#he has always been a little escape artist

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavily Lies the Heart - Part 4

Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 1.8k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: (eventual) canon death Summary: Two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance. Can they find purpose in each other, or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: Hello darlings. Sorry this wasn't posted as fast as the others; I'm seeing Hozier today and the pending excitement has had my ADHD going bananas. I also just want to say I love love....that's all.

Beatrice flung herself onto the bed, smiling as she stared up at the ornate ceiling above. Her mind was abound with memories of the past few nights, and as she remembered she could hardly believing it had all been real.

She clutched the smudged handkerchief tightly to her chest, feeling her heartbeat thumping quickly below. For perhaps the hundredth time that week, she thought back to his face in that moment. A slight flush to his cheeks as he so deliberately avoided her gaze. Benedict was undoubtedly a handsome man, but in that moment she found him utterly adorable. He always seemed so effortlessly charming; she presumed embarrassment was a feeling he was rather unfamiliar with. It was gratifying then, seeing him be the one flustered when he could make her heart race with just a look.

And he did make her heart race.

After that first visit, she had gone out to see him twice more--each night more wonderful than the last. She would come to his window and he, now knowing to expect a possible visit, would be waiting. On her second visit, Benedict joked that he felt very much like the Juliet to Beatrice's Romeo. She had laughed, but silently wished for their story to end up much happier than Shakespeare's had.

Each visit fell into the same pattern: He would come down, they would say their hellos, and then the pair would set off down the street arm in arm. They spent the time getting to know each other more and more, and if Beatrice had been taken with Benedict on their first meeting, she was all but consumed with him by the end of their fourth. She hung on his every word, lived for every laugh. He would smile at her, and the whole world disappeared.

Throughout the day Beatrice felt like a caged animal, waiting for nightfall when she could escape and be with him once again.

She rolled over, taking a pillow from the head of the bed to rest herself on. She looked at the handkerchief in her hands, her fingers running across the lace border as she lost herself fully to her deepest thoughts.

She was aware that she knew less than most about love. It was not only romantic love Beatrice had little experience with--the love one might experience with a dear friend, or even close family was overall foreign to her.

She knew her father loved her, but he was rarely around to show it. He spent most of his time out with his friends--or more often, with his mistress. The only way he seemed to be able to show love for his daughters was by restricting their freedoms in a misguided attempt to protect them.

Then of course, there was Charlotte. Beatrice loved her elder sister, but it was undeniable they had little in common. Charlotte had always been a tomboy with a rebellious streak, in contrast to Beatrice's more artistic, quiet demeanor. Charlotte did whatever she pleased regardless of the expectations place upon her, and considered her younger sister quite the bore. This led the sisters to care for one another, but to spend little time together.

Then, there was her mother.

Caroline had spent little time with her daughters, having lived separately from Beatrice her entire life. Then of course the time Beatrice did have with her mother was shared with Charlotte, whom Caroline clearly favored. She had taken no pains to see her daughters as they grew, before one day deciding to quit the country and move abroad. Beatrice had not heard from her since.

She had little in the way of friends, and of course no cousins to spend her time with. She tried making friends with the staff she sae frequently, but whenever they became too friendly her father would promptly fire and replace them.

Her only genuinely close relationships were her grandparents. Even then it was hard to say that she had a typical relationship with either of them, her grandmother having a rather hard time with sentimentality and her grandfather's illness making it difficult to have a consistent relationship.

Considering everything, she rationally understood her feelings of affection could be completely misdiagnosed.

Even so, Beatrice had no choice but to believe her feelings for Benedict were nothing less than love. Surely friendship could not fill one with such longing? Such a desire to be near another person so deeply one may perish from the sheer torture of anticipation? Surely one would not feel their heart skip at the mere sight of a person they did not truly love?

Beatrice knew she was naive. She knew that she was inexperienced and prone to daydreaming. Despite it all, she was certain the constant ache in her chest was the symptom of being truly and completely lovesick. And as much as she knew it could only end in heartbreak, she couldn't help foolishly hoping for something more.

If they could even survive the night.

---

Benedict looked himself over in the mirror for the dozenth time in as many minutes. He pulled on his waistcoat, wondering if perhaps he should change it again, before making a disgusted noise as he turned away.

He felt utterly ridiculous.

How many ladies had he courted in his life? How many more had been declined in disinterest? And yet here he stood, completely enthralled by a woman he could hardly wrap his head around. He felt he had begun to know her quite well, yet still so much remained a mystery to him.

He ran both hands through his thick, dark hair as his eyes fell to one of the many portraits he had attempted to paint since they had met. Despite multiple attempts, he found he simply could not do her beauty justice. Benedict looked into the eyes of the painting staring back at him, and sighed.

He thought about the last few nights. The talks they had, the jokes they made, the looks they shared; all of it seared into his heart like a brand. Upon each parting, he yearned so fiercely to see her again that he thought certain he would never feel another emotion in his life.

They had spoken only a handful of times, but when he had watched her walk away that previous night he was overwhelmed with the urge to chase after her, to hold her tightly and never be parted again. More than any other parting she had seemed apprehensive--perhaps even worried--and it made his heart ache.

It was in that moment he knew he had grossly misjudged his feelings. He had never been simply curious; from their very first meeting he had already begun to fall for her.

Benedict turned back to the mirror, the hesitation clear on his face.

And what was he to do about it? Was he now supposed to court her? Marry her? He had always thought the whole business of the marriage mart hardly worth the trouble; was he now to change his whole point of view for a woman with whom he would very likely have no chance with?

After all, as much as they had shared, Beatrice had held fast to the secret of her lineage. Given her effect on the men of the ton, and her absolute belief that he would put distance between them should he learn the truth, Benedict could only assume she must be from some truly great house. If that were the case, could he even measure up? Beatrice had already told him any future marriage would likely be arranged by her father; as a second son with no title of his own, how could Benedict possibly compete?

He sighed, smoothing his ruffled hair. He stood up a bit taller, giving himself a reassuring nod before moving away to grab his coat and head downstairs.

He had no idea what obstacles he may face if he choice to pursue Beatrice formally, but he wanted to try. How could he do anything less than everything possible when it was Beatrice he was fighting for?

---

Benedict stood with his brother by the drink table, nervously sipping his lemonade as he searched the crowd. He had insisted that his family not arrive fashionably late as they seemed want to do. It had looked suspicious to his family, but he did not care. If things went well tonight, perhaps he may finally have something to tell them.

"Are you well brother?" Colin asked, eyeing his elder brother as Benedict's eyes moved across the crowd, "Are you looking for someone?"

"What? Of course not," Benedict replied, his face still turned from Colin.

"No of course not; you're simply admiring all the eager young ladies looking for a dance."

"Yes exactly, I--" Benedict stopped, finally looking at his brother as he scowled, "Oh yes, ha ha," he said sarcastically.

"It is obvious you are searching for someone; do you honestly not wish to tell me?" Colin questioned, looking somewhat surprised.

Benedict sighed, "It is...complicated. But you are correct brother, I am looking for someone."

"And this someone--it is a woman, yes?" Colin asked.

"Isn't is always?" Benedict mumbled, "When we last spoke, she had seemed rather...well, she was not herself. I am beginning to wonder if she will show up at all."

Colin clapped a hand to his brother's shoulder, "Worry not Benedict, I am sure she will be here."

Benedict opened his mouth to give some snarky reply, but was cut off as the sound of trumpets heralded the arrival of royalty. Benedict thought Beatrice truly must be late, to be arriving after the queen.

"Her Royal Majesty, Queen Charlotte," the steward called out.

The queen entered in all her splendor, with every head in the room turned to take her in. She made her way towards the dias at the far end of the room, which had already been set up with chairs. Benedict turned his attention back to the crowd, hoping the stillness of the room might make it easier to spot the woman he searched for.

His head snapped back almost immediately, not expecting a second announcement.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Beatrice Amelia Sophia of Wales."

Benedict felt his heart stop, barely comprehending what he saw.

There she was, looking just as she had the night of the ball; the same nervous smile on her face, the same style of hair and dress. She moved towards the far side of the room as her eyes subtly looked through the crowd. Her dress sparkled in the light as she took her seat neside the queen--beside her grandmother.

As she sat on the small stage, she continued to search through the crowd. He was certain she was looking for him, and from her face it was clear she worried what she would see.

Finally, her eyes found his, and the world went silent.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y @bubblegumcat229

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

“ok last week sucked total ass but this weeks gonna be ok” (my cat gets out because someone left the door open) (i know for a fact it was not me!!! because i was putting groceries away by the time everyone else got in the house!!!!!!)

update he came home everyone cheer goodnight.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! I loved your last hobie fic btw it was really good!!

Imagine that in hobies universe you died but when he travels to miles universe he sees you alive 😭 and then the reader introduces themselves to him the same way they did in his universe

Keep feeding us with these ATSV fics 😈😈

Have a great day!!!

Thank you for enjoying my Hobie Brown stuff anon cuz he’s been invading my mind recently. I hope to god this is okay for ya. 🦦

Hobie remembered first meeting you as though it were yesterday, you were within an alleyway vandalising the walls with your spray paint, he happened to be passing by when one of your masterpieces caught his eye; it was of him…well him as Spider-Man clocking a cartoonish Osborne -appropriately adorned with devil horns and a tail- in the head with his eyes crossed out in red spray paint as though he were dead.

It got a good chuckle out of him that was for sure and from that alone he knew he had to know you more on a personal level. ‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ He asked aloud, making you jolt, you were pretty sure you had chosen a spot where you weren’t going to get caught by the authorities or those that’d grass you up for expressing how you truly felt about Osborne and all those just like him. You shrugged, looking up at your finished product before looking back over at Hobie, ‘dunno yet,’ you told him truthfully, ‘my working titles are either anarchy incarnate or death to capitalism.’

Hobie hummed in approval, but he thought you could do better, ‘how about anarchy is the death of capitalism?’ He suggested and he couldn’t never forget the light in your eyes upon hearing his working title, that in the midst of your excitement you had grabbed him by the arm, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it, you’re a genius man!’ You cried before realising what you did and immediately removed your hand from his arm, ‘sorry about that.’ Hobie dismissed your apology by slinging an arm over your shoulder. ‘Nah, don’t give me that shit, you shouldn’t have to apologise for being yourself for that’s what they want you to do.’

‘I don’t think I ever got your name.’ You said. ‘Hobie. Hobie brown and may I get to know the name of the amazing artist behind this.’ Hobie gestured to the spray painting. ‘Y/n l/n.’ You replied. ‘Well y/n, I think we’re going to get along quite well.’ And you did.

So when your untimely death happened, Hobie felt as though he were Achilles having lost his Patroclus. He cradled your body into his arms even long after you had said your final words, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’ and much longer after it had already gone cold. You had told him that you were heading out to go spray paint with some people you’ve met and the worst soon came when despite knowing that you didn’t have to, you still went out of your way to act as a distraction so that the rest may escape; which resulted in the way that it did.He knew he should’ve gone with you that day because then maybe you would still be alive and taking the piss out of him for worrying about you but he didn’t, so you weren’t.

Ever since then Hobie had made it his goal to keep fighting for not only his chase but yours as well in your memory. He made you a memorial in the exact same place where you first met, always paying it a visit whenever he felt as though he needed you with him, which has lead him to start talking to your spray pairings as though they were actually you. There was without a shadow of a doubt that you were quite possibly one of the greatest artists to have ever lived, alongside with being an avid inspiration to many to the youths who felt as though they had no way of expressing themselves when feeling slighted by the society they were born in. Hell you even inspired him! So much so that there were a multitude of songs he would perform that depicted a individual with stardust in their eyes, a rebellious fire in their heart and a insatiably need to insight the themes of anarchy within anything they touched.

After your death Hobie kept a good portion of your things; such as your spray cans that would never get used, your clothes that still clung onto the very last essence of you much like he did and even kept the picture you took together after helping you finish a project you had been wanting to pursue for a long while; and who would’ve thought that it would be him, not as Spider-Man, just good old Hobie Brown with the message, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’

So when he caught himself walking down a alleyway much like he did long ago but this time in a completely new place, he felt as though he was being hit with a wave of de ja vu when his ears picked up on the familiar hissing sound of a spray can. It was like he was back there again and if his memory serves him right, he knew what was to come next the moment he, Gwen and Miles made it into a clearing where they were greeted with the sight of someone’s back as they were deeply engrossed with their own handy work. ‘You’re going to love them Hobie, they’re like super cool and awesome.’ Gwen told him but her words went in one ear and out the next as he stared up at the spray painting of Miles as Spider-Man mid swing; it was beautiful without a doubt but they style in which it was drawn was all too familiar.

‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ Hobie had said without realising it until you jolted before turning to look directly at him, regaining your composure, ‘dunno yet.’ You shrugged and your voice sounded like an echo to the past for Hobie who so desperately wanted to pinch himself in that moment. ‘my working titles are either a bright new era or rising above all expectations.’ Hobie didn’t say anything for he knew he was going to say something that would only scare you away, just because you were another version of his y/n didn’t mean you shared the same memories; to you, he was just another spider-man from another reality, he wasn’t your Hobie despite how he wish he was but he knew he couldn’t put that on you.

