#If he looked me in the eye and gave a monologue about sending me to prison after faking a mental health crisis so I'd commit a felony to

[ziracona]

#literally only making this so I can vote for Chuck. Walt can die in 1000 hellfires but at least he had the decency to apologize to his wife #save jessie and then go get shot and die on the floor. Chuck does nothing but elitist internal monologues - betray his baby sibling - use #anyone's affection esp for him as a weapon against them and their loved ones - and lie #If he looked me in the eye and gave a monologue about sending me to prison after faking a mental health crisis so I'd commit a felony to #save him and said it was to make me a better person and I have to see he's right then I would beat him to death to death with a shovel then #and there. Jimmy deserves 1000 years joy and life for having to talk to him. I can't believe he loves him. I can't believe in spite of ever #he loves and suffers for him again and again and Chuck refuses to do anything but hate him for being imperfect when he was 9 #I would cut off my own hand to beat chuck to death with it #I feel a rage on par with my hatred of John Kramer #better call saul

[stsgooo]

Look at Him.

✩࿐ summary: your attempts at reentering the dating scene is foiled by your ex-husband.

warning(s): past relationship, clingy!gojo, ex-husband!gojo, co-parenting situation, crack fic. wc; 1.6k

pairing(s): gojo satoru x fem!reader

a/n: this is purely just a goof fic because i've put nothing but angst out there so far sooo have a laugh. hope yall enjoy :3

“So, what do you do for a living?”

"A teacher."

"Oh, wow! What grade, subject?"

"Uh, highschoolers and the subject kinda varies on the day."

"Like a substitute teacher?"

"Um....sure, yeah! Substitute teacher."

"That's awesome. Mad respect, kids can be demons."

You were quickly discovering that the dating field had changed in the five years that you had been married. An endless back and forth about what someone did, what's their favorite color, what's their hobbies. Boring questions that you would ask your students on the first day was used in over the table date conversation. Until, until, they got to that question they so desperately wanted to ask.

Would you want to take this back to my—

There was a vibration against your thigh as your date started to go onto a monologue about how much he disliked kids. In all honesty, you couldn't really remember his name. The introductions had been awkward and a little nerve wracking— you were almost sure he had no idea who you were either.

You tugged your phone out of your pocket and resisted the audible sigh that threatened to leave you when you saw the notification.

Satoru please tell me why my beautiful, radiant, amazing, intelligent daughter just said her mommy is on a date. feeling sick to my stomach, don't tell me this is true.

You rolled your eyes. Your ex-husband had always been so overdramatic. His main focus was always on the bit that could come from a situation. However, this was a quality you do used to admire about him. His ability to make any situation seem like it was a funny happenstance that you'd never encounter again.

Now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.

Satoru oh my god, you left me on read. it's true. it's true. i hope you know i just threw up. i threw up everywhere. i might die. at least, tell me he's ugly. please god let him to be ugly.

A sigh, you typed out the quickest message you could without your date asking what's wrong.

You I hope you're not ignoring said daughter to ask me about some date. I'll be home later, please refrain from texting me.

You were about to set your phone down when another text came through. This one appeared to more distraught than the last.

Satoru o h your tone. it's over. it's really over. i might just kill myself this is the worst night of my life. y/n, i'm genuinely feeling sick. please, is he ugly? he must be boring because you're texting back.

You were almost inclined to remind Satoru you both had been divorced for a year already. That this was bound to happen and you two had, in fact, spoken about it months into the divorce. You had played with some 'what if's and there was a mutual agreement that the other wouldn't get jealous and be dramatic about the other getting in a relationship whenever the time comes. It was a surprisingly adult conversation.

You should've known better when Satoru proudly proclaimed he didn't care who you got involved with.

You Satoru, we talked about this. We're adults and we're divorced. Please bother someone else, like Suguru.

Satoru i don't wanna talk to suguru. i wanna talk to youuu (;﹏;) i can't believe you've done this. ten years. ten years of loyalty. im sick to my stomach.

You You asked for the divorce.

"Is everything okay?"

You eyes snapped up from your phone and towards your date. He had the good grace to be wearing a relatively concerned expression, eyeing you wearily.

You quickly tucked your phone back into your pocket, ignoring the insistent vibrations it gave to smile apologetically. "I'm sorry, my daughter had an accident and I had to, you know, send a quick text to her babysitter." It was easier to explain away a daughter than it was a clingy ex-husband who was well in his dissent into insanity. Really, you were doing this guy a favor keeping him in the dark.

However, his face still paled and he straightened. "You have a kidI'm so, so sorry. I just went on a two minute rant about how much kids are equivalent to demons." He seemed to spiral as he pressed his hands against his face, uttering curses to himself. "I get so nervous with these dates. I truly meant nothing by it."

You smiled in amusement, "It's no problem, really. I'm not exactly disagreeing." He peeked from between his fingers and blinked at you dumbly. "Just because I'm a parent doesn't mean I don't agree. I mean, my kid can be a bit much sometimes. I love her, but she's a lot like her dad in that way."

It always made your chest blossom. The way Saori was a carbon copy of Satoru. From the rambunctious personality, to the piercing blue eyes, and white hair. Your genes hadn't won in the battle, but you were almost grateful. Satoru tried to tell you that she had your smile and your wit, but you weren't entirely convinced. She was Satoru and Satoru was her.

You were extremely lucky that he was a good dad.

"Oh? Do you mind me asking if her dad's still around?" His tone was indication enough: a daughter and an ex of some kind was pushing it for him.

You tensed up, feeling deep regret already. "Uh, yeah." His eyes shifted away and you reached forward, taking his hand. "But, he's not, like, crazy or anything! He's just a good dad."

Your date chuckled nervously. "I-I just don't want to get involved in some, um, some family dynamic."

You thought it was a little presumptuous of him to think this would go that far, or he'd get in the way. But you were too focused on defusing the situation.

"Oh, no, it's not like that! We've got a healthy balance, y'know? He does his piece, I do mine— that's it!"

He scrunched his face. "So... an open relationship?"

"No!" You press your hands against your face with a huff. "No, we're not together anymore. We just co-parent."

He opened his mouth to further question you when your phone vibrated very audibly. His eyebrows raising. "Your daughter?"

You sighed. "Please give me one moment."

With jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket. The assortment of messages that came where spread over the ten minutes you decided to ignore him.

Satoru okay, you've got me there. but my big heart is breaking. i hope he's ugly and he smells. okay, i spoke with suguru and he said i'm an idiot who should apologize. in my defense, i'm a little itty bitty drunk. and no, saori is not awake. papa put her to bed before bringing out the whiskey. im so sorry my beautiful deity. that not ugly, not smelly man is so lucky to be in your presence and i hope you have a good date. also i hope he gets hit my a car. (＾▽＾)

You I'm going to kill you with my bare hands. Genuinely, count your days, Gojo Satoru.

Satoru hot, hot, hot!!! (●´□`)♡ did he actually get hit by a car?

You Is there something you want?

Satoru him dead. and you home :((((

You You don't want me home. I swear to god, if you're on my couch, drinking when I get home, I will ruin your life.

Satoru promise??? ╰(✿´⌣`✿)╯♡ but, actually, i wanted to ask your opinion on something

You For real?

Satoru for realsies. [Image Attachment]

Completely blinded by your irritation, you don't even hesitate to open the picture as it loads. Although you regret it the moment it does.

It's a picture of Satoru. He's at what seems to be the beach (must've been the fun activity him and Saori were going to join Suguru for), his sunglasses were on the top of his head, and he was grinning at the picture. One hand was resting against his pectoral and the veins in his hand was prominent. An obvious attempt at being charming and flirtatious. It was working too.

If it weren't for the fact that you knew him and were his ex, you might've just swooned.

"Oh, my god, is that him?" Your date was staring at your phone with wide eyes. His face even more pale than before. He started to shake his head as he stood, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. "No way. I am not getting involved! I'm sorry, you're a nice woman, but I know when I'm not winning. And I'm definitely not winning against that."

Your eyes widened considerably, "What? No! Please don't leave. He's an idiot, I swear there's nothing—"

"He is... a hunk. I am not. In no shape or form am I at all comparable to that. Look—" He reached forward, grabbing your phone and holding the picture up to be beside his face. "Look at the difference! Model who has won Japan's hottest man at least eight times before he's 30 to me— Look at him!"

"It's not even like that!" You snatched your phone back and stared at him in frustration. "He's my ex, I do not want him!"

He waved his hands in front of your face. "I know how this will go. You think you like me and then your super hot and super sexy ex-whatever makes you realize the familiarity is good. Then I get dumped." He straightened, latching his hands onto the lapels of his jacket. "I just realized I am a side character. In my own life. Goddammit."

He barely glanced at you as he paid for the dinner, then left as quickly as he could. Still, you didn't even know his name.

Satoru oooo taking you awhile to respondddd still in love with me? (人◕ω◕)

#♡ oneshot #✩࿐ t writes #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fic

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter ten of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: References to sex, Kind of depressing, Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, this one is really sad y'all, like REALLY sad, I'm serious this one is really sad.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

**********************************************

1980

“Ben, stop.” You shout.

“Move damn it!” Ben’s eyes blaze a dark green sending a tremor down your spine, but you don’t budge.

“No.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” He snarls louder.

You stand defiantly in front of him, where he towers over you, eyes narrowed, and shoulders tensed. His broad shoulders block the fluorescent lights that hang overhead and illuminate the gym, dramatizing his imposing figure.

“I’m not going to. So you’re either going to have to move me yourself or you can go cool off.” Your retort your voice icy.

The heat from Ben’s anger vibrated through the air between you, but you weren’t going to move. Not when he was being ridiculous.

Noir was angry, angry that Ben took a movie role that he wanted. In hindsight you also thought it was ridiculous that Ben needed to star in all the movies. He was already America’s First Superhero and the Golden Boy and America’s Sweetheart, but it wasn't enough for him for some reason. You often thought his obsession with fame had something to do with his dad. Ben had a lot of problems when it came to his father, all of which made Ben compensate other ways, such as, feeling the need to be in charge, feeling the need to be loved and accepted by others he didn’t know, being unable to express his emotions, and the current problem which was feeling the need to claim the dominant role as most popular superhero.

Aka when he turned into Captain Toxic Masculinity.

Honestly, you were exhausted. All of this was exhausting. Ben was exhausting.  As someone who’d loved him this long you couldn’t help but see the shift from the boy you used to know into something unrecognizable. Occasionally you could see Ben, the old Ben, your Ben, who laughed with you, but those moments were few and certainly didn’t happen in public.

You shoulders tense with the force of your own anger and frustration, standing tall between Ben and Noir who lays on the ground behind you. Noir hadn't made an effort to get up, still stunned from the blows he took from Ben. The first few punches you hadn’t stopped, but it was when Ben felt the need to continue despite Noir’s pleas to stop that you had to step in.

You didn’t know where that came from, Ben’s need to beat people who were conceding. When he was younger you'd seen Ben get in a fight before, but those few times he hadn't continued to beat the other person when they gave up. The smell of whiskey and reefer floats off his clothes and you wonder how much he’s had to drink. Ben had two moods when he was drunk angry or clingy, and right now the anger was winning. You could hear the mad pump of his blood through his body and you wonder what else he might have taken today.

Because whiskey and reefer isn't enough? If he wasn't so damn indestructible he'd probably be dead from overdose.

Ben’s lip is curled back in a sneer, eyes flashing from where Noir lays on the ground then back to you. You know that he's ten seconds away from ripping Noir in half, and that's why you don't move. Noir didn't deserve that.

The way Ben's eyes burn through the space between you is hauntingly familiar as the memory of the night you hid Ben from his father settled over your mind. You fight the shudder at the comparison.

Ben wasn’t anything like his father. The thought is immediate, but then the memory of the past forty years begins to settle over your mind. Or maybe he was.

“Fucking pussy. Having a woman stand up for you.” Ben snaps at Noir.

Ben leans around you to spit at him, then raises his gaze back to you one more time before he stomps off, slamming the door of the gym so hard that it breaks the glass.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Everyone on Payback was watching you like you were crazy and you partly were. Getting in between Ben and someone else was beyond stupid. It wasn’t the first time, but you knew that you were the only person that could do it. If Countess or Gunpowder had stepped in Ben would not have relented. It had to be you. It always had to be you.

And you hated the weight of that burden on your shoulders.

You turn towards Noir, holding out a hand to help him up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighs taking it . “You didn’t have to do that.”

“He’s just being… well. Him.” You mutter.

You hated that this was the new harsh reality, the new Ben that was born when he took the serum and became America’s First Superhero.

“It was incredibly stupid.” Countess sniffs from where she stands with the TNT Twins. Gunpowder is leaning back against the outer ring with Mindstorm who stares unblinkingly at you.

“Well, guess I took a page out of your book then.” You say, narrowing your eyes at her.

You couldn’t stand her. Ever since she joined Payback all she’d done was try to catch Ben’s eye and get between the two of you, but he never gave her the time of day. She had quickly won the favor of everyone else on Payback, which only made you even more angry because it always seemed like you were the odd one out wherever you went.

Countess only sneers back in response, flipping her red hair over her shoulders. Despite Ben's exit the tension in the room is almost choking. Your so-called team was watching you with unreadable expressions and you suddenly got the impression that you were trespassing or interrupting. It had happened before, when you came to a training session early and you walked in on the rest of the team, sans Ben, talking in hushed tones and they immediately broke apart when you appeared.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that despite the fact you stood between Ben and Noir, the rest of the team still didn’t like having you there. Probably because they associated you with Ben. It made you uneasy.

Because despite Stan’s efforts to keep you all together Ben's continuous outbursts drove you all further and further apart. And you worried what would happen the day when the shoe finally dropped.

*************************************

One look at the clock on your wall showed that it was almost one in the morning, but you weren't tired. All you could think about is what almost happened to Noir. It wasn't that you particularly liked anyone on Payback other than Ben, honestly the whole superhero thing was getting tedious and you had considered more than once getting out.

But you couldn't. Sometimes you felt responsible for Ben, like you were the only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow. Of course every single damn day that road was getting narrower and narrower and now it was more like a balance beam than a two way street.

Ben's new outlook on life that revolved around drugs, women, more drugs, and more women didn't make it easier. 

You frown at your sketchpad remembering when Ben founded Herogasm. You'd gone the first time, regretted walking through the door, stayed ten minutes, and then left.

Sex without feelings never appealed to you, but that wasn't why you left, it was watching Ben with other women that hurt you. You could barely get through it when he mentioned something in passing, but watching him there with them made you uncontrollably angry and not to mention frustrated. You didn't understand him, couldn't understand why Ben was different around you. Didn't know why whenever you were alone he would give you hope, just to take it all away again.

How could so much change? How could everything go to shit so quickly?

You think of all the years that followed the night that Ben asked you to come with him, how you thought that Ben was telling you that he loved you in his own way. But he didn’t. You were realizing that now, as painful as it was to admit to yourself, Ben only saw you as a friend, would only ever see you as a friend.

When you decided to come with him you thought that the change would be your friendship into something else, but it never came, the only thing that changed was Ben.

A loud banging at your door makes your entire apartment shudder and pulls you out of your memories of the past.

There's only one person who can do that.

Your home was a small two-bedroom apartment in New York City, but you loved it. It was quaint and comfortable and each time you came home you felt relaxed because you were able to shut out the life you lived everyday. The small kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in, but it made it more intimate and cozy. The living room had a soft leather couch, but no tv despite Ben’s complaints that you should get one. He hated that you couldn’t watch his films when he came over. You liked listening to music more anyway. Your collection of vinyl lined the living room wall in clean bookcases next to a small record player. The spare bedroom served as your studio, not that you were trying to sell your art, but because you needed a place to exist where you weren't a supe and where you weren't in love with Ben. There were stacks of sketchbooks in the studio closet from when you were a child, but you couldn't bear to get rid of them. Sometimes you imagined living here with Ben, cooking in the small kitchen while he read the newspaper, lounging on the couch and listening to music together, and falling asleep on his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

You sigh, pushing away the warmth of the thought, and wave your hand to telekinetically unlock the front door behind you. The familiar purple glow from your abilities fills the apartment. Ben had a key, but you figured he just wanted to make an entrance.

Always the drama queen.

“Got anything to drink?” He asks as he enters the living room.

You glance over the back of the couch to look at him. He's more casually dressed now, wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt the same color of his suit.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by, see if you’re still pissed.”

“As I recall it was you that was pissed.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Only because you were getting in my way Sweetheart” The way he says your nickname is harsh and mocking, so different than the way the old Ben used to say it. When it sounded genuine, caring, almost special.

“Because you were about to rip Noir apart!” You gesture with the pencil in your hand, snapping your sketchpad shut.

“That pussy deserved it. Thinking he was better than me. I’m fucking Soldier Boy and he’s nothing more than a-“ Ben scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Ben I can’t do this if you’re gonna be like this right now.”  You interrupt pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingertips, still annoyed from earlier. You hated that he did that, when he made you feel like his babysitter, when he made you feel like you had to make apologies for him.

“Like what?”

“High, drunk, acting crazy-“

“I’m not acting fucking crazy!” He snaps.

“Ben-“ You begin with a sigh.

“Fine.” He spits. “We don’t have to fucking talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.” You wave a hand haphazardly towards the kitchen. “There should be some whiskey in there somewhere. Though I don’t think you need anything else to drink.” Your nose wrinkles as you inhale, the smell of stale alcohol wafting back, followed by the unmistakable scent of perfume and sweat.

The super senses really sucked sometimes. Smelling the women that Ben had sex with was an unfortunate skill you had acquired.

“Fuck off.” He rolls his eyes, but waits for a minute eyeing you. “You’re not going to get it for me?”

You ignore his sharp tone and turn back to your sketchpad. “Nope. I don’t want to enable you.”

Ben stomps into your kitchen. It's immediately followed by the loud banging of him searching the cabinets for booze.

He should know where it is, spends enough time here.

“If you break anything, you’re going to fix it.” You shout opening your sketchbook back to the page you were on. You were drawing the Philadelphia of your youth, the familiar streets, the cars, and the women dressed in beautiful outfits.

“My hands are better suited for other things Sweetheart.” You hear him mutter under his breath and you try not to snap your pencil in half. His taunt made you think about Herogasm and the scent of perfume on his skin, and that was the last thing you wanted to think about.

Ben comes back and slumps onto the couch beside you, a large whiskey gripped in his hand. He sighs loudly to get your attention when you don't look up from your drawing.

"Alright, what is it?” You ask continuing to draw.

"Nothing.” He grumbles drinking from his glass.

“Ben, I’ve known you for over fifty years I can tell when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Well I doubt it’s over what you said or did to Noir today. So what is it? What are you not upset about?”

"I just thought it would be different." Ben swirls the glass in his hands.

"What?"

"Being on Payback."

"What do you mean?" You continue to sketch the shape of a woman walking down the streets.

"When I first started doing all this fucking superhero shit it was different. Felt like I was promoting something, now it kinda feels like I’m just here. And no one respects me.”

“They’re not going to respect you if you keep threatening them and beating up whoever pisses you off.” You mutter.

“They might.” He snaps.

They won't.

"Well the way things are going with Russia I’m sure there will be another war." You sigh, thinking about the recent newspaper headlines. Everything was devoted to the Cold War, everyone was afraid of what Russia was doing or what they were planning. Stan Edgar and Legend were talking about some Anti-Communist campaign videos and posters that they wanted you to pose for, but you weren't sure you wanted to.

"You think so?" He sounds optimistic.

"I’m not gonna hope for one, but probably. I get it though. You’re doing all those movies and premieres and photo shoots, it doesn't feel real."

