worried doll,” Bucky replies. “It’s been months since you came home, and you haven’t spoke a word about what happened.”

You looked away at that. Took a drink and it burned acid down your throat, trailed to your hollow stomach and filled it with flames. Everyone wanted an admittance. They wanted you to open up and all you wanted was to forget. To leave the past, in the past, and move on.

“You joke, and you laugh and you pretend that everything’s fine,” Bucky continued. “But drinking a gallon of bourbon a day, and wandering the halls at night tells a different story.”

Your heart clenched in the cavity of your chest and you felt angry, fist crunching auburn leaves - orange flakes coating your skin in garish shards.

“You should know better than anyone what it’s like to be controlled.”

“I do doll, and -“

“Then you should know that you change,” you cut him off. “That your moulded and pulled thin, and then when you get out? You’re expected to just snap back to reality.”

The burst of sudden emotion evaporates. It mixes with the humid air, so humid you can feel it’s thick hands as it grasps your skin and makes you sweat. And your left empty once more. That horrible, empty ache that sat in your belly and fed off your grief.

“He says he loves me but he cannot,” you shake your head, let it drop. “Because I’m not me. I’m a vessel.”

***

Steve feels you thrash beside him. You throw your body weight forward like a jolt of electricity lit up every nerve in your being, and he hears the ragged breath that tears from your mouth.

You were plagued by nightmares and horrors, and all he wanted was to be there. All he wanted was to help.

He turns over to look at you, your outline sharp and dark against the warm light of the lamp and it spills over your face like golden oil when you turn to him. And his own breath catches when he sees the tear fall. A salted drop leaks from your eye, and descends down your face to rest on your chin.

And you move towards him. Straddle his hips and tug your shirt over your head, breasts perked and he asks you what you’re doing.

“I need you, Steve Rogers.”

And it’s enough for him. He knows what it means because you both struggle. It was code, told him that you wanted a moment to feel nothing but him. You needed relief.

You kiss him hard, and it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and everything sinful. You all but rip his shirt from him, throw it fuck-knows-where as you grip his shoulders. His lips grasp your neck as he kneads your tits, works your nipples to hard pebbles in his fingers.

When you grind down on him it’s erotic, and he growls into the skin of your neck at the feeling. Relishes in the sighs of you above him.

You pull his boxers down over his ass, sink your fingers into the globes, and he gasps as he bunches your black panties up and pushes them to the side.

The way he stretched you had you clutching the hair at the nape of his neck, and your eyes meet as he bottoms out. They say everything you couldn’t speak. Everything you couldn’t put into words because you didn’t know how.

I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry and I’m scared.

“Steve.” You gasp as he begins to move inside you. He lets his hands slide down your ribs, thumbs pressing into your hip bones, and he realised how much weight you’d lost. He sees the way your body was eating itself, gnawing away at your muscle to strip you bare.

“I’ve got you,” he tells you, breathes it like a prayer. “I’ve always got you.”

And you cry together. And it’s fucking tragic but it’s them, and it’s raw and unfiltered and filled with love. He thrusts into your satin heat. Loves the way your red hot cavern squeezes him tight, and he feels the high. And he feels you.

Foreheads pressed together your lips meet in a salty kiss, covered in tears and filled with passion and grief - so much fucking grief.

His fingers are feather light as they brush over your clit and you cry out as you come. Steve follows suit, stomach clenched and muscles rippling beneath skin as he releases.

Your body is set alight, inferno tonguing your skin and you’re singed. You’re used and broken and just trying to feel anything but pain.

“I want to forget Steve,” you fall down beside him, rest your head on his chest. His hand tilts your chin, blue eyes hazy in bliss. But they’re focused on you.

“You can’t.” He’s honest with you. “And you’ll torture yourself if you try.” He tells you what you need to hear. I can’t lose you again. I won’t.

The layer of hot sweat clings to your bodies like film, cools in the heavy air. It smells freshly fucked and friction from beings.

You cling to his chest. “I remember who I was before,” you tell him. “Before him. Before the mind control. But It’s like broken shards, and I’m trying to piece them together - I can’t.”

“Ask and I’ll tell.” Steve tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, gives you that warm smile you longed to see. It’s lazy. It’s tired. And he’s so fucking pretty it aches.

And when you smiled back, you knew it was a choice. You didn’t have to tell yourself - you’re free.

“Do you love me now?” You ask.

“I love you, always.”

#marvel #steve x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #steve x you #steve x y/n #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader

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minniecourts93-blog · 4 years ago

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Ideas How You Can Stop Smoking Pot Yet Sadly Watch Out For The Crater

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gasstationshane · 5 years ago

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Tales From The DishWasher, Part 1

In a small town, on the north end of main street, on the same side as the dollar store and local ice cream shop, there's a restaurant that is one of the more popular dine in places in town. On the front side, there's a large sign made out of an maroon awning that shades the outdoor tables and chairs for those that want to eat outside or smoke.

On the back side, there's a sign painted on a metal maroon wall with the restaurants name. There's also a lable on the side of the walls that tell you if the doors are for the kitchen or the entrance. If you were to walk in from the back entrance you might wanna make sure your not walking in through the kitchen door. We've had an array of customers that walked in and ended up with a bag of trash falling onto them. One guy even tried suing us because salsa got on his brand new white jeans. Look, even if he didn't see the sign, the door is obviously a kitchen door.

Now if you walked into the actual back entrance, you'd see a small array of arcade machines that were more then likely made in the 90's. The audio from the games faded from years of dust and play time.There's also a small stand of gumball and candy machines, one of the ones where you can get a temporary tattoo for 50 cents each.

A few footsteps and a turn to the right, you'd see the vast open area. Booths to the immediate right and left, a bar on the slightly farther left, tables all scattered around with more booths on the right and left against the walls.

The kitchen area, which would be left at the arcade machines, has a few different sections. The left of where you walk in is the front line cooks area, a grill, friar and a freezer along the front and back as well as countertops with storage cabinets for lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and other toppings or side foods.

On the right of the entrance is the dishwashers station. A shelf and carts for the servers to sit the dirty dishes on, and a big sink with a sprayer and a few different soap options on the wall. There's of course, the washing machine that's usually used just for sanitation purposes.

Behind the dishwasher station is the shelves where the majority of the dishes that aren't plates or bowls are kept. Most of the kitchen employees keep their stuff there so it's out of the way. And finally, behind the front line cooks, are the back line cooks area as well as the walk in cooler and freezer.

In the dishwasher area is where I work. I spend most of my shifts there and only leaving to put away dishes or use the bathroom or even get a drink. Not everything's normal here though, most of the eventful things happening at night when it's just me and whoever is the main cook that night, and the closing bartender.

We've dealt with a pack of stray dogs that live in the old car wash station across from the dumpster. Their friendly though thankfully, begging me for pets and belly rubs after every shift as well as treats. All of them are a mixed breed between a husky and a wolf. I've taken the liberty of naming them all.