He also couldn’t blame you for being alive while his version of you was dead. It wouldn’t be fair on you for being blamed for something that wasn’t your fault to begin with and it wouldn’t be fair on him either, as despite how many times he made himself believe that he has accepted your death, his heart would remind him that he truly hadn’t. You were such a pivotal part of his life that he couldn’t seem to let go of. ‘Hmm, both titles sound cool but I think we can do better.’ Miles pipped up, breaking Hobie out of his headspace that was running rampant with all the best memories you shared together. ‘How about…the bright new era of rising above all expectations?’ Hobie interjected.

You made a face at the suggestion before a wide smile spread across your face as you lost yourself in your excitement and grabbed ahold of his arm like you did when your first met, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it! You’re a genius dude, thank you.’ But before you could remove your hand from his arm, Hobie grasped your hand and held it firmly. ‘I don’t believe I told you my name, it’s Hobie by the way.’ Your excused his actions as an exchange of formal greeting and grasped onto his hand with the same about of force. ‘Nice to meet you Hobie, I’m y/n.’

‘I know’ is what Hobie desperately wanted to say but kept it all contained under a strained smile.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: eek not a request but an idea that wouldn't leave me alone! thus... we embark on a mulan-esque story that i hope u will enjoy <3 big thank you's to @strangerstilinski who listened and helped immensely as i whittled a hunky idea down to a plot

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: Someone in the Illryians Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lords. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter. fem!reader

— CHAPTER ONE :: STRANGERS

Frost was everywhere.

Despite all the eerie memories that tainted them, the Illyrian Mountains were hauntingly beautiful, even Azriel could admit that.

Pine trees stretched up tall, their timber trunks hidden beneath the snow-leaden branches. It was a sea of swirling frost. Snowflakes eddied down from the frozen sky, a soft blanket of white draped across the landscape.

He was sure that some, maybe the likes of Feyre and her artist's eye, could see that beauty easier than he could.

Beautiful, Azriel thought bitterly, but fucking freezing.

Normally, dealing with the likes of the war camps that riddled these mountains was left to Cassian. He had that raucous, fiery way about him that was far better suited to it. Enough pride to challenge the warriors and more than enough eager attitude to back his taunts if need be.

But Cassian was currently very much occupied— and highly unsuited to crack the whip against some rowdy Illyrians in his current state.

Azriel couldn't help the smile at the thought of when he'd last seen his brother.

Freshly mated Cassian looked as though he had tiny hearts circling around his head at all times. He resembled a puppy following his nose, always that wicked grin on his face as he trailed after Nesta. His adoration was impossible to miss.

Cassian had more than earned the time off. He deserved to celebrate properly, to have a couple weeks with no badgering worries, with no bickering Illyrian warriors to deal with (beyond his usual two).

So, as a mating gift to his brother —and partially to escape a house filled with intolerably mated couples— Azriel had taken over his duty temporarily. To oversee the war camps he detested so much.

Today, he was to investigate the rumoured stirrings amongst the camps and assess the level of threat it posed. More often than not, these sorts of stirrings were simply whispers of rebellion but nothing more.

There was an easy fix; a visit from one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, or even from Rhys himself. It always made the Illyrians a little nervous and those whispers of a coup would sweep away with the wind in a matter of time.

This time, however, the network of spies that operated under Azriel had not come back spinning such rumours.

Instead, there was talk of Lords with ruffled feathers. Lords with bruised egos due to a single bastard warrior, rising in the ranks and not playing by the rules.

The familiarity of the situation was almost too ironic, Azriel thought. He had half a mind to tell Rhys what he had learned and leave them to it. Cauldron knew these brutal camps needed a bastard to challenge their ways from time to time.

But still, there was always the potential for such a warrior to pose a threat in the future. Azriel could not leave a possible danger to brew. No stone left unturned.

The snow beneath his boots was beginning to melt.

He had been standing in the cold and peering up at the war camp ahead, barely seen through the heavy snow falling, for too long now. Snow was gathering on his wings, tendrils of ice shooting through their sensitive membrane. Find the bastard.

Shaking off the snow, he began to walk.

—

Gods forsaken males and their egos.

The bone in your forearm ached, having taken the brunt of your initial fall in the mud. It's covered in it too, the muck of the ground that always seemed to linger. Always a layer of dirt beneath your fingernails. Truly, one of the many incredible appeals of the Illyrian mountains was never actually being clean.

You'd probably hate it more— if it didn't do such a good job of masking unwanted scents.

But right now with a jagged cut that tears up your left arm, all the way to the elbow, you're cursing the mud. It's likely festering with uncountable grim diseases. You'll have to flush the wound to properly clean it before it begins to heal.

That means water. That means energy that you don't particularly feel like summoning to fetch it. You cast your glance to the window.

Outside, the Mother's Kiss howls loudly.

The southerly chilled wind current that Illyrians don such a precious name is quite fitting for their backward ways — to expect a kiss from your mother to have such a sting on the face.

Tonight, the current seems particularly fierce. The windows of your shelter rattle in warning. A storm had blown through camp rather unexpectedly and you'd caught the worst of it, tangled up in a snarling fest against Brudam.

Brudam, who is responsible for the current state of your arm. Your lip curls at the mere thought of the arrogant male. Your wings bunch up tightly and you huff quietly to nobody.

He'd caught wind of the broth you had made that had filled the stomach of three ravenous bastards in the camp. It had been just enough to keep them on their feet. Tonight, you know that one hot meal might very well be the difference that helps them survive the night.

But Illyrians are a tough breed— and they don't take kindly to people giving handouts, as Brudam had put it.

You preferred the term leveling the playing field.

As if Brudam and his Lord father had ever experienced to ache of starvation. Ever had to sleep in the snow with nothing but their own wings for warmth against a blizzard.

Another deep pain twinges in your arm and you hiss, drawn out of your thoughts. If you have to pick your wins, you can at least admit you're glad he had only found out about the broth— and had seemed none the wiser to the healing tonics you were slipping the freshly-clipped girls.

It ached to see them and their quivering wings. The way the muscles in their backs buckled when they tried to spread their wings, a cut too deep into the wrong nerve. It ached to see it, yes, but beneath that pain was an ocean of bitter and furious fire.

But your righteous anger would not help these girls.

You were not the most proficient healer and the tonics you were attempting... it was hard to say if they would make any difference in saving any females' wings.

You were gathering knowledge as best you could though, scraping together herbs that scarcely grew in the frozen climate. It was a poor imitation of something that might work.

Whether it would be enough... that was up to the Mother. But you had to try.

You assess the wound on your arm once more, wondering about the reserve of water you had in your small hut— whether you could both clean your wound and have enough to hydrate.

Another glance out at the wintry snowscape outside. You grimaced. If you didn't, you would have to bear the blistering chill of the Mother's Kiss to get more.

Weariness weighs on your bones. You hadn't been prepared for the fight, hence your almost embarrassing injury, and it drained you more than you expected.

You stand with a sigh and drag your feet toward the tiny cauldron filled with melted snow collected earlier in the day. It hangs over the fireplace, the embers within long since snuffed out. Your motion stirs them up.

For a moment, you stare into the fireplace. The water in the cauldron shimmers. The shelter creaks around you, bending in the wind.

It's covered in soot, marred by the flames that usually lick it from beneath it. The lip of it, however, is still clean enough to see your own reflection. You peer into it.

And in that reflection, you find a tall figure with massive wings looming above their shoulders standing behind you.

Your heart spasms in shock and you have to swallow your gasp of surprise. Your eyes dart up, frantically hunting for a weapon. You grab the closest object you can, your hand closing around a kitchen fork. And before they get the chance, you twist and lunge, arm raised.

The floorboards groan as your boots slam into them, darting forward to attack. But the male dodges you easily, your strike passing through empty air.

You don't stop, turning and striking for him once again. The male sways back again easily to avoid your swing and you scowl.

Quickly feigning one way, you watch as his hands, weaponless, move to defend his gut — and you change direction, fast. Neck exposed, you snarl as you sink the fork deep into his shoulder.

The male hisses in pain.

You falter for a moment at the noise but it's a mistake. His hands move so fast you barely see them, gripping your wrist that holds the fork and twisting it down to the ground, immobilising you from using it.

You snarl again and tug against him fruitlessly. A swell of panic begins to rise within you as you tug again, again, again. His hold doesn't falter.

"Stop," The male commands you quietly.

This time when you tug, he opens his fingers and you fly back onto your ass, wings flaring out a moment too late to catch yourself.

You expect him to trudge forward, to beat an attack down on you now that you're less defended, but he doesn't move from his spot.

In fact, you realise as you stare at him, cheat heaving, he hasn't attacked you at all.

His weapons, which there are many of them, stay strapped to his side, glittering against the snow's reflected light. You spot the siphon on his hand, a churning sapphire colour — and clock the matching one on his other hand.

This was not just any Illyrian warrior in your home.

Faintly, your panic subsides as you realise that if this male meant to hurt you —to kill you— he very well could have done so by now.

You let your eyes trail up, taking in the face so hidden in shadow, and recognize that the darkness swirling around him is not ordinary shadow.

The revelation has you sitting up a bit straighter, the bindings around your chest pulling tight. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

What do you say to one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history —one who served on Rhysand's inner circle, friend of the High Lord of the Night Court— when you've just stabbed him with a fork?

As if your thought had reminded him, the male —Azriel, you know his name to be— shifts and reaches for the utensil still sticking out of his shoulder. He yanks it out without a noise of complaint.

Then he says, "Considering your choice of weapon, it's no surprise Brudam cut up your arm."

You scowl at him but at a closer look, you can see that his expression isn't condescending. No, with his raised brows, he almost looks... impressed.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." You bite back defensively.

Azriel's eyes dance with amusement. He throws the fork onto your table with a clatter. "That's how you greet visitors?"

"Uninvited ones, yes."

His amusement fades, the planes of his face shadowed and yet still handsome. Like most Illyrians, there's this incomprehensible sense of elegance to him, an alluring pull tied to his very demeanor.

But looking at him now, even in the dimness of your shelter, you could see Azriel went beyond to type of beauty that usual Illyrians had. An unparalleled grace, an unmatched Adonis.

He is the most beautiful male you had ever seen—and you had just stabbed him with a fork.

"Sorry," You mutter eventually when he doesn't say anything.

You shift onto your knees to stand, your hand coming to cup beneath your elbow— the ache of the injury had begun to bleed back in now that you weren't focused on fighting off an intruder.

"You're forgiven." He says. You can see lightly, through the dimming light, the faint blood on his neck you've caused.

"You fight well," He comments, with the air of a compliment. Something like amusement is in his eyes when he says, "Even with your unusual choice of weapon."

You glare at him as you climb to your feet and all but collapse into a chair. You don't even have another to offer to him. Buried beneath your leathers, your chest aches in pain — a reminder that it's been bound for far too long. You ignore it and tilt your chin towards him.

"Why are you here?"

You're actually sure that even if you offered Azriel a chair he wouldn't take it, given how stiffly he stands before you. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze flitting around the small room you both stand in. Calculating, categorizing.

"There were rumours of a warrior turning up trouble here."

He fixes his hazel-eyed gaze on you. You steel yourself beneath it. "A couple days in your camp and it became clear who the outlier was."

A couple days? For some reason, you can't believe that he's been surveying this place without detection from anyone. Another glance at his shadows, the dark masses that hang around his shoulders, and you can believe it a little more.

Besides, it's hardly as though the Lords would deign to tell a bastard like you anything important.

You clench your jaw but don't say anything.

"Brudam mentioned you feeding some warriors." Azriel continues, his tone unreadable. Though something, you couldn't tell what, glittered in his eyes. "Not very in the spirit of Illyrians."

You scowl at him again. Even if he had once faced these conditions before, you wondered if his time away, spent Cauldron knows where, had softened his memory.

"It's not against any law."

"No, it isn't," Azriel says. His eyes narrow. "But making healing tonics without a Healer's jurisdiction and selling them to young females is."

Your heart stops for just a moment. How could he know that? The last batch you had dropped off had been over a month ago.

Without thinking you snarl back, "I'm not selling them, you prick."

Something blooms on Azriel's face, surprise and a hint of smugness.

Your mouth snaps shut as you realise what you've done. You curse yourself. Slumping back in your chair, your wings sag with you and you let them droop onto the floor, uncaring. He could very well be here to kill you, given the knowledge of what you had just admitted.

For a long moment, there's just silence.

You stare at the floor and wonder which version of the High Lord is true; the Court of Nightmares whose power ripples through these camps and keeps them in line. Or the rumours of a softer side, a dreamer.

You wonder, more importantly, which of those this male before you is friends with.

Something in the floor creaks when Azriel finally moves. He crosses the room swiftly to the fireplace and gathers two logs from the stack of firewood beside it, tossing them onto the pile of ash.

You watch, perturbed, as he hunches over the fireplace for a quiet minute— and when he pulls back, a small flame is burning on the wood. It dances on the log, entrancing and amber-coloured.

Heat begins to fill the room. You pick your wings up and stretch them towards it, grateful for how they begin to warm. You hadn't quite realised the extent of your chill until right now.

It's such a kindness that hasn't been shown to you in many years. Surprise and silent gratitude bloom in your chest.

Azriel turns back to face you. You school your surprise away.