It was exactly how you felt. You felt that all this supe shit was coming to a head and what did you have to show for it? A few pictures of you holding up a car or a painted caricature of you on the side of a jet or a short film with stupid prerecorded lines that made no sense and even more ridiculous outfits that Legend tried to get you to wear. When you got the serum with Ben you thought you’d be contributing something to society, but no. It was just like when you were a child, dressed up like a China doll, made to be looked at but never used.

"I like those movies."

"I’ve noticed." You breathe remembering earlier when Ben almost killed Noir over the movie role.

Noir technically started that, but Ben just took it way too far.

"What about you?"

The question catches you off guard. “What about me?”

"You haven’t done any movies lately. Legend said that you turned down a few films." Ben takes a swig from the glass in his hand.

"Aren’t you afraid that I’ll steal some of your thunder Soldier Boy?” Your taunt. “Because I already saw what you tried to do to Noir today. And I’d rather you not beat me to a pulp-“

“You’re not like Noir. You’re different.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” You sigh rolling your eyes at him.

Ben sits there for a minute. You can feel his gaze on you. “I’d never hurt you y/n.”

The softer cadence of his voice makes you pause your pencil against the page. You knew it was true. Even when Ben was pissed off it was the line he never crossed. Ben never touched you when he was angry, but it never made it any easier to deal with him.

“Hey.” Ben whispers to get your attention, but you continue to look down at your paper. “Look at me.” His thumb comes under you chin to lift your eyes to his.

“You know that right?” Ben’s gaze is soft, you hadn’t expected it to be given the way he entered you apartment and his sullen mood. “You know that I’d never hurt you?”

The look in his eyes makes your throat tight, makes you see the Ben you used to know, who promised to look out for you and who promised to be strong for the both of you. And it hurts more than you thought it would, because you weren't sure that boy was still there.

“Yeah. I know.” You nod, but you don’t smile. You knew it was what he wanted to hear. “You’ve been talking to Legend about me?” You say to make the warm feeling of his touch fade.

He shrugs satisfied with your response, the softness fading from his eyes as he drops his hand. “I was worried.”

You fold your legs up under you. “I don’t know, I didn't love any of the scripts. And I’ve been thinking about getting out. I’ve been doing this so long-"

It was the first time you'd said it aloud to Ben. You'd mentioned it once to Legend and then made sure he never said anything about it. You weren't sure how Ben would react to you leaving.

"What?" Ben's eyes widen in surprise.

"Come on Ben, you’re telling me that you don’t want to have a normal life? Meet someone, have some kids, settle down? We’ve been doing this shit for years. Doesn’t get any easier."

"Sometimes.” He smirks at you. “So who’s the guy?”

“What?” You raise your eyebrows in confusion.

“The guy you’re going to settle down with.”

“What makes you assume that I’ve met him?”

“I mean, I’ve never seen you with anyone. And I’ve never walked in on you fucking anyone. Plus, you never come to Herogasm-“ Ben pauses. “It’s not Noir is it? Is that why you were protecting him today?”

“No.” You scoff, shading the side of a building to avoid his gaze, because how do you tell him that you met the only person you’d ever wanted when you were 8 years old?

“Good.” Ben drinks from his glass. “I do think about it sometimes.” He says it quietly.

“Huh?”

“The house, having a few rugrats.” He shrugs. “Might be nice.”

“Yeah.” Your throat is tight imagining Ben with someone else like Countess, sitting at his wedding, watching him say those vows to someone else. You didn't think you'd be able to just sit there if it came to that.

“How about you and I get married?” He says it nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean it. He was just saying it to joke with you like always. Ben never saw you that way, you were realizing that more and more each day, even though it hurt to think it.

“We’d kill each other before we say I do.” You quip staring down at the page.

“Maybe. But really, we’ve known each other long enough-“

“That’s not a reason to get married. Plus, we both know that you’re not a one woman kind of guy and if you're actually being serious about this it would mean that you would have to change-“

You think about it. If Ben actually did want to commit, could he do it? His wandering eyes and hands would drive you crazy if he finally did want to start a relationship. You definitely did not want an open relationship. You wanted Ben to be wholly yours as much as you would be his, because you knew that if you devoted yourself to Ben, he would probably cheat, but then be furious if you spent any amount of time with someone else. You remembered all the ways he acted around Howard. Ben was crazy around him, and you and Ben hadn’t been together.

Imagine what he would do to someone else if we were.

“I can be a one woman kind of guy-“ Ben scoffs. “I can do anything.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You mutter, but you know he can hear you.

Ben puts down his glass on your coffee table before his hand lays on top of yours against the sketchpad in you lap.

“Y/n.” He whispers. You can smell the whiskey on his breath, but you don’t look up at him, you can’t. Because you know as soon as you look into his eyes you’ll do whatever he wants.

But you didn’t want to be his consolation prize. You didn’t want Ben to marry you because he was bored, drunk, and he thought he might as well marry you. You wanted Ben to marry you because he was 100% head over heels for you as much as you were for him.

He tilts your chin upwards to look at him. Electricity thrums in your veins when you lock eyes, the look in his gaze is open, gentle, almost tender.

It reminds you of the boy you used to know. Lately you hadn’t seen him. If you were being honest, you hadn’t seen him much since the night he came to ask you to come with him, before the serum, when you thought he finally realized that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

The only time you’d see the real Ben was when it was just the two of you, not the angry, macho, vengeful fighter for justice that he put on whenever he was in front of the team or in front of the cameras. You didn’t understand that. He said that showing emotions made him less of a man, but he never seemed to have a problem being different when it was just the two of you.

You hated that. In those quiet moments you felt your heart clench tight in your chest because each time you thought that he would finally admit that he loved you, that after all these years you were the one.

But he never did.

“I could change.” Ben whispers. “I could be with one woman.” 

“Ben.” You take in a deep breath to clear your head, fighting the ball of emotion that has begun to burn at the back of your throat. “You’re drunk.” You breathe.

He blinks a few times as if he can’t comprehend what you're saying.

“You always get like this when you’re drunk. You know?” You pull back from where his hand rests on your chin.  “But you can stay if you want. There’s some pizza in the fridge and I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed.” You stand and step around him, the urge to cry building in your chest.

“Okay.” Ben whispers to the air, because you're already gone, fleeing down the hallway before he can see you cry.

When you step into the shower you allow yourself to break. The soft sobs drowned out by the sound of running water. You wished you could move past this, all of this and more importantly you wished that you hadn’t fallen in love with him. 

Memories of the past lodge themselves in the back of your throat. You remember the day he begged you to come with him to get the Compound V injection, when you left your life behind and chose him. You thought that was his way of saying he loved you, that he couldn’t live without you. You were wrong. It hurt to admit that, but you were wrong. Ben didn’t try to build on the relationship you had, he kept it the same, the friendly banter, the hugs, hanging around with you whenever he couldn’t stand to be alone. He still slept over, but that’s all that happened. You thought that day meant something, that it was the beginning of something, some wonderful romanticized future filled with warmth and love.

You never thought it would be like this.

You didn’t regret going with him often, but on nights like this when it was late and Ben was drunk and he acted differently you did. Because it made you think that there was a chance of a future with him, but then when he woke up the next day sober, it started all over again with him being short tempered and a dick to everyone who was around him.

It was exhausting. And you didn’t know how much more of it you could take.

The only thing you regretted about the serum was that it made you immortal, invulnerable, and that meant whoever you decided to make a life with would die. There was only a handful of others like you and you hadn’t liked any of them except Ben. You wondered if this was your penance for saying no to Howard, your mother's last laugh when she said that Ben would never choose you and now you had to go on like this forever.

You remember the fear that you would be trapped in a marriage with Howard, you never thought that you'd feel trapped with Ben.

But now…

When you walk back into your bedroom, Ben’s already in your bed, laying on his back, smoking a blunt and looking at the ceiling. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, that you bought him forever ago so he didn't have to sleep in his jeans, and the same t-shirt as before.

“What did I say about smoking those in here?” You sigh, getting into bed beside him, but being careful as to not touch even though it’s all you want.

“It’s a free country doll.” Ben mutters, but he puts it out in the ashtray that you left for him on the bedside table. Because you knew that he would continue to do it even when you told him not to.

The amount of times he ended up here at night always surprised you. Ben might have been bed hopping, snorting, and drinking himself into a stupor but the amount of times you woke up with him in bed next to you was astounding. He’d let himself in with the key you made him for emergencies while you were asleep. It was almost like he didn’t sleep in his apartment anymore and you hated how much you depended on him being there in the morning when you woke up. But the truth was, Ben was all you had, and the thought of losing him scared you. Which meant you continued to put up with the man he became, trying to hold tight to the image of the boy he used to be.

You lay on your back beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The inch of space between your bodies is almost too obvious. “I’m going to go to Philadelphia for a few days.” You breathe.

“Why?”

“My brother isn’t doing too well. His son called.” You say, your throat thick. “He said he thinks that it’s time.”

Your parents had passed a few years ago and Ben had gone to the funerals with you. When Ben’s father had passed, he hadn’t gone to the funeral, he’d drowned himself in the 21st annual Herogasm. And after he showed up on your doorstep smelling like sweat, drugs, booze, and cheap perfume. You’d made him take a shower before getting into bed. The next morning you had woken up in his arms, but more surprising was the fact that he had woken up before you and hadn't pushed you away, in fact he had held you closer to him. You figured that he needed someone there with him. His father had done and said horrible things to Ben, and you kept him company if that’s what he wanted, but couldn’t admit it.

“I’m sorry.” His hand finds yours on the bed. The gesture surprises you.

“Yeah. But that’s the way it is now, I guess.” You whisper, squeezing it.

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t age. Everyone else does. Means that we’ll always just see everyone else go.”

“But not us.” Ben says it like he’s trying to cheer you up.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

Does that mean it’s always going to be like this? Me waiting for him to come here after a 24 hour non stop orgy or after he’s had one two many? Just because he can’t stand the thought of being alone?

You didn’t want that future. You knew that he wanted to be there with you, but it wasn’t enough and it wasn’t the same thing you wanted.

Maybe getting out of this would be good. Put some distance between me and him, let me try to find me again.

Ben is quiet for a minute, the only sound you hear is the thrum of the blood in his veins and his heart steadily pumping it.

“Do you want me to come?” He says it slowly, his thumb rubs against the back of your hand in a soothing motion. 

The question breaks something inside of you, because you wanted nothing more than to have him there with you, but you didn’t want the version of Ben who was Soldier Boy, the loud, angry, short tempered version who was always high or drunk. The one that you felt that you needed to apologize for.

“Nah. It’ll be okay. I’ll get to see my great nephew. He’s supposed to be walking now.” You try to force cheeriness into your tone, but it doesn’t stick.

“Okay.”

You can’t help but wonder if Ben is hurt by your rejection. You did not often say no to him.

He doesn’t let go of your hand though, in fact he brings it up against his chest while he looks at the ceiling.

"Do you regret it?” Ben says in almost a whisper

"Hmm?”

“Coming with me.”

You pause for a second and think about lying, but finally settle on the truth. “Sometimes."

"Why?” Ben's voice rumbles against where your hand lays against his chest, and for a second you think he sounds almost pained.

"We’ve changed so much than who we were back then. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.”

You didn’t want to say that it was him you didn’t recognize. Or that it always felt that you were running after the boy he used to be. The one that made you feel safe, comforted, made it feel like home.

"I don’t think change is a bad thing."

Of course you don't.

"It is if it’s in the wrong direction.” You whisper, but know he can hear you.

“So that’s why you want out? Because you don’t recognize yourself? Seems like a shitty reason."

“I just think it might be nice to try something new. I’ve been doing this for such a long time-“

“That’s why the films would be a good idea. If you want I can talk to the director about you being a co-star in the one we start filming next week. He won't say no to me-“ It was the closest you’d ever heard him come to pleading, besides the night he asked you to come with him to get the serum.

But why? Was it his way of keeping me with him? Was it because he didn’t want me to leave because he wanted me here? Or was it because he just wanted someone there to sit with when the silence was too much? The silence that seems to follow when he's not with me.

“Ben I’m okay. It’s okay I just want something different.”

“Like what?” You hand is still clutched in his where it rests over his chest and you can't help but wonder why. It was surprising. Sure Ben tolerated the occasional hug, but holding your hand for this long was unusual. You attributed it to the booze. When Ben got drunk he tended to be more clingy, he never admitted that, but you saw it.

“I don’t know. I just want a family again-“

“You have a family. You said you’re going to see your great nephew-" Ben says it like he doesn't want you to leave and it breaks something inside you.

How can he not admit that he cares about me? That he loves me? He has to after all these years doesn't he?

“I know. I mean I want a family. Someone to come home to every night, someone I love, someone who loves me-“ You fight to keep the frustrated tears from falling. The dream of him and you inhabiting your apartment together washes back over your mind in shades of gray. You wanted that so badly.

“Oh.”

“You don’t want that?” It’s taking everything for you not to tell Ben that you want it to be him, that you always wanted it to be him.

“Maybe.”

The silence grows between the two of you as you lay there and Ben still hasn't let go of your hand.

“Did you want to marry him?” He says after a few minutes.

“What?” You look at him confused. Ben isn't looking at the ceiling like you thought, he's looking at you. He almost looks, sorry. And you wonder again how much he's had to drink.

“That asshole." He clarifies.

"Howard?"

"Yeah."

“It’s been 40 years-“ You sigh as if it doesn’t matter. But it does. You chose Ben that night and you thought that him asking you to come with him meant that he was choosing you as well.

“Come on.” Ben squeezes the hand that rests against his chest.

“Why does it matter?"

“Because you’re saying you wanted a family. Someone to come home to and that pussy would have given it to you.”

You pause for a second trying to read his expression. “I like the idea of marriage. Of saying those vows to someone else.” You say slowly. “But I didn’t want to say them to Howard.” You don’t say that you wanted to say them to Ben, don’t say that the night he told you not to marry Howard you thought he was trying to tell you that he wanted to marry you instead.

“So you want to say them to someone?”

“Yeah. One day.” You frown, turning back to look at the ceiling. “You never want to say them to someone?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. “Maybe.”

Probably Liberty.

You sigh to yourself thinking about one of your least favorite supes that you’d come across. She wasn’t terrible, just pushy and into supes being united together. You also didn’t like that she felt that supes deserved to be worshiped, that supes were gods, but you knew you weren't. The powers were not random, the gifts were not given by God, they were given by the devil and all those deals came with a price. Even if you tired to walk away, you wondered if Vought would let you go. You also hated how much time Ben spent with her.

The thought of her leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and despite how good it feels, you pull your hand free from Ben's grasp  and turn your back to him, cuddling into your pillow. Your grip is so tight on fluffy material you wonder how it hasn't ripped, but you need to stop talking to him. Talking to him when he was like this made it harder and right now it was taking everything not to cry again.

And you were just so tired of everything. You wondered if one day it would be different.

“Goodnight Ben.” You whisper.

“Goodnight.”

And just as you drift into a dreamless sleep, you think you feel him put his arm around your waist and pull your back into his chest, but when you wake up the next day you forget and Ben is gone.

*************************************************

n/a: Yeah, this chapter is really sad. And I wish that I could say it gets better, but honestly, it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. 😭😭😭

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts,@onlyangel-444

#soldier boy x you #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x y/n #the boys #the boys series #the boys tv #soldier boy fic #jackles #the boys season 3 #the boys s3

[writefightandflightclub]

Blurb request?

What if you stole Santiago's favorite hat, and he caught you wearing it, very casual, nothing to see here, nothing at all.

Make you mine: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN!reader

Thanks so much for sending this, Rally! 🧡☺️ I wrote a hat-based thing with Frankie x reader, but I gave this a bash too as I love the concept with Santiago (my beloved) too! I hope you like it!

Warnings: fluff, steam, lots of mentions of erections, cum kink sorta (brief), light-hearted. 🧢 🍆

A hard swallow trails down Santiago’s neck as he clocks you. Wearing his hat.

He’s arrested by the sight of you, an instant flare of heat blooming across his skin as he realises, in no time at all, that he likes it. Likes seeing you in something of his. Or more so, looking like you’re his by association.

The attached and very intrusive thought is powerful and sudden on the heels of that realisation.

He’d love to see how you’d look wearing his hat and nothing else.

He quirks a brow in interest. He didn’t know that, specifically, would do it for him, but in fairness, he’s pretty sure you are the common denominator here. With you, he’s always discovering new ways that you turn him on.

Shame he can’t act on it though. You and he have been flirting back and forth, sure. But, you’d told him, not long after you’d met that… things were complicated for you. You and him? Maybe there was an instant spark, but you’d been clear the two of you would be nothing outside of friends.

So, he tries to compose himself as you walk over to him. A glass in each hand - one for him. “Thank you,” he smiles smoothly, clinking his glass with yours in a “cheers”.

The other boys have retired inside, after a poker night out on the deck. But you and he have lingered. For some air.

He lets his gaze linger on you, confident enough to drink you in for a stretched moment, your coy gaze even more alluring than usual from beneath the brim of his hat. He tries his best to ignore the blood thudding to his crotch. But you make that difficult to do - no-one else could ever.

“I’m cosplaying you.” You tease, brazenly acknowledging your blatant and unforgivable theft. “Pass me a stick of Wrigleys, Santi? It’ll really up my authenticity.”

He chuckles. Unable to take his eyes off of your bright smile. Your gaze flits gently over his face in return. Lingers on the creases radiating out around his eyes. Dips to his mouth. It makes him self-conscious - which he isn’t used to. Then again, he’s never met anyone who has quite the effect on him that you do.

He perches himself on top of the wooden porch rail. Gestures for you to join him and you seat yourself there too, body angled in towards him.

He can’t help it now. Looks up at his cap perched on your pretty head. He spreads his thighs a little to accommodate his growing bulge between his legs. “-You know. If any of the boys touched my hat…”

“Oh, I know,” you pout comically, shaking your head side-to-side. “Dead to you.” So you know his hat is famously off-limits then? In that case, either you must have put together that he’s a soft-touch for you; or, you’re trying to provoke him. But hey. He doesn’t exactly mind either option. “So.” You take a casual sip of your drink, your eyes flashing with mischief from over the brim. “The boys would be in for it. But what will my punishment be?”

Santiago takes a deep, steadying breath he dearly hopes is subtle as the bulge between his legs grows uncomfortably swollen, pressing up against the seam of his jeans in a way that makes his eyes prick with tears.

Fuck, he doesn’t normally have this much trouble controlling himself; but there’s something about you. Lord knows, he’s trying to keep his internal monologue clean but all he can think is: mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Undoubtedly, he can think of a few (hundred) ways he could “discipline” you, if that’s what you’re into. His palm itches where it rests against his thigh, becoming suddenly tacky.

“Well. First of all. Here,” he offers, pulling a pack of gum from his pocket. “You’re not really nailing ‘me’ yet. Needs more work.”

Nailing him? Fuck, that’s an unfortunate choice of words when he’s trying to take his mind off of ravaging you.

“No?”

“Not seeing the resemblance, cariño.”

“Well. That checks out.” You tug performatively on the brim of his cap as though you know exactly what you’re doing to him, actually. “I am a hell of a lot cuter.”

Fuck, you’re not wrong. You’re fucking adorable.

You take a piece of the offered gum, beginning to chew rather obnoxiously on it. “How about now?”

An easy laugh bobs in his neck. “Holy shit. Now it’s like looking in a mirror.”

You slide closer to him, shimmying yourself along the porch rail. An urgent heat prickles at his skin. Your proximity slips a warm snake down his spine.

“So, you approve, Santi?” Santiago could swear your voice has taken on a lusty quality. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part. “You like me wearing your hat?”