There's Yogi, the big grey and brown male who got his name from how much he looks like a bear. Luna, a blue-ish grey and white one, who got her name from the moon shaped crescent spot on her back. Waffle, a all black one with blue eyes, who got his name by sniffing out the waffle's in my bag one day. Then there's Crash, who's red orange-ish fur makes him look similar to the famous video game character.

There's a few pups too that I haven't named yet because I haven't had time to witness their personalities. Luna, the assumed to be mother of the pups, keeps them in the old storage room of the car wash. I've re done the storage room a bit to give them a bed and a few other things to help her take care of them.

I'm thankful that no animal control or pound people have taken them yet. If they tried, I wouldn't hesitate to take them home to keep them safe. The only reason I'm not taking them home now is because they are used to this place and I don't wanna make them uncomfortable. But believe me, the moment I feel like they are danger whether it be animal control, or them needing a vet visit, they'd be in my custody in no time.

And then there's the mysterious bar truck driver, a trucker who is always at the bar, no matter how early we open. The only time he's not there is when we're closed. He's always wearing a hat, flannel, and some form of camo. He drinks so many combinations of alcohol during his visits, it's a miracle he never passes out or hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. He knows all the words to all the songs on the digital bluetooth jukebox. If you ask him, he'll stop drinking long enough to sing a long to a full song of your choice if you buy him a drink.

And then there's the mysterious puddle of water surrounding the water softener and the pump. The puddle almost always fills the area where the tile is broken. No matter what we do, the puddle never goes away, and is a murky grey color. Sometimes it won't be as much water, but we could be closed for a week and the puddle will still be there. It doesn't help that some water that sprays off from the sink or gets spilled can add to the puddle.

I guess what I'm saying is, weird things happen at the patio restaurant in town. Mostly at night. Weird stuff has been happening even before I started working there. I remember a week before my first shift, there was an incident where all the liquors and vodkas to make mixed drinks were stolen, broken, or empty, as well as ate a whole gallon of ice cream. The whole situation could have easily been blamed on one of the bartenders or other employees at the time, but they were closed that day.

T-Dog, the main front line cook that I close with most of the time, thinks that the bar trucker pick pocketed the key and the security alarm code when we closed early one night. That would make sense, since they closed early the night before and he could've needed to make up for a days loss worth of drinks.

If you ask him, T-Dog always has a somewhat reasonable explanation to any weird thing that happens there. "That puddle isn't mysterious.." He told me after I had accidentally stepped in it again and almost fell over.

"The water softener is leaking, but since we run water so much with the sinks, washers, and bathrooms, the leak doesn't have a big impact. You think the owners would fix this shit, but since it's not causing any problems, they ain't touching it just to save them some fucking money." I always made an effort to hear out his explanations. They may or may not be true but it's way better than my theory about the bar trucker peeing on the broken tile. But my theory would explain the weird smell that happens over there, no matter how much we clean over there.

T-Dog isn't the only cook I close with. Some nights it's Danny, or Jack. Jack tends to ignore the weird things happening here. But he's also the cook that doesn't make me do everything I need to do before giving me the okay to leave.

And I know he doesn't do it because Tobias, Toby for short, is the opening cook in the mornings has told me multiple times whenever something doesn't get done. I see Toby once a week when I actually work a morning shift. He's one of the not so serious cooks, and jokes around every now and then. There was one time where acted like he was gonna knock over my drink.

What's kinda funny, about Toby being the not so serious guy around here, he doesn't believe any of the weird things that I've told him about. He thinks it's rumours to get more customers in.

"Shane, that bar trucker is only here for entertainment purposes. We don't have a stage so he just sits and takes his drinks at night to keep the drunks entertained." He explained. Well.. There was one night that Toby closed for the first time. He learned the hard way that the weird things really do happen here that night.

It was around ten thirty, and we were working on finishing our stuff up for the night when we heard a loud crash come from the cooler. "The fuck was that?" He asked. I shrugged.

"Maybe Alex is still cleaning his stuff up." I replied. He shook his head.

"No.. I saw Alex leave almost an hour ago. There's something back there." I finished taking care of the next load of dishes that needed to go in the washer, before following Toby to the walk in cooler. He was carrying a broom to defend us incase there was something that could attack us or scare it away.

We opened the door slowly to see, not one, not two, but three possums in the cooler. They were snacking on our most recent batch of precooked fish sticks. They looked up at us like a kid who had just got caught sneaking out. Toby went to swing the broom to get the mammals out of there, but as he did one of then jumped on the shelves, knocking down the large ice paddle.

It smacked into Toby and made him fall back. When he landed, the force of the fall against one of the shelves, causing a case of beer to fall onto him. Glass shattered, making him covered in glass shards, beer, and blood. Most of them in his legs and chest.

"Gah!" He cried out as he went to pulling some of the glass pieces. I rushed to the shelf where we keep the first aid kit, handing it to him but he smacked at out of my hands.

"Call an ambulance Shane! A first aid kit ain't gonna fix this shit." He yelled with a look of frustration on his face. I sighed and went to the area where the phone was and dialed the number for the station. When I had explained the situation, the man on the other end sounded genuinely confused.

"You said a Possum snuck into your walk in cooler, and made a ice paddle fall onto your co worker, which caused a case of beer to break onto him??" She asked to confirm what I said.

"Umm yeah that's what happened."

"But how would a Possum get into the cooler?" Possums usually never bothered with the busier end of town."

"I have no idea, but that's what happened!" She let out a sigh.

"And which restaurant in town was this again?" Now it was my turn to sigh.

"Darbie's Patio on Main Street..."

"Ooh that place!" She said, realizing who she was dealing with.

"Please hold." She said. I assumed she forwarded the call to the department that takes care of our cases. As much weird shit that happens here, the department has given us a specific branch and a officer to take care of us.

"Hello, this officer Mark here. Who is this?" He asked in his professional cop voice. Mark was the officer assigned to us, being close friends with the owners. Him and the owners have probably seen more weird shit than I have my whole life.

"Hey Mark, it's Shane Redfield from Darbies Patio. There was an accident with a few possums in the cooler, and now Toby is covered in glass shards." I briefly explained.

"Hang tight, I'll be there with an ambulance in five minutes or less. If there's any big chucks of glass in him, do not let him take it out. If he bleeds out before he can get to the hospital, that's bad news." I thanked him, hung up the phone and stayed with Toby while we waited. The bartender brought us both a drink. He took a long sip before looking back at me.

"Hey Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"..Does weird shit like this happen all the time...?"

