How Did I Not Hear About France Banning Hijabs? What’s Going On?

Born In Flames || Chapter Seven, Part One

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: Minor character deaths, non-con (no explicit details, just mentions), blood, torment, slight disassociation, kidnapping

Word Count: Both chapters together are a bit over 5K

Authors Note: So this chapter got dark, and long. So it’s split up into two parts. I’m putting the same warnings on both parts as well, though the second part is slightly less dark but still heavy.

Born In Flames Masterlist

Part Two

Reblog & leave some feedback!

You were cold. Freezing, actually.

Stripped down to the bare minimum clothing, every week being used to send photos.

Pierce hadn’t stepped foot inside the cabin since then. Men were stationed all around it, though only two would stay inside with you.

To say all pride went out of the window was an understatement. You didn’t get to use the bathroom with the door closed. Sleeping in a bed? Not allowed. You were only given an oversized shirt to sit around in.

They didn’t care about you. They cared about the check and making their boss proud.

And every week, Bucky and Michael grew more and more frustrated with the lack of findings. Michael kept reminding Bucky that he needed to calm down due to his surgery. He was still healing but he was going nuts without you. The only solace he found was every Saturday when a photo of you would be sent. It was marked with the date, a piece of paper that you held. Each week, there were new bruises and cuts on your skin. Each week, Bucky found a new reason to rage. He wanted to make them all feel the pain they were putting you in.

On the business side of things, Pierce was using you as leverage to get a hold of all of Michael’s dealings. The trading, the drugs, the guns, all of it. Michael tried to fight back but he learned early on that if he did, you received the brunt of it. He was sent videos of you being beaten, called names, tears streaming down your face.

Bucky broke the door when he saw it. His fist went through to the other side.

He had been staying at your place since then, even talking to Miss Liz every morning. He gave her some lie about how you were off visiting family and you weren’t sure how long you’d be gone. She accepted it, though she was probably too stoned to even think farther on it since you told her once that you don’t speak to your family anymore.

Weeks turned to months, the snow hitting hard. Each morning Bucky woke to see your paintings that sat on the shelf, his phone still not being sent any good messages. They tried to track your phone but it was off, probably broken and left on the side of some highway. They tried to track the photos but nothing seemed to come up and Pierce’s men were smart about where they drove. They knew when they were followed.

Michael started not to trust any of his men except Bucky. He thought Jasper was just a single rat but now that Glen had become one, he didn’t know who he could talk to.

So he talked to Bucky. The two of them tried to figure everything out. Hiring detectives was not an option, especially in the mafia business.

Currently you sat on the end of the couch, curled up around yourself. The men had already done unspeakable things to you. Things you never thought you would be worried about. Both men in the house had forced themselves on you time and time again. You taught yourself how to not be in that moment. To lose yourself in your head and not think about the man between your legs.

You thought about Bucky. When you slept, when you were awake, you thought of him. The few hours he held you while you slept. The way he held your face after the first shooting and how he took care of your ear. The way he allowed you to cry against him after your nightmares. He never once got angry with you. He dealt with your moods and the stupid guard dog name you gave him. You wished you could take it back, to tell him he was more than a guard dog just once more. He was kind and gentle, even allowing you to touch the arm he hated so much.

It was a Saturday, and you knew it. Stanley, the other man who was at the house with you and Glen/Matthew, got up from his chair and pulled out a switchblade from his pocket.

“New orders. I guess Michael isn’t listening very well,” he smirked, taking a seat next to you. Glen pulled up a wooden chair and sat in front of you, phone out and ready to record.

You were ready for the punches, the spitting, the raping. But when the knife slid against your skin, your eyes widened. “D-don’t,” you whispered, your voice broken. Your left eye was black and there was another dark bruise along your lip where it had been previously busted open.

Stanley chuckled darkly and pushed the metal into your skin, causing you to yelp in pain. You tried to pull away but Stanley’s free hand reached up and gripped your throat. “Stay still,” he spoke.

You squeezed your eyes shut as blood started to drip down the side of your thigh. Words started to appear, letter after letter, as you whispered in pain.

New Years.

Michael had until New Years to sign over everything or else you would be killed.

What Michael didn’t know was that they planned on killing you regardless. Everything that happened between Alexander and your mother was put onto you. A woman who was only a baby when she left him. A woman who didn’t want to be a part of the mafia at all.

Glen/Matthew zoomed in on the blood before your face, then shut the video off. Stanley gave your already wounded cheek a slap before getting up. “Go clean yourself up.”