"What's your name?" He asks, his voice gruff.

It's been a while since anyone asked that either. Bastard. Mongrel. Imposter. There are a thousand other words that have become your name whilst growing up here.

You can't tell him your name. In the same way you can't tell anyone here your real name without revealing too much about yourself.

So you shorten it and tell him that instead.

Azriel nods. Doesn't repeat it, doesn't blink at your hesitance. Instead, he just says, "Like I said, you fight well. You could be better though."

You frown at the backhanded compliment, something in you sneering at the jab at your fighting skills. Worse, you know he's right.

If you had weapons suited to your size, exercises that focused on your agility more than your brute strength... There's a good reason you have to work twice as hard as every other warrior in camp.

Azriel looks at your arm, no longer bleeding and beginning to stitch itself up. Shit, you really need to clean that first.

"Clean that and get a good night's rest." He orders, not meanly. Then he crosses the space of your shelter in a few paces of his long legs, heading for the door.

"You—" The question dares to come out of you. "You're not going to turn me in?"

Azriel pauses, one hand, one scarred hand you can now see with the fire going, on the door. So, the rumours of that were true.

"No," He says lowly. He sees you staring, and as if on command, the shadows swirling around his shoulders dart down to cover his hands. They and the doorknob in his hand disappear from sight completely.

You evade your eyes back up to his hauntingly beautiful face. His expression is stony, unreadable. He stares at you for a long moment, the dancing fire reflected in his hazel eyes.

"I'm going to train you."

[NEXT PART: ALLIES]

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Head Canon: Let’s Play A Game

Yandere Reverse Baki Harem x Afab fighter Reader

Otome Game AU

TW: unhealthy behavior, yandere themes, stalking, obsession, HORROR, etc

You, a famous fighter, had accidentally died in a horrific car accident by saving the life of a child that was supposed to pass away. Luckily, a deity had taken pity on you and decided to give you a second chance at life. One where you must play a game in order to go back to your world. Romance five of the male leads and you’ll be able to return to your world. Katsumi Orochi, Baki Hanma, Kaioh Retsu, Hanayama Kaoru, and Jack Hanma are the five main males you must romance in order to go home but the deity had thrown in some other mystery men just for shits and giggles. He even gave you a house that’s exactly like your old one! Just don’t invite anyone over… Sounds simple enough right? Wrong. How were you to know these emotionally constipated men have never experienced love before?

Katsumi Orochi

The first man you met when you landed in this strange world. His eyes were wide when you suddenly appeared in the rain before him. What on earth was a woman doing in the rain by herself? He rushes over with his umbrella to place it over your head. He’s surprised by how attractive you are. How soft you look… he doesn’t realize he’s staring until you place your hands over his cheek and smile at him.

There was a bar above his head that rapidly began to grow pink when you touched him. He must be one of the male leads you had to romance… perfect!

“I’m a bit lost… can you help me?” Katsumi was quick to offer you his coat when he saw you shiver. There was something almost magical about you… he was a moth to your flame.

“Of course, here. Let’s head into the dojo.” Katsumi ushered you into Shinshinkai while the rain continued to pour. He was immediately smitten with you.

Katsumi offers you a Karate uniform to wear since your clothes are wet. The two of you share small talk and he’s excited to learn that you’re a practitioner of taekwondo. You were pretty and you could fight? It must have been destiny for the two of you to meet!

He by far was the easiest to romance or so you thought… poor you had gotten a little in over your head about this particular man. He’s so obsessive and delusional. A horrible combination but one he developed due to dedicating his entire life to karate.

Katsumi offered free training at Shinshinkai and he was always eager to spar with you. It wasn’t uncommon for him to wrestle with you or to take you out to eat after training. You didn’t notice the way he’d slowly become more and more touchy. Nor did you notice how weird he was when babies were around.

“Don’t you think that baby is so cute?” Katsumi asked when a baby was sat with its mother in a table near the two of you. The baby was super cute with their chubby cheeks. “(Your name), would you ever want to have kids?”

And you stupidly told this man yes… you shared how you wanted to get married one day and have kids that hopefully wanted to be marital artists. You stupid girl! You didn’t even notice the obsession that lied behind his chocolate eyes or the lingering touches whenever he’d pin you to the floor beneath him when you sparred. Not until it was too late. Not until you’re introduced to his parents as his future wife. And there no way to run from him. He has over a million members at Shinshinkai and they’d hunt you down if you ever tried to escape from your doting fiancé.

Hanayama Kaoru

Once you had settled into your house (and carefully made sure not to invite the overly friendly Katsumi over), you ran into him on the street. It was just a chance meeting, but it was one that caught Hanayama by surprise. You had bumped into him and knocked his cigar onto him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was going-“ You were shocked to see such a tall man covered in scars. The heart bar above his head was slightly pink by the small encounter with him. Neither one of you looked away from each other’s eyes.

Hanayama nodded his head and went to turn away but he was surprised when he heard your voice again. “You have ashes all over your jacket… please let me at least brush you off.” Hanayama blushed when you quickly brushed the ashes off him without his answer. How brazen of you! He’s never been hit on first like this…

When you walk away, you noticed his romance bar is already at twenty percent. Perhaps you’d be able to go home sooner than you thought if you kept this up?

A shame you didn’t notice the blush on Hanayama’s face. He’s never been so excited in his life… and now it was your problem. How were you to know how possessive he was?

He was a silent presence compared to the chatty Katsumi and Baki. He would randomly sit beside you when you weren’t preoccupied by the other men which wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if he didn’t stare at you. His gaze was unnerving and terrifying. Yet you must accept him in order to go home. So you tolerated his presence with gentle smiles and one sided small talk. You didn’t realize how much Hanayama truly enjoyed your company.

He began to bring you gifts. Roses, jewelry, and clothing. Loud gestures of adoration despite his stoic exterior. You’d always thank him with a smile because his romance bar would rise with each gift… but his pink bar was the first to reach a blood red. Why was his bar so red? And why did you always feel as if someone was watching you?

His gifts began to become inappropriate. Rather than regular clothes, he’d gift you red, black, and violet lingerie. And then it was chocolates and invitations to fancy dinners where oysters were almost always served. You were starting to become really scared when you found out what his occupation was. How were you to know he was a yakuza boss?! And there was no escape from Hanayama, he was too powerful and he was too obsessed with you to share you.

Baki Hanma

You were on a jog when you met the twenty year old. He was sitting on a bench all alone looking so down. The heart bar above his head was a depressing shade of blue. Oh no! Why did he look so sad?

Baki was shocked when you sat beside him with a smile. You offer him your hand to introduce yourself and you offered to listen to him since he looked so sad. He instantly clung to you like a tick. You were so warm and sweet… he adored it. He’s never had affection like this since his ex girlfriend… you’re warm like a mom!

You pat Baki’s head as he cries in your arms. You’re shocked by how his heart bar sky rockets to a sixty percent with this small interaction. Holy smokes! You were crushing this game!

You exchanged numbers with him and offered him solace so kindly. Baki was so thrilled to finally have someone care about him. It was what he has always wanted…

Baki spent almost as much time with you as Katsumi did. The two friendly men running around you like little kids as they excitedly would take you on lots of dates. It was a little overwhelming.

But you didn’t think Baki would be so clingy… please don’t leave him! Don’t leave him, he’d do anything for you! Please only look at him! Love him!

Jack Hanma

The hardest to romance. This man was mean. Mean as hell. He had no interest in you whatsoever, he only had his goal of strength in mind. Jack constantly rebuffed you, but your persistence began to wear down his walls

Why did you insist on being so close to him anyways? He was a mess. He was always sweaty and he would train to the point of incontinence… did you have a piss kink? You were weird as hell and he didn’t like the way the other fighters hovered around you like helicopters. You were nothing special… at least that’s what he told himself until he overheard you defend him when someone bad mouthed him.

“Sure Jack can be a little rough around the edges, but he works harder than any of you!” Jack clenched his jaw when he heard you berate some of the fighters who commented on his methods for strength. “You don’t have half of what it takes to want to be the best.” Your words made something flutter in his heart. It was a weird feeling but it wasn’t something entirely unwelcomed.

Jack’s presence usually sent the other men running away with their tails between their legs but he began to like the way you smiled so warmly at him. For the first time in years, someone didn’t look at him like he was a monster. And he didn’t ever want you to disappear. No. Jack wouldn’t ever let anything happen to you. He’d rather die.

You became as important to him as his journey to strength. You were his one and only friend. His companion. It didn’t matter to him that there were others. Jack was just happy to have you by his side.

Jack enjoyed how you’d sit beside him whenever he sat alone or how you’d occasionally lean on him when it was cold. Jack slowly warmed up to you and his romance bar slowly began to rise. He took the longest to romance out of all the others but he’s the most normal out of all of them. Jack rarely sought you out unless he had a gut feeling you needed him. Jack slowly began to become easier to talk to… and you made the mistake of venting to him. Of showing him your most vulnerable side.

So when he saw you crying for the first time about how weird everyone was to you, something in him snapped. How dare they make you uncomfortable. How dare they make you cry! And now you realized just how over protective Jack was of you…

And from that day forth, Jack began to protect you. He was like a giant, blonde tank that shoved the other men out of the way. You didn’t have to worry anymore. Jack would protect you!

Kaioh Retsu

You met him at the dojo. Retsu was very nice to you. He was a voice of reason and usually would step between you and Katsumi when he noticed Katsumi being particularly weird to you.

You’d spar with Retsu and you were always awestruck by his Kenpo. Retsu enjoyed your compliments and even taught you some Kenpo. He was thrilled that someone was interested in his martial art. To have it be appreciated.

His romance bar was hidden from you, which was strange. Occasionally it would pop up with a high percentage but then it would fade into obscurity. Retsu would always give you a soft smile and reassure you whenever you were particularly overwhelmed. He was a really good friend.

Retsu was easy to talk to and he made the best tea. And Retsu always had a logical response whenever you vented about the other men. You felt safe with Retsu… like you could trust him.

And so you shared with him the truth of you situation. Which made the Chinese man sympathize with you. He’d help you get home!

A shame you didn’t realize how he secretly manipulated you. How he pretended to be reasonable and level headed. He used his maturity and kindness to lower your guard but he didn’t realize just how much you were hiding. You’re from another world? That would explain why you were so unique compared to everyone else in this world of his… Retsu found you fascinating.

Now Retsu was going to help you leave this world… but he was going with you. You entrusted him with such precious information and didn’t he deserve a reward for helping you?

Pickle

A wild card. You will only meet him if you decide to go hiking on a Thursday.

You were not supposed to meet him but you did. On a complete accident too. You decided to go on a hike in the forest to get away from your… suitors.

He was just hunting in the forest when he noticed you. And he was curious about you. He began to follow you around like a lost dog. It would take a few miles of hiking to notice him but once you did, you were very puzzled. Who was this guy and why was his romance bar red from the get go? And that’s when you finally put together that the red bars that were above all the men you have been around meant danger.

Pickle was quick to snatch you up in his arms but rather than attack you, he sniffed you. He was surprised to smell all those fighters he’s fought on you! It fascinated him.

You were quick to escape him and run but he chased after you. He was so happy to play! If he caught you, could he keep you? Pickle would like a mate.

A shame Baki was waiting for you at the edge of the forest. The redhead glared at Pickle who began to throw a tantrum. No fair! Pickle wanted to play with you too! To keep you and to mate with you! That wasn’t fair.

Now you didn’t leave the city often because Pickle was always watching… always waiting to strike. For you had caught his eye.

Hector Doyle

Another wild card. You weren’t supposed to meet him but you did at the dojo. He was supposedly a reformed convict, one that didn’t have much of an interest in you… at first.

Doyle was kind of mean but in a snarky way. He always had something smart to say whenever you’d talk to Katsumi. You thought he was gay when you first met him since he liked Katsumi so much. But after you got to know him, you realized he was just attached to the Karateka since he defeated him.

Doyle slowly opened up to you since you were a constant presence in Katsumi’s life. You were very nice to him despite his sharp tongue so Doyle respected you. The two of you slowly became friends… but you constantly had to stop him from stealing products from the mall. Doyle had sticky fingers despite being blind. He insisted he knew the quality of what he took by the way it smelled and felt in his fingers. It was kind of silly.

Doyle’s romance bar slowly rises up the more you go out with him. He’s secretly a softie beneath his rough exterior. (If you’re a touchy person, it’ll shoot up faster. Doyle is easily flustered). Doyle is also very jealous of Katsumi

You seemed to make his friend happy so he was happy with you… until he noticed a change in Katsumi. The Karateka was obsessed with you to the point it was concerning. At least in the way Katsumi spoke of you, since Doyle was blind.

“Katsumi told everyone that you’re his fiancée but I never heard you talk about it.” Doyle whispered to you as the two of you stretched in a corner in the dojo. The blind assassin adjusted his blindfold. “I may be blind, but I’m not stupid. Are you okay?”

Doyle was shocked when you answered back in a choked sob. “No, I’ve tried to get away but he’s sent the whole dojo after me… I’m scared, Doyle.”

Doyle was so shocked when you hugged him. His body shook when he felt his first hug since he was a child. He instantly wrapped his arms around you and lost himself within you. He could imagine a life with you. You were so sweet and you were capable… he had money from his old job as an assassin and he had favors he was owed by people. Doyle could help you escape.

You pulled away and you felt your blood run cold at the red bar that was now above Doyle’s head. Oh no…

“I’ll help you escape.” Doyle whispered in your ear. “But we’d constantly be on the run. Would you want to live like that, darling?”

The choice is up to you with him. Doyle will help you but you’d lose your opportunity to go home… forever.

Jun Guevara

Another wild card. This dashing man can be found on Fridays at the docks by his boat. He’s usually shirtless with a jacket draped over his shoulders and a cigarette between his lips. He is also very easy to attract if you ask him about the ocean. This man loves the ocean. He won’t stop talking about it and he may even give you a shell if you’re extra sweet.

Jun is incredibly flirtatious but don’t let that fool you, he’s also extremely possessive. His heart bar will only rise if you’re charismatic. You have to be able to talk the talk too. And once you successfully romance him, you have the opportunity to get onto his ship! Hurray!

Jun will share rum and stories with you if you sneak off to come see him. He’ll even drape his jacket around you and call you, “Meu amor” or “Meu anjo.” You don’t have a clue what that means but it seems like a nickname!

Jun is great to use as an escape option if the other men become overwhelming. Just keep in mind that he won’t let you off that boat, because he’s determined to make you his wife! And eventually the mother of his four children.

Biscuit Oliva

Another wild card but can be encountered if you interact with criminals (Jun or Doyle). Biscuit may ask you about their whereabouts but you should lie to him to save your friends. Compliment this man to distract him! He’s a pretty revered bounty hunter so it won’t take much.

He’s recently a widow and he’s easily flustered since he’s never been flirted with before. Oliva is very easy to romance once you stoke the fires of his ego.

Oliva is a gift giver just like Hanayama except his gifts are more from the heart rather than his pants…

Oliva will buy you very nice clothes and offer to take you abroad. His romance bar will only ever turn red if you share your woes with him.

Just like Jack, Oliva is extremely protective. And he will not lose another love so he’s willing to whisk you away and lock you up forever.

Just be his cute sugar baby and everything will be okay! So long as the other men don’t crash your date… then you may never get home.

Once you successfully romance all the men, the deity will appear to you. But sadly they won’t be able to send you home anyways because you’ve ruined the story here since all their bars all turned red. Sorry toots, but he can’t take you away from these men who are willing to kill each other to have you. The deity just hopes you can make a choice.

[aly4khq]

⋆༺ - can't handle it? - ༻⋆

- ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ -

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

warnings!: degrading (whore, slut), slight fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap ur willy before it gets silly), rough doggy <3

word count!: 493.

your body felt numb; destroyed. for the total hours you've been folded, bent, twisted in ways you haven't been before. but an artist's piece always has to be touched to be seen, doesn't it?

"stop moving." rafayel's voice boomed in your ears, demanding you to stay still. his hand grabbed at your flesh, spreading your cheeks open to see his cock ramming into your tight pussy. the ache so painful yet pleasurable, the feeling making you cry out for something to grab, something to hold.

his thrusts were ruthless, pounding against your body. his hands gripping your hips so harshly, you're sure that you'll have bruises the next couple of days. weeks, even.

your body was slowly falling down into a deeper arch, giving rafayel better chances of hitting your g-spot, hard and rough thrusts. his hands forcefully grasping your ass, bounced you back to have contact with his own pelvis. the sounds filling you with satisfaction.

"mhm- rafa!- augh...!"

gosh you sounded pathetic to your own ears. the amount of noises leaving your mouth was ridiculous. your hands wandering around for support, ending up with them getting caught in the soiled sheets below. you let out an exhausted cry, looking back at your boyfriend destroying your insides.

his hands caressing your back down to your neck, pushing your head into the bed's embrace. a deep chuckled came from his chest, his pace not stopping for a break. he knew you were about to cum, he could tell with the amount of squirming you were doing.

"you love this dick...hm? can't get enough?" after every word following another deep thrust, your body pushing you to your limit. but rafayel wasn't happy. you were met with a sharp thrust, somehow deeper than the others. his pace continued. "i asked you a question, whore."

in a matter of seconds, you were moaning, bitting your lip as you responded with slurs of words.

"y-yes! oh my goshhhh rafa!- i love it so much!-"

before you could finished, you felt the coil in your stomach burst, cum flooding out of your tight hole onto rafayel's dick. surrounding his lower stomach and your thighs as well. you could barely hear his chuckle. soon enough, you were met with more being stuffed inside of you.

"...oh my go- ahh! rafa-yel?!-" you gasped, shocked at the amount of pleasure.

he was slowly fingering the overflowing liquid back into your pussy, making sure to push it in so it doesn't come out again. you squealed as he lands soft, rewarding slaps to your cheek so you don't fall asleep, chuckling.

suddenly, you felt him slowly pull out then shove himself back inside, throwing you forward a little. a loud gasp escaping your mouth as you grasped a pillow in front of you. your hand reaching back to stop his relentless thrusts. his big hands grasping both of yours behind your back.

"rafayel!- please!! i...it's too much-"

"what, baby? can't handle it?"

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

do not steal any of my works even tho they are trash!

date made: 17-21/4/24

[bokutosbiceps]

battle scars

monkey d luffy x afab!reader | fluff + smut | ~900 words

warnings: suggestive themes + smut throughout !!

a/n: okay, many people were involved in the birth of this fic !! so this was inspired by the art below...first @usoppsstar because she sent me the art that inspired this, + of course @luffysprincess because she made the beautiful art that inspired this !! also i wrote this whole thing in 20 min on the toilet hehe

ps. i've got permission from this genius artist to repost her art + write about it 😁 

18+ MDNI

you winced at the soreness in between your thighs as you tried to sit up, blinking in the morning sunlight. you look over toward luffy’s side of the bed and notice he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and moaning quietly. he has his back completely turned toward the sunlight, almost shying away from it.

he was always a baby in the mornings.

you giggle and sit up, ignoring the small twinges of pain from deep within your core and draping yourself over your lover boy’s shoulders. 

“mornin’, sugar.” he says sweetly, his voice a bit deeper than usual due to misuse while he slept. he takes one of your wrists in his hands and turns it over to place a kiss to the inside of it. he's sleepy–he's always even more affectionate than usual when he's sleepy.

“not a good morning?” you tease, running your hand down his back and breathing in his scent. you immediately withdraw your hand when he hisses in pain. “what's wrong?”

“i dunno, my back, like…it felt…it stung when ya did that!” luffy doesn't shy away from your touch, but he stretches his neck to see his back.

you both see them at the same time, the small scratches adorning his back like bloody, crusty constellations.

you gasp in complete horror while luffy gasps in utter excitement.

“woah! are these from last night? did you do this?” luffy jumps up and runs to the thin body length mirror usopp had fashioned for you in the captain’s quarters. he stands facing away from the mirror and twists his body, butt naked, in the most unnatural way only a man made of rubber could. 

he starts to grin wildly and lets a few chuckles escape his lips. you, extremely embarrassed and horrified, hide your face in your palms. you couldn't believe you'd made luffy bleed.

how the hell did you manage to scratch hard enough to tear rubber skin?

you can remember, and you've been reminded by your soreness this morning, how good you'd been fucked last night. how luffy's cock had kissed and bullied your cervix for multiple rounds. how luffy’s stamina had always surprised you but something had come over him last night and he needed to feel all of you, multiple times, till he'd passed out.

“luffy, i’m–” you're about to apologize but are interrupted by luffy’s loud and boisterous laughter.

“they're like battle scars! awesome!” luffy is overjoyed and his eyes are squeezed shut to make room for the large grin that spreads across his face. he stares at the small scratches along his scapulae, his traps, his lats, and further down his back for just a little while longer before he bounds over to the bed and pounces on you. there's a smug grin on his face. “guess i made ya feel that good last night, hmm?”

you blush and move to cover your cheeks with your hands but luffy is much quicker than you and grabs your hands, pinning them above your head. you had nowhere to hide from his amusement.

“why are you so embarrassed?” luffy asks gently, using his hand not occupied by your wrists to trace his thumb over your warm cheeks. he's still smiling, but it's softer now, desperately wanting for you to talk to him and not feel guilty.

“i didn't mean to hurt you…” you say slowly, looking away from luffy’s stare. he takes your chin in his thumb and index and pulls your face to him, pressing a warm and gentle kiss to your lips.

“ya didn't hurt me!” luffy says once he's pulled away from you, he's smiling. you feel a bit better at seeing luffy's honest joy, knowing that you couldn't possibly physically hurt the newest emperor of the sea with mere scratches. you sigh and smile back at him.

“okay! i'm glad then.” you crane your neck to press your lips to his once more. “and yes, you fucked me really good last night, captain.”

you catch a mischievous glint flash in luffy’s eyes and watch as he moves his hand in between your legs and separates them by spreading his fingers wide. he tightens his grip on your wrists and uses his other hand to hook each of your legs around his hips. he presses himself into the apex of your thighs and you can feel how he's already straining and raring to go.

“yeah?” luffy breathes as he skims his teeth and tongue over the side of your neck, leaving a trail of saliva down to your chest. “let's go at it again then.”

luffy starts to rock his hips back and forth, rubbing his erection against the inside of your thigh. you press your thighs together, providing something tight and warm for luffy to drag his cock through. he lets out a small whine and hunches over you, littering your chest with butterfly kisses and small patches of his drool.

“breakfast!” luffy’s ears perk up at sanji’s voice, his lips hands and dick abruptly abandoning your body.

“meet me back in here after breakfast, ‘kay?” luffy says, pressing a kiss to your temple and grinning before he jumps up off of the bed and over to where his clothes from last night lay on the floor.

you huff, feeling the whiplash from how he'd just been fucking your thighs then how he'd suddenly left you completely cold and bare. you watch him tug his shorts up his hips and grab his straw hat from the ring beside the door.

“put on a shirt!” you yell after him.

“nope! i'm showing off my battle scars!” luffy whoops as he rushes out of the captain's quarters toward the kitchen, licking his lips in anticipation for both breakfast and the activities that will follow.

taglist: @kingofthe-egirls | @ohmaswife | @bowsa-jr | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup | those already tagged in the a/n !!

[thatdeadaquarius]

Ok but polygot reader who's like a pro singer who sings im all the languages they know all across teyvat cuz y not <3

Having a duet with yunjin and xinyan

Harmonising with barbara

Singing for nilou's dance

I WANNA SING LULLABIES TO MY CHILDREN SO BADLYYYYYYYY

Orah my beloved genius you <333

LMAO SORRY I JUST HAD TO USE THIS GIF

Orbit: Short Headcanons-ish

Stars: mostly Mond/Liyue characters, mentions of other singers/musicians

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: none known. & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

U get to sing a solo with Barbara yes!!

but u know whats more important? whos more hype abt ur songs/diff languages???

Venti.

Venti is.

Venti is vibrating with barely contained manic energy

poor guy is sick of always being familiar with songs, nothing is "new" to him, but ur songs?? they're from a different world, and he can't know any of them!!!

Venti's has a surprising amount of strength in those noodle arms bc ur suffocating in his hug rn-

He is constantly begging asking you to sing for him, sing in public, he'll put you on the Barbatos statue hands just so everyone can hear you,

constantly pleading politely requesting if he can lay in your lap under the Windrise tree while you sing slow songs

Hogs you from Barbara, Klee, and anyone else in Mondstadt who would want to personally hear ur singing/duet with you lmao

u had to bring in the cavalry (Rex Lapis/Zhongli) to get a week away from him lol

luckily the retired god was more than motivated to bring u to Liyue, after all he spends a fair amount of his time listening to operas/music

DUETS DUETS DUETS!!

Yunjin blew ur eardrums out of excitement the first time u copied her singing perfectly, kidnapped u for an entire week of festivities where u were the special singer guest <33

Xinyan looked at you like u hung the stars in the sky for both playing a little guitar/singing to her rock music (as she's used to instrumental rock so far bc its been just her)

Qiqi, Klee, Yao yao, Diona all ask (in their own ways lol) for lullabies,

they each wanted you to sing to them every night but it wasn't possible... so u got cloud retainer to invent a machine to record some lullabies you've sung in each of their countries languages so they can sleep 🥺<333

and the dancers.

you cannot escape the dancers.

Nilou, yunjin, eula, gaming, ayaka, doesn't matter, u cannot have peace.

u will sing for them all at some point, u will have repeated performances, u will attract crowds, u will be going on a world tour

(Lyney has also kidnapped u for his magic shows to show off ur singing in French)

☆

finally scheduled a post and am able to rlly get at my asks more frequently now thank goodness

im so ready to open ask box again 😭😭

hope u guys have a fun Tuesday!! :)

Safe Travels 0rah,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[lady-charinette]

The lucid moments of Queen Charlotte & King George:

they sometimes hide from the heavens under the bed and George asks how their kingdom is doing. Charlotte quietly confesses how sometimes, the world seems to close in on her too & she feels like she might just hide from the heavens forever. George cradles her hand whispers lovingly:"You've always been the stronger one of us." Charlotte:"Only because you gave me half of your strength."