To be... Continued

#tales from the dishwasher #tftgs fan blog #dishwasher shane #darbies patio #shane redfield #shane from darbies

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athenascarlet · 6 years ago

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Sugar Rush

Summary: Emma Swan loves making ice cream – as long as her daily deliveries avoid Killian Jones and his cupcakes as much as possible. She doubts this is going to be the season for her to change her mind about the infuriatingly attractive and frustratingly talented owner of The Jolly Cupcake. But as the leaves change in the fall, is it possible her feelings could also morph into something else? Rating: T Notes: For @fallforcs, originally published as a blind date with a fic so you may have read it! Banner by @nicole-nikla -- thank you! If you like this, I'm also in the middle of the Captain Swan Big Bang so please catch up with Hide Your Love Away on AO3 or FF. I also have published two novels on Amazon. You can buy them here for less than the cost of a grande pumpkin spice latte (or less than a half gallon on Emma’s ice cream and one of Killian’s cupcakes).

Also on AO3 | FF

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

“Emma! Delivery is ready!”

Emma wiped her ice creamed hands on her apron and headed to the back of the store where Ingrid was standing in their kitchen, filling up a cooler with gallons of ice cream. She pulled off the apron and hung it on a nearby hook.

“How did the batches turn out?”

“Amazing, as usual,” Ingrid told her. “I really think your apple cider ice cream will be a hit.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “As long as we don’t get apples from the mayor’s tree, we’ll be fine.”

Ingrid gave her a teasing smile. “You act like they’re poisoned.”

Emma shrugged. “They might be. You never know.”

She was sure they probably weren’t, but the mayor was definitely more sour than sweet so she wasn’t about to test her theory.

Emma threw on her red leather coat and grabbed the cooler from the counter. “Granny’s first, right?”

“Yep! Tell her I said hi!”

Emma nodded and headed out the front door of Any Given Sundae to Granny’s Diner. She always loved walking down Storybrooke’s Main St. at this time of year. After two years here, she finally could call it home, which was something that still caught her off guard at times.

When she was younger, Ingrid had been her foster mother, caring for her as a teenager. But as with most teenagers, Emma had a problem with authority and ran away from Ingrid’s home. She went out on her own, eventually tracking down bail jumpers to make ends meet. It was fine until one in particular busted her arm. She still got her bounty but decided it may be a good time to try something different, and since she was so good at finding people, she decided to find Ingrid.

Her former foster mother had moved to a small town in Maine and opened a store specializing in homemade ice cream made on site. At first, she seemed surprised to see Emma, but quickly gave her a smile and a hug. The next thing Emma knew she was whipping up cream and sugar and whatever else Ingrid had decided to try for customers.

The store sold ice cream staples: chocolate, vanilla, cookies and cream. But it was really known for its more unusual or fun flavors, which brought people in from all over Maine. They were one of the first stores in the state to make cake batter ice cream from scratch, and Emma’s frozen hot chocolate ice cream was a favorite. She often encouraged customers to add a little shake of cinnamon from their toppings bar.

This month, Ingrid had encouraged Emma to come up with some good fall flavors. She whipped up the perfect batches of pumpkin spice ice cream and candied pecan ice cream. She also found some amazing apples at the local orchard and used them to create an amazing apple cider ice cream. It was just like drinking the real thing.

“This is the best one you’ve ever made,” Ingrid said when Emma finally let her try the recipe.

They quickly sold out of the first few batches, including a few gallons that Granny ordered for the diner.

Granny was one of their best customers, always putting in an order for gallons of vanilla ice cream to go along with her pies. The unique flavors were also a hit with customers who got a scoop included as part of the dinner special.

Emma’s feet crunched on the dry leaves in Granny’s courtyard, which made her smile. She swung the door open and walked in, taking a quick look at what the miners sitting at the counter were eating for lunch. Lots of lasagna, a few grilled cheeses, and Leroy’s heaping bowl of orange sherbert. He was definitely their best customer.

She headed back to the kitchen window where Granny was placing orders with the kitchen staff.

“Thank God you’re here,” she told Emma. “We just ran out of vanilla. I thought a cupcake/ice cream combo would be a hit, but it was way too popular at lunch today.”

Emma gave her a perplexed look. “What kind of combo?” she asked.

“Delicious cupcakes with ice cream, Swan! In fact, I’m here to drop off a new batch myself.”

Emma scowled. She recognized that voice and was not surprised when she turned to see its owner leaning against the counter with a smug grin on his face next to Granny’s cake plate stocked full of cupcakes.

Killian Jones.

She had no idea why the cupcake store owner insisted on wearing all black. It seemed so impractical for a cake maker who was constantly around flour and sugar, but he made it look effortless. Emma was always picking sugar out of her hair or cleaning spilled cream off her clothes. His clothes were immaculate and made her mouth water.

She would never tell him that second part. Because honestly, everyone knew that man was gorgeous. But not everyone recognized the feud there was between Any Given Sundae and The Jolly Cupcake. Hell, even Ingrid thought Emma’s belief that The Jolly Cupcake was a rival was overblown.

“Sweet treats can co-exist in this town,” Ingrid once told her. “I don’t know why you have such a grudge against one of them.”

Because one of them was run by an infuriating man. He was gorgeous and successful and, dammit, his cupcakes were amazing. His flavors were special and perfectly balanced between the cake and the icing. It was annoying.

He was annoying.

Emma gave the smiling baker a once over and sighed. “Jones.”

“What did you bring with you today, Swan?” He swaggered over and pushed into her personal space. “I do hope it’s deletable.”

Emma just rolled her eyes. “Of course, it is. I made it.” Her eyes darted over to the cake plate on the counter. “What about you?”

“Delightful as always,” he said with a wicked smile. “Would you like to try a maple brown sugar cupcake? Or perhaps a dark chocolate one with cinnamon icing? I hear it’s a favorite of yours.”

Emma’s mouth was watering from the cupcakes and Killian’s voice was heating up other parts of her body. Dammit, why did a rival who pressed her buttons have to be so delicious as he did it?

“They sound fine.”

Emma grabbed the empty cooler sitting in the pick-up window from the kitchen and started to head out.

“I thought we were sharing, lass?” Killian asked as she walked by. “What new concoction did you whip up?”

“Ice cream,” she yelled back.

“Sounds tasty! I can’t wait to lick it up!”

Emma was thankful to hear the door close behind her as she pushed her way into the chilled fall day outside. She needed a little air to cool off after that meeting with Killian.

Of course, she was going to go back to Granny’s and try that chocolate cupcake with cinnamon icing. What kind of person wouldn’t want that? But there was no way in hell she was ever going to tell Killian she did it. Just like there was no way she was ever going to tell him about her taste tests of several other flavors she quietly snuck out of Granny’s Diner over the past few months. It would be better to not inflate his ego anymore than it already was.

xxx

Apparently, today was not Emma’s day. As soon as she got back to the store, Ingrid sent her out on another ice cream run, this time to Hansel and Gretel’s candy shop. She had no problem with the brother-and-sister duo, probably because neither of them was as infuriatingly attractive as Killian Jones.