He almost chokes on his masking swig of his drink. Christ, if you only knew how much he approves. If you could see the sordid images playing on a loop in his head right now? Well, you’d probably throw your drink in his face, to be honest. Actually - he could do with it, to cool off. Maybe he can pour his own drink over himself if things get really dire.

“You think Frankie’s cap would suit me too? Or do I look better in yours?”

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Even the drum of his heartbeat feels like it’s trying to claim you. Trying to bust out of his chest to reach out for you.

Fuck. Are you trying to kill him? He doesn’t have a gasket, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to blow one all the same. “You know you look good,” he assures huskily, voice hollowed out by want, though still trying his damn best to toe the line.

Friends. You don’t want him to do the things he’s doing to you in his head right now. Right?

You smirk, looking all too pleased with yourself before taking a swig of your drink. His gaze is fixated on you as you wrap your plush lips around the mouth of the bottle, your fleet of pink tongue poking into the rim. The image certainly is… inspiring.

Fuck, he’s sweating. Swipes the back off his hand across his forehead, catching the moisture gathering inexplicably at his temples.

Then, to his horror, you stand, slinking towards him and slotting your hips in between his spread thighs. You crane around his form, careful that the brim of his own hat doesn’t poke his eyes out, and you dip your plush mouth towards this shell of his ear. Your whisper beds down right under his skin. “How do you think I’d look wearing this and nothing else, Santi? Would I look like I was…yours?”

Wearing my hat. Wearing my hat. Wearing my cum.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Santiago’s brain fully short circuits. He blinks dumbly at you, mouth slightly agape, as you simply look on in amusement, biting down on your lip.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to jump at the chance to find out, but…

He sniffs. Shoots for non-chalant and doesn’t pull it off. “I thought we… I thought. Just friends?”

“Santiago,” you purr. “I stole your hat. Catch-up.”

Catch-up? Holy shit. Maybe he’d have a clue what you were up to if he could think straight. His erection is straining against his pants so hard now he has to shift his hands to cover it. Has to bite back a strangled whimper at the painful pinch.

Your mouth twitches around a delicious self-satisfied smirk as you clock the state he’s in. You giggle, brazenly eyeing his bulge with interest. “Benny told me this might do the trick.”

Santiago’s eyes tighten then. He pouts up at you, eyes twinkling, almost wistful. “Honey.” He lifts the hat from off of your head, setting it down on his own instead. “You? You don’t need any tricks.”

“No?”

Fuck, the way you’re both so devious and so shy at the same time is killing him. “Nuh uh. I’ve wanted you for a long time. You’re gorgeous.”

He boxes you in a little more tightly with his sturdy thighs. Slips his hands on to your waist. Your breath hitches, and he likes the fact he’s finally managing to turn the tables. He dips his mouth towards you, and you manoeuvre around the brim of his cap until your mouth is a whisper away from his kiss. “Wait,” you urge. “I have gum.”

He can’t help but laugh - a resonant chuckle shucking in his throat- as you take a moment to toss it aside, and then he’s just looking at you again. Gaze flitting softly over your face. Arms drawing you close to him once more until his lips brush yours. The contact sends tingles all the way down to his toes; he’s waited so long for this.

He deepens the kiss, soft and more tentative than he’d usually pitch it, his tongue probing into your mouth, but you return his growing fervour. Your palms brace against his sturdy thighs, and he swallows the smooth moan which blooms from your mouth as he clasps you to him.

You pull back for air, looking slightly giddy, and you survey him, a cheeky, devilish glint in your eyes. “You know. You look really fucking good in my hat, Santiago.” Your dark, teasing voice is like honey poured into his middle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You look like you’re mine.”

He shucks air from between his teeth in surprise, his face splitting into a lopsided, awed smile. His eyes turn dark with hunger, pupils eating away at warm umber.

He is. He is yours, if you want him.

He decides then, that he can push this a little further. You seem keen - and Lord knows he is. And so, with a knowing, playful smirk, he dips his lips forward towards the shell of your ear. Whispers to you. “So, how about I wear this and nothing else for you?”

You visibly shiver as his words wind their way into you, your smooth facade cracking apart. “Santiago. Fuck. Are you trying to kill me?”

With his erection continuing to throb against the seam of his pants, he really thinks it’s the other way around.

“No,” he promises. “Only trying to make you mine.”

Mine. Mine. Mine.

That’s all he’s wanted since he met you.

He devours your mouth in another hungry kiss, tongue shoving against yours, opening you up. Stubble raking over your skin.

And, before your delicious kiss knocks every other thought - and word and concept - right out of his head, he logs the fact he definitely owes Benny a favour.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He always wanted to be more than friends.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #triple frontier #Oscar Isaac

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you write something with caddie reader and Rafe going to the country club and booking her as caddie? thankss

Pardon my terrible golf knowledge...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The written duty of a caddie-girl is to carry the golf bag for the golfer. Although it sounds like an easy job, you are required to have a little golf knowledge…and let your mini skirt do the rest as people who golf at the country club are mostly men.

They won’t mind if you give them the wrong club as long as you giggle when you make a mistake or wear a short enough skirt. It’s pretty degrading and objectifying for women, but rich men give nice tips.

‘’I’m so sorry, Jeff. My alarm didn’t go off and my car wouldn’t start,’’ you explained in a rush to your boss, out of breath from running to the country club. ‘’It won’t happen again, I promise.’’

‘’You’re an hour late, Miss. Y/L/N. Your 9am client is waiting.’’ Jeff raised his eyes from his computer screen, looking at you with disappointment.

Shit. You didn’t think you would have a client so early in the morning.

‘’He specifically requested you for caddie, so save your apologies and excuses for him.’’

It must be Mr. Barclay. You’ve seen him sitting at the country club’s bar two days ago, drinking an old fashioned with a fellow club member. He always requested you as caddie. He said you reminded him of his granddaughter. You didn’t know if you should be flattered or disgusted.

You quickly dropped your personal stuff in your locker and headed to the golf course while rehearsing your apology monologue. It wasn’t in your habits to be late. Hopefully Mr. Barclay will be understanding.

When you got to the course, you searched for a silver fox, but instead you found a tall young man with a snapback and white glove in his right hand.

‘’There you are!’’ he said in exasperation, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and walking to you.

‘’Rafe?’’

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. ‘’It’s Mr. Cameron for you,’’ he corrected with a shit-eating grin on his stupidly handsome face.

‘’You’re my 9am client?’’

Rafe hummed, his eyes scanning your body and smiling smugly when he saw your small skirt and tight polo. It hugged your curves in all the right places. ‘’Bet you were expecting some rich daddy, uh? I’m sorry to disappoint you.’’ He leaned closer, speaking the next words low enough so only you would hear them. ‘’If you want, you can call me Daddy Rafe.’’

You choked on air. Today was going to be a long day.

‘’Driver, please?’’ Rafe requested, when you arrived at the teeing ground.

You fished the right club from the bag and handed it to Rafe. ‘’Here.’’

‘’Thanks, babydoll.’’ He took the club and moved up to line it with the ball, and swung, his muscles flexing.

You both watched as it flew over a hundred yards in the air. Not bad.

‘’Where’s Topper?’’ you asked. ‘’You usually play with him.’’

‘’Not today. I had other plans.’’ Rafe gave you the club back. ‘’Shall we go find the ball?’’

You spent the next two hours walking along the steep cliffs and hills of the country club's golf course, watching Rafe swinging golf balls and showing off. Unfortunately, you didn’t care much for the sport. You were more interested in staring at Rafe’s muscles flexing and admiring how great his ass looked in those dress shorts.

‘’Want to have a try?’’

‘’Are you sure? I’ve never played golf before.’’

‘’You can do the next tee. I’ll show you how.’’

‘’Golf is more technical than it looks. You don't just swing the ball and hope for the best. There's a lot of factors to think about — the stance, posture, ball placement, and rotation all have to be considered for the perfect swing.’’

‘’First, the grip. Put your left hand at the top of the club and your right hand below the left,’’ Rafe instructed.’’

‘’Good. Now, the position.’’ He situated himself behind you and you tried not to shiver as his hands slowly traveled down your arms until they positioned themselves to cover your own, grasping gently. You could feel goosebumps rise all over your body as you felt his steady breathing on your neck, looking over your shoulder with ease. ‘’Place your feet shoulder width apart and the ball should be inside the line of the big toe of your front foot.’’ He pushed your right heel out with his own foot. ‘’And you gotta bend your upper body from the knees and the knees slightly.’’

So many instructions.

You leaned forward a little while keeping your feet in the right place. ‘’Like that?’’ you asked, not sure if you were positioned correctly.

‘’Bend a bit more.’’ Rafe stepped back with a mischievous smirk, his warmth leaving your back. ‘’More. More.’’ You had a feeling that the position was wrong, but did as told. ‘’Perfect.’’ He swiped his tongue over his lips and hummed, admiring the perfect view of your ass.

‘’And now I swing?’’

‘’Not yet,’’ he said. ‘’I’m enjoying the view.’’

You straightened up immediately, catching what he was doing. ‘’Rafe!’’ you hissed with a glare over your shoulder.

He was laughing smugly. ‘’Can you blame me?’’

‘’Can you guide me again? I lost the position because of you.’’

This time, Rafe won’t make a fool of you. This time, he’ll be the one who gets played.

You took a deep breath as he moved to stand right behind you and resumed the same position he had you in previously. A soft breeze blew and you got a whiff of his expensive cologne. It reminded you of those mornings you had woken up in his bed at Tannyhill, wrapped in his sheets and covered in his scent.

Shaking that thought from your head. Focus.

‘’You’re picking up fast,’’ Rafe encouraged behind you.

‘’Do I?’’ you asked, purposely wiggling your hips against his pelvis.

You heard Rafe inhale sharply in response, his grip on your hands tightening. ‘’If you kept doing stuff like that, I might just have to take you right on the golf field.’’

Please do, you almost let slip.

At the next tee, you ran into Mr. Barclay and one of your co-worker. He was one of the newbies and seemed to be struggling with the golf bag.

‘’Mr. Barclay, hi,’’ you greeted politely. ‘’How’s the course today? We’ve made new additions this year.’’

The older man greeted you back with a smile, then began ranting about how his caddie wasn’t as good as you at the job. ‘’I asked for you at the caddie shack, but I was informed my favorite caddie-girl was already booked.’’

Rafe stepped in, faking an apologetic smile. ‘’That would be because of me. My apology.’’

Mr. Barclay stared you down like you were a piece of meat and then shifted his eyes to Rafe, giving him a ‘lucky you’ kind of look before leaving with his caddie.

‘’Are your other clients all old perverts like him?’’

Most. ‘’He gives me good tips,’’ you said in defense.

Rafe pulled out his wallet, then stared you right in the eyes as he stuffed a crumpled hundred dollar bill inside your bra. ‘’I do too.’’ 

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx  @sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker  @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage​  @maybankslover

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x you #outer banks #outer banks imagine

[maskedteaser]

I feel you about rdr2, I feel like I'm walking through a desert with no water😭

But if you don't mind me requesting something...

Maybe Sean or Kieran (or whoever you want, I'm fine with anybody) with a crush on s/o who's just an absolute ray of sunshine and they're too nervous to ask s/o out because of this

hii! i'm so glad to be able to do my first request ever! hope you like it! I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes - english is not my first language! requests are open. Sorry it took so long to write - it is like...my second time writing an actual thing with plot in english! [not proofread i'm sorry i cringed too hard when i tried to read it] CW: none? i think? mentions of alcohol if you squint in javier's part the spanish petnames he uses are feminine(?) but i think there is no other use of any gender comfirming things so i guess it's gender neutral reader fic? ALSO THEY ARE PROBABLY OOC IM SO SORRY :((( 05.06.2024. signed TEASER 📺 [ BANNERS ARE MADE BY ME! ]

SEAN MACGUIRE

You were ethereal in his eyes. Always shining, blooming, filling every space you were in with joy and feeling of safety. Soft hair sparkling in the sun, pupils always wandering around, looking for a sad soul to cheer up. Hands in the air, moving around uncontrollably when you tried to tell a story, gesturing the things that you were imagining. Truly mesmerising, he felt like he just had to have you, but his every attempt at flirting with you was just taken as a joke, rewarded by a small smile from you, a little giggle, and it broke his heart, making it rush at the same time.

But Sean MacGuire was an impatient man. Impatient and so obvious with his emotions. Expressive, always made it known when he felt good or bad, when he was falling apart (which was a really rare sigh anyways) or his heart was full of passion. But you made it easy to feel euphoric and then send him to the lowest mental state he could ever be. He couldn't wait to tell you how he wanted you to be his and only his, but for some reason - you were always busy, someone always wanted to talk with you, stealing your attencion. And when you were free, he was too stunned to speak. That never happened in his entire life! His never ending monologue, his mouth that was always talking, everything stopped. Sean MacGuire smiled, excused himself for bothering you and left, leaving you confused but a smile didn't leave your soft lips. He was sitting alone, planning a new way to confess to you. Never in his life would he admit that he was, simply but truly, scared. Of rejection? Maybe. Or of the fact that you might take it as a joke. That would be even worse in his eyes. Sean suddenly remembered the fact that Arthur one day came up to him and asked about his relationship with you, he said that it was so horrendously obvious that he likes you, that he's sweet on you, but he also told him that he might be too simple for you. Too straightforward but at the same time - not cultured enough. Bascially telling him that he might be too dumb for you, straight into his poor face, into his lost puppy eyes. The truth was that, in fact, Sean was just lost without you. With you around, he felt like a better version of himself. That's why he wanted you so badly. He asked Lenny to teach him to read, so he could become a well-read person for you. But Sean MacGuire was an impatient man. Abandoning his mission after only few pages. His impulsitivity took over, he decided that if he's not the one for you, it's better to know as soon as it's possible. In case he had to move on, in case you decide to break his young, so obsessed with you heart. Stealing Dutch's cologne, Lenny's good shirt and wearing his only pants that were clean and somehow not holey - he got ready for you. He even washed his hair in the river, using actual soap that one of the girls from the camp once gave him. What a sweetheart. His plans were suprisingly really detailed. Sean wanted to pick some flowers for you and ask you to go to the town with him, he wanted to mount his horse, see you mount yours and go. But his dreams and distant goals got interrupted by hearing your voice coming near his tent. — Sean! Javier was just asking if you... — you didn't finish your sentence. Halfway in his tent, you laid your eyes on him, clearly preparing for some event. A date? Maybe? How could you know? — Oh! Sean, you look really good! What happened? — you looked up, his soft hair, freshly washed, much more shinier, looking healthy for once. — you washed your hair, so it must be something big. — you added, smiling. It was semi-dark in his tent, light being casted only by a little lamp with a candle inside of it. So you couldn't see how his cheeks got redder when he heard your compliment. — well, I actually...You know... — he started, nervously, but who wouldn't be nervous in that kind of a situation? Being caught preparing for a date, that wasn't even accepted by the other side in the first place. — It is something big. — Sean's voice still had his iconic cheerfulness, but you could hear the little shakes in it as well. But you didn't interrupt, you listened. He took a deep breath and said quickly, his accent almost making it incomprehensible — I was wondering if you'd like to go to the town with me and maybe you know have a drink or two? Like a party, just the two of us, you know? Ay, yeah! Actually I also wanted to say that I really like you! Maybe love...Yeah, that might be a better word for that. I love ya. So? Would you like to go with me? — he looked up at you, his heart beating so fast, he could almost hear it. It's now up to you. Do you agree or not?

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Absolutely smitten with you. Sitting by the fireside on a warm night, you were situated at the opposite side of the fire, watching people that were finishing their chores around the camp. Your delicate presence, hair moved by wind, shining eyes. His mind was in a different place. Holding his guitar, trying to play and sing, but you were distracting. It was almost impossible to get him to the state that he forgot how to play, but with you around, he literally seemed like he just bought this intrument, constantly making little mistakes. Blood rushing to his cheeks every time he got out of rhythm or the sound his guitar made was closer to a scratch than to any melody. But you seemed to not mind, accepting him the way he was, quietly giggling, but not laughing at him, you were just so full of happiness, your gaze only encouraged him to keep playing and he loved it. Loved you. Badly.

But he felt like loving you was never enough, since you seemed to never actually acknowledge his feelings, the deep desire that made his dreams full of you. Everything reminded him of you. You joined the gang a few months ago, how could you fuck him up so badly in such a short period of time? Wrapped around your finger, willing to give you the entire world if you asked him to. He just knew that you'd never ask him to, you were just too...good. You never asked for help yourself, but always wanted to help others. Putting everyone above yourself, taking care of everyone, even Micah, who said so much bad things about you, spitting poison at you every time you walked by, but when he felt ill, you still was a first person to give him health cure.

Javier could only watch from afar. Fascinated, hypnotised by your moves, your energy, how your voice could put everyone in a good mood. When you were telling stories, you'd tell them with so much passion, but when someone else needed to be listened - you were all ears, asking questions, made everyone feel welcomed and safe. He sometimes really thought that you are not real, that you are an angel sent to the camp in those hard times.

Lost in his thoughts again, he missed a string while playing and his guitar made another weird sound. Immediately grounded by that, he looked in the direction you were sitting, only to realise - you were not there anymore. He started looking for you, and he saw that you were sitting next to him. How could he not notice? God, were his reflexes that poor? If it was a life threatening situation, he'd probably be dead by now.

— I noticed that you are a bit lonely here, Javier, — the way his name slipped of your lips so softly, how he'd kill to hear his name coming from that sweet mouth again and again, until he lost his senses. — Mind if I keep you company? You seem stressed, is something bothering you? — when he heard your voice, and your body getting a bit closer to him, his muscles tensed. He put his guitar away, gently, laying it on a ground, leaned it against the barrel that was near.

— what can I say, hermosa. — he sometimes called you Spanish pet names, because he was sure you didn't understand them (if you could, well, he was not aware...) — There is that one girl that completely took over my mind and I can't focus on anything else because of her. She's not even mine, but I'm jealous of everyone that makes her laugh. It's probably wrong, but it's the truth. She's like a milagro walking on this sad country, healing everyone with her presence, so I'm almost certain I don't deserve her, but oh...I can always dream, can't I? — he could swear you put a spell on him. He never meant to open up about his feelings, especially not around you, especially talking about you.

What a fool he was. He couldn't even manage to raise his eyes up to meet your gaze, so he was not able to see the sadness flicker in your face, soft sigh escaping your lips, which was a sign of your heart getting a bit broken, he taken it as a sign of stress and fatigue.

— do you want me to help you with asking her out? I'm a woman myself so I know what most of us like to do... — you said, and oh, he knew that it would happen. Your first thought when someone has a problem is to help them out, any way you can, no matter your own feelings and struggles.

— tell me...how your perfect date would look like? I think she's really similar to you, she might enjoy the same things. — he said, still nervous, his eyes locked on the ground.

So you started to talk about your perfect date. How you'd spend it, and his head was full of ideas by now. He knew exactly where to take you, what to do, so when you finished your monologue, he offered, finally looking up, making eye contact:

— are you free tonight, angelita? Your wish is my command. — his cheeks a bit red, the orange light from nearby fire slightly shining on his skin.

Not it was up to you if you'd like to go with him. What do you say?

KIERAN DUFFY

Oh, that poor boy. His heart couldn't take it. The only person that showed him any kind of affection in this camp, the only one that cared, listened to him, believed him. When he was still tied to the tree, he used to spend all day looking at you with fascination, trying to understand who you were to other gang members, his gaze was subtle, always looking away just in time before anyone would notice. But he was sure you would never look at him the way he looks at you, and his heart ached every time he reminded himself of the fact that he was just a stranger in this camp, he was considered a spy, traitor, enemy. Yet you still treated him with such kindness and care, always asking if he needs anything, if you can do something to ease his pain and stress.