George sometimes escapes his confinement and bursts into meetings, but he's lucid. Charlotte is momentarily stunned, but relaxes when George speaks normally with the higher members of the ton. She smiles and watches her husband, the king, attend to his duties. In these little moments, she feels like the paintings didn't have to add George in later, she feels like he was there all along for the still sitting.

George still goes to the fields, he's old now, but he can pick at the weeds and plant some vegetables at least. Brimsely swore he would always attend to Her Majesty the Queen, but whenever her husband is outside, he temporarily serves the King, on orders of Her Majesty. Brimsely knows the Queen trusts him above all to protect her king in Reynold's place

George sometimes draws her, draws her face, his artistic skill curiously weakens when he's of sound mind, but Charlotte doesn't seem too offended when she spies her likeness on their wall. She smiles brighter than the sun

They reminiscent of their youth together, George remarks on the make of Charlotte's dresses, they look just like they had when they were younger. Charlotte is too prideful to admit she still orders these dresses to be made because it's the only thing of George she can have with her everyday to keep her grounde

Amelia's passing wounded everyone deeply, George had still been lucid enough to have learned of it, which ultimately crumbled the pieces of his sanity over time. His lucid moments grew fewer and farther in between and Charlotte felt like she had not only lost a daughter, but her husband as well

George has his observatory in his residence at Kew, and sometimes when he gazes at the stars and searches for a glimpse of Venus, his clarity returns with full force. In those moments, he quickly writes down whatever thoughts flood his clear mind, to not forget them, forget that deep down in his madness, there is still a man. Charlotte occasionally visits his observatory and she always checks his journals for new notes. Little things he intended to remember. The names of all their children and their birthdays. Thoughts of Charlotte and how much he misses her. Most of them speak of Venus, how much he loves and adores her. The Queen learned early on that Venus has quite a few names. The Great Star. Goddess of Love. Charlotte. Lottie. And sometimes, his Queen.

"Tell me, Lottie, how are the gardens?". She smiles, "In full bloom, my dear.". There was an uncharacteristically but not unfamiliar grin on the king's face. "And tell me... how is your garden?" Charlotte laughed, spying the mischievous twinkle in her husband's eye. "It definitely could use some tending. Some watering. Some fierce plowing." Brimsely knew better than anyone to immediately send the guards and attendants away once the Queen hitched up her skirts and moved over to sit on the King's lap.

"I'm sorry, my dear Lottie." George spoke softly into their quiet bedroom. Charlotte tried to discern his expression through the darkness. "Whatever for, George?". George sighed deeply, "For not giving you as much comfort and support as you do for me, once my mind wanders again.". Charlotte can only hold her husband close to her and kiss his forehead, whispering softly into his thinning hair. "You do give me comfort, my dear. So much."

George often has nightmares during the night, whenever he calls for his attendants, more often than not, it's his wife that hurries to his bedside. She always manages to quench his demons. He's heard the whispers in the halls, about how cruel and cold his queen was. But not to him. To him, she was soft and warm. Oh, so warm.

At the birth of their last child, George worries for Charlotte's health and urges her to not have anymore babies. She tries to argue with him, but George snaps:"We have enough heirs! I know what it is that you try to do, I know my...my madness may pass down to any one of our children, but if I were to lose you while you give birth to another child madness shall consume us all! What shall I do mad with fourteen children to care for instead of enjoying the moments I have left with you by my side?"

George sometimes reads manuscripts of the love stories between older kings and their queens, he sometimes forgets them and discovers them anew, but he always remembers what each of these stories lacked to him. None of these love stories could come close to describe the endless well of love he harbors for his wife, in madness and in sanity.

Charlotte finds reading poems to be a waste of her time, but she keeps the small, crumpled pieces of papers very close to her heart. The handwriting is not always neat, not always eligible, but she knew them all by heart anyway. Even though he may not be physically near her, Charlotte knew she was never alone in ruling their kingdom with George's heartfelt poems tucked safely into the sleeves of her dress.

They sometimes run into each-other in the kitchen at night, it's always a fright at first, Charlotte doesn't know if George is in his right mind, but he always quells her fears with a boyish smile. "Fancy meeting you here, my queen. Care for some of the best pudding in all of Britain?" Charlotte smiles, her eyes misty. "Oh, you old fool. You'll upset your stomach if you continue eating pudding every night.". George caressed her cheek. "That never stopped you before, has it?" Charlotte sighed. "Oh, just give me that spoon."

Sometimes, in his calm state of mind, George wonders if his body subconsciously enters into madness on purpose. Not to drive him mad, no, a much simpler reason. Sometimes, George wonders if he falls back into madness because he knows if he does, Charlotte would always come to visit and spend time with him. Somewhere in the deepest corners of his mind, George doesn't mind being called the Mad King if it meant spending time with his dear wife.

Charlotte is Queen during the day, but when she visits George at night, she turns young again, the ache in her bones recedes and she's just a simple maiden with her farmer. Just Charlotte. Just George. Just them.

[eluminium]

WHAT IS IT WITH SKIZZ AND THE NUMBER 3???

I don't get it man, this guy. THIS GUY. He just CAN'T SEEM to escape the number three. Don't believe me?

What about the fact that he's died 3rd every single series he's been in? Yep, both in 3rd life and in last life, this man died third. And in the exact same way too, foolishly charging into the enemy with no plan other than bloodshed. Which fails.

What about THIS????

LIKE YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT A LITTLE BIT SUS. IN 3RD LIFE TOO. 3RD LIFE. WHERE THE FIRST 2 KILLS WERE HIS.

What about the fact he's only ever had 3 lives assigned to him?

What about the fact that in B.E.S.T, S is the 3rd letter?

What about the fact that he missed Double Life, the 3rd season of the Life Series??

What about the fact that because he missed Double Life, he’s been apart of 3 seasons of the Life series???

AND NOW. WHAT ABOUT THE FACT THAT IN SESSION 1 OF LIMITED LIFE, HE DIES 3 TIMES IN THE FIRST SESSION????

LIKE WHAT IS HIS DEAL??? WHY IS HE SO HAUNTED BY THE NUMBER 3??? HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING????

And I mean, he's usually portrayed as an Angel in fanart. and 3 is considered a holy number. The Rule of 3, the Trinity, and its symbolism in numerology... (yes that's a thing. don't ask me how I know.) It all ties together. And it ties together to the man whose heart is too big for his head. To the man who, despite all the flair, has never killed in anything but self-defense, in the service of another. To the guy whose entire schtick so far in Limited Life is not to kill, but to appreciate the time he has and the people he's around. To the guy who's drawn as an angel.

I KNOW THIS SOUNDS LIKE A CONSPIRACY THEORY AND IT MIGHT BE BUT LIKE, YOU SEE IT DON'T YOU??? THE PATTERNS???? IT'S INSANE. I DON'T GET IT.

Now idk what you could do with this as like a design thing. Could have like a third wing sticking out of his neck so he'd have 3 wings? Could have a halo with 3 rings? Idk man, I ain't the artist, but I feel like there's potential here.

Could also have Dove symbolism? Y'know, doves and angels, doves usually being associated with peace and Skizz having a very nonviolent and more negotiating approach. I mean he spared both Scar and Bdubs in 3rd Life, he chose mercy when really, he could have killed them together with the Red Army. And after Skizz dies is always when everything goes to true shit. After his death came the final battles of Dogwarts in 3rd life. After his death, the Wither was summoned in Last Life and everything fell into slowly decaying chaos. First goes the canary, the first warning that time has run out. Second goes an innocent other, to hammer in that there's no return. And to complete the rule of 3, the dove follows the canary. The death of peace, a final warning. That now there will be no more.

im a little insane about skizzleman okay.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Happy Little Accidents

Veteran!BuckyBarnes x Female!ArtTeacher!Reader

summary: In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.

a/n: wrote most of this on my lunch break after finally feeling the creativity spark again. I hope you all get a cozy fall feeling.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: adapting to life after war, frustration, a little angst, love-dazed Bucky, just so much fluff and wholesomeness 💕

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

↑ the face of a man too whipped to listen - this is the Bucky vibe today

Steve Rogers was an artist. A lot of people knew about it. Hell, the Smithsonian even had a gallery full of sketches from a notebook of Steve’s he had lost back in ‘45. But Steve never needed people to recognize his work. Just like he never needed all the fame that came with his shield or all the honors he got for doing what he thought normal human decency implied - stopping bullies.

But what not many people knew was that Steve loved his art so much, he even held little sketch workshops in the camps on the western front. He drew each member of the howling commandos with impeccable accuracy. He loved drawing portraits and he loved to help.

Which was why, sooner or later, Bucky had been talked into trying his first sketches back in the day as well. Back when he was still left-handed, back when he found joy in little things such as drawing with his best friend. Back when he was not who he was now.

Yeah, he was bitter about it...

Bucky wasn’t too shabby of an artist per se. He was rather quick with his sketches always able to find the right spot for his next line and even though they weren’t perfect, one could always see what his pictures were meant to present.

Yes, they were crooked and not nearly as good as Steve’s but he had fun with it. Sketching had been an escape for his soul while bombs were exploding only miles away from his camp. It had reminded him of his best friend when they were apart, and most importantly, it taught him patience.

God, so much patience. 

Bucky had never been good with it. Always fast, always right away. But the amount of times Steve made him erase carefully constructed lines and shapes had him feel scolded like a kid.

Later, he was grateful for it.

Now? He hated just touching a pencil. Every time he was reminded of his recovery, of months of frustration and anger, of grief and sadness. All because he’d lost his arm, and with it, all that had brought him joy in life.

When he had to learn to write with his right hand, he screamed at the papers before him, the crooked and shaky lines mocking him with vigor.

You’ll never be the same, they said, You’ll never have true joy back.

He felt like a child. Unable to do the most mundane of tasks, whilst fully aware of what had to be done to get it right.

But he missed it. The way drawing would clear his mind and the ease he felt when thinking of nothing but the next step in the process.

So after a particularly frustrating session with his therapist, Bucky had walked through a gallery on his way home. Beautiful pieces, each more impressive than the next hung on bright white walls until he reached a small corner with sketches and photographs. They weren’t less good than the rest, but other than the huge paintings, they seemed approachable - and they reminded him of times far gone.

“Hello, would you be interested in signing up for a sketching class?” An angelic voice had asked after holding a leaflet into his line of sight. And when he followed the hand up to your face, his breath hitched in his throat.

“I- I don’t think I’d be any good…” he had said with a pitiful smile as his left arm raised next to his head, the sleek silver of his hand shining in the showroom light.

“Oh don’t be silly. Everyone can be an artist.”

And that was all it took.

Now he was here. Sitting in a room with about eight other people, listening to you talk. Though Bucky didn’t pay much attention to your words. He was distracted by the way your lips curved when you spoke, and how your hands looked in the light when you flailed them in the air. He wanted to draw you, only you. But he knew he could never do you justice. And that frustrated him a little.

His first task was easy. A series of connected squiggles and shapes. The second was harder - finding and highlighting familiar motives in his work. But when he tried to connect his shapes, his hand began to tremble and the line on his paper got dented, he huffed in surrender.

A look to the front to you talking with another woman and he was getting off his chair.

This was useless. He should have never come here. 

But when he moved to gather his things, your voice stopped him once again. 

“Oh that’s interesting,” you said with a tilted head, your eyes following the little dent in his drawing. 

“Yeah, I messed it up.” He shook his head and added a careful, much more quiet ‘I always do”.

“You see, it’s only a mistake if you make it one.” You turned to him and smiled and his heart began racing now that all your attention was on him. Bucky looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the other participants were all focused on their work. “I’m not going to tell you that this line isn’t supposed to be the way it is. You alone can decide that.”

You stepped closer as he eyed his paper again. “So, Bucky,” holy crap you remembered his name. And it sounded so good coming from your lips. “Are you gonna make it a mistake or not?”

❁ ❁ ❁

That was a month ago. And Bucky had come to your class every Sunday night since then. But now his crush had only intensified. 

Every time you stepped behind him to watch him work, his hand began to sweat. Every time you gave him a suggestion, his eyes were so drawn to your lips, he barely heard what you were saying. Just yesterday this had caused him to get into a particularly awkward situation. He hadn’t listened, of course - those stupid mesmerizing lips of yours were at fault for it. And when Bucky finally came back from his daydream of imagining what they would feel like on his lips, he knocked over a jar of water as he noticed you had moved next to him. And to make matters even worse, you had caught him talking to himself as he cleaned up the mess. 

Bucky was beyond embarrassed. He wasn’t normally that clumsy, all his moves were calculated. No limb out of control, but when you were around, he seemed to have lost that trait of his - which was actually kind of nice... 

He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to handle it. 

He was contemplating never going back to your class. He would probably end up ruining somebody’s work and - besides - it wasn’t like he could ever work up the courage to ask you out. It was just all too scary. 

“Bucky, is that you?” Bucky froze as he studied the coffee menu above the barista. He was going to order black anyway. But the voice that called out his name almost made him want to pretend he was still studying the sign.

“Bucky.” Your voice came closer and when you were standing next to him, he finally looked at you. And there you were, with a bright smile and a scarf shielding you from the cool fall breeze outside. 

“Oh, hey.” He paused, treading, not knowing what to do with his hands or pretty much any part of his body. At least, in your workshop, he had something to do. “...hey.”