Which is why she was so frustrated when she ran into him -- literally -- as she was leaving the candy shop.

“Careful with the cupcakes, Swan. You wouldn’t want to smash my treats.” He leaned in and gave her a wicked grin. “Or perhaps you would.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Infuriating.

(Also, she wouldn’t mind smashing his treats. Also, that made her frustrated. Again.)

But there was one place where she could really throw him off his game: The Rabbit Hole.

Emma smiled as the bar’s owner, Liam Jones, poured his creamy concoction into two glasses, adding straws to both of them.

“OK, let me know what you think of that,” he said as he grabbed his own off the bar.

It only took a few sips before Emma moaned in delight. “This is amazing, Liam.”

“Hey!”

Emma smiled. Once again, she recognized the voice. “Hey, Killian. What’s up?”

He put down a large white baker’s box on the bar and pulled the bar stool out from right next to her. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, Swan. What are you doing here?”

“Just drinking.”

Her lips curled dramatically around the straw again and she took another drink. She could tell it had the effect she wanted on Killian. His eyes trailed down to her mouth, his jaw did that thing where he flexed it whenever he was tense. She could play this game all night.

“Here, try this, brother.”

Liam put a glass down in front of Killian and poured some more of his experiment into it. Killian gave the glass an odd look and then did as he was told, his long lashes fluttering shut as he drank.

“Bloody hell,” he finally said. “What is that?”

“An apple pie. It’s apple cider ice cream from Any Given Sundae mixed with vanilla vodka. It’s great, right?”

Killian’s ecstacy turned into a scowl as he looked at Emma. “Are you turning my brother against me now?”

She just shrugged. “I saw a business opportunity.”

She leaned over and drank more, keeping her eyes focused on Killian as his did that thing where they lingered on her lips again. Was this really what their relationship had come to? Trading jabs over ice cream cocktails at a bar?

And yet, after the day Emma had, she didn’t mind it. She liked teasing him like this. In fact, she liked alot of things about him. She liked the way he responded to her teasing. She liked the way he smiled at her comebacks. She was definitely impressed with how he looked in that black outfit of his, no matter how infuriating it was that he could keep it so clean.

Killian finally cleared his throat to gain some composure. “Well, if you want to talk business, Swan.”

He gave her one his trademark eyebrow raises and reached over to the box next to him. He lifted the lid just high enough for Emma to see all the cupcakes inside. They all looked amazing. Killian’s decorating skills were ridiculous. Then he set a dark cupcake down in front of her.

“Winter ale cupcake with a stout frosting. Tell me what you think.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

He seemed undeterred, giving her a warm smile in return. “Go ahead, and be brutally honest. I know you won’t hold back.”

“And not to sway you one way or another,” Liam said. “But we sold out of yesterday’s batch in an hour.”

She looked at the bartender, who simply smiled and grabbed the box of cupcakes off the bar and took them to the back. Emma turned to the cupcake, pulling the wrapper down to expose the moist cake inside. It looked amazing -- fluffy and light with just the right amount of frosting. Some cupcake makers added too much frosting, but Killian had a knack for getting the right balance. Dammit again, it was so annoying that he was so good at this. And he opened the shop only six months ago! Crazy prodigy baker always dressed in black.

She stared at the cupcake a bit longer and then finally took a bite. Damn, it was good. Great flavors that weren’t overwhelming. The frosting and cake complimenting each other so well. If she wasn’t being watched, she would’ve quickly stuffed the rest of it in her mouth at once.

But she was being watched. She couldn’t see his eyes -- she was still staring at the cupcake. But she could feel his glare. He was anticipating her response. Because for as much as they teased each other, as much as they were at odds -- whether true or exaggerated -- there was a mutual respect between them when it came to their crafts. Emma could give him some snarky comment in response, or she could just tell the truth.

She looked up to see him staring at her in anticipation. She couldn’t tease him about these.

“This is amazing.”

His face broke out into a huge smile. “Be honest, Swan. Do you really like them?”

She rolled her eyes. “It pains me to say it, but I honestly do.”

“Better or worse than the chocolate with the cinnamon frosting?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Never had one of those.”

She took another bite, the cake and frosting melting together in her mouth.

“That’s a lie,” Killian teased. “Granny said you bought half a dozen from her.”

Emma stopped eating as she stared at the man next to her. She loved Granny dearly, but that woman sold her out and told Killian her secret. And yes, she had in fact bought out all of Granny’s inventory of the chocolate cupcakes with cinnamon frosting. They were delicious. So what? “Emma, you’ve got some frosting…”

His voice trailed off as he motioned on his face to a spot near his lips. She swiped at the spot, but it only caused Killian to laugh at her more.

“Hold on, let me help.”

“This is your fault,” she said. “You put too much frosting on this one.”

He didn’t have to say anything. The disbelieving look on his face said it all.

“OK, fine. It had the right amount of frosting.”

“Thank you,” he said as he reached for her. “And for the record, your apple cider ice cream is mind blowing.”

She could only stare at him. Mind blowing? He thought her ice cream was mind blowing? Wow. That was… quite the compliment from the cupcake king.

He swiped at the frosting on her face, his fingers warm against her cheek. “There,” he said quietly.

But instead of pulling away, his hand pulled her closer, his breath against her face. Then he kissed her. It was warm and gentle and sweet. So sweet. The buttercream frosting from the cupcake mixed with the apple cider ice cream on his lips. It was like kissing a heaven full of fall flavors.

He pulled away slightly, an awkward smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “Sorry, lass. I don’t know what came over me.”

She shook her head, trying to clear out the fog that seemed to have settled over her brain. “Um, it’s OK. It’s fine. Well, more than fine. It was, uh… Well, this cupcake is pretty magical or whatever I guess.”

The tension in Killian’s shoulders disappeared, his swagger back but with a genuine warmth in his smile.

“I’m glad you like it.” He leaned over and took another drink from his apple pie cocktail. “This, by the way, is bloody amazing.”

“Do you like it?” she asked. “It was actually Liam’s idea. He came into our shop after he had some of our ice cream at Granny’s.”

“Liam has a knack for finding new flavors for the bar.”

Emma looked down at her half eaten cupcake and smiled. Maybe Liam wasn’t the only one who could try new flavors. Maybe it was time for Emma to try something new, starting with Killian Jones.

She turned to Killian and smiled. “So were the winter ale cupcakes Liam’s idea?”

“Of course,” he replied in a dejected tone. “And he hasn’t let me forget it.”

Killian started talking about Liam’s ideas for spiked egg nog cupcakes for Christmas and Irish Creme cupcakes for St. Patrick’s Day. He talked about the bad batches he still made on occasion that would crumble instead of stick together. Emma suggested maybe using the broken cupcakes in a vanilla base for a new ice cream flavor. Then she talked about the latest cake batter flavors they were trying for the ice cream with Killian giving her tips on different ways to mix the ingredients she was using.