Sometimes you sat near him and talked with him, not caring about what others might think, saying that as long as there is no proof of him doing anything wrong, you will not act like he is a criminal. And he was honestly so thankful for that. He was not sure what he deserved to have you as some sort of ally, but since you were the only one he trusted (even if it was only a little bit) he started to actually feel something deeper than friendship towards you.

He didn't want to admit that it was love. But if not love, then what was it? Unreasonable high blood pressure when he saw you, his eyes sparkly, heart beating faster, his body always felt so full of life, shattering when he saw that someone disrespected you or treated you badly. He couldn't do anything, so he just watched when Micah, because he was literally the only one that ever mistreated you, decided to yell at you. He could only sigh, waiting for you to come to him and moan about how you hate this blonde, egocentric guy.

His most common way of showing his affection to you was by taking care of your horse while listening to you, always remembering everything you said, whether it was a mention of your favourite food, people that you like, your dream future or what beautiful clothes you saw at the shop when you travelled to town the other day. Your complaints that you couldn't afford them though... How Kieran wished he could be rich, so he could buy you those clothes, so he could see you happy. But he knew he could never be able to do that.

He dreamed of asking you out. You were on his mind all day and night, but, god, how was he supposed to do that? He couldn't leave the camp, and if he could, it was supposed to be a fishing trip or something, no going to town, no having too much fun, no buying things (he had no money anyways).

So the day you came to him and said that Micah once again told you that you are an useless addition to the camp, instead of passive listening and nodding his head, he actually asked: — how about we go fishing? I will teach you how to do that so next time he says something like that, you can prove him wrong by bringing bunch of fishes to the camp! — his voice started to shake at the end of his sentence, when he understood that he is basically asking you out on an almost date. He looked at you with hope in his eyes.

— fishing? I don't know if Micah would consider fishing as an useful skill...I don't think if anything that is done by a woman is useful in his eyes. I actually believe he might be jealous of Dutch, he wants him all to himself... — you said, giggling a bit. And Kieran had to agree with you. The way Micah was always complimenting Dutch was actually a bit concerning, but as long as he could stay in this camp, he didn't want to ask. He guessed that "that's how the things are in this gang".

— well, you're probably right. He will treat everyone badly regardless of their hard work. But hey, fishing is a nice thing to do anyways, right? I promise you, it's really relaxing! — Kieran was nervous, of course, but you could also see an honest, bright smile on his face, he showed signs of happiness, and that was something really nice to see.

So? Do you agree to go with him? It's your choice. 

pls give me any feedback, even as anons <3 much love, teaser

#rdr2 x reader #kieran duffy x reader #rdr2 fic #sean macguire #javier x reader #javier escuella x reader #sean macguire x reader #kieran duffy #arthur morgan x reader #fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 x you #javier escuella #javier escuella x you #sean macguire x you #teaser.writing.rdr2

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Imagine Finding Out Riri is Ironheart

Ma is it okay if I pick you up tonight?

I want to take out

Y/N please

I'm sorry for missing dinner last night

This is getting ridiculous I apologized like ten times already

Babe just answer me you know I don't do silent treatment

Its going to be real funny when I flip the script

Ma please I want to show you something okay it will explain everything, isn't that what you asked for last night the truth right

Your phone was on constant vibration with the pace Riri was sending the messages. It made harder for you to ignore and instead focus on the plan for your next mission. Eventually you just gave up deciding to see what tactic your girlfriend was going to use this time to get out of the doghouse.

You rose an eyebrow at the first few messages. Of course she would start off with the typical make-up date. It took months to secure a dinner reservation at the particular restaurant. Riri was supposed to meet you at last night at ten.

You waited an extra forty-five minutes for her to show up, before putting in an order to-go. The waiter spent the entire time asking if you were sure you didn't want to go ahead and eat? The air of sympathy coming from him and anyone else who was sitting near you, or just happened to pass by was unbearable. Especially with the waiter as it was obvious he had been through the routine quite a few times.

What made so much worse was she didn't bother to text or call with an explanation. You had to show up at her dorm showing off your the nice dress with a bag in hand. At first Riri looked confused trying to figure out why you were all dressed up, but then her eyes landed on the bag's logo. She closed her eyes and released a sigh of guilt.

"Babe-"

You didn't want to hear it pushing past her into the room. The only reason you were even here was because one no matter how upset you were with her, you still wanted to make sure she was okay. And two you were tired and your feet was killing you, so you really didn't feel like making the drive to your apartment thirty minutes away.

Riri watched as you plopped down on her bed, dug the to-go box out of the bag, and started eating. The sound of her stomach growling reached your ears, and for a split second you thought about letting her starve. Of course you didn't telling her to come over to eat. You shared the food, and fell asleep in her bed alone for the first few minutes. While she tinkered with some robotic part for a class project.

Those actions lured Riri into a false sense of security making her think. She was off the hook for missing the date, only to wake up this morning to you not acknowledging her existence at all. Let alone talking to her.

In the beginning Riri refused to play your game and just went about her day. If you didn't want to talk to her that was fine. Until it wasn't and finally she realized she was the one in the wrong, and you had every right to be angry with her. This is a recurring thing with her.

That was when the texts started coming in it was around four 'o' clock. Riri just got out of her last class for the day, and usually you would be waiting for her in her dorm unless otherwise was already planned.

You didn't care if she scored court side tickets to a Celtics game. She wasn't going to fix things this time with a last-minute thrown together date. Letting her side all those other times with the tactic is what created the problem.

The text about her not doing the silent treatment did strike a nerve with you. It was almost like she was challenging to keep ignoring her, and you were tempted to do just that by silencing your phone altogether before putting it back down. But then your fingers kept scrolling and you saw the last message she sent. Your heart skipped a beat as you read it over and over.

Last night before turning over to face the wall you had asked her to tell you the truth. You went into a sleepy monologue about how much Riri had changed in the past few months, and all you wanted to do was understand. But you couldn't understand what she didn't tell you. Riri was keeping secrets, and while you definitely had yours. One thing you always made sure of was that they never came between your relationship with Riri.

Because you loved her more than anyone else in the world, and the thought of losing her made you want to jump off a cliff. It wasn't something you could take which is why you continued to give her so many chances.

Now here she was offering to give you exactly what you wanted. The only problem was the mission was supposed to go down tonight, if your partner came through that is.

On cue a pair of strong hands clapped you on the shoulder from behind shaking you a bit. "Y/N my girl guess what I have for you?"

Devin walked around to take a seat at the table placing a brown file folder down on the table. He was tall with an average build, light brown hair styled into a buzz cut, and blue eyes. Devin was a mixed kid with parents that came from opposite side of the tracks, but against all the odds still found love, and made it through the darkest times. Tragically though he lost both of them during the Snap after he fell victim to Thanos's plans. Neither of his parents could handle life without their precious baby, and soon enough his mother took her own life losing her battle to survivor’s guilt.

Losing his son and his wife in such a short time period led to his father turning to the bottle. The man had a drinking problem in his teenage years, it was his wife who helped him overcome the alcoholism. She gave up liquor and even wine herself, so he would never be tempted again. But with her gone and no one else in his life left to check up on him. His father gave in wanting the pain and loneliness to go away, the bottle would take his life.

Devin came back five years later to discover his parents were gone, and his entire life was turned upside down. He started going down a dark path but then he met you, making all the difference.

With huge grin he slide the file over to you and settled back in the chair. "Go ahead take a peek."

You sent Riri a quick reply telling her to let you think. Leaving her on read would just drive her more crazy, and have her come looking for you. Riri knew your routine like the back of her hand with you being a creature of habit. There was only one cafe you hung out just ten minutes away from your place. They had the best coffee and cookies in town in your opinion. She would check here first.

You opened the file to find numerous photos of a dark room, and upon taking a closer look you realized it was the inside of a vault. As you went through them the pictures got a lot clearer letting you see the details of this vault, and the door. "Are these...?" Your voice trailed off as you looked up at Devin with disbelief.

He nodded with pride leaning forward so no one else could hear him. "I know you wanted to hold off on this job for a bit longer, but that was because you didn't think I could get you the layout for the vault. But I worked my ass off and we got them."

"How?"

"My mom had an account with them, so I just went in acting all desperate asking if it was still open, and was there money in it. There was the dude in there working the counter checking me out. I got his number and viola" he explained.

"So this dude is okay with his crush being a hardened criminal" You replied in an accusing tone. While you were happy he got the pictures it didn't change the fact. He broke one of your biggest rules.

Don't ever get other people involved with the jobs especially if they weren't properly vetted by you.

Devin frowned "you say that like I've been to jail or something. I'm not exactly hardened you know, and I did have to pay him you know."

"How much?"

"3,500" he answered with a shrug. That amount of money was nothing to him considering the last job was a big score, and just two weeks ago.

"No how much of a cut does he want?" You asked firmer this time fixing him with a hard stare.

"He doesn't wan-"

You let out a impatient groan. "Don't play dumb Devin there's no way this guy risked his job and livelihood by taking these pictures for puppy-love. He knows you're planning to rob it and the second we do this job. He's going to hit up asking for some of it, if he hasn't already."

"Fine he wants a small percentage" he admitted slapping the table. "But it'll be worth it and it's not like we have a big crew it's just the two of us. Bringing in a third person won't break us you know plus we needed an insi-"

"No we didn't I had a plan and if you stayed patient like I told you to. This job would've been going down in a few more weeks without a hitch, but no now we have to be cautious, and share the profit." You seethed closing the folder and pushing it back to him.

"A few weeks isn't good enough for me y/n. I need the money now"

"That's why we were hitting the jewelr-"

Devin shook his head growling in frustration. "You don't get it I'm set to lose the house in a week. My parent's home or did you forget I was trying to buy it back from the bank. The owner and the bank finally reached a deal, so I have seven days to come up with two-hundred fifty thousand dollars, or I'm going to lose it."

The fight and anger left your body at his revelation his childhood home was his safe haven. He always told you that being in the house made him feel connected to his deceased folks. Now you knew why he had been so pushy on the endgame job.

"Devin why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because I didn't want to rush this job anymore than you did. I thought I could convince the bank to give me more time. Heartless bastards" he muttered at the end.

"Fine make sure your boy isn't going to rat, and if you think he is just let me know. I'll handle it but I'm still going to need a day or two map out the entire plan, and deal with any holes alright. This has to be executed with perfection." You told him smiling as his eyes teared up.

Devin was afraid you were going to say no, or worse be done with him. He held his hand out for you to slap then bumped his fist to yours.

"I'll look over the pictures and get back to you in sometime tomorrow." You packed your bag and got up to leave.

"Wait what about tonight?" He asked

"Well we don't need to hit the jewelry store if we're doing this one so soon, and your girl got a date so just take it easy yeah. Take your friend out or somethin."

"So I can be tied down and whipped like you no thank you" Devin called out playfully watching you leave.

You gave him the middle finger over your shoulder as the door swung shut.

Three Hours Later

Riri insisted on taking you out for dinner no matter how much you protested. She couldn't secure another reservation at the same restaurant, but did manage to find one just as nice and more low-key meaning no reservations needed.

The two of you sat at a table outside on a deck with little lights strung along the clear roof. It took a few minutes but Riri broke the ice with a joke that had you in tears. After that it was if you and her weren't even at odds as the two of you talked about your day.

Once dinner was over Riri took over driving, and you let her without argument. Settling back in your seat watching the night stars pass by in a blur as she drove. About twenty minutes later the car came to a stop, and Riri was getting out.

You waited for her to come around and open your door. Knowing from past situations trying to open your own door whenever she was around was a no-no. Your car door was opened and you stepped outside into a empty parking lot surrounded by small garage-like buildings.

"Um babe where are we?" You asked looking around for any sign of life.

Riri pecked your lips with a smile. "Calm down ain't nobody trying to kidnap you. This is my spot you know where I work on all my super secret projects as you like to call them."

"Well you never let me see anything, and this is your first time bringing me here" You shot back.

"I know I know and I'm sorry but this place is like a safe space, and I don't really own it I fixed up this guy's car so he lets me work out of it. I don't want to lose it."

"I get it." It sucked not having a space of your own and having to rely, on people who could just take it all away with a snap of their fingers.

"Come on let's get inside" Riri said taking you by the land to lead you over to the garage. The car was parked in front of.

She let you walk in first coming right behind you hitting the lights. It was a more-than decent size workspace. On the left was a huge desk set up with desktop computers and papers spread out everywhere. A giant whiteboard with multiple blueprints was next to it. On the right side was her white motorbike, and not too faraway the shape of a car hiding up a forest green blanket.

"So this is where you're hiding out all the time?"

"Hey now don't do that I'm opening up to you here." Riri whined coming up behind you wrapping her arms around your waist, and placed her chin on your shoulder.

You leaned your head back to look into her warm brown eyes. She took the opportunity to pull you into a heated kiss. For a second you forgot why you were here as your lips moved in sync with hers. You turned around in her arms to lock your arms around her neck, pulling her closer. Her grip on your waist tightened as she tilted her head to deepened the kiss.

Your legs started moving on their own towards the work area until your back hit the desk. You whirled around lifting Riri up onto the desk, and your lips left her lips to trail down her neck.

"Ma I have dreamed of this moment every since I got this place, but we need to take a breather." Riri panted holding back a moan.

You pulled away in slight frustration. "Fine what is you want to show me so bad."

Riri hoped down from the desk and walked over to a drawer rummaging around in it. "Promise we can pick up where we left off if you still want to. After all this is over."

You frowned "Riri it can't be that bad can it?"

She turned around to face you with a remote in hand, and with a solemn expression. "Its not bad but it is a lot and I don't really know how you're going to react. Just know that ma I love you, and I want to keep you safe.

"Riri-" You tried to ask her what was going on, but then a loud whirring noise filled the air, drowning out your voice. Your gaze drifted up to see a small platform descending from the ceiling. You took a few steps back so you were standing next to Riri.

"I left a lot out when I told about Wakanda okay, but in my defense there is some stuff that went down. I really can't talk about without getting in serious trouble alright, but before I left I was working on a suit. It was coming along real good before it got destroyed." Her story came to a pause as the platform was done lowering to the ground. There was something on it but it was hidden by a black blanket.

Riri walked over to take a hold on it. "Having the Princess of Wakanda in your corner comes with a lot of perks, and I was able to get my hands on some pretty strong material. Its not vibranium but its the next best thing making rebuilding my suit a lot easier and even better. After it was done I started to take it out for a test run which kind of let to me saving some people."

"I don't understand" You murmured in confusion.

"Yeah I'ma just rip the bandaid off" Riri said yanking the blanket off to reveal. A purple-yellow metal suit with black on the front part. It modeled a Iron-man suit remake just made for a smaller person.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you leaned back on the desk behind for support. Your hands gripping it so tight your knuckles were turning white. Riri was talking again but her voice was just background noise at this point. As you tried to process the fact that your girlfriend was Ironheart.

Riri Williams was Ironheart. This shouldn't be a bad thing, you should be filling joy right now. She wasn't cheating or growing bored of you. She missed those dates because she was out saving people. There shouldn't be a problem with that, but there was.

Because this was last time you saw this suit was in action. When Ironheart faced off with you and Devin during a risky robbery just a few weeks ago. And the time before that when the hero just happened to be patrolling while you were scouting out the place. You always managed to escape your encounters with the hero.

But what were going to do now because there was no escaping the way you felt about her. Your big endgame job just a lot more complicated.

Taglist: @alistair-mooncrest @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @justariellove @greek-freak101 @mbakuetshurisprincess @deliciousfestsalad @zayswriting @tchhairbandhere @6-noir @rhayanm @letitias-fav @ajawasblog @izzyorzua24 @shinsousliya @ilacknames

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #riri williams x reader #riri williams imagine

[burningclocks]

HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED

Say what you will but women in classical plays had the best rage-filled monologues

1. Beatrice’s Kill Claudio Monologue, Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

Kill Claudio! You kill me to deny it. Farewell. I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. In faith, I will go. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with my enemy. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, – O, God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Talk with a man out a window! A proper saying! Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant surely! O that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

2. Iphigenia’s Monologue to Agamemnon, Iphigenia at Aulis by Euripides

If I could speak as well as Orpheus, Father, if I could use words to inspire the rocks around us to rise up and follow me, if I had that same gift of persuasion I would use it. But I have only one talent, my tears. I offer them to you. It is all I can do. I bend before you like a branch bending towards the earth, pressing my body against your knees. This is the body that your wife gave birth to. Don’t send me to an early death. It is sweet to see the sun’s light. Do not force me down into the darkness of the Underworld. I was the first child to call you father, the first you called your child. I was the first to sit upon your knee while you fondly kissed me. You used to say to me, “Will I see you one day, happy in your husband’s house, bringing honor to your family?” And I would say to you, as I pulled upon your beard, the same beard I now caress, “And what about you, Father? Will I welcome you into my house, when you are an old man, and take care of you in thanks for all the years that you took care of me?” I remember every word we said, but you have forgotten them, and now you are planning to end my life. By Pelops, by your father Atreus, by my mother, who suffered the pain of my birth and suffers more pain now, I beg you to spare me. What do I have to do with the marriage of Paris and Helen? Why should I die because of them? Look at me, look me in the eyes and give me a kiss, give me that at least to remember when I die, if you are determined to remain deaf to my pleas.

3. Medea’s Dead Children Monologue, Medea by Euripides

Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay my children with all speed, and then, away from hence; not wait yet longer till they stand beneath another and an angrier hand to die. Yea, howsoe'er I shield them, die they must. And, seeing that they must, 'tis I shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none beside. Oh, up and get thine armour on, my heart! Why longer tarry we to win our crown of dire inevitable sin? Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine, thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line there life turns agony. Let there be naught of softness now: and keep thee from that thought, 'born of thy flesh,' 'thine own belovèd.' Now, for one brief day, forget thy children: thou shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet sweet were they. . . . I am sore unfortunate.

#classical plays #theatre #feminine rage #much ado about nothing #shakespeare #catherine tate #euripides #iphigenia #Iphigenia at aulis #medea #monologues #classics #my art

[whumble-beeee]

Tortured? I Was Tortured Once.

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 5

Content: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references, torture, threats, begging, blood

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[{When hero-keeping in the short term}... it's imperative to do everything in your power to keep your identity a secret; wear a mask to hide your face, cover as much of your body as possible to minimize the amount of prints, hair, or other forms of DNA/evidence you could leave behind at the scene. Use a voice modulator, and if you can help it, don’t even be in the same room with the hero when they are conscious. Most importantly, do not tell the hero any identifying details about yourself, your loved ones, or your past.

This is solely to protect you, the dastardly villain! Should the hero ever escape or decide to take revenge (not that a hero would ever dare, as long as you follow the instructions in this guide!), you want to make it nigh impossible to find you and hurt you, lest they turn you into their captured villain!]

* * * * * * * *

“Alright!” Deeby clapped his hands together, chipper than ever. “So, back when I was in the early days of my job, I sometimes made some… questionable choices. Dangerous ones. Not that what I do isn’t dangerous, I can handle the dangers of the job. I mean I fucked with the wrong people. Powerful people. Not in the sense of… y’know, what you have. Super-powers. I mean like they were like a crime lord or CEO, lotta money, lotta power… God, I was a fucking idiot. But hey, live and learn, right?”

He brushed at Stan’s cheek to ease his attention up and away from the floor, where it had been firmly located since the start of the monologue. Stan just leaned away slightly and tried not to let his burning eyes brim over into tears. “I’m still here, right? Still kicking, so I must have done something right.”