“It’s nice to see you, how’s your homework going?” You rubbed your hands together to warm them and at the sight of your delicate fingers, he felt his cheeks heating up when he imagined holding them. 

“It’s... well, it’s going...” He sighed and watched his feet as they shuffled on the tiled floor. “It’s not going well if I’m being honest.” And with a shy smile, he rubbed the back of his neck, watching as you nodded in understanding. 

“I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes it really helps to just get started without thinking about it too much.”

He chuckled. That was exactly his problem. Because every time he wanted to start, he wondered what you would think about it. And then his thoughts drifted to you entirely and how your neck would bend when you watched him draw over his shoulder, or how your fingers swayed over his artwork to point out the parts you were talking about. God, he loved when you did that. 

“-only if you want, of course.” Your nose crinkled when Bucky’s mind brought him back to the coffee shop again. You were staring at him expectantly, your smile growing nervous with every second he took to register that you had just asked him a question.

Bucky had no idea what you had just said. He had been too lost in his daydream yet again and now he made you look stupid in the middle of this coffee shop. There wasn’t much time to decide what his response would be, but under no circumstance did he want to admit just how scattered he was around you. So without thinking, he just nodded with a tight-lipped smile and willed his knees to stay strong when your eyes brightened.

“Awesome! When are you free?” Free? Did you just ask him out and he hadn’t even paid attention?

“Uh, Sunday?” Bucky stammered as his heart began to pound in his chest. This has got to be a prank. 

You laughed, and Bucky got weak in the knees. “Sunday is workshop, silly.”

Stupid, stupid, Bucky. “Right, uh... Friday then.” The rapid beat in his chest took his breath away.

“Okay, great. Here give me your phone so I can give you my number.”

“You’re–“ Bucky choked as his hands scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Yes, yeah sure, cool.” Cool? Oh god. 

You took it from him, entered your contact with a little paintbrush emoji, called yourself, and handed it back to his sweaty hand. 

“I’ll text you my address.” You stepped forward to pay and retrieve your coffee, gifting the barista a smile that made him blush - apparently, you were a regular because Bucky did not remember you ordering - but then again - he didn’t really pay attention apparently. “Oh, and bring your art supplies!” 

And then you were out the door, letting crisp air into the cozy coffee shop, and Bucky standing dazed and confused as to what had just happened. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky stared at his phone for the fifth time now, making sure he was in front of the right door before ringing the bell. He was nervous, to say the least. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was on a date, not to mention the last time he felt this nervous about being on one. He was a strong believer in facts but you asking him out had to be a sign from the universe. One he would only get once and he could not screw it up. 

His hands smoothed over his black button-up one last time before adjusting his leather jacket again. Then he rang the bell and not even a minute later, you greeted him with a warm smile and urged him to give you his jacket to hang up. 

“I just made tea, do you want some?” Bucky followed you to the kitchen where the faint but homey scent of pumpkin spice filled the air. He watches as you scrambled to find your oven its and then retrieve something delicious smelling from the oven. “Cookies?” 

“I’m good with tea for now.” He chuckled in awe at how nice your home felt. Once he could tear his eyes away from you, he peered over the kitchen island into your living room, where many different artworks and photographs were displayed on the walls. Every pillow on your sofa had a different color and the blankets sprawled on it and the chair were too inviting for him not to picture the both of you cuddled up beneath them. 

“Alright then, suit yourself. But just know these are my specialty.” You snatched one from the tray before almost dropping it again. “Ouch, hot.”

Bucky felt drawn to the room. With all its warm light and fall-scented candles, hints of read books and discarded crocheting, with a crackling fireplace and soft carpeting. He also felt awfully intimate at the glimpse he got into your life by being here, but he had already declared this place his favorite in his mind. 

“Are you ready?” Bucky turned to you and watched as you padded your hands on your jeans, leaving faint flour prints on the dark denim.

“Ready for what?” He smiled again, he seemed to be unable to stop around you. But he was just so happy to be here, to be close to you, and to finally spend more time with you.

You chuckled and set two cups of tea on the table. “For your sketches. That’s the whole reason you came here for, remember?”

You settled on the ground and padded the sofa for Bucky. But he could just stand there and stare at you while trying to ignore the lump that began to build in his throat. He clenched the bag with his art supplies in his hand and watched as the soft material wrinkled in his grasp.

Of, course. He took a breath. How could he have been so naive? Then stepped towards the sofa. The whole thing had been a mistake. And finally sat down with a heavy smile. 

The sadness was filling him so fast, it threatened to spill right out of him, but Bucky wouldn’t let this little  big  dent in the road be shown in front of you. Instead, he focused on your hands when they pulled his sketch pad from his bag. And your eager smile when you flipped through his failed attempts on the paper. 

The whole atmosphere was wearing a thin layer of sorrow all of a sudden, and Bucky felt his heartache when you leaned over to him to point out the parts you liked the most. Your perfume seemed just that much sweeter as if it were mocking him all of a sudden. 

He didn’t listen. He just watched you with the same longing he’s had ever since he met you. Back to square one. Back to the distance he had with you before he foolishly thought you had asked him out. Except now he’d lost all the confidence left in him to take the next step. 

Bucky let the evening wash over him. Trying to concentrate on your tips and examples, tasting the tea you had offered to him with the sweetest smile. And before he knew it, he was standing in front of your apartment building again - with a box of those pumpkin cookies in hand and a heart that felt heavier than the bricks he was staring at. 

He sighed and began his walk back home.

❁ ❁ ❁

On Sunday he decided that he wouldn’t give up. Bucky didn't know what changed his mind. He just knew that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and him on that incredibly comfortable sofa of yours and the scent of your cedar and cinnamon candle which seemed to linger on his skin for days after his visit. He wanted to play the sketching games he had half-heartedly endured last time and he wanted to become a better artist. 

Bucky had left your cookie box at home as an excuse to meet up with you again. And even though he was sweating ferociously when he approached you after class, you had agreed to meet with him again. 

He’d left the gallery with a bright smile that evening. Excited for the next time he’d see you again and eager with daydreams on the subway home.

You and Bucky met up every week. Every time, spending a little longer not just drawing and it filled his heart with warmth and happiness. You shared laughter, and, in Bucky’s eyes, a growing connection with every passing meeting. 

He learned about your dreams and aspirations and told you about his past, his interests, and his most treasured fantasies.

As weeks turned into months, Bucky found himself drawn to you in more ways than the warmth radiating from your smile he’d noticed the first day he met you, or your talent of calmly helping him in every way possible. He admired your passion for art, your kindness, and your enchanting presence. The fear and the shyness that had gripped him at first, slowly faded away - replaced by a sense of comfort when he was with you. 

And soon he realized that there was nothing he didn’t love about you. This was how he got the courage to, on one calm evening spent on your sofa, between the colorful pillows he had been thinking about falling asleep on for weeks, place his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers with his. 

“I got something for you,” he whispered between dialogues of the Halloween movie playing on TV, watching as your eyes aimed up at him with curiosity. 

With reluctance, he peeled himself out of the warm blanket you shared and trudged to the sketchbook hidden in his bag. The initial idea had been dipped in silly confidence. But it was too late to back out now. He’d already told you about it. 

So despite his nervous heartbeat, Bucky came back to the sofa and handed you the book. 

“Open it,” he nudged when you carefully inspected the black leather binding, unaware of the confession hidden beneath. 

And when you did, he felt he could read every expression on your face like a poem. 

The book was filled with sketches of you. The first pages were scattered in hasty pencil drawings, misplaced lines, and unintentional dents. Then followed the section in which he had tried to pay attention to detail. The curve of your nose or the arch of your fingers when they pointed at his artwork. He could see them now, hovering over the sketches himself, and when you turned to the last page of the section, he could see the striking resemblance between them. And so did you. On the next turn, you revealed the latest portraits he’d added to the book - finally confident enough to attempt doing what he saw you as justice, to finally look past his mistakes - or happy little accidents as you called them - and just try it. 

Bucky had discovered that your weekly sketch sessions had done him good. And that you had secretly given him back what he had mourned after for so long.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you from the moment we met.” He whispered still, too afraid to break the moment you’d just created. “Thought it was time for me to tell you.”

Your eyes were glassy when you tore them from the pages in your hand, a shaky laugh escaping your lips when Bucky beamed down at you. “You did all of this for me-”

“Because of you,” he corrected and wiped a lonely tear from your cheek. “I never thought I could get the joy of drawing back until you showed me how.”

Bucky leaned in closer until your noses touched. “How to be less critical of myself.” He closed his eyes and let his hand linger on your skin. “And how to welcome a mistake by making it an accident-” 

And before he could finish that sentence, he felt your lips press to his and your warm hands wrap around his neck to pull him into your body. Bucky shivered in excitement, letting his hands trail down your back and falling into the soft cushions of your sofa while he pressed you to his chest protectively.

He sighed into the kiss, feeling his heart burn with excitement. 

Fascinating, how fast a mistake can turn into a happy little accident. 

I love you Bob Ross <3

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @wintermischief @supersecretblogformytreasures @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @bisexual-buckyfan @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage

[bellaxgiornata]

Neighbors [Prologue]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Between running Common Grounds, chasing after your escape artist husky, and helping your financially struggling brother out by watching your niece, your days are always busy. But shortly after a new neighbor moves into the other side of your duplex, you start receiving mysterious threats. Surprisingly, you eventually find safety and comfort in the reclusive neighbor whom your niece and dog have both come to befriend.

Warnings/tags: 18+; contains friends to lovers, violence, fluff, eventual smut, angst

a/n: This is just a short prologue to this little fic and unfortunately there's only mentions of Frank, he doesn't make an appearance until the first chapter. Also yes, Reader has a family, but I try my best to keep physical descriptions nonexistent and allow for y'all reading to either view Reader as biologically related to her brother, or to view her as adopted at birth. Feedback is always appreciated and the chapter list for future updates can be found here!

Tag list: @danzer8705

“Alright, coffee bean,” you said, opening the back door of your car, “what’s first on the agenda for this afternoon?”

A bright smile lit up Lily’s face as you leaned into the backseat, beginning to unbuckle her from the carseat. Her feet swung back and forth in her pink shoes as she waited for you to undo the restraints, a thoughtful ‘hmm’ coming from her as you undid each buckle. Though you already knew what she was going to say, because it was the same answer every time.

“First we need a snack,” she answered.

“Oh we do, do we?” you asked with a grin.

“We always start with snack time, Nini,” she stated matter-of-factly in her small voice.

Your grin grew wider at the nickname she still called you after all these years. When she was younger, she'd struggled to properly say ‘auntie,’ instead the word coming out as ‘nini.’ So Nini you happily became.

Finished with undoing her buckles, Lily slid out of her seat, grabbing her backpack and stuffed husky–the plush that was almost an exact replica of your dog that she carried absolutely everywhere with her–from the seat beside her. While she began to climb her way out of the car, your attention was drawn away by the sound of your neighbor’s front door closing. Glancing over your shoulder and past your driveway over to the duplex beside yours, you spotted your landlord, Cora. Her back was to you as she continued to lock up the duplex next door to yours. 

You’d been wondering why her car had been parked in the neighboring driveway when you’d first pulled up. She hadn’t mentioned anything about stopping by for anything today to you, so you figured her visit had something to do with the neighboring unit. Curiously you wondered if she had finally gotten a tenant for that duplex, because you knew it had been empty for the past couple of months. Not many people wanted to move to a small town in Michigan. Though it wasn’t like you’d been complaining about the lack of noisy neighbors for the past couple of months. The peaceful silence of not sharing a wall with someone had been great, and so had been having the entire shared backyard to yourself.

Lily’s small hand grabbing onto yours broke you from your thoughts, your focus shifting back down to her now standing at your side. She was grinning up at you, her purple backpack on her back and her husky clutched tight to her chest with her other arm. 

She’d just finished preschool for the day today, and as usual, you’d picked her up afterwards. She attended preschool three days a week for only half a day–paid for by you, because your brother was struggling to make ends meet as it was being a single dad in debt. He sometimes even worked a second job at a bar in town at night, and on those nights Lily stayed with you. 

Your brother Jamie was truthfully a great father, but he had been struggling financially even before Lily came into the picture. It didn't help that Lily’s mother had bailed on the pair of them almost immediately after giving birth, leaving Jamie all alone to figure everything out.

All alone except for you, of course. Because there was no way in hell you'd let your brother and his poor little baby girl suffer. Since Jamie couldn’t afford traditional daycare, you had offered to watch your niece whenever he was working. And it had been that way for years. Nowadays that meant sometimes you’d take her down to Common Grounds, the coffee shop you owned downtown, and let her help you out or work on her own activities while you finished whatever you needed to. Other days you’d find ways to keep the pair of you entertained at your place or around town. It was an arrangement you didn’t truthfully mind because Lily was a fairly well behaved four year old and you genuinely loved spending time with her. You knew you'd miss her constant company when she finally started kindergarten in the fall.

“And what do you think we should have for a snack?” you asked her.

“Apple cookies!” she exclaimed instantly. “You make them better than daddy!”

“Well you're in luck,” you told her, closing the car door, “because I just bought fresh strawberries yesterday.”