Slowly you stood up, holding your breath as your thigh stung. The carving wasn’t super, super deep, but it didn’t stop bleeding for a few minutes. Making your way into the bathroom, you stepped inside of the bathtub and sat on the edge. Running the water, you hissed as it touched the open wounds. Tears fell as you tried to contain yourself.

All you wanted was to be home, curled up in bed with your bad television shows and unhealthy snacks. You wanted Bucky to be there and laugh as you made some silly joke. God, you missed that laugh. He didn’t laugh enough in the time you two had and you knew now he wouldn’t even smile. You didn’t have to be psychic for that.

Once it was as clean as it was going to get, you grabbed a cloth from the linen closet and held it against your thigh. You couldn’t find any gauze or bandages, so an old washcloth would have to do the trick. You just hoped you wouldn’t get an infection. Who knew where that knife had been before.

You sat back down on the couch and stared at the floor, disassociating once more. You often found yourself doing it to calm your mind. Crying gave you a headache and if you could get lost in some world in your mind where you were happy, then that’s how it had to be.

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky and Michael were sitting in his office when the video message came through. Michael opened up the email on his laptop and Bucky leaned down beside him.

The moment they saw you, how you screamed in pain, Bucky was ready to tear the office apart in rage. The metal plates on his arm whirred as he tried to compose himself. They were used to seeing your face beaten and bruised, but they hadn’t carved into you like that. A message was being sent through your skin.

Underneath the video was a little explanation about Michael handing everything over before New Years.

This was the last straw.

Bucky stormed out despite Michael calling out to him.

It was an unspoken rule not to go to the mafia bosses house. Every mafia boss adhered to it.

But Bucky wasn’t the mafia boss.

And he was about to use all of his training to get you back.

It took a few days to plan out, and by now you had been stuck in that cabin for six long months. He could tell by the photos and videos that they weren’t feeding you properly. You were nearly skin and bones. He devised a plan and decided to carry it out on his own. Even if he was killed, he just couldn’t sit around and do nothing while you suffered.

At about one am, Bucky found himself creeping around the outside of Pierce’s home. He had disabled all of the cameras so it didn’t alert anyone of movement before slipping inside. Did Pierce really not have any guards around? How stupid was he? Bucky lurked in the shadows of the home, only seeing one guard pass through a hall. Using a gun with a silencer, he shot the man and grabbed him before he could make a thud. Shoving him into a closet, Bucky then kept going through before finding Alexander's bedroom. Pushing the door open, he whipped out his gun and pointed it right at the man.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked, stepping inside.

Pierce didn’t seem phased, setting his book down and pulling off his glasses. “Didn’t hear you come in. Smart, I suppose. But did you really think this would be the best course of action? One simple call and she could be dead before you even try to pull the trigger.”

Bucky aimed at the nightstand, shooting the phone that sat there before aiming it back at Alexander. Pierce sighed and stood, though Bucky didn’t move.

“It’s nice that you’ve come to save her but you’ll never actually find her. I’m not dumb enough to keep her here. And good luck trying to find her in any of my properties. It will take far too long,” Pierce chuckled.

Bucky stared at him, trying to figure out his game. Was he trying to kill time? Distract him? Quickly the gun pointed down and he shot Pierce’s arm.

Apparently Pierce didn’t actually think Bucky would shoot by the way he looked at the man.

“You’re nothing but a coward,” he said as he gripped the old man's neck. “You’re going to take me to her or I’ll make sure you don’t leave this room alive.”

Pierce tried to pull away but Bucky gripped tighter. Pressing the barrel of the gun to his head, Bucky glared.

“Okay…I’ll take you,” Pierce said, holding his hands up.

Bucky watched him for a moment, trying to see if Pierce was going to try anything, but he pushed him to the door and kept his gun pressed to the back of his head the entire time.

Pierce led them to the garage and got in one of his expensive cars. Bucky sat in the passenger seat, never wavering his aim as Pierce drove. Anytime the man spoke, Bucky would quickly tell him to shut it. He had nothing left to hear. All he wanted was to hear you and make sure you were alive.

Pierce only hoped that his men were stationed where they were supposed to be. Five on one wouldn’t be too hard for them to get a good shot at Bucky, right?

Right?