And sometime after midnight, he walked her out to her car and kissed her again, and his lips were just as sweet as before.

#cs ff #fallforcs #captain swan #delicious delights #fall foods #once upon a time #fanfic

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catalinda04 · 6 years ago

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Carried Away Chapter 5: Breakfast Confessions

Masterlist

“I’m sorry Sir, but Miss Claussen has asked not to be disturbed. You may leave her a message, and I can assure you it will be delivered first thing in the morning.” The middle-aged woman behind the front desk assured him.

“No, no thank you. No message.” Henry walked away from the desk of the hotel. “How could you be so stupid?” He chastised himself. “You weren’t going to take her to bed tonight. Why did you ask? Now she most assuredly thinks you’re some sex-crazed playboy just out for a good time. You need to make this right. But how can I if she won’t see me?” He argued with himself. “I’ll just have to wait for morning. I’ll wait for her and apologize then.” Pleased with his plan, he went home to take a cold shower, and try not to think about Lucy and her soft lips, and sparkling eyes.

Lucy couldn’t remember crying harder in her life. She needed a friend and she needed one now. Sarah would know what to say.

“Oh, Sarah! I made a mess of things! He wanted me! ME! And instead of just going for it, I ran away. Literally! I RAN away from him! He must think I’m some kind of weirdo, glad that he dodged a bullet there.” She sobbed into the phone.

“Sweetie, it’s ok. I wish I could be there to give you a hug. Now explain. Tell me exactly what happened.” Lucy explained about the dinner and the wine and the dancing in the park, and the kiss that had fried her synapses with its heat and intensity.

“I ruined it! He wanted me! Now I’ve ruined the whole thing. I don’t even have his phone number or know where he lives to explain myself.”

“Honey, I’m sorry. Why don’t you get some sleep, and maybe everything will seem better in the morning. If nothing else, please don’t wallow in this. You’re in London! Go out and see the city, do all of the things you had planned, and try to forget about it.”

“Thank you. I know it’s silly. I only met this guy today, I shouldn't be so messed up over this. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too. Get some sleep.”

Lucy contemplated the pint bottle of vodka she’d purchased earlier in the day. She hoped that by finishing it, she could at least sleep through the night. She finished the bottle and fell into a fitful sleep, full of jumbled dreams, where Superman was flying overhead while Henry laughed at her.

She awoke to a jackhammer in her brain, and a roiling in her stomach. The vodka probably wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had, she decided. After a long shower, a bottle of water, a handful of ibuprofen, and a gallon of concealer she finally felt ready for a day of exploring the city. The first item on her agenda; buy a map of the city. No more getting lost in strange neighborhoods. Only trouble came from that.

She put on her Jackie O. sunglasses to hide the dark circles the concealer didn’t quite cover, stepped out the front door of the hotel, and almost ran right into Henry.

“Good morning. I brought you a cup of tea.” He said handing her a paper to go cup.

“Henry! What are you doing here?” Lucy paled at his appearance.

“I came to apologize. I obviously came on too strong last night. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I’m sorry. I DID get scared, and I ran away, instead of facing my feelings. Would you like to go get some breakfast, and maybe I can shed some light for you.”

They made small talk as Henry led her to a nearby restaurant. Perusing the menu, she asked, “What does a ‘Full English’ breakfast consist of?”

“A ‘Full English’ is usually fried eggs, sausages, bacon or black pudding, fried veg, beans, and toast.”

“And people say Americans fry too much. How can anyone eat that much fried food this early in the morning.”

“There’s nothing better after a night at the pub.” He smiled. Lucy had planned on skipping breakfast today, but it seemed since seeing Henry, her stomach had forgotten all about the vodka incident.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.” Lucy started after giving the waitress their orders. “First of all, again, I’m sorry for how I left last night. I really did have a wonderful time, it was probably the best evening I’ve ever spent. Then you...made your...request...and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I’m sorry I said it. It was incredibly forward of me to even suggest that we might take things to that level, we’d known each other for less than 12 hours. I didn’t mean to imply that I thought that you were…” And he just trailed off.

“It’s not that I was offended, or didn’t want to. I did, oh good lord how I did, it’s just…I can’t believe I’m telling you this…I’ve…um...never…um...well you know.”

“Had a one-night stand?” He suggested.

“Had ANY night stand.” She supplied, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh…OH!” He exclaimed, his eyes going wide as understanding hit him. “But you’re what 26, 27? How does that happen? Is it a religion thing?”

“No, it’s a never had the opportunity thing, and I’m a month shy of 31 thank you very much for reminding me. I wasn’t popular in high school, and in college, I was focused on my studies, then well, guys have never shown an interest in me. Which is why I was so surprised when you actually showed at the coffee shop yesterday.” She explained fidgeting her hands on the table.

Thankfully their food arrived at just that moment, halting Lucy’s rambling and giving them a few moments to take in what had already been said.

After a few minutes of thoughtful eating Henry finally broke the silence. “So what is on our schedule for today?”

“Our? What do you mean our?”

“If you wouldn't mind, I’d like to accompany you around town today.”

“What? Why?” Lucy asked, genuine shock crossing her features.

“Because I’d like to get to know you better. And I’d like to see where this could lead.”

Lucy sat dumbfounded, staring at Henry “You, want to spend the day with me? Even after how I behaved last night, and all that’s been explained over breakfast?”

“Why is that so hard for you to comprehend?”

“Because. No man has ever wanted to...get to know me.”

“Well, then they are supremely daft. Because I’ve thought about nothing but getting to know you since the coffee shop yesterday.” She gaped at him slightly, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “I would like to keep spending time with you while you’re here in London.”

“I’m just planning on doing standard sightseeing, nothing that you’d want to do, I’m sure.”

“I have a few days before we start filming on my latest project. I would like to spend as much of those few days with you as you’ll allow.”

For a few seconds, Lucy couldn’t speak. Had he just said that? he wanted to spend more time with her. Her brain could barely fathom the idea. “Well, I was going to go to the Globe, followed by the Tate and St. Paul’s.”

“Wow, that’s quite a bit for one day.”

“I’m only here for a few days, I want to see as much as I can.”

Henry stood. “Well then, we had better be off, but before we go,” He leaned close when Lucy stood as well. “I want to tell you, my ‘offer’ from last night is on the table, so to speak. But I will leave it up to you to decide if you want to pick it up. There will be no pressure from me” Lucy gaped after him as he left to pay the bill.

Once they were outside, he donned a pair of sunglasses and a hat. “Disguise.” He explained. “It’s not a great one, but it’s better than nothing.”