Beside you, Lily happily jumped up and down, emitting a squeal of delight. The sight of her had you laughing as she began pulling at your hand, beginning to drag you up the length of the driveway. But the pair of you didn't get far before you heard your name being called out. Turning towards the voice, you spotted your landlord Cora. You sent her a smile and a wave in greeting.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Phillips!” Lily cheerfully called out, waving her stuffed husky enthusiastically at Cora.

“And good afternoon to you, Lily!” Cora said, stopping at the edge of the neighboring driveway and leaning down towards the girl. “How was preschool today?”

“Good!” Lily exclaimed. “Nini and I are going to make apple cookies for snack now!”

“Oh you are? Well those sound yummy,” Cora told her. Her eyes returned to you, a warm smile on her face as she straightened back up. “And how're you doing, dear?”

Laughing lightly, you shrugged your shoulders. “About as busy as always,” you replied. “But that's better than being bored, I suppose.” You gestured your head towards the duplex she just left. “Did you finally find someone for the unit?”

Cora nodded as she said, “I did, actually. So it seems you'll finally be getting a neighbor. Just one, though. But he seemed to be a very polite gentlemen from the few times we have spoken at least.”

Your heart sank at the news, but you did your best to refrain from letting the disappointment show on your face. So not only were you getting a neighbor again, but it was a single man. Probably a bachelor of some sort. You only hoped he wouldn't be bringing many dates back to his place. Not just because you didn't want to hear anything through that shared wall, but you didn't want Lily to overhear anything on the nights she stayed over, either. 

“Oh?” you asked. “When uh, when is he moving in?”

“He moves in tomorrow actually,” Cora told you. “He seemed eager to get settled in as soon as possible and I couldn't quite complain. I've been needing to fill that place for a while now.”

Lily began to tug impatiently at your hand. Glancing down at her, you saw the slight frown on her face. She was tired of the ‘adult talk’ already, you could see it on her face. 

“I suppose I'll be meeting him soon then,” you said, focusing back on Cora. “But I should probably get Lily inside and get going on those apple cookies of hers.”

Lily resumed enthusiastically hopping from one foot to the other at the mention of her favorite snack. “Yes please, Nini!” 

“Alright dear,” Cora said, that warm smile still on her face. “You girls take care. And let me know if there's any problems with the new neighbor, okay? You know I worry about you two.”

Taking a step back in the direction of your front door, you nodded. “I'm sure everything will be just fine, Cora,” you told her. “But I'll be sure to let you know if anything comes up.”

You sent her a final wave before turning around and continuing up towards your own front door, Lily once again tugging at your hand. As the pair of you neared the front window of your duplex, you could hear the distinct happy barks of greeting from your husky. She was standing at the front window, her tail wagging enthusiastically as faint whines penetrated through the glass in between her impatient barks.

“Penny! Penny!” Lily cried out.

The little girl released your hand, bolting over towards the window. Penny's whining only increased in response to your niece as you finished making your way to the front door, searching for the correct key on your keyring. Placing your key into the lock, you twisted it just before the sound of Penny's feet frantically racing over towards the door met your ears. Seconds later Lily was back at your side, excitedly bursting into your place in front of you the moment the door was opened. Her arms were wrapped around Penny's neck in a hug by the time you stepped inside, giggling as your dog began to happily lick the side of her face.

“Lily, shoes off please!” you called out to her.

Reluctantly breaking away from Penny, Lily made her way back over to where you were taking off your shoes in the entryway. As she sat down to take hers off, you placed yours in the entry closet. 

“So what should we do after snack time today?” you asked her, turning around and helping her remove her shoes. “We have a couple of hours before your dad comes to pick you up. Should we watch a movie? Color? Find a craft to do?”

You grabbed Lily’s shoes from her, turning back around to place them in the closet beside yours before closing the door. When you focused back on her, she was contentedly scratching Penny's ears and watching as the dog's tongue lolled out of her mouth in sheer bliss, Penny’s eyes partially closing. 

“No, I don't want to do those today,” Lily told you, shaking her head. “I want to…bake!” 

“Okay,” you said, making your way through the living room and towards your kitchen. “What do you want to bake? Brownies? Cookies?”

“Cookies!” she replied. “For your new neighbor!”

You paused at the entrance of your kitchen, your back to your niece as you heard her little footsteps and Penny's following after you. You hadn't expected that to be her answer. 

“Alright,” you said slowly, dragging the word out. “So…you want to make cookies for the new neighbor moving in tomorrow?” 

“Yep!” she answered. “It’s nice to bring people cookies, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” you replied. “So should we make chocolate chip cookies after snack time, then?”

“Uh uh,” she immediately replied. “Heart cookies.”

Your eyebrows shot up even further onto your forehead. She wanted you to make heart shaped cookies for your new, single male neighbor? 

“Coffee bean,” you began carefully, turning around to face her, “it's not February anymore. We don't–”

Lily crossed her arms over her chest, stomping one foot down in defiance as she stared up at you. “I want to make him heart cookies with pink frosting and sprinkles, Nini.”

You stood there for a moment dumbfounded, your gaze holding her unwavering one. When she didn't back down, your eyes shifted over to Penny who was standing beside her. The dog's head only tilted to the side as she sat down, somehow seemingly mimicking your niece's defiant posture. With a sigh you turned back around, heading over to your fridge and feeling outnumbered.

“Okay, okay,” you relented. “After snack time we can make my new neighbor heart shaped cookies with pink frosting and sprinkles.”

“Yay!” Lily cheered, running over to sit at the kitchen table, Penny darting off just behind her. “They're going to be so beautiful! He’s going to love them!”

And hopefully this new neighbor is truly as nice and polite as Cora said , you thought as you grabbed an apple from out of the fruit drawer of your fridge. Because I don't know how a grown single man is going to react to receiving heart shaped cookies with sprinkles as a welcome gift…but so help me he better not hurt her feelings.

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter four

Summary: Cry Baby still has to go to work. The girls have girl time. And, someone is back in a familiar place.

Warning: John Walker. (You didn't think he was gone, did you?). Mentions of Violence.

Word Count: 1237

Spotify Playlist

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This originally had a different ending. & had no Bucky but I couldn't not give you Bucky, right? Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport

The weight of the weekend events hung heavy over you as Monday morning dawned. Walking through the revolving doors of your building, your stomach twisted with anxiety. Your office was on the fifth floor and the elevator ride up to it felt tiresomely long. 

You could sense the tension already in the air when you stepped into the office. Noticing your team already gathering for the weekly meeting, you approached the conference room. John was sitting at the head of the table. His face seemed to have been covered with bruises, and a swollen lip which was not there on Saturday morning in the station. The memories of the weekend came back to you as he glanced over at you.

“Good morning,” you greeted your colleagues, your voice barely above a whisper as you took your seat.

His eyes were cold, filled with disdain. “Morning,” he replied bluntly, a slight hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Nice of you to join us.”

Trying to keep your emotions in check, you swallowed hard. The rest of your team exchanged glances, sensing a newfound hostility. You could barely focus on the discussion as the meeting began. Every time John spoke about your part of the project, it felt like a personal attack.

As you presented your progress, John interrupted. “I’m not sure that’s going to work,” he said, dismissing your hard work. “It’s too… artistic.” A smirk tugged at his plump lip. “We need something more grounded.” 

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration. “I’ll take your feedback into consideration,” you replied, your voice beginning to shake slightly. “And, redo it.” 

~

After the meeting, you tried to bury yourself in work. However, John hadn’t finished with you. He leaned against your cubicle wall, a smug expression on his features. You felt trapped. “So, how was your weekend?” he asked in a low mocking voice. “Had any more family… interventions?”

Tears began to prick at your eyes, the weight of his words and the venom behind them were too much. “Can we keep our personal lives out of the office, please?” you asked, your voice trembling.

A bitter laugh escaped his breath. “You’re a pathetic little thing, you know that?” He lowered himself so he was face to face with you. “Always needing someone to protect you.”

Tears spilled over, and you quickly wiped them away. “Please, just leave me alone.” 

“Fine,” he spat as he rose to a standing position. “Don’t expect any help on this, you’re on your own.” 

You buried your face in your hands as he walked away, trying to stifle a sob that threatened to escape. The sting of his words made it hard to concentrate on your work for the rest of the morning, it passed in a haze.

~

At lunchtime, the familiar ambiance of your favorite cafe eased your nerves as you settled into conversation with Natasha and Wanda. Thankfully they worked nearby so you could routinely meet up for a midday break. The three of you chatted over sandwiches and coffee as Natasha’s curious gaze turned to you, breaking the flow of your conversation.

“So, how was the rest of your weekend?” she asked, a hint of mischief danced across her eyes.

You nodded, finishing your bite of the sandwich before replying. “Just a quiet Sunday sketching.” 

Natasha’s smirk grew as she continued her teasing, unnoticed by you. “No sign of Bucky?”

Confusion flickered across your features as you shook your head. “No, I haven’t heard from him since Saturday night at the bar.” Taking a moment to glance at your phone, you hoped for a message that never came.

Wanda interjected with her serious expression a stark contrast to Nastaha’s previous smirk. “We need to talk about John,” she said, sharing a look with Natasha. 

You hesitated, memories of your morning encounter with the man flashing through your mind. The tears began to well again. “No, thank you,” you declined their offer.

They exchanged another look, their matching somber expressions edging the other to speak first. Natasha, however, did, her tone laced with regret. “You know, we’ve been thinking. Maybe if we had asked more questions about John before, we could have prevented Friday.” 

Blinking away the tears, you were taken by surprise by their admission. “It’s neither of your faults,” you reassured them. “I thought he was just a guy from work, I didn’t realize what he was like until the damage was done.” 

Wanda shook her head, “Still, we should have been more attentive.” 

A pang of guilt washed over you. Maybe if you had been open with them more, they could have offered you the guidance you needed. “I guess I was just caught up in the moment,” Your head dropped, not wanting to meet their gaze. “I slipped one night and told Bucky, he warned me about John but, I didn’t listen,” you admitted sheepishly. 

Natasha reached out to squeeze your hand gently. “Well, from now on, we’ll make sure to be more vigilant.” 

“We'll ask all the right questions and make sure you’re safe.” Wanda continued, as she reached out to squeeze your other hand. 

You smiled gratefully at your friends, “You don’t have to worry, I think I’m over the dating life for a while now.” 

The rest of the lunch passed with a more uplifting mood, a sense of relief washed over you.

~

He sat in the dimly lit waiting area, his back straight and his leg bouncing impatiently. After what felt like an eternity, the door to Fury’s office finally opened. Giving him a nod of recognition, he motioned for him to follow into the office. 

Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat and made his way inside.

“Sit down, Barnes,” Fury demanded, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. Closing the door behind him, Fury made his way to his side of the desk, throwing a case file in front of Bucky. “A complaint regarding an altercation, filed by John Walker,”

Bucky’s jaw tightened at the mention of his name, but he kept his composure as Fury continued. “According to this, it happened yesterday afternoon, unprovoked,” Fury’s eyes bored into Bucky’s as he explained. 

A scoff left Bucky’s lips, “Unprovoked, my ass,” he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “He went too far this time, Fury,” he explained, his tone left no room for doubt.

Fury nodded in understanding, “I agree, Barnes. But, you,” he paused, resting his elbow on the desk while pointing a finger at Bucky. “You need to be more careful,” his voice stern.

His fist clenched involuntarily as frustration bubbled beneath his surface. “Walker’s not going to stop until someone stops him.” 

“And, I’m working on it,” Fury sighed, “Surveillance is on him, we’ll find something to pin on him soon enough,” he added in an attempt to reassure a promise.

Bucky nodded, satisfaction settling over him as he stood, readying himself to leave. “Appreciate it Fury. Just… make sure you take care of him before I do,” he stated, his gaze unwavering.

Shaking his head in amusement as he watched Bucky open the office door, his lips twitching into a faint smile. He couldn’t help but admire the determination within him. “Remember, Barnes, we play by the rules.”

A smirk appeared on his lips as he turned back to face Fury, a glint of defiance in his eyes. “Not when it comes to her.” 

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[iamnotokaythx]

just an idea:

reader “loses” miguel’s engagement ring, so he resorts to tattooing it on your finger so you can never pretend you’re not his 🥰

it could look so cool too with a red/blue/black design yknow?

anon i like the way your brain thinks. lowkey wanna do a pt2 where reader’s escaped him and is trying to cover up the tattoo to get rid of all evidence of him

cw: needles, tattooing, established relationship, reader has never gotten a tattoo/is a little afraid, yandere!miguel, gn reader, its all lowercase

—

“miguel, don’t you think this is a little bit much?” you ask, fidgeting with your soon-to-be inked finger.

“well, you lost the ring. this’ll make it to where you always have it on.” he replies with an innocent smile.

“i mean, we could look for it. and then we could put it on a chain?”

“true, but metal rusts. i’ve paid good money for a tattoo artist already. no whining.”

you decide to give up; it’s not like miguel is easy to sway when he’s set in something. the car pulls up to a parking spot in front of a cute mom and pop’s shop. miguel would have done it himself, but he has too shaky of hands and wasn’t certified—only the best for his darling.

the shop smelled like insence. you were led into a small room where a heavily inked person was sterilizing their needle. they turned back to you and waved you forward. “hi, are you mx. o’hara? appointment for 2:00.” they asked to be sure.