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @kaaabiii @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @valsworldofcreativity @yaszx @21st-century-daydreamer @doll1917 @luxeavenger @hallecarey1 @booktease21 @supernatural-love14 @bookstan0618 @pastamomma @broadwaybabe18

Thena x Autistic reader?? Reader has bad memory, talks at bad times and has tics? Tics that are like random head movements and saying things randomly? Sorry, just tryna make it so I can relate to it if you do end up writing it🏋️‍♀️

Hey! So I’m going to try my best at writing this, but I’ve never done Thena or an autistic reader, nor am I autistic, so if any of this is offensive, I really apologize and please call me out on it!

But here it is! Hope you enjoy it @whyisgam0raa

Let it be Known

Pairing: Thena x autistic! Reader

Warnings: protective Thena, mean Ikaris, overall pretty fluffy

Summary: Thena is very protective over you

You were a part of the Eternals, you could control water and ice. Most of the team liked you, most being everyone but Ikaris, he had something against you, and you weren’t sure what.

One day during a meeting with the team about a problem with the humans, that day your tics were really bad, possibly due to stress from the problem. Your head would make random movements while others were talking, you could tell it was making some people a little annoyed, mainly Ikaris, which made you a little embarrassed but Thena smiling at you from across the table when she saw you were, made that feeling go away.

Ikaris was in the middle of proposing what he thought the solution to the problem was when you blurted out, “the blue on your suit is made from Woad, Isatis tinctoria.” Your hand flew to cover your mouth, knowing Ikaris absolutely hated when you would blurt stuff out at the wrong time due to your tics. He glared at you, and you mumbled an apology. “You know what? Why are you even on this team?!? It’s obvious that your autism is affecting the productivity of this team and you really shouldn’t be on it! Those stupid tics of yours are just causing more problems!” Ikaris was full on yelling at you, but it was just making your head jolt more and more.

Thena jumped up and summoned her sword and shield, “you better shut up now unless you want this in a really uncomfortable place.” He glared at Thena but backed down. You ran off and Thena ran after you, leaving Ikaris to get chewed out by the rest of the team.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s alright, come here,” she moved to comfort you. “Ikaris is just being mean and an ass, it’s not true, I promise.” “I like you, a lot,” you mentally face palmed yourself, why did it have to be at this moment you blurt out your biggest secret. “I’m so sorry,” you quickly stated as soon as you saw Thena’s confused face. “I don’t know why I said that, I mean it’s true, but like you obviously don’t like me back so I probably just ruined our friendship.” You were rambling, you both knew it.

To stop you, Thena leaned over and planted a kiss to your lips, you immediately kissed back. After a little, you both separated, “what was I saying,” you laughed, only half joking. “Oh, just that you’d love to go on a date with me this Friday.” She winked at you, and you blushed, “sounds good to me.”

Double Trouble

Pairing: Oscar Isaac x Reader x Pedro Pascal

Fandoms: Oscar Isaac, Pedro Pascal

Summary: You’re on your period, and your boys wake you up for some fun. The three of you end up having more fun than even they intended.

Warnings: Smut, graphic depictions of period sex, double penetration, a non-Spanish speaker trying her best with google translate

Keep reading

Coffee and Bagel.

Word Count: 2.5k

Category: Angst-ish, fluff

Warning: curse words

Summary: Overprotective!Chris and pregnant!actress!reader get swarmed by paps and Chris loses his shit when reader almost trips.

Follow the couple's life here.

..

You loved going on short walks ever since you became pregnant.

The swelling of your feet was always very frequent, and it was why you didn’t favor walking and standing on them for too long, especially since the big bump you carried around not only strained your ankles, but your back as well.

“I can’t remember the last time I had coffee,” you said, fixing the big t-shirt you were wearing that rightfully so belonged to Chris, but since your marriage, what was his was yours, and what was yours, was yours. 

“You deserve that treat,” Chris said from his place on the floor, tying your shoe laces.

You hummed, one hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, “You know, I’m so ready for the baby to be here,” you said, “Need my caffeine so bad.”

Chris chuckled as he stood up, “I think it’s not just caffeine you need,” he said, “I think–I think you miss having good back days.”

You groaned, “God, yes,” you cradled your bump, “And not having you scolding me for, I don’t know, going up a step or something,” you giggled, teasing your husband who rolled his eyes at you with a smirk.

“You do dangerous shit, Y/N,” he reasoned, “You do!” He confirmed when you laughed, “Like–Come on, stepping on a chair to get turmeric from the shelf?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he pointed at himself, “Why else am I here?”