Lucy and Henry spent the entire day together. Talking, laughing, learning little bits about each other, like her love for Picasso, and his aversion to black olives. Lucy surprised herself. She was normally a very selfie-phobic person, but she found she would take as many selfies as possible as long as Henry was by her side.

That evening, they enjoyed a lovely meal at a little bistro near Leicester Square, before Henry escorted Lucy back to her hotel. When she tried to say goodnight at the front door, he insisted on seeing her to her room.

Her room was at the back of the hotel, through an outdoor courtyard. When they arrived at her door, Lucy unlocked it and turned to say goodnight to Henry.

“Is this your entire room? He asked peering inside. “This may be the smallest hotel room I’ve ever seen.”

“The bathroom is so small that in order to turn around, you have to step out of it.” She laughed, gesturing in, indicating he should have a look.

He stepped into the room and what had once been a small room, seemed positively minuscule. He turned to Lucy. He had planned to say goodnight, give her a simple kiss and be on his way. But the nervous, expectant look on her face nearly undid him. He took the two steps possible to cross the room and framed Lucy’s face in his hands. He lowered his lips to hers, intending to give her a slow, sweet kiss goodnight. She responded with abandon. Wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. She opened her mouth, and her tongue dueled with his.

He slowly sat down on the bed, pulling Lucy with him. She sat next to him and buried her hands in his hair. Henry turned to lay her down on the bed, her hands slid down his strong back to slide under the hem of his shirt. His hand left her face to slide down her neck, moulding his palm to her breast. Lucy moaned against his mouth.

His hand continued its downward slide to her waist, toying with the hem of her shirt. When his hand slid under to touch the bare skin of her stomach, she started. She put a hand on his chest. “Stop.” She gasped. “We need to stop. I...no. Not yet.” She could barely get the words out around her gasping for breath, sitting up, she left the hand on his chest.

“Yes. Stop. Good idea.” Henry agreed once his brain started working again.

Lucy stood up and pulled Henry with her. “You should go.” She said kissing him again, all but pushing him out of the room. “Good night Henry. Thank you for a wonderful day.” She said, kissing him once more, before shutting the door and falling back onto it.

Henry stood staring at her door. He started back toward the hotel exit before he turned and knocked on Lucy’s door. She answered with a slightly dazed expression on her face.

He grabbed her and kissed her one long, deep, thorough, kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed heavily. “I’ll go now, but think about this. When we do finally make love. We’re going to set the sheets on fire.” Then he kissed her again for good measure and walked off. As last words went, that was one for the record books.

Chapter 4 Chapter 6

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #carried away #fan fiction

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cksmart-world · 4 years ago

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SMART BOMB

The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

July 27, 2021

CONSERVE: ORDER YOUR TOILET-BOWL CUISINART NOW!

The drought, like Covid and the congressional Republican caucus, is much worse than we expected. The reservoirs are at all-time lows. Farmers have to let their crops burn up and ranchers are selling off their cattle. If things get any more bleak we're going to have to put conservation into high gear. If you wash your clothes with biodegradable detergent or Miracle-Gro you can drain the washing machine onto your lawn or garden. And for showers: Remember the “Seinfeld” episode where Kramer washed lettuce for a salad in the shower? Actually, making salad or pasta in the shower is not that hard. Already SHOWER DELI is offering specials on shower-door colanders and steamers and yes, they even offer a shower-drain food disposal. As you may have guessed by now, saving on toilet water is a bit more challenging. Of course, there's the old trick of putting a couple of bricks in the tank. But the new “Barrel Flusher” by POOPLOOP is a breakthrough that depends only on gravity. Here's how it works: Install the Barrel Flusher kit under your roof rain gutter outside the bathroom with a gravity feed to your toilet tank. Then, after a thunderstorm you can flush to your heart's content. That's a good feeling twice over. Ah yes, the little pleasures.

WANT TO GET AWAY — WHERE NOBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME

There's a beach near a beautiful little Spanish city with your name on it. But it gets better: no one there knows you. All those Spaniards with their beautiful olive skin are soaking up the rays, oblivious to the coming apocalypse. News from the U.S. is hard to find — not that you'd want to go looking for it. There's you and all those young Spanish bodies and the sand and the sea and unless people hear your American accent, nobody will mention Trump or the Jan. 6 crazies. And if your Americanness does come clanging through, they probably won't ask you about him anyway, because they don't give two shits about Trump. They do think our gun laws are totally insane, but if you agree with them on that, they'll probably buy you a glass of Verdejo. But fair warning, life in Spain can be pretty challenging. For one thing you can't eat dinner until 10 p.m. And then you have to try all the different tapas dishes and, of course, you can't do that without drinking a lot of Garnacha. Luckily, after your morning on the beach you'll have to take a siesta. Hint: A shower before siesta will prepare you for some very sweet dreams where you miss your flight and have to stay in Spain because you can't afford to get home. And the best part is, you don't care.

NO RACISM — NO PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS

Racism is a public health crisis — so says Salt Lake City Mayor Erin Mendenhall and the City Council. But wait, how can that be when there is no racism in the entire state of Utah? We know this because Sen. Mike Lee, Rep. Burgess Owens and our Republican brothers and sisters in the state Legislature told us so. After the Civil War there was no slavery and no racism because everything was separate but equal. That's why our white-bread legislators passed a resolution against teaching “critical race theory.” It would make white kids feel guilty about something that doesn't exist. And as far as Latinos and Asians and Native Americans go, well they were never slaves so they don't count. According to the mayor, institutional racism is manifest when minority populations are exposed to “environmental toxins, unmet housing needs, disparities in policing and the criminal justice system, inadequate private and public investment, decreased access to educational and employment opportunities and multitudes of health measures …” That maybe true but whose fault it that? None of that would happen if those people didn't choose to be poor. All they have to do is get a lot of money and make other people live in the ghetto. It's a no-brainer.

Post script — That about does it for another week here at Smart Bomb, where the staff keeps track of Pioneer Day so you don't have to. But wait! Why was Pioneer Day celebrated on July 23? It probably has nothing to do with KSL's contract to televise the Olympics on the real Pioneer Day. Moving on: Why did Jeff Bezos wear a 10-gallon Stetson into space reminiscent of Slim Pickins riding an atomic bomb in the classic film “Dr. Stangelove.” Just weird. Here's something from Arizona Republican state Sen. Wendy Rogers upon hearing that the Cleveland Indians will now be called the Guardians: “I like Indians and I like Redskins. I like Aunt Jemima and I like Uncle Ben. I like Robert E. Lee and I like Stonewall Jackson. I don’t like traitors who hate America. Stand up for our (Racist) culture!” There was good news, too. Dan Bailey, a Montana fishing guide, caught Tucker Carlson in a Livingston sporting goods store and got in his face: “You are the worst human known to mankind. I want you to know that.” He posted the video on Instagram. More good news. At a virtual town hall, Alexis Toon told Sen. Rand Paul where to get off and posted on TikTok: “Hi, senator, I am a proud Kentucky citizen, and I just wanted to tell you to get f**ked.” Amen.