“Unfortunately…” Stan mumbled.

“Repite?”

“Nothing.”

Deeby tilted his head matter-of-factly. “Look, if you’re gonna be defiant, at least do it loud and proud, bud.” He ruffled Stan’s hair much too aggressively for Stan’s liking.

“Might actually respect you if you did that. Anyway, I’m sure you can figure out what basically happened after that; I got hired to rough up some asshole’s waste-of-space trust fund kid, gave him back with a couple bones broken and a couple extra bullet holes, but he was fine, then daddy got mad and managed to find me somehow, and here’s where it gets really interesting, bud. You wanna know what this chain’s for?”

He reached up and jangled the metal loops reaching down from the ceiling, and the chain shifted just enough to barely nudge into Stan and nearly send him careening backward again from fear.

“Uh…” He’d been doing his damndest to ignore the mercenary and retreat into himself, and was actually half succeeding right up until the required audience participation. The question just served to jarringly rip him back headfirst into the painful and hopeless despair of the present situation. “Not–... Not really…”

“Sucks to be you then, I guess. So I get knocked out and kidnapped, and I wake up in this, like, fucked up white-tiled torture room with like a drain in the floor and suspicious cabinets and all that, and then I'm strung up in the center of the room–...”

He grabbed Stan's arms and wrenched them up all the way above his head, so his wrists were together in Deeby's hands and held flush with the chain. Then he pulled up even more. Stan squeaked and briefly struggled to tug away, but quickly fell into pliable stiffness under the mercenary’s warning stare. So instead, he stretched as tall as he could, shoulders pressing the sides of the collar into his neck to try and relieve the tension. It didn't really work.

“...–Like this. So I was literally hanging from the ceiling from my wrists, feet barely even touching the ground, cuffs grinding into my wrists so bad they were already bleeding when I woke up, it hurt like shit. Hold your arms up there, would ya bud?”

Deeby let go of Stan's wrists and he immediately pulled them back into his sides. No way he was holding himself in a torture position. No way.

That was until the mercenary regrabbed his wrists and slammed them back up into the chain, leaning down slightly and getting way too close to Stan’s face. He could feel the body heat radiating off the man.

Stan leaned away as much as he physically could, which wasn’t much with his arms holding him excruciatingly erect.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves,” Deeby growled, not a trace of his usual smile highlighting his fiery eyes. “Hold the position or I’ll lock your handcuffs up there just like they did to me and we can roleplay it exactly as it played out. You wanna do that instead?”

Stan managed a minuscule shake of the head. He was sure he’d be able to feel the bounty hunter’s breath on his face if it weren’t for the mask.

“Speak up, runt.”

“G-got it,” Stan breathed.

Deeby more tentatively let go of Stan's wrists this time, an unnecessary precaution, since Stan grasped the chain and held onto it for dear life so as not to anger him further.

This isn't so bad. He lied to himself, Deeby mercifully backing up to more than inches away from his face. At least there aren't any flashbacks now. Just have to hold the chain.

“Yeah, just like that. Perfect.”

He held up his fingers to create a fake camera frame around Stan. As if he knew exactly what picture he wanted to paint with Stan's body.

“So I woke up like that, hanging by the wrists, and of course I recognized the guy because I do my research, y'know? So I woke up and I already knew exactly what was happening. He tried to monologue at me, I bantered back, the guy was getting all pissy because I guess I was too smug or whatever. And… well, I forgot to say, when I woke up, they'd taken off my shirt–”

Deeby started to twiddle at the top button on Stan's button-down and, with an amount of force that surprised the both of them, Stan slapped his hand away and nearly toppled to the ground jumping backward.

“Don't touch my shirt!” he yelped. He tripped over the chain that anchored him to the corner sending spirals of agony out from his knee again before he stabilized himself and stared at the mercenary in abject terror.

Deeby stared back in disbelief. Then a flash of danger, a slight tilt of the chin, furrowing of the eyebrows, a tensing of the shoulders.

“You… really don't know when to quit. Do you?” he growled.

Stan took another small limp back. “I–”

“I'm not gonna take your shirt off.” Stan barely withheld the primal urge to fully turn around and run when the mercenary surged forward, grabbed Stan by the chain of the handcuffs, and yanked him forward. The southern twang rang so hopelessly clear through his wrathful voice. “I am many unsavory things, but a perv ain't fuckin’ one of 'em. Get back over here and stay before I kick your ass again.”

Then once again, Stan found himself with his arms pinned above his head and flush against the chain. Though this time, the mercenary clamped his hand over Stan's own, pressed them in so hard that Stan's fingers smushed painfully between the chain links. He didn’t even try to struggle. Just tried to shrink away from his towering presence and keep his eyes on the floor. Not let Deeby see the redness of his eyes that threatened tears.

“So, Stan, whaddya think they did to me next?” Deeby questioned, humor all but gone from his voice. “Strung up, shirt off, completely helpless and at their mercy. What would you do if you were a sick sonofabitch getting revenge on the person who tortured your son?”

Stan stared off to the side. “I… I don't…–”

“Oh come on, bud, you must have some sort of idea. Can't think of a single way you'd hurt–”

“No, no, no no nononoNO!” Stan mutter bordered on shouting as he started trying to yank his hands out of the mercenary’s grasp and only succeeded in yanking them hard enough that he was being held up solely and much more painfully by the cuffs themselves.

He couldn't take this anymore, was Deeby gonna torture him or not?

“I can't think of a single way I'd wanna torture someone! I'm not some– some freak sadist kidnapper-torturer like that guy! Or like you!!”

Deeby hummed lightly, unfazed by yet another one of Stan's outbursts, holding the cuffs firm. “You'll learn.”

Stan growled and yanked again, hard enough that when they didn't give it all, he actually lifted into the air slightly. He cried out from the bite of the metal digging into his wrists and scraping into the top layers of skin. A few drips of blood started to pool on the surface.

If Deeby noticed the scarlet now smeared across Stan's wrists, he didn't show it. He just pulled the chain of the cuffs up further. Stan's elbows locked straight up, pressing into the side of his head. He almost had to go up on his tiptoes.

“Besides,” the hunter continued nonchalantly. “What he did to me isn't what I would do to you, if I were to torture you.”

“IF!?” Stan groaned, trying another weak yank against the cuffs and sending small lightning bolts of pain down his arms. “What do you mean ‘if’?! What–… What do you call this?”

Deeby shrugged. “Foreplay?”

Stan froze dead in his tracks. He could physically feel all the blood leaving his head and rushing down straight to his feet. Foreplay? As in… There was… Ge wouldn't, right? There was no way.

“Y-you–...” He could barely even get words to form properly, barely able to suck in enough air to even speak. “You–... Wait, you–”

“Cálmate, Stan, Christ, it was a joke. Loosen up. Wanna know what I would do, though?”

“Ah…”

His head felt like it had just been dunked underwater. Or maybe that was the concussion coming back haunt this waking nightmare once more. Who’s to say? Why not both, make it a party.

And yet, Deeby still leaned down to whisper in Stan's ear; “There's a reason I put the leash chain on your good leg.”

Before Stan could react, Deeby leaned back on his heels and pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling with him, unbalancing Stan just enough that he had to try to take a step forward to readjust, except the fetter on his ankle caught on the very end of the leash. He couldn't get his good leg under himself for support. Which left–

Stan let out a yelp as his full weight fell onto his injured knee, shooting rivulets of pain all the way up to his spine. And couldn't shift his weight off of it with how to chain dragged him out, so when his knee immediately buckled to save himself from the screeching pain, he had the new problem of the cuffs knawing into his already bloody wrists, which made him scream again and claw desperately at the chain and the hand holding him up until he was death gripping the chain in a half pullup. His arms were already shaking from the strain of it.

“DEEBY!!” He choked out. “Deeby! Deeby please stop, stop, I can't AUAGH–” He slipped and spent agonizing moments flailing before he got another hold again, moments in which Deeby didn't let up at all, despite Stan's amiable requests.

“Deeby you said–!” he could barely squeak out a phrase through the tear-blurred vision and gasping breaths and the sheer amount of concentration it took to focus through the already horrible aches and agony the clench onto the chain and hold himself up and not make it worse. “You said no torture! You– you said–! Let go! You said you wouldn't–”

“I said I wouldn't hurt you if you did what I told you to.” Deeby retorted nonchalantly, pulling back on the chain just a bit more and wrenching Stan even more off balance. “Which you didn't.”

“Let go–!” Stan tugged as hard as he could. No give.

“Repeatedly.”

“I can't–” Stan's voice cracked. His hands were on fire clutching onto the cold metal links. “I can't hold this, I can't, I can't, please let go-o, it– it hurts! Please!”

“That's the point, bud, it's a stress position. It stresses you. You’re doing great, chiquito, taking it like a champ.”

Little droplets of blood left bright red tracks down Stan's forearms as whines squeaked out from behind his gritted teeth in place of the full blown screams he refused to let out.

“I hate you.”

“Tell you what, bud. If you can shut up for just 30 seconds, no whines, no cries, no begging or grand sweeping declarations of feelings, I'll let you down. Deal?”

“That’s–!”

“Take it or leave it. Deal?”

“Deal–! Deal!”

“Great, now mouth-shut.”

Stan immediately squeezed his lips together as violently as possible and focused every single fiber of his being into holding himself up, keeping off his bad knee and not letting the cuffs scrape his arms to bone while also not squeaking in pain or cursing Deeby out. That may have been the hardest part of the entire balancing act. His muscles burned with the strain. His hands started to slip on the chain from the sweat, so he gripped harder, hard enough that his hands started to go numb. That was fine. Less pain, right? Was thirty seconds over yet? Stan just had to pray that Deeby would keep his word this time and actually only do thirty seconds. God he would give anything to just go home. See his family again. Be out of this hell.

Then a new, perfunctory voice shattered his fragile concentration. He'd been so laser focused hadn't even noticed someone else enter the room.

“Oh, did I interrupt an intimate moment? I can come back in ten minutes if you two wanna finish up.”

Stan’s grip slipped on the chain and he cried out, catching himself after an agonizing centimeter fall and praying to anyone that would listen that Deeby wouldn’t get mad at him for it. Though Deeby didn't seem to care too much anymore as his own grip holding Stan's cuffs loosened and a small growl ementated from the bottom of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Then Stan was suddenly freed, cuffs no longer held in the iron grip of a bounty hunter, and he collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

#whump #heroes and villains #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #captivity whump #trans whumpee #disabled whumpee #(un)official guide #honestly im pretty proud of this chapter #its very fun and good #and i feel like it flows really well #also #a new challenger has entered the ring? #who could it be??? #bad news for stan #thats who it is #dont worry i will give him some comfort eventually :) #but i meant it when i said this boy is gonna have to EARN IT #lets just say deeby is gonna feel bad for stan by thr time this guy leaves #and we're also gonna learn some new stuff anout deeby! #yay!

[whereonceiwasfire]

My one tired braincell has had a thought!

So, Danny's finally fed up with Vlad's crap, right? All the plotting, and scheming, and villain monologuing. Like seriously. The dude needs to get a hobby. Or a date. Wait. Yeah, Danny thinks. Maybe that's something. He saw the not completely dickish way Vlad was chatting up that reporter from the reunion. What was her name? Heather? Helen? Harriet? Yeah, Harriet! This is definitely something...

Danny proceeds to blatantly set these two up at every opportunity, in that slightly obnoxious, yet kind of effective way only a fourteen year old can. Yeah, yeah, he's the Fenton's kid and he'd love to answer some of Harriet's questions. He'll be at his Uncle Vlad's place. Whoops. Completely forgot. That was tomorrow he was gonna be over there. Oh well, now she's there anyway, it'd be rude of his uncle not to entertain her for a little bit, right? Danny makes big, sad, puppy dog eyes as he spins a sob story about how nobody can make it to the production of Hamlet his school is putting on. Maybe...Vlad and Harriet could come? And sit beside each other. Not that Danny's even in the play, but that's beside the point. Oh, oh, his parents have been wanting to have dinner with Uncle Vlad for ages. He should totally come this week. And bring that lady friend he's been spending so much time with. Oh, she went to their college too? What're the odds? Now she definitely has to come. It'll be fun.

Danny's not always around after he sets his little schemes in motion, after all, his plan wasn't to have to spend more time with his archnemesis. But he starts taking a more active approach when it doesn't exactly seem like his plan is working (little does he know, Vlad and Harriet are actually starting to get along, mostly bonding over the shared absurdity of being a single person in their 40s with a dating life so dismal a 14yo has to set them up).

Danny starts engaging in some not-so-subtle, matchmaking subterfuge to speed his plan along. He bumps into Vlad and/or Harriet from behind so they're standing close, sends waiters over with wine on Vlad's tab, knocks out the power so they're chatting by candlelight. He passes along compliments and presents the other person never actually gave to try to endear them to each other. It's especially difficult for Danny to come up with fake nice things Harriet said about Vlad, so they end up being weird, backhanded compliments like "oh, she wanted me to tell you that you don't look like a drowned rat man and she thinks your...uh...tie is......expensive." (Vlad finds it incredibly amusing to watch the boy try to find something nice to say about him so doesn't let on that he knows what's happening here).

This plan has kept Danny about as occupied as it's kept Vlad, but he's weirdly invested now. For some, unknown reason, it seems like Harriet actually likes Vlad. And Vlad doesn't seem like a total jackass when Harriet's around. And Danny can't give up now, he believes in the power of love. Or. Whatever. At the very least he's gotta see how this plays out because he figured it would keep the dude busy for a couple days and it's been months now.

Maybe he could somehow trick them into getting married...

#danny phantom #vlad masters #harriet chin #danny fenton #bad news #just a goofy little idea

[ashesandhackles]

HP re-read: Goblet of Fire (Part 3)

Chapter 31,32, 33, 35,36,37

Harry hearing the trial is important because it deepens the seed in him for wanting to finish the war. He thinks about how it was Voldemort who had ripped Neville's parents away, and why BCJ went to Azkaban with his mother fainting and his father asking him to rot. His world has expanded.

Ron being a bb and being like how the extra jinxes they learnt is good training for them being Aurors. I love how childlike his assumption is that this is what the three of them will end up doing. Always the three of them against the world. <3

ooh Harry's initial shield charm is weak. Set up for when it gets stronger later in the series - it's one of the spells he uses in the final battle, one that protects Molly from Voldemort's wrath.

Sirius sending daily owls and then giving Harry a muddy paw print as a good luck card. I LOVE HIM.

Fudge apparently looking stern next to Maxime, and her eyes being "rather red" while Hagrid kept glancing at her from along the table. What a subtle way of telling us what happened here.

Cedric raising his wand to shower red sparks for Krum after being tortured by him. This is a good moment, because Cedric doesn't know Krum is under the Imperius, and he could have just let Harry do it. But he also raises his wand along with Harry, right after saying Krum would deserve being eaten by a passing Skrewt. Nice character work.

Harry politely asking the sphinx to move <3

the chapter really sets up its imagery: a dark overgrown graveyard, a church, a yew tree, an outline of an old house on the hillside. The yew, in particular, because its associated with Voldemort. (we also see baby! Voldemort being carried into this setting by Peter)

there is also something about Voldemort's father's house overlooking the rebirth at the graveyard - the above/below positioning of it all. Such a strong image.

"blank and expressionless as windows of a deserted house": as we note earlier, Avada Kedavra is a spell that releases the soul from its container. So this specific imagery of a deserted house - a body that no longer houses its soul is very eerie, very effective.

every image in this chapter is horrifying: Harry tied to Tom Snr's headstone, baby!Voldemort at his feet, Nagini circling the headstone.

Interesting what was Voldemort's understanding of why his father left his mother: "He didn't like magic, my father", "the fool who gave me his name - Tom Riddle". We know from HBP that he pieces together a story from Morfin's account of what happened - and he thinks it's his father who gave him the "ordinary" name. Even with Voldemort's hatred for his father, it is him Voldemort assumes an active role for, and not his mother. His negative feelings are directed against his father.

"may your loyalty never waver again Wormtail": Voldemort does gift giving and rewards with implied threats. XD

"one who I believe has left me forever, he will be killed of course" : Snape. I would kill for a conversation between Snape and Voldemort, when Snape comes in two hours late.

Peter convinces Bertha for a night time stroll. Where is Peter's adventures in Albania before he returns to Voldemort story? He has been quite busy.

Voldemort Villain monologues the entire chapter. He is so overt with his immortality hints that I am surprised baby Reg is one who catches on. Speaks to his and Sirius' upbringing a bit.

"and now, you face me like a man, straightbacked and proud" : the crumbs we get of James Potter's characterisation and how Harry uses this taunt later to empower himself to fight. ("he was going to die upright like his father")

James arms Harry with knowledge of what he must do, whereas Lily's role is more to offer him comfort (its the nature of the books. Lily gains a more stronger role in last 2 books, whereas the first 5, James is central to Harry's development)

Harry leaps over the cup (his means of escape) to get to Cedric's body first - all this with a broken leg. What a pure boy. It is not only the fact that Cedric asked him to, but because he has also witnessed the desecration of a dead body in the ritual. He recognises it as a violation.

BCJ's father wound pouring out of his monologue, and the need Voldemort fulfills or one BCJ hopes he would fulfill is that he will be closer than a son, that he will be singular, noteworthy and special among Death Eaters in a way he wasn't to his own father.

@dragonlordette talked about how BCJ! Moody was in tune with people's feelings and she is right: the careful way he manipulated Cedric, Dobby, and planted a book with Neville well in advance shows someone who watches, catalogues people's behaviour, so he knows which buttons to push.

Rowling planting Snape's loyalties here: she emphasises Snape's face in BCJ's Foe Glass both when three of them burst the door open and once again when he enters to survey the room.

Crouch's mother's love as a destructive force that enabled the rise of Voldemort when she broke her son out and took his place in Azkaban. (love as destructive force is a theme that series plays with both in good way and bad way - and more overtly in HBP)

I love how seamlessly Dumbles, McGonagall and Snape work together. When McGonagall is losing it over the Dementor's Kiss, Snape sarcastically explains what Fudge has done (" he seems to feel his personal safety was in question" Imao)

Sirius spends all year obsessing over a plot in the tournament and that someone is out to get Harry, and he sees Harry in this state, his suspicions are confirmed in worst possible way. His hand shakes when he helps Harry into a chair .

Harry drawing comfort from Fawkes. <3

Sirius, noticing how Harry was avoiding Dumbles eyes, harshly tells Dumbledore that Harry needs sleep <3

the "gleam of triumph" in Dumbles eyes that set off so many fan forums when GOF first came out.

Sirius gets so upset when Harry mentions how James asked him to escape, so for the first time in the whole meeting, his face is in his hands. (instead of Harry's shoulder) In Sirius' eyes, he failed to protect Harry and James' ghost saves Harry instead. It is a reminder of his failure.

also hilarious that no one besides Madam Pomfrey questions the presence of an emotional support dog. (also like the best emotional support dog in question, Sirius growls at Fudge for insinuating Harry's liar. I would love to hear the cussing out Sirius is giving him)

Snape makes a "sudden movement" when Lucius' name is mentioned. Snape's feelings for the Malfoy family, despite actively working against them, is complicated.

also how throughout the altercation between Dumbles and Fudge, Mrs Weasley had to keep a hand on Harry's shoulder to prevent him from rising.

Another person who has had enough of Fudge in the scene is Snape. Snape showing his Dark Mark to the Minister of Magic is legitimately one of my favourite moments of him in the series. It's a stand he is making - and in rereads, his loyalty and commitment is clear as day.