“soon to be.” you murmured, noticing how miguel grinned and stood up a little straighter as the artist referred to you as his spouse.

you sat on the chair and miguel offered his hand. post-eyeroll, you grabbed his hand anyways.

“i’m afraid of needles.” you warn the artist.

“it’s alright! many people are.” they promise you. “so low long have you been together? oh, and do you have wedding plans?” they ask over the whirring of the gun. they roll their chair to get right beside you, causing miguel to bristle a little bit.

“we’ve been together a couple years. our wedding’s planned for 2 months from now. they just keep losing their ring, and i like reminding everyone that they’re exclusive to me. we belong with each other.” miguel didn’t let you speak, too eager to inform even this random person that you are his and he is yours.

the tattooist glances up after miguel’s slightly creepy rant and laughs hollowly. “understood. well, you definitely do love them.”

“of course i do.” he snapped, earning a light hit from you.

“miguel. it was a compliment.” you scold him. he rolls his eyes. you squeeze his hand in anticipation as the gun touches down onto your ring finger.

“sorry.“ he muttered unapologetically.

-

on the car ride home, he held your hand in his and gazed intently the ring around your finger.

“it’s a little… vibrant.” he criticized, the hues being brighter than he envisioned. “the reds especially.”

“it’ll look more faded once it heals.”

“oh. good. not too faded though, right? i mean, it’s gonna be visible.”

“yeah. it’s a tattoo, miguel.” you remind him.

“ah. right.” he murmurs, still mesmerized by the ink. “do you think that artist was flirting with you? they were really close to you.”

“no, i don’t think they were flirting. they were hired to tattoo me.”

“right, right.”

“what’s your plan for after the wedding? get this one removed and then tattoo the wedding ring on?”

“…”

“that was sarcasm. and the tattoo was uncomfortable, i don’t want it zapped off just to replace it.”

“don’t lose your ring, then.” he flashed a cocky smile.

[profound-imagination]

Something That We're Not - Xavier Thorpe.

Y/N has a secret, she also has feelings for a boy that doesn't have feelings for her but she's prepared to sacrifice everything for him and her friends, as well as revealing her secrets.

A/N - Maybe a little angsty, but I don't think there's any trigger warnings, took some liberties with Y/N's powers.

W/C 2.5k

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

How you'd ever been allowed to attend Nevermore you weren't sure, a school full of Sirens, Werewolves and Vampires but no Fae, no one like you. No half breeds. Books and films would depict your kind as light and goodness but in reality it was much darker, there was no ethereal glow that you carried, no beautiful wings like an angel, wings yes, but you could will yours in and out of existence and they were hard and leathery, like a bat. When you use your powers your eyes would turn black, your front teeth would elongate into fangs and the veins under your eyes would darken, much like the depiction of vampires in the popular show Vampire Diaries. No, there was nothing beautiful about being Fae. So you let them all think you're a witch with the magic you possess.

You had settled into Nevermore well enough after the school had reopened and had been taken in by an unlikely group of friends. None of them knew what you could do, what you were capable of, so the focus of everyone's attention remained on Wednesday Addams. A morbid girl who never had much to say, unless she had something to say, you liked that about her. Her best friend Enid had bounced up to you on the first day and announced you were adopted by their group. Her boyfriend Ajax was nice enough, always shared his joints with you and looked at Enid like she'd hung the stars just for him, you liked that for her. Xavier Thorpe was a bit of a mystery, he could make paintings and drawings come to life but there was something about him that convinced you he was capable of much more, he and Wednesday flirted between the lines of friendship and something more so you settled into life as a fifth wheel.

As the weeks went on, a tiny little spark of something started in your chest when you looked at the artist or when he smiled at you, or when he silently handed you a book he'd just finished that he thought you'd enjoy. The spark caught on fire when he'd taken you to his art shed and showed you the corner he'd set up just for you, fairy lights hung around it, a big comfy chair and fluffy blankets and all the books you could ever ask for. "I get the feeling sometimes the school is too loud for you, I see you flinch away from the noise, I thought you'd like some quiet place to escape to." He was right, the school was too loud for your sensitive hearing but you weren't about to tell him why. You smiled at him and nodded. "Thank you, Xavier." He smiled back and nodded as he handed you a key. "You're welcome here anytime, as long as you don't mind me painting here as well." Your fingertips brushed his as you took the key from him. "It's your place, Xav. I won't ever complain about you being here."

It wasn't long after that when the Normies started disappearing, you knew the signs, you knew what was taking them, the Fae, but how could you tell your friends without telling them how you knew, Wednesday had jumped headfirst into the investigation and so you laid clues for her to figure it out, left books where she'd find them that would give her the information she needed and you stayed quiet, playing the dutiful friend, listening to her theories while silently pining for the boy that was pining for her. You spent your evenings in the shed with Xavier, pretending to read at this point while you watched him over the top of your book, he'd caught you staring more than once and smirked back at you.

It was a Friday evening and he was practically bouncing when you entered the shed. "Two things to tell you!" Was how he greeted you, you laughed at him and placed your bag down next to your chair. "Okay! Spill it Thorpe!" He beamed down at you. "The first one I need to show you!" You nodded and smiled at him as he walked towards a covered canvas and pulled the cover off. Your breath caught in your throat. It was you, sat in your cosy chair, hair in a messy bun on top of your head, much like it was now, a book in your hand and you had a small smile on your face looking at the pages, the yellow lights of the room bathed you like an angel. Then it hit you, he'd used colour, he'd painted you in pastel colours, his usual style being charcoal drawings or earth tones. Movement dragged you out of your trance as he came to stand behind you, his hand bringing the painting to life, you turned a page, and looked up, the small smile on your face turned into a brilliant grin, you assumed that was you looking at him. Tears filled your eyes as you turned and threw yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck. "Thank you, Xav, it's beautiful, you made me look beautiful." You sniffled into his chest. His long arms wrapped around you. "I just paint what I see." He murmured into the top of your head.

"So what's the second thing you had to tell me?" You asked as you pulled yourself away from him. He grinned down at you. "Wednesday let me ask her to the Rave'N and said yes!!" You felt your smile falter for half a second and your heart that had just been soaring crashed and burned. You plasted a fake smile on your face. "That's great, Xav! I'm so happy for you!" He was still grinning like a fool. "Who are you going to ask?" You shook your head. "I think I'm going to give it a miss, I'll probably just sit here and read, too loud." He opened his mouth to argue with you but Wednesday burst through the door and the pair of them were off to investigate some lead she had found for her investigation. A lone tear slid down your cheek as you looked at the painting of you one last time before you covered it with the sheet again.

A week had passed since the shed and Enid had tried dragging you and Wednesday dress shopping, this year's theme being "Royal Ball" meant the girls would be in need of ball gowns. Enid was outraged that you'd decided not to attend, even Wednesday was unimpressed. "You mean I have to endure this particular form of torture alone?" She'd asked you. "You'll be with Xav, Wednesday, you'll be fine." You sighed at her and she didn't meet your eyes. "Actually before we head into Jericho I have something to show you both." You told them as you dragged them towards your dorm room. The two girls stopped in their tracks when they saw the two dresses on mannequins in your room. "Where did you get these?" Enid gasped, you shrugged. "I made them…for you." Enid to a step towards the dress that was clearly made for her, a pale pink gown with a silver snake that twisted up the bodice and around the neckline, an ode to her boyfriend. "You don't have to wear them or anything, I'm sure there will be nicer ones in town." You filled the silence, it was Wednesday who broke it. "No." You turned to look at her, you'd been too busy watching Enid to notice that Wednesday had moved closer to the black gothic gown you had made for her. "It's perfect." She breathed, a look of wonderment on her face.

You'd caved and sat with the girls when they got ready that weekend, helping them both into their gowns. "Have a wonderful night, you both look resplendent." You told them before you left. "Don't you want to see Ajax and Xavier?" Enid had asked innocently, you smiled at her and shook your head, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your chest at the thought of Xavier turning up for a date that wasn't with you and headed out to the shed.

You fumbled in the dark for the light switch in the shed. The first thing you noticed was the canvas in the middle of the room, it was another painting of you, this time you were in a gown of sage green, spring flowers embroidered all over it, your hair was cascading down your back and over your shoulders, a beaming smile on your face. Then you noticed the big white box on your chair, two smaller boxes sat atop it, and a note.

"Enid and Wednesday told me you made them dresses, you deserve a dress too, even if I didn't make it. I'll save you a dance. Please don't leave me hanging. Xav."

You placed the two smaller boxes next to you and opened the biggest one, the dress from the painting was sitting in it, it was more beautiful than you could've imagined. He bought you a dress. He wanted you there. You opened the other two boxes, in one sat a pair of delicate heels, the other was jewelry and a pair of ear plugs that looked like another piece of jewelry it all perfectly complimented your dress, so you caved and there in the shed, you got ready to go to a ball, using your magic to do your makeup and tidy up your hair.

You stepped into the Rave'N about an hour after it had started, it was beautiful, you felt beautiful, all you wanted was to find Xavier and thank him for the dress and for always seeing you. You'd done two loops of the dance before you realised he wasn't there, neither was Wednesday. You found Enid and Ajax making out in a dark corner and left them to it without interrupting. Your heart felt like it was in your throat. He wasn't there, he'd left you hanging. Your hand subconsciously rubbed your chest where that uncomfortable feeling settled again and you headed towards the lake to sit in peace and feel sorry for yourself, you'd made it halfway when you ran straight into Xavier, Wednesday close behind him. "Y/N?" He asked, his eyes looking you up and down, you watched the realisation hit him, you'd put on the dress, you'd gone to the ball, for him and he wasn't there. Wednesday pushed him to the side before he could say anything. "Have you ever heard of the Fae?" She asked, the question took you by surprise and you shook your head. "It's the Fae that are taking the Normies and I think Xavier and I just caught their attention." She told you as she headed back towards the school, leaving the two of you behind.

"Y/N" Xavier said your name again as he reached out to grab your wrist. "Please don't." You asked him weakly, tears were filling your eyes. "I really need to stop believing in boys who paint me pretty pictures huh?" He flinched at your words and you sighed, wiping the tears from your face. "It's fine Xavier, don't worry about it." He pulled you back to him. "I hurt you." He stated and you shrugged. "Not intentionally, it's my fault really, I caught feelings and I shouldn't have." His eyes widened. "Did you really not figure that out, Xav?" He shook his head dumbly. "It's okay, honestly, I was never planning on acting on it or telling you, I see how you look at Wednesday. I got caught up in the dress, the ear plugs and the paintings and I read them wrong, you were just being a good friend." You pulled your wrist out of his grip and walked away as he called your name over and over.

Something had gone terribly wrong. Well several things. There was no comfortable friendship with Xavier anymore, you'd ruined that by telling him how you felt, you no longer went to the shed, he no longer made flirty comments at you or had the easy banter that there was before and all of your friends had picked up on it. Then the worst of them, the night the Fae attacked. You were woken by Bianca barging into your dorm, telling you to leave and explaining what was happening after you refused. You had assured her you would but instead you dressed quickly and clambered onto the balcony of your dorm. You willed your wings into existence and stretched them, flapping them a couple of times after having them hidden for so long and took to the sky, if you knew your friends, if you knew Wednesday, they'd be in the center of all of this, meaning Xavier would be in the middle and in danger. Your ears strained to hear your friends over the commotion as you flew closer to the quad. "Wednesday!" Your blood stilled, that was unmistakably Xavier calling for her, panic evident in his voice.

Perching on the roof overlooking the quad you saw your friends all but backed into a corner, all beaten, all bloody, Xavier stood in front of all of them, one arm cradled to his chest, clearly broken. Wednesday was less than a step behind him, Ajax covering Enid with his body. They wouldn't survive this, they didn't know how. This was it, they were going to see you for who you truly were, you didn't have a second to think as the Fae raised the bows they were armed with and took aim at your friends. You dropped from the ledge and landed In front of them, back to the Fae, wings flared, eyes locked onto Xavier's as one by one the arrows found a home in your wings and your magic pulsed out from you, knocking the Fae back and down, you'd bought only a few minutes, it would have to be enough.

"You all need to go." You told them as calmly as you could. Xavier was staring at the blood dripping down the wings he didn't know you had, Wednesday looked like she was piecing two and two together, Ajax was the only one who listened, dragging Enid with him. "Wednesday, break the arrows and take them out of my wings, quickly!" She nodded once and got to work. "Xav-" you started and he shook his head. "You're one of them?" He knew the answer but he asked anyway. You didn't get the chance to answer. "She's a filthy half breed!" One of the Fae spat from the floor, desperately trying to pull itself up. You met Xavier's eyes again. "I'm not wanted anywhere." You flinched as Wednesday was making quick work of removing the arrows. Xavier tracked your hand as you moved it to place it on his broken arm, he watched as his healed and yours broke. He watched as your hand pressed against the deep gash on his head and one opened on yours, Wednesday came back into view and you did the same for her, taking the worst of her wounds. "Go!" The Fae were on their feet again. "Wednesday!" She got the message, grabbing Xavier's arm and dragged him with all her might the same way Ajax had gone with Enid.

The last thing Xavier saw before Wednesday dragged him out of view was you, turning and limping towards a battle he wasn't sure you'd survive.