Well Wilson, have you and the guys in the band recovered from your real Pioneer Day celebration? No doubt, Polygamy Porter and Five Wives vodka is quite a combo and so apropos, especially in the summer heat. OK guys, roll with it:

In the summertime when the weather is hot You can stretch right up and touch the sky When the weather's fine You got women, you got women on your mind Have a drink, have a drive Go out and see what you can find If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal If her daddy's poor, just do what you feel Speed along the lane Do a ton or a ton and twenty-five When the sun goes down You can make it, make it good and really fine Sing along with us, dee-dee dee-dee dee Da doo da-da da, yeah, we're hap-pap-py Da da da, dee da doo dee da doo da doo da

(In The Summertime — Mungo Jerry)

PPS — During this difficult time for newspapers please make a donation to our very important local alternative news source, Salt Lake City Weekly, at PressBackers.com, a nonprofit dedicated to help fund local journalism. Thank you.

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gingerllewelyn · 4 years ago

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How Will I Grow Weed Indoors?

The season premiere registers right where last season ended. As Nancy reveals her pregnancy to crime lord Esteban, she realizes that despite it being her lifesaver, she is also a prisoner. Esteban makes it clear that her function for the next nine months will be an oven, not a girlfriend and not just a mommy. Anxiety is actually definitely an extreme response to a situation you regard as worried. It is not necessarily bad. On the web is following you create dark alley with an iron pipe in their hand, it's normal to feel tense and determined. It may save your life. This can be the 'fight or flight' syndrome in concept. Now I understand what might be be asking: "Is these matters legal purchaser and concoction?" Their is if you have to treasure buying or drinking Cannabis vodka because doing so is completely legal and definitely will be bought in every country with the exception of Australia. You can absolutely buy this stuff and own it shipped around the world without any legal side effects.

More specifically this oil may work as eczema miracle you are searching for Green Leaf CBD Cannabis Study because it can help to keep skin cold water. The essential fatty acids in this oil have such similar properties on the natural lipids in skin color that could penetrate pores and skin and heal it inside a other oils cannot. It strengthens the fats that hold skin color cells coupled. What makes that an eczema miracle is it doesn't just hydrate, it genuinely encourages stronger skin and holds moisture more gradually. There a variety of other aromatherapy soaps for sale but what's important is basically purchase an aromatherapy soap made coming from all natural ingredients because items which have artificial or unnatural ingredients won't produce very same results. Forget a couple of 8 glasses a day. That's not a bad start but let's double it. A person vegetable-soup be able to get lean? Then drink no less than a gallon of water a day of the week. While dieting for competition, bodybuilders will drink to a maximum of 2 gallons of water per day. Why do you think that is? We have discovered that a great number weight gain diets around the fail for a couple of reasons. However kind of opposite one to the other. Many, have no idea just the amount food you might be eating the actual kind of food you must be eating to advertise muscle growth and development. The other is that as well many our poundage-or lack thereof tips aren't too thinking about making you fat at the same time as helping you build nerf. If avocado tops in fiber, walnuts top in Omega or maybe more. Very good as salad and pastry toppings, this is also beautiful portable indulgence. Green Leaf CBD Oil Price Oil Benefits is almost similar in helps. I also recommend a visit to the Van Gough Art gallery. It houses most of the famous artists work. Over 1.5 million visit the museum each year. It ranks as one of several top 25 art museums in the world. You are prohibited from taking pictures but regardless if art isn't your thing, it continues to really neat to see his run. Personally, I was unaware of methods many famous paintings were actually filmed by the Dutch born artist. Even if you are product museum hopper, Green Leaf CBD Oil Price Leaf CBD you should still allow at least 2 hours to experience this art gallery.

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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago

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Globe, October 26

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Jeffrey Epstein’s madam Ghislaine Maxwell’s love letters to Prince Andrew

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Melanie Griffith looks alarmingly skinny in L.A., Machine Gun Kelly hangs out the passenger side of his ride in West Hollywood, Cynthia Nixon

Page 3: Pierce Brosnan takes it easy in Hawaii, pot-puffing rapper Snoop Dogg looks mighty mellow while playing DJ at a California concert, Jennifer Garner hits the beach in Malibu

Page 4: Rod Stewart’s wife Penny Lancaster didn’t think she was sexy after pigging out during the pandemic and having a hormone- and booze-fueled breakdown -- Penny says she and Rod treated lockdown like a grand vacation until she resolved to change her ways after seeing an unflattering selfie, Kim Kardashian is desperate to dump husband Kanye West but she is thinking with her head not her heart as she negotiates a pre-divorce deal to carve up their $3 billion fortune and she aims to avoid a dirty public divorce war over their fortune and their daughters North and Chicago and sons Saint and Psalm and Kim has all the paperwork ready to go but Kanye is burying his head in the sand and refusing to sit down and mediate -- Kim knows the moment she pulls the trigger all hell will break loose so she’s content to sit it out in the hope Kanye comes to his senses and makes this as amicable as possible after six years of marriage

Page 5: Warning signs are blinking for Katie Holmes’ red-hot romance with Emilio Vitolo Jr. because his mom doesn’t like their romance -- Emilio upset his mother by dumping his fiancee just hours before pictures of him canoodling with Katie surfaced and his mom thinks she brought him up better than that and she didn’t like how Emilio handled this at all, Mariah Carey never did the horizontal mambo with former fiance James Packer and when asked why Packer wasn’t mentioned in her memoir she said if it was a relationship that mattered it’s in the book but if not it didn’t occur and said they didn’t have a physical relationship

Page 6: Whoopi Goldberg is riding roughshod on The View and her co-hosts are whining she’s a self-obsessed and money-grubbing pain tyrant -- Whoopi’s disenchanted with her role on the show and that’s become a problem for everybody -- she’s nailing the political commentaries but she’s been badgering the other ladies to step up and quit expecting her to be The View’s political know-it-all

Page 7: Despairing Lisa Marie Presley wants to spend her final days at Graceland and then be buried next to her father and son -- since her only son Benjamin Keough committed suicide Lisa Marie is still beside herself with grief and she’s losing the will to go on -- her liver problems have roared back and she faces almost certain death if the vital organ fails

Page 8: Dolly Parton is ready to splurge $2 million for a total head-to-toe cosmetic surgery makeover in a grand last hurrah before her 75th birthday in January and she intends to wow the world with her new younger look while she parades her just released holiday album and new Netflix movie -- Dolly can’t wait for people to get a load of her and they’ll never believe her age

Page 9: Tommy Lee swears he’s been sober for a year but says before his last rehab stint he was swilling two gallons of vodka a day, blabbermouth talk show star Sharon Osbourne boasts that even after 38 years of marriage she and husband Ozzy Osbourne still do it at least twice a week, Led Zeppelin’s rockers are feeling like they’re in paradise after winning a long lawsuit claiming they stole the beginning of their monster 1971 hit Stairway to Heaven -- the band was accused of stealing the guitar opening for the tune from the song Taurus by the late Randy Wolfe of the band Spirit and the lawyer for Wolfe’s estate grumbles the band won on a legal technicality and Zeppelin rockers are the biggest art thieves of all times

Page 10: A bitter feud that’s ripped apart the family of the late Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin could end after his niece Rebecca Lobie extended an olive branch to his pregnant daughter Bindi Irwin -- the two had been at odds since Rebecca left her gig as managing director of the family’s Australia Zoo in 2015 and now Rebecca hopes to mend ways with her cousins Robert Irwin and Bindi, Sadie Robertson reveals she developed an eating disorder when she was body-shamed after competing on Dancing with the Stars in 2014, Ghostbusters star Rick Moranis was socked and knocked to the ground in a cowardly sneak attack by a thug while taking a 7:30 a.m. walk in the Big Apple and he suffered head and back and hip pain and was checked at a hospital before heading to a police station to report the vicious attack that was caught on video

Page 11: Prince Harry and his wife Meghan Markle are about to get clobbered with a whopping megabucks tax bill if they stay in the U.S. for too much longer because any foreigner who spends at least 183 days in the country is liable for federal and California state taxes and that means if they’re still here after the first week of November the taxman will be sending the pair who are worth an estimated $26 million a massive tab, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have snubbed his grandma Queen Elizabeth’s annual Christmas get-together for the second year in a row even though at age 94 this will likely be her last holiday season -- Harry and Meghan are not ready to leave their cushy life in Montecito and at this stage they are really enjoying their new life in California and their new home

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- Colin Hanks stocks up on supplies in West Hollywood (picture), Rumer Willis is in kinky online snaps leaving little to the imagination in an image from her aptly named Bondage photo series the daughter of Bruce Willis and Demi Moore wears nothing but thigh high boots and black rope binding her nude body, Kylie Jenner has taken obnoxious to a whole new level when she proudly shared online snaps of her two-year-old daughter Stormi wearing a $12,000 Hermes backpack to start at-home preschool, Kathie Lee Gifford’s daughter Cassidy Gifford brought her husband Ben Wierda for a Celebrity Family Feud taping but his game show debut ended up showcasing that his snug-crotched khakis outlined too much below-the-belt junk

Page 13: Kate Moss in London (picture), Chiwetel Ejiofor shoots the heist flick Lockdown in London (picture), Gwen Stefani gets into the Halloween spirit in L.A. (picture), Drew Barrymore says she is terrible at keeping things but she does have the red cowboy hat she wore in E.T.

Page 14: Lori Loughlin and Mossimo Giannulli’s daughter Olivia Jade’s boyfriend Jackson Guthy who is the son of cosmetics magnate Victoria Jackson and direct-marketing mogul Bill Guthy was arrested for DUI in Santa Monica, Justin Bieber and bride Hailey Bieber made it through a whole year of marriage and made a splashy display of the milestone on social media, Fashion Verdict -- Arica Himmel 8/10, Katherine Waterston 4/10, Alessandra Ambrosio 3/10, Josie Canseco 9/10, Maisie Williams 2/10

Page 16: Following the heart-breaking crash of a two-year romance Reba McEntire is sporting a loving glow bouncing back into the arms of CSI: Miami hunk Rex Linn -- the two had their first date in January and have been virtual dating during the COVID-19 lockdown -- she said it’s just great getting to talk to somebody who she finds very interesting and funny and smart and who is interested in her too plus he’s very into her music and she’s into his career

Page 17: Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas have agreed to a trial separation after their sizzling affair was chilled by work-forced separation -- the pair were red hot until Ben split to film in Ireland and his long-distance calls with an eight-hour time difference to Ana turned into bicker-fests because they’ve both been getting defensive and bickering over even trivial things and frustrated with the small window they’ve got to talk and the connection isn’t great and they end up hanging up on each other -- Ana’s tired of being stuck in that big house of his alone in Los Angeles and she feels like the hired help doing chores and walking dogs so they agreed to take a few weeks of chilling out and see where they are after that, beloved TV icon Regis Philbin spent his final desperate months wallowing in gloom over the pandemic; according to Kathie Lee Gifford Regis couldn’t perform anywhere and he couldn’t be Regis for people and it broke his heart

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Sara Gilbert, Pretty Woman boosted Jason Alexander’s career but the 1990 blockbuster had its downside because he was known around the world as the a-hole who tried to rape Julia Roberts and women would say mean things to him and punch him and he even got spit on by one woman, devastated Chrissy Teigen had a tragic miscarriage of a baby boy she’d named Jack -- the mom of two and wife of John Legend has been hospitalized in L.A. after experiencing complications and weeks before the miscarriage she was treated with Botox to relieve really bad pregnancy headaches

Page 20: True Crime

Page 24: Cover Story -- Ghislaine Maxwell’s love letters put Prince Andrew on the spot -- murdered sex predator Jeffrey Epstein’s accused madam Ghislaine is burying Prince Andrew under an avalanche of love letters proclaiming she’ll defend the disgraced British royal and begging for him to return her loyalty and affection -- now being held in a New York federal jail as she awaits trial on sex trafficking charges related to the late billionaire pervert Ghislaine writes Andrew most days saying how badly she fells about what he’s gone through and urging them to get through this nightmare together -- Andrew’s made some terrible decisions but even he knows it would be suicide to make any contact with Ghislaine and he needs to keep his distance and hope she stops writing these letters

Page 26: Health Report

Page 38: Real Life

Page 40: John Lennon’s widow Yoko Ono is telling friends she’s knocking on heaven’s door -- the ailing 87-year-old is confined to a wheelchair and needs round-the-clock care and she’s been privately confiding she’s on her way out sparking worry and confusion -- the question swirls does she really think her days are numbered or is she just fishing for sympathy and attention and premature eulogies from VIPs all over the world

Page 44: Straight Talk -- After living through a nightmare of false prosecution and imprisonment and persecution for a murder of her roommate Amanda Knox has been sucked into the criminal cult world of NXIVM whose kinky leader Keith Raniere has been convicted of sex trafficking children

Page 45: Kirstie Alley is set to chuck hectic Hollywood for the quiet life on a farm with a down-to-earth country guy -- Kansas-born Kirstie has been quarantining in Wichita for the past seven months and now realizes how little she misses Hollywood and how much she loves living a more simple laid-back life so she’s decided to buy a farm and has sold her 21-bedroom in Maine which has been her second home for the past 30 years so she can move to the country

Page 47: Hollywood Flashback -- Al Pacino in 1983′s Scarface, Bizarre But True

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