Harry wants Sirius to stay. I love that Harry actually asks for what he needs when it comes to Sirius. BB :heart:

"He had no memory of being hugged like this, as though by a mother" AHHHHHHH.

ah Cho crying when they raise a toast to Cedric upsets Harry. He looks down in response :(

Impassive face Hermione = Hermione who has just been kissed goodbye by Krum. (also that Harry isn't surprised when Ginny later reveals that they did indeed kiss)

Ron asking for Krum's autograph makes Hermione smile, and him assuring Fleur her english is good enough already makes her scowl The range of emotions she experiences in this scene.

Harry asks the twins to buy a different set of dress robes for Ron and say they are from them. Harry learns how to be careful and sensitive with Ron's feelings. What a sweetheart.

#hp reread #harry james potter #sirius black #barty crouch jnr #severus snape #goblet of fire #lord voldemort

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Chapter 8] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words]4.6k

[Index] All Chapters | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Epilogue

[Library]

One for The History Books - Chapter 8: Surface Tension

You settle back into your old life quite easily, you think at least. You go to work, do your work, take extra time to help out the interns by proofreading papers, giving feedback on projects, taking extra files home with you to work through, volunteering to help out sorting the old files and photo backlog in the subbasement, you are absolutely not drowning yourself with work so you: a) don't have to think about how much you are actually hurting because you are not hurting, that's ridiculous; b) to have plausible deniability for why you are not turning in a research proposal about the mission. You're just so busy. You just keep forgetting to write that research proposal. Completely normal. It's not because you don't want to think about anything or anyone related to the mission, or because it would be unethical to write about a mission that you were hardly an impartial spectator of. And it's definitely because this breach of ethics could mean the end of your career if this ever got out, and you were still actively working on the mission report. Nope. Busy. It's about a month after you've gotten back from California, you're in a meeting with Riks and your boss, Birch. He's a stocky former marine colonel in his early sixties, still rocking a high and tight and a perpetually annoyed expression. He's leadership style is... efficient, that's the kindest word for it. Not taking any shit is probably more apt. He's currently sitting behind is desk, tearing into the research proposal Riks gave him. He's in his element, setting out his argument in a brusque voice with barely any breathing space, let alone back-talk. Behind you, one several interns are furiously taking notes of the feedback, hoping to pick up pointers on how to improve their own work. Riks is trying his hardest to look impassive, but you can tell he is annoyed. He doesn't like getting told he's wrong, and he likes it even less when it in front of subordinates. Birch concludes his droning monologue, casually sliding the folder over the table back to Riks. “Do better, corporal.” He concludes without ceremony. You know better than to react by cracking a smile. You keep your eyes trained on the desk before you. “Miss Williams...” Birch sits back in his chair. “I'd tell you to do better, but you didn't even try.” You purse your lips. “Why didn't you turn in a research proposal on the TOPGUN mission? I didn't send you to California to get a tan.” You swallow. Choose your words carefully. “I have decided I don't want to proceed with researching this mission. My time -” “Don't.” Birch cuts you off harshly. “Don't give me the spiel about how your time is better spent. That's for me to decide. I want an explanation about what you mean that you don't want to.” You shrug lightly. “I suppose I just don't like planes that much. I can't see myself spending the coming six months writing about an aviation mission.” In the corner of your eye, you see Riks go so wide-eyed his eyeballs are about to pop from his skull. Birch narrows his eyes at you. The back of your neck is prickling. You are getting nervous. Keep it together. Don't give them an inch. Birch can't make you do anything.

He suddenly slams his hand on the desk. “Everyone out!” He barks. Behind you, the interns are scrambling and Riks quickly gathers his papers. You start getting up from your seat slowly, maybe... “Sit your ass down, Williams.” Shit. You sink back into the chair. You didn't expect to get out of this easily, but you kind of hoped just not writing a proposal and doing whatever shit job Birch would punish you with would be the end of it. You expect to be put on public desk duty for a few weeks, answering emails and phone calls. Or some menial work like cleaning up the storage. But Birch clearly wants to grill you some more before meting out punishment. Birch has gotten up from his desk and is pinching the bridge of his nose, and he walks towards you. He sits down on his desk in front of you and looks are you wearily. “Look, Darcy...” His voice is suddenly a lot softer. “Staying on base and in barracks between sailors and marines cannot always be easy for a woman.” You blanch. Birch has never called you by first name, ever. “There's alcohol, unfamiliar surroundings—if anything... untoward happened during your stay at Miramar...” His voice sounds pained. “Nothing—nothing happened.” You choke out. Oh god, your face is burning at the implication. Have you been acting so off that Birch thinks you've been assaulted in some way? “I just... really don't want to work on this anymore.” You say empathetically. “You haven't been yourself since you came back.” He continues, undeterred. “Every report coming out of California is clearly your work. Good work, detailed work. And now...” You open your mouth to protest, but Birch just hold up his hand. “And now you go out of your way to avoid it, refuse to discuss it, bury yourself in anything but this mission.” You bite your lip. You knew you were being obvious in your avoidance, but you never thought Birch would care enough to call you out on it like this. “You don't even make an effort to one up Riks with a proposal, and that's not the Williams I know.” You sigh. It was never meant to go this far—you didn't want anyone to worry about you. You'll get through this by yourself, in due time. “Thank you for being so concerned about me, I really appreciate it.” You smile softly. “I have been... struggling with a few personal things lately, but it's unrelated to work.” It's not strictly speaking true, nor a complete lie. Just vague enough to be believable. Birch looks at you sympathetically. You didn't even know he knew that emotion, but you appreciate it nonetheless. “You have to tell me why you won't work on this project, Darcy.” He implores. “I don't need details, but I need to know if something happened-” “I just don't like planes.” You cut Birch off rather flatly. Or rather pilots, you think bitterly. “So I'm choosing to work on something else.” Birch's sympathy melts like snow in the sun. Oops. “If you are sticking to that bullshit explanation, Williams, you bet I have something else for you to work on.” He bites out. “The storage is due it's annual cleaning.” He gets up from the desk and turns to walk back to his chair. It's a sign you have been dismissed. You get up and start making your way to the door. Your heart is almost beating out of your chest—did you actually get through this? Is it over for real? “Miss Williams?” You turn around, schooling your features. Birch is looking up from his desk. “You are on my team, so you are my responsibility. My door is always open.” You nod with a polite smile. “Thanks boss. Have a good day.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey! Darce! Wait up - Darcy!” You're not really in the mood to chat with Leanne, one of the interns, after the dressing down you just got from Birch. But you also know she will be fishing for gossip. Archivists are naturally curious people—they have to be—and that usually extends to other facets of their life. Gossip in the archives, and the Pentagon at large, is like a sport. Everyone participates, even if they are only a spectator.

Some people gather gossip to find out weaknesses and get on over on others - Riks in one of those people. Others bathe themselves in every type of gossip just for the fun of it. Leanne would be a prime example of that. She's pretty and easy going, moreover she is one of the few people that actually likes working the front desk. She says because she enjoys talking to people, but in reality it's the best spot for gossip, because everyone and everything has to go through her there. “Hi Lee” You reply lightly. “What can I help you with?” You don't break your stride, needing to get to your office. Leanne speed walks up to you, with a look of concern on her face, but eyes full of curiosity. “What did Birch want? We were all so concerned!” She fires off. “He looked scary as he yelled at us to get out.” You chuckle lightly. “Don't worry about it. It's not the first time we've gone head-to-head.” “What did he say to you?” Too transparent, Leanne, too transparent. “That's classified.” You smile at her, as you stop at your office door, swiping your key card to unlock it. Leanne's face fall a bit. “Was it really bad?” She questions. “Leanne. It's classified.” You cut her off with a smile. It might not be classified by the DoD, but as far as you are concerned, no one here cleared to pry into your conversations with your boss or your private life. You might be friendly, but you are still a senior staff member, and your business is no one's but your own. “Let me get you a coffee—and I'll -” Leanne starts. “I think I hear the phone at the front desk ringing.” You interrupt her, not harshly, but firmly. “Bye Leanne!” You call over your shoulder as you swing your office door shut behind you. That girl does not know when to give up. She'll make a fine researcher, but you'd rather she not research you.

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

When it rains, it pours. You've been relegated to cleaning the storage, leaving you only a few hours a day to do your actual work—funny, also, how few interns are suddenly assigned to work in the storage. You spend most of your days alone in the subbasement sweeping, dusting, checking folders and putting boxes back in place. You don't mind that much actually, especially in the first few weeks. It gives you time to think, and finally try to rationalize yourself out of your mental mess. You're having mixed success, because having extricated yourself from anything to do with the mission, you still have to get your personal life back on track. Unfortunately, that means getting tested for STDs. You had unprotected sex with Bradshaw, which in hindsight, was so fucking dumb you can now barely believe you actually did that. What kind of spell did that man put you under that you would not only put your job in jeopardy, but also your health? For now, it's easier just to put the blame on him anyway—he's not here after all—instead of examining what led you to upend your whole life in a few weeks for a man you barely know. It would be an act of kindness to yourself to file this entire affair away with other deeply embarrassing stories (which are mostly from college and involve alcohol) and never tell another soul about it. You are thankful that you are by yourself in the subbasement when you receive the call from the clinic—it's a clean bill of health, which you consider a blessing at this point. This will have no more consequences for you if you don't let it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Birch seems to be hellbent to have you clean up the entire storage by yourself. It's been almost a month now, but he hasn't let up. At all. He gives you small tasks putting together reports for incoming information requests, but nothing spectacular—certainly nothing of the caliber you were assigned before. He sends interns your way to help them with their assignments, but at no point tells you are dismissed from the storage. He just expects you to find a way to get it done, which is as well, but shit.

Birch must be angrier with you than he lets on, because at this rate you'll be stuck cleaning that storage to the end of the year.

It's high summer and hot as hell. While the storage is climate controlled, it's a small respite when dragging around big boxes full of paper. Every day, you go home sweaty and sticky, to the point you've just started to keep a change of fresh clothes in your criminally underused office.

Today is one of the days you actually join your team for lunch—no use to keep yourself cloistered away all the time. Your appetite has been shot for a while now, and the current heat wave is certainly not helping.

And Corporal Cunt sitting across from you doesn't help with anything. Ever.

You are somewhat listlessly digging through your chicken salad with a fork, taking a bite here and there because you know you need the energy, rather than actually wanting to eat. You'll probably have a candy bar of some kind later, as sickly sweet confections seem to be the only thing you can consistently stomach.

“Darcy, what do you think?”

You blink as you completely zoned out from the conversation at the table. Eric, another intern, is looking at you expectantly.

“I'm sorry-” You smile. “What was the question?”

Riks snorts and mumbles something under his breath. Eric, on the other hand, is undeterred, and thrusts a file into your hands.  He excitedly starts talking about discrepancies between files and reports from a mission and how many different versions he has of one event.

“How do I know which one is the most accurate?”

“You don't.” You shrug. “At least not really. In this job, we only know what the files tell us, and we can infer how to fill in the gaps, but that doesn't make it the truth.”

“How do we even get so many different versions of one event?” Leanne cuts in. “I'm not talking about small discrepancies, but like- a whole different story?” She amends.

You thumb through the file idly, happy to be occupied with something but your salad.

“People commonly misremember in hindsight.” You pause. “And sometimes they just lie.”

“Why?” Eric has abandoned his lunch in favor of the discussion completely.

“Yeah, why, Williams?” Riks cuts in. “Since you are the resident expert...” He trails off on purpose. Your cheeks burn, but you refuse to look at Riks.

“To protect themselves or to protect someone else... sometimes because they can, and it's convenient.”  You grind out, done with this whole conversation now. Handing the file back, you start getting up from the table.

“If you'll excuse me...”

“Don't go yet, Williams.” Riks says grinning. You throw him a guarded look. “I wanted to ask how your new diet is going.”

You stare at him, daring him to continue.

“Seems quite extreme, no?” He says, gesturing at your half-eaten salad. You continue staring him down, half out of your seat already. Voice low, he continues: “So Bradshaw likes them skinny, then?”

It feels like someone just dropped an anvil on your stomach. You seriously consider tipping your lunch tray over Riks and his own too for good measure. Possibly beat him with the tray too. Your mouth sets in a hard line.

“Corporal, you are out of line.” You keep your voice even, not betraying how badly that comment got to you. The chatter at the table has stopped, and you are acutely aware you are being watched. Riks is still grinning.

“I will not have my professionalism and personal life questioned over a chicken salad.” Your tone is clipped. “Certainly not by you.”

Steadying yourself with your hand on the table, you lean over to him.

“If you had any proof of misconduct on my account, you would have taken it to Birch weeks ago.” You throw Riks a smile. You both know he has no proof of anything. Because there isn't any. He stares back at you, unfazed.

“You always take things so seriously, Williams.” Riks shrugs. Nice deflection, asshole. “It's almost as if...”

“Have a good day, everyone.” You cut him off mid-sentence, not wanting to be in his vicinity another second longer. Not looking around, you grab your tray and make your way to the cafeteria exit, absolutely seething.

You had actually been doing better. You actually managed not to think about Bradshaw so much anymore. Now your stomach is in knots and your legs feel like they have been filled with lead. You hate how much Bradshaw still affects you, and you hate even more how much Riks' comment got to you. It hurts to think Bradshaw probably never thought of you as attractive, but just as there. Convenient. Available. Willing.

Yeah, why would a guy like that go for a girl like you anyway?

You sigh deeply as you return to the subbasement. You haven't cried over Bradshaw since you got home two months ago, and you are not about to start now. Best to just get on with work. Time will heal all wounds.

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

When it rains, it pours.

It's early fall and still uncharacteristically warm for the season, and when you get out of bed that morning, you have a strange sense of foreboding. You dreamed of Bradshaw, which makes you realize you hadn't actually thought about him in a good couple of weeks. Nothing about the dream sticks with you in the minutes after waking, except for the fact that he was in it.

It's been three months and then some since you got back. The memory of him still puts a pit in your stomach, but it's smaller each time. You've filed away every memory and feeling of Bradshaw in a box in your head, tied it with a string, and pushed it into a dark corner. Sometimes feelings leak out, but they are no more than short, intrusive thoughts. This whole affair has taken more of your time, attention and sanity than it probably deserved, and you're done with paying it any more attention.

Still, the strange feeling you've woken up to makes you consider calling in sick. But Eric and Leanne need the feedback that you wrote for them, so they can finish their class assignments. Your sense of duty wins out as you roll yourself out of bed to get ready for another day in the storage.

Within the hour, you are convinced that there is a higher power that is trying to stop you from actually going to work today. First, your car's battery seems to have died. The bitch won't even sputter as you try to start it. Honestly, you cannot bring up the energy or care to pop the hood and try to figure out what is wrong. Not that it would be of that much use, you're not particularly mechanically inclined.

You suppose you could wait for one of your neighbors to help you jump start your car, but it's early enough you could take a bus too. You'll just deal with the car later. It's Thursday, so you're two days away from the weekend, and taking the bus you'll have some time to read at least. Keep a positive attitude. Just power through it.

As you a pulling your bag from the car, you see the bus pass by your stop down the street. Crap, that means you have to wait for thirty minutes for the next one. But hey, that also means you can stop by the little coffee shop on the way and get a nice cold brew to go. Or a latte. Maybe a croissant.

You'll make your own luck today.

Sure, you end up arriving at work later than you planned, but you also realize it doesn't really matter. You don't have any deadlines currently anyway. You join the line of people at the metal detectors to get into the Pentagon. You make small talk with the guards as they run your bag through the X-ray. Many people just walk through without as much as an acknowledgement, but you see these people every day. A little politeness goes a long way. 

Scanning your personnel pass to open the gates, you walk into the building to the elevators. Riks has been giving you a wide berth since your last confrontation in the cafeteria, but you are not particularly in the mood to run into Birch right now. You're clearly still on his shit list, and you don't want to give him more reason to keep you there any longer. Although you suppose you're the most overpaid storage attendant in the DoD right now.

You almost forget about the weird feeling you had earlier that morning as you get to work. You're working up a sweat heaving boxes that have been cleaned and sorted back onto the shelves. You are on your tiptoes pushing a box back with sweaty hands that you realize you should have really grabbed a ladder for this.

Straining, you put as much power as you can behind it, but the cardboard file box end up slipping down. You push back, trying to catch the box before it hits the ground—the momentum knocks you back on your ass and the edge of the box catches the bridge of your nose. For a second, you sit on the ground, stunned. You barely register that the box is a bit banged up, but intact, when your nose starts to gush blood. You yelp, using the sleeve of your sweater to try to stop the bleeding and for the love of god not get any blood on the files.

With shakey legs you get up, sleeve still pressed up to your face. Your breath is coming out in short bursts and your eyes are watering.

Bathroom. You need to get to the bathroom.

Mercifully, the hallways are empty—most people have gone to lunch. You slip into the nearest ladies' room and survey the damage. The thin light gray knitted sweater you were wearing is pretty much ruined. The right sleeve is covered with blood. It was old, which is why you were wearing it, but you still liked it.

Your nose seems to be okay too—it's sore, but definitely not broken. God, you hope you don't get a bruise from this. You don't think you're concussed, either. You could go to Birch, explain what happened, and take the rest of the day off to go get checked out. Or not. You're fine.

Splashing some water on your face, you use paper towels to clean up your hands and face. You consider getting changed—you have a clean shirt in your office, but then you'd have two sweaty tops and a bus ride home ahead of you.

In the end, you decide to just roll up your sleeves, hoping the stain won't be so obvious. Between your car pooping out that morning and this, you really hope it's the end of the bullshit for today.

You try to take it easy for the rest of the afternoon, working on lighter boxes and not attempting to put anything away on higher shelves. The bridge of your nose is sore, but nothing that you can't handle. You are over today, though. The faster it's over the better, so you can go home, take a shower and crack open a cold beer or something.

It's going on 4:30 PM when you gather up a pile of files that needs sorting and start heading up to your office. On the way, you refill your mug with hot coffee, needing a final boost for the last leg of the day and the journey home.

Walking past the front desk, you notice Leanne isn't there, but you think nothing of it. There's a pile of mail behind the counter. Balancing your mug on the files in your arm, you quickly rifle through it, making a note to ask Leanne to sort the mail as soon as she gets it. You pick out the envelopes addressed to you and add them to the pile in your arms. Your office is not far, and you hope you can slip into it unnoticed and get changed before anyone catches you. You are really not in the mood to explain the blood, and you're not just really in the mood to talk with someone at length when you are sweaty and sticky like this. Your hair is pulled up with what you are sure is a messy as hell ponytail by now, and your hairline is itching from the sweat. Not to mention, you're probably covered in dust. Home, shower, cold drink. In that order. When you reach your office door, you realize you have probably taken on a bit too much. Using your free hand to dig in your pocket for your personnel card to unlock your door, you end up pulling out your phone and some pens first—adding them to the precarious pile of stuff you are holding. Finally unlocking the door, you push it open with your shoulder. You freeze in the doorway. In the next second, you lose grip on the files you're holding, scattering them on the ground. Your mug shatters on the tile floor at your feet, spewing droplets of hot coffee at your ankles and over the papers. Your phone hits the ground with a resounding bang, but you barely register any of this happening. It's like time has stopped around you while your brain is desperately trying to parse the image your eyes are seeing. Rationally, you must have a concussion, because you are clearly hallucinating. Because why else would he be here?