You gasped dramatically, “Oh-Oh, so you’re just here to bring down stuff now? Never mind the woman that you got pregnant, never mind her feelings. Never mind that she needs some loving on, some affec-”

“Stop, stop,” Chris laughed, wrapping his arms around you before he pecked your lips a couple of times, causing you to giggle, “And I’m here to love on you,” he said, “Also I wasn’t the only one who got you pregnant. If I–If I remember correctly, we were both o-”

“We’re not going to talk about it,” you shook your head, “Absolutely not.”

He laughed before pressing his lips against yours, “Ready to go?”

You hummed, fixing your hair, “Let’s go before you decide I need to be on bed rest or something.”

“Actually–”

“No,” you put your hand on his mouth, “No.”

With your statuses, you and Chris almost always expected paparazzi taking your pictures and trying to get any answers and statements out of you. 

With your fingers intertwined with Chris’s, you walked on the sidewalk, only 5 shops away from your coffee place, and already, 3 men were in front of you, walking backward so they could film you and your husband.

“We should’ve brought the car,” Chris said quietly, his hold tight on your hand, and his body stiff as if he was getting ready to attack at any given moment.

“I miss walking to get my coffee,” you told him, fixing your sunglasses on your face, “Are you okay?”

Chris smiled softly, removing his hand from yours so he could wrap his arm around your shoulder, “I am. Are you?”

You nodded, keeping your face down from the paparazzi.

“Y/N, Chris, do you know the gender of the baby?”

“Y/N, you’re looking big!”

“How far along are you?”

“Are we going to see you on the big screen again soon?”

“Y/N, how do you feel about Chris’s new projects?”

You took a breath, concealing yourself against Chris before he stepped a little to the side, finally opening the door to the coffee place and letting you get in before him.

The soft mummers could be heard, and you could always feel when the phones were out, “discreetly” taking pictures of you and your husband. 

Chris’s hands were on your shoulders from behind as the both of you walked to the familiar cashier you had befriended two years ago from how frequently you and Chris got coffee and bagels from that place.

“Hey, Omar,” you beamed at the 20-year-old boy.

“Hey, man,” Chris also greeted with a smile, “How’s it going?”

“Hey, you two!” Omar grinned, “These assholes giving you a hard time out there?” He nodded his head towards the door at the paparazzi.

Chris sucked in a breath, “When are they not?”

You glanced behind you at the door before your eyes widened, “Fucking hell, they got more.”

Omar shook his head, “We’ll help you get back to the car, no worries.”

“We walked,” you said with a small chuckle, “Bad idea.”

“Oh shit,” Omar made a face, “You can Uber though.”

“That’s a good idea,” Chris agreed, “What do you think, honey?”

You shrugged before letting out a huff, “I just want my coffee and bagel.”

Both chuckled, before Omar spoke, “The usual?”

You and Chris nodded as you leaned back against Chris while putting your hands under your bump to support it. 

Chris paid, leaving a generous tip for Omar and his other colleague, Mona, before the both of you moved to the side, him pulling out a stool for you to sit on before he stood beside you.

He glanced back at the door, a sigh leaving his lips as his eyebrows furrowed in exasperation. Your hands moved to clutch his t-shirt from the sides, making him look at you, “We can get an Uber,” you told him, sensing his anxiety.

“I wanted you to walk like you wanted,” he said, looking at you in defeat with a tilt of his head.

You shook your head slightly, “It’s okay. Just another LA day,” you said, “I’ll walk as much as I want when we go to Boston after your press is done,” you assured him as you looked up ay him, “Loosen up, will you? We’re fine.”

Chris only sighed, wrapping his arms around you to bring you in a hug, his lips pressing a kiss to your head. He pulled away, his hand instantly finding your baby bump, bringing a smile to his face, “Hey, bubba,” he cooed, softly rubbing your bump.

You smiled, one of your hands reaching up 

to softly graze his arm as you looked down at your 7-month bump.

“Hollywood!” The barista called out the name that she and Omar had created for you and Chris, sliding your drinks before giving you your cream cheese and salmon bagel.

“Thanks, Mona,” you smiled at the hijabi, taking your order from her.

“Any time, Hollywood. You have a good day,” she waved at you with a beam.

“You, too,” Chris smiled at her before she went back to her job, “Do you want to drink here or do you want us to leave?”

“Let’s just leave,” you said, wiggling your butt to get off of the stool before Chris was quick to hold on your waist, a worrying frown between his eyebrows as he helped you down. You let out a breath, “Even getting off a stool is a huge deal.”

Chris only chuckled, watching you take your bagel out of the wrap to take a bite, “Oh shit, the Uber,” he muttered, taking his phone out to request a car, “Come on, let’s sit you back down.”

“No no, I’m fine,” you assured him with a shake of your head, opting to lean on the chair a little.

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

Chris thought that the universe was working in his favor because the moment he requested an Uber, it was only 2 minutes away.

He raised his eyebrows, “Two minutes.”

You hummed as you chewed, nodding at your husband as you stood straight before swallowing, “What’s the car?”

“It’s,” Chris smirked, tilting his head at you, “It’s a Honda Civic.”

With being the highest paid actress in the industry, with brand deals, and high-grossing movies, no amount of money could have ever made you let go of your hatchback 2008 black Honda Civic. Sure, that beat-up baby remained parked at your other house, but you clung to it like it was a child.

That explained the way your face beamed, making Chris burst out laughing, wrinkles by his eyes as he threw his head back a little.

“Don’t shit me,” you grinned excitedly.

“I’m not, baby, I’m not,” he laughed, showing you his phone.

You giggled, “It’s like—It’s like finding a missing sibling.”

At that, Chris laughed again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him, his hand stroking your head softly for a moment, “You’re actually crazy, you know that?”

“It’s a good car,” you reasoned, pulling away to look at him, “It’s super comfortable, and it’s—it’s, like, spacious but also compact. It’s just so perfect.”

“You’re a dinosaur for still having that car.”

“Says the person who had an iPhone 6 in 2022,” you replied back, teasing him with a raised eyebrow.

“It was a 6S,” he raised a finger, giving you a look as he put one hand on his hip.

“Oh, I’m sorry, so you’re not that much of a fossil, right,” you nodded jokingly, laughing when he poked your side.

“He’s here,” Chris announced, looking at his phone, “Here, let me take your bagel,” he offered.

You frowned, moving the bagel away, “But I want to eat it.”

“While we’re walking?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay,” he chuckled, rubbing your bump, “I’d rather not piss you off.”

“Good boy,” you teased, leaning to peck his lips after you had stood straight.

Chris linked your arms together, his smile falling from his face at the sight of the paparazzi who seemed to triple outside.

“Don’t let go, okay?” He asked.

“Do you need help?” Mona asked, “I can get Omar to help,” she said, pointing at her colleague.

“That’d be—That would be great actually,” Chris replied.

Omar and Mona were quick to switch, with the former hurrying towards you, “Let’s go, Hollywood,” he said as he pulled the door open, reaching his arms out, “Get back! Get back! Get back—Habibi, you’ll hurt someone like that, lak ya Allah!” (Love, you’ll hurt someone like that, oh my God!)

Omar, a bearded, tall 20-year-old wasn’t enough to handle the invasive men with cameras, and even though you kept your head low, and Chris had his other arm in front of you, you felt like you were close to crying and you probably had the pregnancy hormones to blame.

“Y/N! Chris! Is it true you’re getting a divorce?!”

“What are you going to name your baby?!”

“Chris, is it true you cheated on Y/N with Ana de Armas?!”

It was when Chris felt your body halt and turn that he quickly looked at you, noticing one man getting too close in your face.

“Can you take a step back, please?” You had respectfully asked, blocking your face with your arm.

“Hey! Hey, get the fuck back, man, get back,” Chris frowned, putting his arm between you and the man.

“I just want a shot, come on,” the man replied.

“I don’t care about your shot, get away from her,” Chris instantly replied back, his tone stern and getting louder, the veins in his neck looking prominent. 

It was what happened next that seemed to happen in a blur that had your heart dropping to your stomach.

You took two steps forward with Chris, and the next thing you know, your coffees were spilled on the floor, your bagel was lying upside down, and Chris had both arms around you, preventing your fall from tripping on another paparazzi’s foot. One of your hands instantly went to your bump while the other clutched on to Chris.

“For fuck’s sake!” Chris shouted, shielding you with his body, motioning with one arm while the other was behind him, wrapped around you, “Get the fuck out of here!”

“Calm down, man, it was just an accident!”

“She almost fell, dipshit! If you don’t move the fuck away, I promise you won’t have your jobs by noon,” he pointed, watching as everyone got quiet, “Get. the fuck. back! Is that so hard? Is that so hard?” He shouted before they quietly made a path for you and Chris.

Your husband turned back to you, holding your hand tightly in his, “Eyes on me, baby,” he said with urgency, “You okay to walk?”

You nodded, “I’m okay.”

Chris nodded, moving in front of you with one arm out and the other behind him, holding your hand before you reached the car.

He opened the door for you, “Easy there, let’s go, baby, good job, baby, that’s it,” he almost cooed as you got in before he followed beside you.

He quickly took out his wallet, and looked at you when you sniffled, “Give O something for the spilled coffees, too,” you muttered, rubbing your temple, knowing what Chris was about to do.

Chris took out $600, the only amount he had in cash, giving them to Omar who closed the door for you and Chris, “Thanks for the help, and sorry about the mess, man.”

“Really sorry, O,” you said sympathetically, genuinely feeling like you were seconds away from crying as you cradled your bump.

“That’s too much, Hollywood,” Omar shook his head at the both of you.

“It’s not,” Chris said, “Come on, just take them so we can leave these little shits.”

Omar reluctantly took the money, “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile, “I’m okay, O. Thanks for the help,” you said. 

“I promise we’re working on the back entrance,” he said, a frown on his face.

“It’s alright,” you replied, “We’ll see you later.”

Omar nodded, waving at the both of you before your driver drove off.

“Should we stop at the hospital?” Chris asked you gently, turning his body to the side slightly as his eyes ran over you, checking for any bruises or any sign that you were hurt.

You shook your head, your eyes going tearful, “I’m okay.”

Chris noticed, his heart breaking and his face falling before he brought you into his chest, “Honey…”

“My bagel,” you cried.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing your back, “I’ll make you one, how does that sound?”

“Not the same,” you cried again, “But—But thank you.”

At that point you were sobbing, holding on to Chris for dear life.

“You’re okay,” Chris mumbled to himself more than to you, “You’re okay, honey. You’re okay.”

“Are you okay?” You asked him, sniffling as you looked at him.

“I’m—I’m so mad,” he answered truthfully, “If something had happened to you, I—God, Y/N.”

You understood, nodding along to him before you placed your hands on his chest, “You did an amazing job.”

“You almost fucking fell, Y/N, do you know how—Do you know—“

“I didn’t,” you shook your head, “I didn’t fall and you handled it so fucking well, baby. So well.”

Chris sighed, reaching one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Chriiiis,” you dragged, feeling your eyes get tearful again over your husband’s own tearful eyes, you placed your hands on his jaw, “We’re okay. I’m okay, you’re okay, the baby’s okay. I promise.”

“Yeah, just—That was—That was scary.”

You nodded, “It was,” you agreed, “But you handled it,” you said before pecking his lips, “And I love you for it.”

Chris sniffled, giving you a small smile, “I love you.”

Fuck it’s 8 am and I am now devastated by Tony’s death all over again 😭

I love you but I kinda hate you at the same time 😭

3)When B was alive, A and B had casual rituals that they would follow without a fault; A would bring B coffee in the morning and leave it on their bedside table, B would make A a sandwich at lunchtime, A would drop a towel into B’s room at 6 because they know that B always showers at 6:30, and so on. After B dies, A can’t help but unconsciously keep doing the rituals.

With Loki or Tony....

Thank you so much! This one is for the one and only Tony Stark <3 sorry, Pepper - you don't exist in this fic.

Warnings: grief, crying, panic attack WC: 1.4k

|| Main Masterlist ||

Chronic insomnia, self diagnosed of course, left you the sole occupant of the avengers compound throughout the night. Sure, people came and went but you were the only one who roamed the empty halls looking for something to keep you mind occupied. Sleep had been elusive before Tony died but now it was slipperier Rocket in the armoury, there was no chance of catching it.

By 6am the sleep deprivation left you teetering on the edge of reality and imagination, the moment of bliss where you could forget everything you lost. As the sun began its torturous climb over the horizon you would make your way back to the top floor, taking the stairs so you wouldn’t have to make polite conversation with the agents already up for the day. Your calves burned from the climb but you made it to the penthouse and stopped to take in the breathtaking panorama of the place you had called home since meeting Tony.

You put the kettle on and let your eyes burn as they stared into the sun, waiting for the water to boil. Your fingers curled into the handles of two mugs on reflex and they fell smashing to the floor as you realised your mistake. The ceramic shattered against the tiled floor and you jumped as the sound broke through your sleepy haze.

“Is everything alright Miss Y/l/n?” Edith asked, the kitchen lights turning on with her programming.

“I’m fine, Edith.” You sighed, leaving the room in search of a broom to clean up your mess.

“Mr Stark said fine means freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Are you sure you are fine Miss Y/l/n.”

“I know what Tony said, don’t remind me what he said.” You all but growled. “I had years with him, I heard every word, every promise, every fucking lie!”

“Miss Y/l/n, your heart rate is becoming dangerously high.” Edith said, a holographic screen projecting your vital signs as the world began to tilt.

Your breathing was rapid and your head light as the spikes on the monitor reflected the panic attack that was physically manifesting all the pain you kept in your head. Your hands reached for the countertop as you could no longer hold yourself upright and Edith's voice faded as you slipped to the floor, sleep finally within your reach.

“Hey, you, yeah you sweetcheeks.” Tony whistled and you scrunched your nose up in distaste as you pointed to yourself.

“Pretty sure that’s a lawsuit, Mr Stark.” You said as you ignored your current task and strode over to him.

“Wouldn’t be my first.” He muttered under his breath. “What’s your name then darling?”

“I guess that’s an improvement.” You sighed. “It’s y/n.”

“Y/n.” He pursed his lips as he tested the sound on them, deciding if he liked it or not, probably already planning to pay you to change it if he didn’t. “Y/n…I like it, it suits you. Now, on your knees.”

“Mr Stark!” You gasped and raised your hand, fist closing and ready to wallop some manners into him when he burst out laughing.

“Please, call me Tony.” He chuckled and rolled out from under his hot rod he was working on. “I need a third hand to hold this part in place.”

Your lips fell open with a nervous laugh as you misread him, except you were sure he had known exactly how his words sounded. He was known to be the biggest flirt in California if not the US. Kneeling down beside him, you did as asked and held the part while he fixed it into place.

“Alright, now what?” You asked as you waited for him to give you another instruction.

“Lunch in New York, Dinner in New Orleans and the rest of our lives wherever you desire.”

You woke up alone in the oversized bed Tony had insisted on and you had to fight the immediate pain in your chest, even now you still expected to wake up and find Tony next to you. Even when Tony had been in it with you the majority of the bed went unused, Tony was always a little spoon, curling up at the edge of his side before reaching for your hand so he could pull you against his back and lace his fingers in yours. Few people would have ever known him the way you did or get to see the softer side that liked to snuggle under the sheets, it was something he only felt comfortable enough to do with you.

“Edith, how did I get here?” You asked as you sat up and kicked the blankets back, finding the sun almost reaching high noon.

“I, um, hope you don’t mind.” Peter said from the doorway, scratching his neck nervously. “Edith called me, I didn’t think you would want to go to the hospital.”

You sighed and ran a hand over your face, trying to chase away the memories that had tortured you in your sleep, leaving you even more exhausted. “Edith should have called an adult, you’ve got enough on your plate, you shouldn’t have to see that.”

“Sorry, Miss Y/l/n.” Edith apologised.

“I get it, I miss him too.” Peter visibly slumped as he looked at the portrait of you and Tony hanging on the wall.

“I still set the table for two.” You laughed but it was strangled and turned to a cry as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “Sorry, sorry.”

“If I do something I shouldn't, I expect to just see him standing there, looking down at me over his sunglasses.” Peter sniffed. “It was like losing my dad all over again.”

It wasn’t to say you thought your pain was the worst but you had forgotten that there were a whole lot of other people missing Tony in their own way. You were mourning your fiance, Peter was mourning his father figure, Rhodey was mourning his best friend. No pain was worse than the other, it was all just pain and you finally realised what Tony would have wanted for you.

For the first time since his death, getting out of the bed did feel like a mountain to climb. You crossed the room and let Peter break down in your arms, he was a boy who was forced to carry more weight than any teenager should. When his tears slowed, you led him to the kitchen and found the mess cleaned up before you sat him at the island and filled a pot with milk. You curled your fingers into two handles and placed them on the bench, brewing hot chocolate like you had always imagined doing with the children you had dreamt of one day having with Tony.

The clock struck noon and you realised you hadn’t even thought about looking at the door, the expectation of Tony walking in from his lab to have lunch with you. You were in charge of drinks and he would make the sandwiches, just another thing you hadn’t had since he passed. You missed lunch more often than not, lost in the daydream and waiting for him to make them, something that would never happen again. It was time to start making new habits.

Placing one mug in front of Peter, you opened the fridge and looked at the contents. “You hungry, kid?”

His eyes seemed to mist the nickname you unconsciously picked up from Tony and he shook his head. “I’m fine, y/n.”

You chuckled as you saw through his lie and offered a smile as you grabbed the ingredients for a decent sandwich. “You know what Tony said that means right?”

Peter shook his head again and you began to tell him the story, one of many memories you could impart on the kid. This was what Tony would have wanted, his family to remember his life not his death.

Breaking and Entering Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You break into Bucky's apartment after being hired to steal his dog tags but something about the man draws you to him. Struggling with the guilt of taking his precious possession, you find yourself unable to complete the delivery of the item. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, lots of smut, illegal activities, bit of violence. Word Count: 8.6k Status: COMPLETE

Part One ⁂ ➴ You break into Bucky's apartment and decide your mission can wait until after you have some fun with him

Part Two ⁂ ➴ Fate has you and Bucky crossing paths and leads to a change of heart.

Part Three ⁂ ⨮ ➴ Nothing is easy and doing the right thing is downright hard but it's something you need to do.

⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst ꕥ = fluff

Fuck that’s a tough choice but I would love to see masquerade part 2 ooor ships in the night part 2 !!

Which should I start writing first?

Two Minds, One Body [pt4]

Ships in the Night [pt2]

Letters After Dark [pt2]

Killing Time [pt2]

Masquerade [pt2]

I know I say this a lot

BUT this fic is golden to my eyes right now not one fic would ever come close to being this perfect!!

The writing is excellent ! The plot line is fabulous!

Everything about this is fantastic!

I am so sad that I read it in one day but I am buzzing to see what will happen next !!

Enamored Masterlist

Summary: Everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst.

Yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. They had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight.

Regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss.

That assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though.

You were nowhere near ready.

Warnings: Slow burn, mutual pining, Regency era society and social rules, angst. (Separate warnings included in chapters)

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maverick regularly calls iceman snow queen. and snowman. and jack frost. and frosty. sometimes ice cream when he’s feeling crazy.

when frozen (2013) comes out, pete mitchell has a field day. after a month tom kazansky already reacts to „elsa” as if it was his god given name.

The Auction - Part 2

Mafia!Stucky x F!Reader

3009 Words

Warnings: smut, oral (f!receiving), slight voyeurism, kind of dom!Steve

A/N: Finally done! Not beta’d, barely proofread, sorry for the delay folks, life has been crazy. Enjoy!

You smirked at your sister in the mirror, “Think I should ask him about the murder?”

“Don’t you dare,” Veronica warned, tugging the curling iron a little too hard. “Those guys are bad news, I’m telling you. They can make you just, poof, disappear. I can’t believe you’re going on this date in the first place.”

“What, was I supposed to turn down two thousand dollars for the hospital?”

“No one would have blamed you.” She was pursing her lips in the mirror; you’d annoyed her with your jokes.

“I would have blamed myself. I’ll be fine. Just relax.” She only huffed. “I’m a big girl, Ronnie. And I’ll text you, just like we agreed.”

“When you get there.”

“Yes.”

“When you leave the restaurant.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yes.”

“And when you get home.”

“Yes! I got it.”

“Fine.” She set the curling iron down, “Done.”

You fluffed your hair in the mirror, “Thank you.” You reapplied your lipstick and stood, fixing her with a stern gaze, “I don’t want you worrying about me all night. Go do something fun and I’ll be in touch, okay?”

She crossed her arms, “Fine.” 

“I mean it, Veronica. Go home, smoke some weed, chill out. It’s going to be fine.”

She cracked a smile, “If either of them lays a hand on you, I’ll be the one on trial for murder. And you can tell them I said so.”

You laughed, pulling her into a hug, “I’ll make sure to pass that along.”

“Don’t actually,” she muttered as you parted. For a moment, the fear in her face made you doubt your decision, but it was too late to turn back now. Canceling would be worse at this point.

You both left your apartment and you locked the door behind you. You’d lucked out and the restaurant they’d picked was only a block away. No need to get a ride and if things went sour, you could be home quickly.

Adjusting your dress, you gave the host your name and waited to be seated. You sent Veronica the text you’d promised her and at the host’s signal, followed him into the dining area. 

Your heart skipped as he led you into a private dining room. It was lit by honest-to-god candlelight and the table was covered in a rich tablecloth. Seated in two chairs, opposite each other, were Steve Rogers and James Barnes. 

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