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

[note] I've gotten so many amazing comments on the last chapter, and I cannot describe how happy it made me people are still enjoying the story! Thank you so so much for the kindness and support everyone <3

[taglist] @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc

[shreya11111]

Mike CANONICALLY said his life started the day they found El in the woods. This is canon. He really said that. He really loved her at first sight. “but but when he was 12 he wanted to send her away.” Yeah but his love confession makes clear his TRUE feelings at the time. 12 years talk shit and say things they dont mean but you can see it in his eyes how much he has always loved her. You attack the monologue from all angles with your delusions but canon is CANON, and canon is TRUTH. Mike said he loved El 9 times, dammit. Period. And the monologue made grown men cry on YouTube and everywhere in the real world because it shows what real, mature love looks like. Y’all are just jelly he didn’t monologue to a boy. This is misogyny, plain and simple. Y’all want El to be unloved so much, it makes me seethe

you seem to want to emphasize on what's canon a lot, so...

let's talk about canon

throughout the show, here are the things we see to be 100% canon:

1. mike showed no indication of "love at first sight" when it came to el in season 1

gentle reminder that this is a tv show and not real life – yes, 12 year olds can say & do stupid shit that don't reflect how they actually feel, but since this is a tv show, the writers have to give at least SOME indication of the character's true feelings at the time to clue the audience in. they can't just not build that up and then randomly spring it on the audience later on. it doesn't work like that.

2. mike says to will, in the same episode as the monologue, that meeting el was "not fate, (it's) not destiny, it was simple dumb luck".

first of all, destiny/fate & love at first sight go hand in hand. it is destiny, by chance that you meet someone and instantly fall in love with them. mike saying that it wasn't this, and it wasn't destiny/fate just show that it WASN'T actually love at first sight for him.

3. mike made the conscious choice to ask if he could be will's friend the day they first met

this contrasts the midleven meeting which mike describes as "simple dumb luck". it's not something he had control over. whereas, with his and will's relationship, it was something he had control over.

4. mike could only say "i love you to el" after being peer-pressured by will

this is fact. this is canon. you literally can't say otherwise.

5. mike hyperfixates only on el's powers during the monologue, and does not say a single other quality about her.

even throughout the show, the only traits he compliments about her are superficial things that don't show that he knows anything fundamental about her. apart from her powers, he compliments her on her looks.

6. midleven never once has a successful heart-to-heart, while byler has had several

this is interesting because all the likely endgame couples have had heart-to-hearts before. so interesting indeed that midleven has had none.

7. the vines tighten around el's neck until she looks at max

mike's monologue wasn't even effective lmao- all he did was waste the time el could have used to save max. it was seeing max nearly die that gave el the strength she needed. NOT mike's bs monologue.

8. there were zero memories/flashbacks that played during the monologue except for when they first met

this was also a factually accurate thing mike said, and warranted a flashback (most likely to jog the audience's memories of s1). after that, however, there is nothing. they could have included some cute midleven scenes in the monologue but NOPE.

9. there were flashbacks/memories that played for el of her time with max.

funny how there were no memories or flashbacks of midleven during the monologue scene but there were tons of flashbacks for her and max.

also, there is the fact that several of the memories of elmax that played was extremely anti midleven like "not hopper, not mike...you" and "there's more to life than stupid boys". midleven is bones.

10. mike said he loved el "9 times" but not one seemed genuine

the first "i love you" in itself seemed forced, and came right after will yelled "you're the heart!" at him. it shouldn't be THIS hard for him to say ily to el if she is about to die and if the ily could potentially save her. it shouldn't take will pushing him for him to finally say it.

11. mike has been able to give a monologue before that was 10x more genuine than the milkvan monologue

season 2, will is possessed and we have mike give the iconic "do you remember the first day that we met?" monologue. he actually shows some ounce of emotion unlike the midleven monologue.

12. el is not unloved. she is loved by hopper, joyce, jonathan, will, max, lucas, dustin.

el doesn't require romantic love to feel loved and valued, quite frankly because romantic love isn't the only kind of love, and certainly isn't the only kind of love that deserves to be valued and cherished.

you guys throw the word "misogynistic" around so much that it's starting to lose meaning. what misogyny really is is wanting el to rely and depend on a man for her strength and value. misogyny is wanting el, someone who has spent majority of her life in a lab outcasted from society, to rush into a relationship with a) zero concept of what a romantic relationship actually entails and b) not knowing much of anything about HERSELF.

in order to know what she wants and requires from a relationship, she needs to know who she is and what she wants for herself first.

y'all want stranger things to be superficial so bad, it makes me seethe.

#byler #byler tumblr #byler nation #byler is endgame #anti midleven #anti m*leven #anti milkvan #midleven #milkvan #midleven anon #midleven bones #anon ask #shreya answers #anti mike's monologue #st4

[tonys-fav-bitch]

Plot Twist || Reader x Moonboys

Moon Knight AU

Part 8

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: In which your boss sends you to keep an eye on a possible avengers recruit. You’re tasked with following him, figuring out who he is, and if he’s good enough for the team. That’s it. But it’s never that simple.

Warnings: None (I don’t think?) it’s really just a story full of fluff.

STEVEN WAS STOOD in his flat, staring into his mirror before he took a seat on his bed. His mind was reeling. He was undeniably falling for you and that made him excited and scared. But one thing - technically two - were stopping him from advancing any further.

Marc and Jake.

They deserved to meet someone who would potentially be with Steven and their body. They wanted to meet you, they were dying to. Your sweetness and innocent nature called to them like a siren song. They wanted you to know them.

Well Marc did.

Jake was more hesitant.

Jake thought of himself more as only a protector, not someone to involve himself in Marc and Steven's life, but he couldn't deny he was enticed by you.

"Should I tell her?" Steven asked aloud, as if someone would answer him from within the room.

"Do you want to?" Marc's voice floated in his head.

"I - I do." He stuttered, his stomach churning with nervousness.

"You think she'll accept it - us?" Marc continued.

"Will you tell her about Khonshu?" He asked another question.

"Whoa - whoa. Let me just find a way to tell her about us first, mate. . I think she will. ." Steven stopped his alter, who huffed.

Jake was quiet as he normally was, not weighing in on the matter. If it were up to him, he wouldn't tell the woman, no matter how much he wanted to. Jake's life revolved around danger, something he couldn't justify bringing someone else into. He already unwillingly brought Steven into it.

Steven wanted to hear what Jake had to say but it was hard to get him to communicate. All three were still getting use to each other. Jake lived life alone for so long, doing his job for Khonshu. Steven and Marc had no idea he existed and he planned on keeping that way, until he screwed it up. He felt guilty most days.

"I'll do it. . I'll do it. I just need to figure out how." He assured them.

"What do you say? Hey love, I really like you and by the way I have two other personalities inside my skull that would love to meet you." Steven could imagine Marc's scowl perfectly.

"Eh something like that. Just gotta find the right time, y'know mate?"

"She's never going to talk to us again." Marc uttered in defeat.

☽ ♞ ☾

You held your phone close to your ear as you listened to Peter ramble on. You loved the kid dearly, but he tended to go on tangents. He was intensely discussing his plan to take MJ out on a date, which you were happy to hear about.

It was about time he made a move.

"So do you think that's a good idea?" Peter's voice brought you back to the conversation. You hesitated as she tried to remember what he had just said.

"Are you even listening?" He huffed like a small child, making you laugh.

"Yea, yea totally. Whatever you do, I'm sure she'll love it, Peter." You assured him, avoiding the fact that you did indeed zone out during his monologue.

"You think?"

"I know." You replied.

A sudden knock at the door caught you by surprise. Peter silenced himself as he listened in.

"Who's that?" He asked. You could picture his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide with curiosity.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me - use your Peter tingle." You laughed, earning a small shriek from him. He hated when people said that.

You got to your feet and padded your way over to the front door, swinging it open to reveal a smiling Steven. Your face immediately mirrored his own.

"Hello love!" He said enthusiastically.

"It's a DUDE?!" Peter screeched through the phone.

Your cheeks immediately reddened and you hurriedly ended the call without saying anything to the boy. Steven laughed and gave you an inquisitive look.

"Who was that?"

"Uh, just a friend. . being annoying." You said it as if Peter could still hear the word you used to describe him.

"Anyways, come in love." You moved out of the way to let him in.

"Bollocks, I would love to. . but I have to head out for a bit. I stopped by to uh, ask you something." He told you.

You slightly frowned at the thought of not being able to spend time with him for the evening. But you figured he - or rather Marc, would be up to some Moon Knight adventures tonight.

"Awe, alright. What did you want to ask me?" You tilted your head slightly.

The man gave you a nervous look, rubbing his hands together. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His beautiful brown eyes were wide and he bit at his lip.

"Steven?" You gave him a questioning look, snapping him back to reality.

"Oh uh, yea. . I wanted to. ." He took a breath before continuing.

"I wanted to ask you on a proper date. ." He shyly announced, his cheeks burning. You beamed a smile at him, your stomach doing small flips at his words.

"I would love that, Steven." You replied, sending a rush of relief through the man's body.

"Really? Wicked!" He grinned like a child on Christmas Day, making you chuckle.

"Wicked, indeed."

☽ ♞ ☾

You were sat on your balcony, wrapped in a blanket to shield you from the bitter London breeze. Your phone was laid beside you, ringing over and over again.

Fury wanted an update, wanted to know if the woman closed in on any new information on Moon Knight. But, in all honesty, you didn't want to deal with him at the moment. Your mind was focused on the upcoming date with Steven. You found yourself wanting to protect the man from joining shield and the avengers at this point. He seemed so normal, you didn't wanna ruin that for him.

You wondered how long you could avoid your boss before he lost it. You weren't sure how long but you were certainly gonna test it.

It had been so long since you'd been happy and open to dating. You had never felt that click with someone. . until now. Of course your luck would have it happen during a mission - to a man you were supposed to be spying on. You were supposed to find out his secrets, report back to Fury, and that was it.

But when did your missions ever go as planned?

☽ ♞ ☾

#marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #fanfic #wattpad #marc spector x you #au #jake lockely x reader #steven grant x you

[mediocre-daydreams]

hi! I want to make a request for your 100 followers extravaganza if thats okay? also congratulations ofc!

“you- you’re beautiful.” + “nobody’s ever told me that/said that about me before” for mcu!Peter Parker x fem!reader. Maybe like, hurt comfort where Peter has a huge crush on reader and he notices that reader is insecure about the way she looks? like, comparing herself to other people.

@daydreamdrive05 !! thank u so much for this precious request, i ended up putting a lot of my old internal monologue/experiences for reader sdkjfshdlfj and had peter discussing body neutrality, as that was what really helped me overcome my own insecurities <3 i hope u enjoy!!

𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

peter parker x insecure! stark!reader

summary: your insecurities get the best of you when you're expected to be the perfect stark daughter. (hurt/comfort fic)

w/c: 2.7k

notes: insecurity surrounding body image, facial features, beauty standards, public image. no specific features or body types mentioned, but reader wears makeup.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

smile for the camera. read off the prewritten notecard. ironed blazer, steamed blouse, pressed slacks, polished shoes. your image, your dad’s image, the company’s image, the avengers’ image.

there’s no “daddy’s money shopping spree” or romantic masquerade balls or even prom queen; not for you, at least. it should be easy, right? you could technically have anything money can buy—a rhinoplasty for your birthday, a gucci purse to replace your old backpack, or a private quinjet, if you begged. but image. image was what ruled your world.

you had to be polished and just as intelligent as your genius father, you had to accomplish the same or more than he did at your age, and if you couldn’t, then you’d better slip into the background. you could already feel yourself slipping; how could you compete? you hadn’t revolutionized nanotechnology, you didn’t have super soldier serum running through your veins, hell, you couldn’t even talk to a boy! well, one boy in particular.

“you excited?” peter bounced beside you on the couch, sending you up and down as well.

“you already know the answer, pete,” you sighed, crossing your arms and leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling.

“yeah, yeah. company galas suck, i know, but i’ll be there this time!” peter chirped, resting a comforting hand on your elbow that made you shiver.

“that just means we’ll both be suffering,” you grumbled. you rotated your head to look at peter, who was still grinning optimistically, so you rolled your head back around.

“aw, c’mon! they’re boring, but you get to wear fancy clothes and pretend to be important. it’s kind of fun messing with businessmen; i think i’m going to try and get someone to invest in my company. my… digestive biscuit brand.”

you snorted, unconvinced. “trust me, once you’ve been to a few, it gets old. you just feel stupid. and unimportant. like, the key word being pretend. you pretend to be important and clever and promising and people eat it up because all they smell is another profitable venture, but at the end of the day, you know it’s all an act and it just reminds you how worthless and feeble you are in comparison to everyone else in your life.”

but you didn’t say that. “hot take: i love digestive biscuits. they’re the perfect snack food.”

peter looked at you like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard,” he grimaced. “i can’t be around this low vibrational energy right now. i need to cleanse my aura with my selenite wand before the gala; i don’t want to manifest bad investments.”

you stared at him with wide eyes and gave him a slow, singular blink before the two of you burst into laughter.

“right. you do that,” you wheezed, “and i’ll start getting ready. you’re so lucky, all you have to do is like, put on deodorant and pick out a tie. i have to shave and i’ll probably nick myself or one of my muscles will cramp up, then i have to do my hair and it’ll pull on my scalp and i’ll have a headache for the rest of the night, and then i’ve gotta do makeup but it can’t look ‘cakey’ but it also can’t look to natural or i won’t look ‘formal’ enough, then i’ve gotta squeeze into a dress that’ll probably prevent me from walking properly, accessorize, but not overboard but also not too safe, because stark’s daughter would never be caught looking basic…”

you didn’t say that either. “alright starseed, you have fun with that. i’m gonna take a shower and contemplate everything i’ve done in my life to lead up to this moment.”

your shower ended up being an hour long because you couldn’t reach the back of your legs and slipped while you were transitioning from using your body oil and body polish—you thought you might’ve bruised your tailbone, but that was a problem for later—and then you forgot a towel, so you spent a good five minutes hyping yourself up to run out in the cold.

you weren’t the most adept at makeup, which was inconvenient considering you had been breaking out from stress recently. it turned out that you’d gotten slightly tanner, which meant your foundation shade no longer matched, so you had to get creative and mix up a concoction of makeup products that made you feel like a kid brewing up a potion made of mud, leaves, and mysterious sticky substances.

doing your hair made your arms cramp, as usual, and you’d taken two double-strength advils in preparation for the inevitable migraine that came with the territory of female “professionalism.” you went through a couple of dresses—you’d been photographed in too many skirts and pantsuits recently, and stark’s daughter would never outfit repeat—before finding one that didn’t highlight all your insecurities.

were you going to contrast your jewelry or keep it monochrome? one big statement piece or multiple delicate ones? would silver or gold complement your undertones and the color of your outfit? should you keep it traditional with the pearl necklace, or embrace trends and get creative?

sometimes you wondered if the mirror in your room was one of those funhouse types that warped your reflection. why were you so… off? your torso to leg ratio was all disproportionate, your head was too big for your body, your nails were so wide and not dainty and almond-shaped, your ankles jutted out too much, your smile looked stupid, and you looked like you were trying too hard because you were trying too hard.

“peter?” you squeaked, head whipping around as you heard the door creak open. peter looked smart in a well-fitting suit, a silk tie in hand as usual for you to help him with. he combed his fingers through his hair nervously, and you noticed his failed attempt to slick it back with gel. you smiled.

“hey, you look- wow- just- beautiful, like- wow.” peter grinned, too caught up in his dopey appreciation to be embarrassed by his stuttering. 

“i can’t believe you’re my date…” he whispered, before slapping a hand over his mouth. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! we’re not dating- that’s not even what i meant; i mean, we’re not going as a couple- except as a couple of besties! ha! uh, no, i meant that we’re not going like, as a plus one, plus two situation. is that how it works? you’re not my- i’m not your plus two. one.”

you laughed nervously. “if anything, i’d be your plus one. you look fantastic, pete.” you really did mean it. waving him over, you rested your hands on his cheeks, which were warm under your touch.

“you’re real blushy today,” you mumbled.

“sorry i’m so gah,” peter fretted, waving his hands around, “all over the place right now. it’s just, i’m standing really close to a beautiful girl and i’m nervous so the blood is rushing to my face because that’s a bodily response people have when they’re near somebody they’re attracted to,” peter rambled.

peter squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath.

“there’s no need to be nervous. i’m not beautiful,” you laughed. “i’m the one who should be all flustered. i’m standing in front of a superhero, this precious, kind boy who thinks way too highly of me and i just- i don’t know what i did you deserve you.”

“what?” peter sounded incredulous, cupping your cheeks and examining your eyes intensely. “did you say you aren’t beautiful? what?” peter scoffed. “why would you ever think that?”

your covered his hands with your own, gently releasing his fingers from your skin. “nobody’s ever said that to me before, so.”

peter frowned as you pulled back from him, stepping closer to the mirror so you could examine yourself closer. what’s even the point of primer if your pores are still huge? the mascara said it was a precision wand, so why are my eyelashes so clumpy? oh god, my right eyeliner wing is at a different angle than my left one. i swear i plucked my eyebrows, so why do i still-

“what’cha thinking about?” peter interrupted your racing thoughts.

“uh, what shade of lipstick i should wear.” you gestured to your obscenely large lipstick collection. “it looks like a lot, i know, but if you’re being photographed outside, you have to go with a warm or cool tone depending on the weather, and if it’s an older audience, it’s safer to go natural, but depending on the dress code, you have to vary the pigmentation from a true nude to a “is that her natural lip color or is that makeup?” shade, and then you also have to consider lip liner and if you want it matte or glossy and-”

“wait, what?” peter eyed the lip products warily. “are you joking, or is this serious? because i genuinely can’t tell right now.”

you must’ve said that all out loud.

there was no point in lying now. “no, i’m being serious. i wish i wasn’t, though,” you laughed bitterly. “and i’m not sure what shade to wear tonight or if i should do lip liner, because defined cupid bows are out right now but i’m not sure if it’ll look like i’m too young and trend-obsessed if i go with the new looks or if going with something classic will only enhance my age and make me stick out in a bad way, y’know?”

peter gaped. “i- no, i don’t know. is this like, normal?”

you nodded glumly. “well, for me. my dad’s mutual friend’s senior associate has this daughter who’s like, perfect. i swear, she’s got this glowy skin and she says she doesn’t even have a proper skincare routine, and she’s not too tall or too short and she’s got the ideal measurements to be a model, and she just looks happy all the damn time and i just- god, i wanna cry every time i do- do this,” you choked, unable to hold back the frustration and tension that’d been building in the past hours you’d spent picking apart every insecurity and flaw that you had and trying desperately to cover up.

“w-what? no, don’t cry,” peter panicked, glancing around the room like dora would jump out with her talking backpack and illegally domesticated monkey and point to whatever he needed to fix the situation.

he hesitantly reached out to you, unsure of your comfort level, but your hand darted out to clutch his as soon as you’d seen it. your grip was tight and your palms were clammy, and peter’s brows pinched. “hey, d’you wanna look at me?”

you shook your head sharply, taking another shuddery gasp. “i’m ruining my mascara,” you mumbled, tilting your head until it was parallel with the floor so that your tears would fall freely and not touch your face. 

you whimpered. “i don’t want you to look at me. i don’t want anyone to look at me. god, i wish i could just- just take an eraser and get rid of my entire face until it was just blank. if there’s nothing there, it can’t be good or bad. i’d rather have nothing than look like this.”

“baby, there’s no such thing as good or bad faces. they’re just different faces. like, i have this wonky eyebrow,” he chuckled, “and it isn’t good or bad, it’s just my wonky eyebrow. and i’ve got thin lips—if i have lips at all, i guess—and that’s not good or bad, that’s just the size of my lips.”

you sniffed snottily, but your breathing began to steady. peter took that as a sign to continue.

“and your dad’s mutual business partner’s best friend’s daughter probably feels the same way you do.”

you snorted disbelievingly.

“i swear! you said she wasn’t too short or too tall; well, maybe she stands in front of the mirror and thinks, ‘i wish i was shorter so i could wear high heels,’ even though anyone can wear high heels. maybe she thinks, ‘i’m trying to eat more so i can become more muscular, but whatever i do, my body won’t change?’ there are a million—no, infinite—ways that someone can find insecurity in themselves. but, y’know, people create all these beauty standards because they want you to feel insecure so you’ll buy their things. and once you achieve whatever messed-up standard they’ve set, they’ll just change it. then you’ll have to keep buying and buying and it’s this horrible, endless cycle.”

you pulled your hand from peter’s and dabbed cautiously at your eyes to dry your tears and avoid smudging your makeup. when you looked up at peter, your eyes were bloodshot and your eyelids drooped with exhaustion.

“hi, pretty girl.” peter smiled softly, placing two grounding hands on both your biceps. “there’s that face i’ve been missing.”

you scoffed with no real malice. “you saw my face literally ten minutes ago.”

“yeah, well i really like it, okay? and i felt unfairly deprived.” peter followed as your eyes flickered down at your shoes and you started bouncing nervously. 

“hey, it’s just the two of us right now. forget about the lipstick flavors and stuff. what if we don’t go to the gala? we could just stay here and… exist, i guess. also, this shirt is also really itchy and the tag is digging into my skin, so i’d appreciate an excuse to skip. i can just tell mr. stark i vomited… uh, on your dress. ‘cause i got food poisoning. so we both couldn’t go.”

you covered your face, the tips of your ears warm from all the care and attention peter had been showering you with, but you ended up giggling at peter’s preposterous lie. “yeah, actually- exist sounds good. uh, what does that entail, exactly?”

“i have no clue. we just do… what we do. and the first thing i’m gonna do is lose the shirt. is it okay if i, y’know, take off my shirt?”

you tried not to look too eager as you nodded. “and i’m going to strip from the dress, if that’s okay. not like, strip. i’ll just- ugh, you know what i mean.”

peter was thankful he’d turned around so you couldn’t see the raging flush crawling from his neck to his ears. “uh huh, that’s good, yeah, sounds like a really good plan.”

he paused. “also, do you have, like, pants?”

“um, none that’ll fit you. d’you want a… blanket?”

“…yeah.”

you slipped into a large shirt—the kind that fell mid-thigh and hung loosely, not revealing the shape of your body, and you sighed in contentment. you tossed peter the blanket and threw yourself back onto the bed.

you patted the area next to you, and peter awkwardly maneuvered to your side while trying to cover himself for your sake. you laughed. “at this point, you don’t even have to cover up if you don’t want to. uh… exist, right?”

peter bit his lip to hide his smile, proud of you but also thankful that he wasn’t going to have to hold a towel around his waist for the next however-many hours he’d spend with you. “no good or bad bodies, right? you’re not going to judge me for my pasty european legs?”

you shook your head, amused. “no good or bad bodies. just different bodies, right? and for the record, i like your pasty european face. it’s… cute. very, um, lovable.”

you slipped under the covers, relishing the coolness of the fresh bedsheets and the feeling of your smooth legs against the comforter. you lifted the blanket so peter could crawl in and tried not to combust as you watched his delicious, mouth-watering muscled body which was average for an avenger tuck in beside you.

“i like your face too. it’s very, um, kissable,” peter grinned, speaking in the same tone as you had.

you pursed your lips together, suppressing a huge grin. “it’s ‘very, um, kissable?’” you breathed. your heart was pounding, and you assumed that with your close proximity and enhanced senses, peter was able to hear it.

“yep. very kissable. and i know i said that there’s no such thing as good features or bad features but i think that maaaaybe… maybe your face is the right face, y’know? for me.”

you laughed with a heavy breath from your nose and shook your head ever so slightly. “shut up, peter, and kiss my right face already.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

peter parker masterlist | main masterlist

taglist:

@yourallihave @bambamwolf87 @cowboibeepbeep @im-a-slut-for-fluff

#peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x stark!daughter #peter parker x you angst #peter parker x you fluff #peter parker hurt comfort #peter parker x reader hurt comfort #peter parker x avenger! reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst

[sweetbillwriting]

In Another Universe (Love Just Happens)

I'm Sorry - Part 5

Description: In another universe didn't Bill become an actor and Aurora Lou didn't get her record deal but as soulmates they meet also in this universe but have other struggles.

Setting: This story is set in a parallel universe to my story Love Just Happens about Bill Skarsgård and my original character Aurora Lou.

Characters: Bill and Aurora is the same characters but because they have other experiences are they a bit different from the original story.

Warnings: 18+, age difference, ageism, cheating, jealousy, talk about weight, sexism, mentions about sexual abuse.

Bill really tried to not look at Aurora. He pretended she wasn't there and gave the reading all his attention. He actually succeeded quite well even if he could hear her giggle sometimes. When he heard it, it spread like a warm feeling in his chest that was both pleasant and painful. He didn't know how he could control himself for three days but he succeeded and if someone had noticed him staring at Aurora the first day it was forgotten now because he was his normal professional self.

“We want to thank you for these days and we will see each other in a month. I guess Bill will be even thinner then and Aurora even more beautiful,” said the showrunner Frank, another one that Bill had talked to, and gave them both a smirk. Bill gave him a small smile while he heard Aurora giggle. He wondered what she thought about the fact that her looks always came up as a subject, it had happened several times and he had noticed some of the cast had reacted too. Another thing everyone also had reacted to was that Aurora's acting skills were mediocre, to be kind. None of the actors gave their all, it was just a reading, but she didn't even seem to know where in the line the emphasis should be. Everyone probably thought it, she was just there as the pretty face.

“But Aurora, you had something to say,” continued Frank and all eyes suddenly were on her. She smiled and stood up. She looked a bit nervous but tried to hide it by putting her hands on her hips.

“Well, if you are still in New York tomorrow I have arranged a night for us at this club I worked at. Everything is already paid for and it will just be a fun time!” She said, like she was the best kind of seller. She wore a short beige plaid skirt, a black crop top and the lace adorned stockings she used to wear.

“A burlesque club,” said the showrunner that always sexualized her and wiggled his brows. Aurora smiled sweetly. Bill strained to smile because he knew he couldn't go, it wouldn't be right. He looked at the other actors and saw some think it was fun but others looked uncomfortable.

“You don't need to come, I will not take offense,” said Aurora with a smile but Bill could see so well that she would take offense. He could still read her but also knew how sensitive she was. Several people started to say they would come, mostly the guys.

“Me too,” he heard himself say with a smile. Aurora looked at him with an unreadable expression but she looked at him straight in the eyes. Bill regretted at once he had said it but he also wanted to be a part of it, especially when he heard even the women say they would come. Most of the production and the cast would be there.

Aurora smiled relieved while looking at them all.

“Nine o’clock, I’ll send the address to you all and then all that’s left is to show up.”

×××

Bill stood and waited at the car that would pick him up while playing with his phone. He had just said goodbye to two of the producers. He pulled his bomber jacket closer to his body. It was the end of August but it had already started to get colder. He looked at political articles, American, Swedish, shifting fast between them so his inner monologue was a mix between the two languages. He jerked when suddenly a motorcycle hummed to his left. Curiously he looked up and saw the red sporty motorcycle. He gave it a long look until he realized it was Miles sitting on it with Aurora standing next to him. He looked away quickly. He shouldn't look at them, he didn't care, even if he thought the bike was quite ugly. If he had one… If he could drive one, he would have had something more classic, maybe a cruiser model. Easy Rider style. He heard Aurora's giggle again and lowered his eyes down to the ground. Couldn't the car just come?

He stood with his head low for a while but looked up when the motorcycle drove away. He took a deep breath relieved. He knew he must get used to having her around but right then and there it was still so new. He looked around, searching for the car but instead he saw beige plaid. Aurora's skirt. She wore just a white cardigan over her outfit and it looked cold. That feeling of protectiveness he had always felt by being with her woke up again like it had just been asleep in his chest. He looked at her checking her lipstick in the phone camera. He had his moment now. Carefully he started to walk towards her but on purpose he dragged his feet a bit when he came closer so she would hear him and not get startled by his presence. She looked up at him but looked away fast with pursed lips.

“Hey…” he said nervously and dragged his sweaty hands over his hips. He waited for an answer for a few seconds but when it had been silent a bit too long he understood she wouldn't give him anything.

“Emm… It's nice to see you. Have you cut your hair?” He dragged a hand over his face. He sounded stupid as hell. He broke her heart and here he started with talking about her hair. He took a deep breath and took a step to the side so he could see the profile of her face.

“Lou… I'm so sorry… What I did to you… It was-”

“Shut up.”

Aurora turned to him and looked up at him with a hard look. Even if she was so short, Bill felt instant respect.

“Don't start with that bullshit again. Don't come to me here and try to be some fucking good guy.”

Aurora looked away again and Bill dragged his hand awkwardly over his neck. He hadn't thought she would be happy but he wasn't prepared for the anger either.

“Okay… Ehh… Ehh… We must make this work somehow…”

Aurora was quiet and crossed her arms. He could see she was cold with her way of standing with her shoulders pulled up to her ears.

“We will work together, have scenes together. Make it seem like we like each other…” Bill continued. He watched her in silence until he heard a car. It was his ride and he sighed. It was nice to be able to flee but he needed to talk to her. He gave a little wave to the car but then looked at the empty parking lot. They were alone, he couldn't just leave her there alone.

“Do you have a ride?” He asked her thoughtfully. This was the first thing he said she reacted in a different way to. She looked around a little and played with her nails nervously.

“My friend should come, but he hasn't answered for a while…”

Bill nodded a little and tried to wave away the thought of what gender she had said.

“Are you going into the city?” He gave his car a look just so the driver should wait. Aurora looked at Bill now but then looked down.

“Yeah…”

“You can go with me if you want? I’ll just drop you off where you want.. Nothing else. We don't need to talk or anything…”

Aurora looked up at his kind eyes and sighed deeply. It was obvious she wanted to be angry and keep distance but didn't want to be alone either. She nodded a little and together they walked to the car.

They sat in silence together in the backseat. Aurora looked out of the window while Bill looked down at his sneakers.

“Will you come tomorrow?” She suddenly said and Bill looked up at her.

“Emm… I don't need to?” He said and looked down in his lap.

“It's okay… You should be there. As the lead and all…”

Bill looked at her and finally got to look into her Bambi eyes. He felt his heart beat hard and he smiled a little.

“Thanks…”

The driver drove up to her hotel and Bill gave it a look.

“You don't live in New York anymore?”

She shook her head while taking off her seatbelt.

“I moved home to L.A. again.”

Bill nodded but could feel hundreds of questions push around in his throat. He couldn't ask her but the curiosity really wanted to take over, but also have an excuse to keep her by his side.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said with a strained smile and walked out from the car. She closed the door before Bill had the chance to answer.

He sat with his mouth open, looking at her go towards the entrance of the hotel. The short skirts movement and the shine of her dark hair. He made a sound of frustration and threw his head back.

“Your ex?” Said the driver and looked back at him amused in the rearview mirror. Bill looked back at him with furrowed brows and nodded a little as a reflex. He couldn't at all understand how the driver could know that.

×××

A burlesque show was much more than sexy dancing, all sorts of performers stood on the stage but with costumes and arrangements with vintage aesthetics. The group from the series were 26 people that sat around several round tables in deep red velvet chairs. Bill looked around at everyone enjoying the night Aurora fixed for them. They had probably not believed it would be so fun and liberating to see girls taking off their clothes. Or some were probably prepared for it being the night of a lifetime.

Bill wasn't surprised Aurora had succeeded to fix a magical night full of decadence and playfulness. While he talked with one of his co-stars, a woman his own age, about her background as a stunt double the audience started to scream.

“Lou! Get that ass up on stage!”

“Lou!”

All eyes were suddenly on Aurora. She sat with Miles and Dan, the man playing her father. Her hair laid in perfect ‘40s waves and was dressed in a black corset dress with a short voluminous skirt.

A man jumped up on stage. Bill recognized him as the bartender from the last time he was there but now the man was without a shirt and showed off his many old school tattoos.

“Aurora?” He said in the mic and waved with his hand towards her. “You owe me this!”

Everyone around the table looked at her and the showrunner Frank began to applaud and shout with the other men.

“No! I'm here with my colleagues!” She shouted back to the tattooed guy. Bill looked at her curiously. He could see that she didn't want to do it but was probably prepared for it to happen.

“Come on, Lou!” Said Frank and got some of the other men to start to cheer too. Aurora rolled her eyes jokingly but walked up on stage.

“You know, she didn't audition for her role…” whispered the guy next to him. His name was Tucker and he would play a cop. The woman next to Bill, Nathalie, leaned forward to hear what Tucker said.

“Really? I don't think any of us are surprised… She seems to be new with acting…”

Bill swallowed hard. He sat in the middle so he couldn't pretend like he didn't hear.

“Frank really likes her if you get what I mean… I checked up what she has done before and she has just been in like music videos and been a background singer…”

Bill wanted to say something because what Tucker accused her of she would never do. He felt his ears heat from anger. She had such awful experiences but got accused of such things just by getting some attention.

The music started and Aurora began to sing a pop song arranged into a jazzier tune. Everyone became quiet, her talent did that to people and Bill noticed he even held his breath. She danced sexily but in a more modest way than she had done when she worked there. Bill looked at her hypnotized. He just saw her and forgot about everything else. Her smiles and flirty ways made him remember all the playful moments with her. Her doe eyed looks made him remember all intimate conversations and her voice gave him the warm feeling in his chest only she could give him. He was still in love with her. He missed everything with her, her kindness, her calmness, her optimism, her fire.

When the song had ended and she walked off from the scene he looked between her and his wedding rings. They were a bit loose because he had started to diet for the role. They were easy to take off and he often chose to not wear them because he felt he would drop them.

Everyone praised Aurora and she smiled a bit embarrassed. Bill just smiled towards her. Their eyes met for a few seconds and he smiled bigger.

It didn't matter if she wanted him or not, like he had thought before. His feelings weren't right to have when he was married to another woman and made the decision while looking at Aurora playing with her pearl choker. He would start the process to divorce from his wife when he came back to Sweden. It was bad timing but he had kept up the charade way too long.

×××

New York’s nightlife had woken up and people walked past Bill on their way to crowded clubs. He took a smoke with the director but also two other men who had been sitting next to them. It was nice coming out, for fresh air he often said, but he mostly thought it was easier socialwise to talk over a smoke than sitting in a club.

They talked about the president, the political climate in Sweden but also the club. One of the other men had worked there a few years back as a security guard and had nostalgic feelings for the place.

“And there is this place’s only real superstar, Lou!” He shouted when she came up from the stairs from the club.

“Johnny!” She screamed and threw herself around his neck with a bright smile. Bill could see she was intoxicated. Johnny lifted her up in his arms but put her down when the hug was over. Bill had looked down at the ground awkwardly but realized when he looked up that Miles was with her and got help to light his cigarette by their director.

“Do you want one?” Asked Johnny and reached out his cigarette pack towards Aurora.

“No, no. But thank you,” she said in a flirtatious way that made Johnny and the other guys smirk while Bill took a deep drag on his cigarette.

“You were great up there,” said Johnny to her and laid an arm around her waist and the other agreed. Bill smiled but looked down at the ground.

“Thank you, but it feels like I interrupted something, you can continue,” she said and smiled a bit awkwardly. All of the men made sounds like they weren’t talking about anything special and Aurora looked a bit uncomfortable. Bill looked up at her and realized she probably thought they didn't want to share it with her but in reality they had all forgotten what they talked about when such a beautiful woman stood with them.

“How are you, Bill?” He heard her say while he stood in deep thoughts.

“Hm?” He looked at her and could feel his mouth get dry and the butterflies in his stomach break free from their cocoons.

“Are you okay?” She asked kindly but he could see that she was intoxicated by her eyes but also in the way she moved her shoulders. The other looked at them interested, especially because Bill was the only one with rings on his finger. The director looked at him with big eyes and a playful smile. It was obvious the showrunner had told him about his and Aurora's history.

“I'm good… How are you?”

“I'm fine… Did you like my performance?” She asked with a giggle. Bill smirked a little and got lost in her big eyes. He was also a bit intoxicated and his eyes started to greedily take her in.

“You were amazing…”

Aurora giggled and dragged her fingers over her collarbone. The others had seen it as some sort of entertainment but then the director had signaled them all to move away so Bill and Aurora could be alone. The two of them didn't really see a difference because they were already so lost in each other that for them, there wasn't anyone around. Bill leaned against the brick wall while continuing to look at her and he could see she did everything to be attractive in his eyes. She played with her hair, pouted her lips and moved sensually. Bill just gave her his hooded gaze with a teasing smile. He laid his hand on her waist and pulled her closer to his body. She pushed him away but with a smile so Bill believed she just wanted to tease. He didn't think longer than that, even if the gold from his rings shone from the streetlights.

“I know you want me…” said Aurora teasingly and Bill licked his lips, preparing them for kisses. “But you even have your rings on. You will never ever come close to me again….” She said but with the same teasing smile. Bill smiled back at first, not really understanding what she said but also because the blood from his brain had started to travel to his groin. When he registered what she said, and understood, his smile dropped fast.

“Lou…” his hands hugged her waist but she just put her finger over his lips. She knew so well what power she had over him and used it well. She let her finger drag down from his lips to his chest and moved sensually from side to side in his hands. He took his chance to touch her waist and hips and she let him but after a while she took a hold of his hands and looked up at him again.

“This filming will be a hell for you. Because, maybe you never loved me… But this…” she dragged a finger over the imprint from his erection, “I reaaally have power over. You're just like any other man after all,” she said and then let him go. Bill looked down at her with a beating heart. He couldn't even say what he was feeling because he hadn't expected this at all. She continued to stand just in front of him, checking her lipstick in her phone camera and corrected her tits in the corset bodice. Bill was horny, he wanted to push his cock against her and play with her tits but her words said no so sharply. She would never forgive him.

“I'm sorry…” he said again desperately. He sounded pathetic and several people around them could hear him grovel.

I'm sorry Lou…” she looked up at him from her phone and smiled condescendingly. Bill looked at her face closely. He could see the hurt feelings in her eyes, how her lips moved by holding her emotion in check.

“That's sweet of you but I don't see any reason to forgive you,” she said and gave his rings a glance. Bill nodded a little and swallowed dryly. It wasn't like she didn't have reason to feel that way. She shook her head to herself when Bill stood quiet.

“You never even answered my texts… You just disappeared to Sweden…” she whispered so no one else would hear and looked at him with glossy eyes. Bill furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What texts?”

Aurora laughed unamused.

“I really didn't think you were this ignorant… Such an asshole…” She moved away from him and to everyone's surprise she just walked away from the club on high heels and left them all there, even if it was her night. Bill looked after her with big eyes. His heart was still beating hard in his chest but now in the rhythm of anxiety. He was an asshole. Just the biggest asshole. What texts did she talk about? He didn't believe he had forgotten anything of their break up, all of it felt like it was carved into his intestines.

People surrounding him looked at him but everyone with different faces. Shock, curiosity, amusement but also distaste. Everyone seemed to have heard them and soon everyone connected to the series would know that he had an affair with Aurora and broke her heart. He closed his eyes for a few seconds before going down the stairs to get his jacket. This was a catastrophe and it didn't feel like he could save this. He should have just kept that proposal he gave Aurora their first night, he should have just married her at once, then this mess never would have happened.

×

#bill skarsgård #fan fiction #bill skarsgard #writing #bill skarsgård writing #story #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction