#ww&ff

[t-lostinworlds]

Warm Winter & Fiery Frost | B.Barnes [Completed]

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x ex-HYDRA assassin!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x grumpy, enemies to lovers-ish, slow burn-ish, angst, fluff-ish

》 SUMMARY: They say opposites attract. You and Bucky were so alike—He was called The Winter Soldier and you were called Frost, for fucks sake—that it's probably the reason why you hated each other. Or was it the denying of powerful feelings in fear of getting hurt? You know, like how the cliché goes. Because you know what they also say: There's a fine line between love and hate.

》 WARNINGS: canon typical violence (blood, guns, combat, etc.), canon divergence, meanness against each other (at the start & that one scene™), emotional constipation! (on both sides. they both need therapy lbr), poorly translated russian prolly, soulmate vibes (not really?), r has bucky at knifepoint quite often (& threatens to kill him), bucky's kink unlocked? (not explored lol), down bad!bucky, r has a backstory, mentions of: past traumas, grooming (no specific ages but it's implied that r was very young), manipulation, experimentation, child trafficking, torture, murder (u know hydra tings), a sweet, happy and open ending (+ if i missed anything pls let me know!)

》 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 29k+ (my longest fic yet)

A/N: i actually started this a year ago??? (according to my doc) which is crazy to me?? bc it feels like i only had this idea for months? where has the time gone. ANYWAYS. first behemoth bucky fic & first fic in a few months so pls be kind ksksks

++ also would like to say that r in this isn't the usual happy-go-lucky, sweet, emotionally capable, sunshine-y person compared to what i typically write but she has her reasons. cold & hardened but mushy on the inside. u know. like our fave supersoldier. they're honestly the same person just different fonts lmao. ANYWAYS,

++ additional note: tumblr has a limit of only 1000 paragraphs (or text block so to speak). the fic itself is 1300 paragraphs so it's waay over the limit. so i decided to cut it into two parts BUT i also posted it on AO3 if you want to read it as a whole already. hope you guys still read and enjoy it! <3

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

PART ONE | PART TWO

or READ ON AO3

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated! ++ consider supporting me on ko-fi if you can!

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© t-lostinworlds, 2024 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

[ohitslen]

Promises

He should know better. 

Wolfwood has seen Vash make promises, or hear about the ones he has made in the past. He has also seen the end of each one and how every single time the outcome is less than what was promised. 

Vash likes to say embellished words, with a soft and determined voice that lures you into his hopes and dreams, it almost feels like a spell, as if he was calling for you to come closer and believe him. But Wolfwood knows better.

He believes in him, but Vash is much closer to being an idealistic dreamer than a realistic person like he is. He might not be aware of it, but his beautiful promises of a better future give people hope, a hope that is usually embraced with things like disappointment and abandonment. 

He doesn’t think that Vash does it with the intent of looking for any of those things. Far from it, he might even do the impossible in order to accomplish said promises, but life is too short and humans are too mortal for his wishes, so in the end, most of Vash’s promises end up being empty or they come to haunt him as a reminder of his failed vows. He admires the man, for his perseverance and idealism, but he also hates the man, for his stubbornness and lies. 

Wolfwood knows all of this perfectly to a tee. And yet, he has also found himself being drawn to his world. Because he also dreams of it.

A world in where his always present calls for love and peace exist, a world that is far more kind than what he might deserve, a world in where the kids can be happy and roam around without any worry in their heads, a world in where he can peacefully turn grey with age and his hands can shed the harsh callouses of his life. Who knows, maybe a world in where he and Vash can finally know the peace that was taken away from them, in where they can share the calmness that comes with the passage of time, indulging in every tick of the clock welcoming with open arms whatever comes their way without any fear.

It is a beautiful promise. But Wolfwood is a person that has to keep his feet on the ground, indulging in “what ifs” would only make things harder than what they had to be. He can’t have any ifs if he can’t make it through the now. And by the way he is carrying his present, he is doubtful he will even get to see a shed of that promised world that Vash tries to drag him into. So why mourn something he doesn’t even have, or will ever have for that matter.

He hates the way Vash seems to promise things so easily. His tongue silky and pliant, slipping divine words one after the other, promises way too big for what that barren world can actually fit. 

But when Vash talks to him in that holy voice of his, when he hears him say “It’s okay, everything will be alright, I promise” so gently right on his ear, while he holds his face so tenderly making him focus on him and nothing else, he wants to believe him.

He has seen the end of his promises. He knows how impossible they are. But for once, he wants to believe it too. Believe in that loving world that will cradle them both until they fall asleep, listening to the soft sound of the wind laughing while the moons smile upon them. 

So he allows himself to indulge in the warmth of his palms, leaning into the comfort of his existence, feeling the soft air of Vash’s breaths against his skin while their foreheads meet in a touch that feels like a hot brand that will melt him.

For an instant, he allows himself to be selfish and believe that maybe, that is how living in that world Vash so desperately fights for would be. Soft and warm, making him feel safe in the hollow of Vash’s hands where the world seems to fit so well. A world where the blue sky is a blanket that covers the love and care that is nestled in it like the one in Vash’s eyes. He wants to see that world.

For now, he will selfishly think that the world that fits in Vash’s hands is right there in where he is holding him, where his blue eyes are drowning in the light of the sunset dripping with love and care while looking at him, that the gentle touch of Vash’s thumb wiping his tears is the same as the kiss of that laughing wind in that distant future, where the smile of his eyes overcomes the smile of the moons.

He should know better. But he loves the thought of that world. And he hopes that Vash will get to see that world, because that gentle sight is more fitting for someone like him than the one of his violent world.

He promises to himself that he will do what it takes for that day to be possible. Even if the end of that promise will be empty for Nicholas, he knows it will be a full one for Vash. So it really isn’t that empty for him after all.

He hates his lies, and he hates how true they sound, but Vash’s embellished words are far sweeter than his bitter thoughts so they feel better on his insides, almost like a balm that cares for the wounds of his throbbing, painful reality.

He should know better.

But aren’t humans weak at the promise of love?

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 43

PREV

FF is a pretty good student. Solid Bs in his Gen-eds and As in regard to his major. With one C+ that he’s still working on with Captain Neil but it’s higher than the D+ that he had been pulling before Captain Neil had started to tutor him and he really just needs to pass the one gen-ed required math class.

There was many a deep breathing exercise before he made an appointment with his educational advisor for the next semester back in October but it hadn’t been that bad even though she was the one that had asked if he knew anyone good at math since it obviously was not a strong suit of his. So he dragged his grade up from a D+ to a C+ and he was pretty proud of that.

FF has a preferred spot in each and every one of his classrooms. In his Gen-Ed courses he sits in spots that the Professors don’t even notice and where there is almost always a gap between him and the next person. He arrives perfectly almost late every single day for every single class he can to achieve this feat.

For his Major classes he sits near the front with the few Foreign Language major friends that he has.

FF likes to be prepared. Studying was a nice way to prepare for the future. If he’s already read the entire textbook front to back and taken notes then a pop quiz can’t catch him off guard. He double, triple, and quadruple checks homework. He could probably recite the syllabus for any of his classes off the top of his head. He has read it so much to make sure he’s gotten everything and is on track.

FF kind of likes finals week.

For once, for one week, everyone is as anxious as him.

He sits next to Nicky patting his back as his friend sobs into a pillow. “I’m not going to graduate and it’s going to delay seeing Erik by an entire year!” Nicky yells as he brings his face out of the pillow.

“Nicky, you only got one flashcard wrong how about you shut the fuck up!” Aaron yells from his desk where he seems to have spontaneously developed ambidextrousness as he writes notes with both hands. “Fuck I am NEVER fitting all of this one one index card.” Aaron slams his face into the table.

“I don’t even need this degree.” Matt says looking down at a textbook that he has not turned a page on for the last hour. The fact that Matt had also not even opened that textbook before now was a bit of a cause for concern. “I’ve already got offers for professional teams. I can just play Exy. I do not need to pass a workplace psychology course.” Matt says.

“You think Dan wants an idiot?!” Nicky demands not wanting to go down alone.

“She thinks it’s cute that I’m stupid!” Matt exclaims.

“No she doesn’t!” Aaron points at him, “She said and I quote ‘I love it when you use that big ol sexy brain of yours.’ the last time you had her on speaker phone!” he uses a slightly more…effeminate voice when he impersonates Dan but FF had spoken with Dan and to his memory she did not sound like that.

“Fuck you’re right she deserves an all rounder!” Matt cries, head in his hands.

“Why do I even have to TAKE this Gen-Ed about history?” Nicky demands now holding onto FF as if he were a teddy bear.

“So that we’re well-rounded individuals with a wider perspective on-”

“Smithy, my sweet child, I was not looking for an answer.” he feels Nicky’s hand come up to his hair and maybe he’s being treated more like a favored pet?

“You’re having trouble with a Gen-Ed?!” Aaron asks turning around in his seat, “That’s embarrassing.” he turns his nose up.

“I’m having trouble with something that is going to be useless in my adult life.” Nicky says as if he were not currently an adult. “You are having issues with a class that will have huge ramifications on your future if you don’t manage to learn it!” Nicky points out.

“Eat my shorts Nicky.” Aaron hisses.

“Maybe I could study if you would wash your shorts Aaron. I can smell your laundry pile from over here!” Matt spits.

The fight devolved from there and FF slipped out of the dorm as Nicky was holding a chair over his head to seemingly throw at Matt for his ‘unreasonable number of sticky notes messing up the flow of Nicky’s studying’.

He heard a crash.

“It’s probably fine.” he says to himself and he has his index cards with the speech he has to give for and he really should go over to talk with Captain Neil.

He walks to Captain Neil, Andrew, and Kevin’s door and- “There faster-!”

FF walks away from Captain Neil, Andrew, and Kevin’s door, remembering only in this moment that Kevin had declared that he would be “Living in the library until this paper is done or I am.” to the team at the last practice of the year.

Captain Neil and Andrew were never the type to waste an empty dorm room.

He misses Pepto Bismol as he hears a particularly dirty line of Russian coming from his Captain’s dorm room.

***

Eventually Finals week is done and dusted with only 4-5 more blow-ups in his dorm room that result in Nicky, Aaron, and Matt stopping their fight to see if they accidentally had knocked him out with all of the thrown debris (only happened once when Aaron threw a textbook that Nicky ducked but he didn’t.)

FF came out of his final…final feeling pretty good all around. He had managed to get some extra tutoring time with Captain Neil after Kevin managed to finish his history paper a little early. Despite all of their fears and complaints Aaron, Nicky, and Matt all did manage to pass all of their finals and their classes.

The Tower was closing tomorrow for the rest of the year and despite checking almost every day with Nicky he still was invited to go to New York City with most of the team to stay at Allison’s house.

“Smithy, did you pack a swimsuit?” Nicky asks.

“Nicky, we’re going to New York for Christmas break. Do you think we’re going to swim?” Aaron asks incredulously.

“Two words, my fetus of a cousin: Hot. Tub.” Nicky holds his hand up and putting one finger up and then another. “Is hot tub two words?” Matt asks as he reaches for his own swim trunks.

“Yes Matt hot tub is two words.” FF says nodding.

“Thank you Smithster.” Matt says.

“I can’t believe you don’t know that hot tub is two words.” Aaron says with a huff.

“I can’t believe that you don’t know how to not be an asshole even after you started getting regular sex with Katelyn.” Matt returns, “Look at how not a thing that was when Smithster answered it.” he gestures to FF.

“You cannot compare Smithy to Aaron. Apples and Tomatoes.” Nicky dismisses.

“Whatever, so Allison got a hot tub at her place?” Aaron moves past the conversation.

“Aaron you just made fun of Matt for asking stupid questions.” Nicky says with a hand on his cheek.

“I fucking hate being part of your family.” Aaron says without any real heat.

“Yeah sure.” Nicky says, rolling his eyes and smiling as he saw Aaron packing swim trunks that FF knew he had bought for his cousin.

“Okay, I’ve got the packing list that Allison sent. Do we wanna run through it so that we’re all properly packed?” Matt says holding up his phone.

“Yeah, let’s run through it.” Nicky says with a sigh.

They went through Allison’s provided list twice and then zipped up their suitcases. Smith was going to be driving to the airport with Matt. Neil and Andrew were going to be driving the Maserati up alone while the rest of them were going to be flying up to New York City.

Now onto something that filled FF with far more dread than simply passing tests that determined whether or not he continued to get a free ride in college.

Meeting new people.

NEXT >>

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

[bardic-tales]

I was tagged by @aalinaaaaaa for this week's WIP Wednesday.

At the present, I'm working on a few short stories, so I'll share a bit from one of them. Please excuse any typos, as this is still in its 1st rough draft.

Tagging: Open Tag

Possible Trigger Warnings: Blood, body horror, confinement, experimentation, forced medical procedures, gore, medical trauma, non-consensual restraint, sedation, suffocation, torture, vivisection.

CLANG. SLAM.

A containment tank rattled violently against its metal restraints. The sound echoed through the suffocating, dusty corridors. Diana didn’t even flinch. She checked her clipboard.

N01 again.

The subject’s pale form spasmed violently in the green-tinged mako fluid. Bubbles and blood threaded through her veins like rivers of mercury. Her indigo eyes were squeezed shut, as her lips moved, sending bubbles up through the green fluid she was submerged in.

Sephiroth…

The words was more of an exhalation than speech. Her vocal cords strained against the breathing tube that had been sutured in post-laryngeal insertion.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 7 : Crosshair x F!OC

Estkle City, hugging the base of the equator mountains, alive with the winds peeling away from Ga'hah's storm spot; This city is port du call for the grand rail that brings civilians through to the Sohn city state in the North. It's the last stop before Tah'nyem finds herself home. Armed with a satchel of casino winnings and a posh nightlife these two are determined to enjoy their evening. They talk about their families, their doubts, and she even bullies him into telling her how his toothpick habit started. For once the world feels slow.

Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Angst and Fluff in a constant tug-o-war, drug use (smoking, drinking), Implied sex and sexual situations, I was hungry while writing this. This is also the chapter where I zoned out and forgot clone twins was fanon. Kark it we ball.

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Authors Note: My stars, are these two actually talking to each other? Self Indulgent chapter, jam packed with cute, watch Tahny die from cute overload. Am I stress posting my work at 5 am again? haha yeah.

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Word Count: 8687

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Sugar Water, Cibo Matto

Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 7 : Sweet Water

The cargo hold bounced with a protesting rumble and I stirred from the light dozing that had taken me.

I was on the cot, laying flat against the rough fabric, nude besides a cloak draped over the narrow bed like a blanket. Crosshair was squeezed next to me, head laying on my shoulder, eyes only half lidded as he relaxed against me. 

There was a slight burning sensation against my sternum and I looked down to see him tracing lines on my skin with the end of a toothpick. Same pattern, over and over, etching a red symbol into my chest. A circle, then a cross through it. 

“You're an artist now?”

He didn't answer, nor stop his work. 

Circle, long vertical line, short horizontal line, circle. 

“Right over my heart?”

He finally slowed, tossing the pick aside, and blew softly over the hot scratches. I murmured sleepily against his forehead at the soothing, cool sensation. 

“What's on your mind, Cross?”

Crosshair still hasn't said anything, just moving to be more over me, taking the rosey peak of my breast into his mouth to suck on softly before coming even to look me in the eyes. 

He was making me a little self conscious, being so quiet… so intimate. 

“Again.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

He was dropping his hips, wedging my thighs apart and I groaned in exhaustion. 

“You can't have anything left by now…”

He wasn't listening, leaning in to kiss my neck and I giggled softly, nuzzling him in his persistence. 

“I need a shower, li’nen…”

We had been on the road for hours now, sections of the trip having the truck slowed to a complete stop.The channels could only do so much against the inclimate weather between the Ga'haiian city states. 

There hadn't been much to occupy us. I had tried to pull open a holofilm but we had gotten… distracted.The tiny sink made washing up pitiful and I was once again dying for hot water. 

The intercom over the workbench crackled to life and Ger'nahei’s voice came over the static. 

“We're pulling into Estkle, twenty minutes till we get to East Station, we'll be stopping just before to let you guys out… better be de~cent,”

That last part was delivered in a sing-song, answering my question about how much they could hear up there. 

Crosshair slumped dramatically against my chest, sighing and letting himself become dead weight on top of me, making it hard to breathe. I struggled, chuffing in showy annoyance. 

“Oh, get off… I need to figure out where our clothes even are,”

“Speak for yourself, mine are right there,”

He vaguely gestured to the pile of discarded armor next to our belongings on the floor. 

“What about your blacks?”

His eyes fluttered open and he glanced around before shutting them again. 

“Don't need em’”

I quit struggling with a short exhale of amusement. Instead, I wrapped my arms about him, stroking his back. 

“Guess I'll be walking about Estkle stark naked… lucky day for the locals,”

He scowled up at me and I shot him a smirk. 

“Not appealing, oh heavy one?”

“People already look at you too much”

He complained, sighing into my breasts but lifted himself to his elbows regardless, drawing the back of his relaxed fingers over my cheek as I raised a brow at him. 

“You're the one that wanted me to be bait,”

“It's the way they look at you…”

It was true, I've never attracted a… normal range of attention. The looks that came my way could never be called innocent; no matter what I tried. 

“Jealousy is still foolish, li’nen”

I stroked his brow, finding his gaze, trying to get through to him that I meant it.

“Men, Women, they look at me, always have… it's not likely to stop till I'm old and gray. I'm used to it,”

My fingers caressed the hollow of his cheek, the sharp jawline and he pressed against the cup of my palm, letting me hold him. 

“They'll stop if I'm with you,”

“I'm not yours to protect, You can't be with me forever…”

His expression darkened.

…

“Cross… you said you didn't care about how it ends-”

Lips pressed to mine without warning, his arms sliding between my back and the cot to hold me to him. 

“I don't…”

He mumbled against my lips, kissing me in quick little pecks. 

“Just… don't talk like that, not as long as there's for now,”

Kisses down my chin, my neck, down to the still hot symbol etched on my chest. 

“For now you are mine… you swore it,”

Is that what I promised?

My eyes were growing hot at the affectionate outpouring. 

How am I supposed to keep this in check while he keeps… doing this…?

But I was pulling his lips back to mine, wrapping my legs about him to get closer. 

…

Bzzzkrt

“Ten minutes,”

~~~

Ger’nahei had opened the door to a rather disheveled duo; A certain someone making a nuisance of himself as I attempted to get some semblance of clothing on. 

At least we found his blacks in time…

They were replacing our weight with sacks of gravel from the side of a depot and closing up again. Crosshair and I stood off to the side on the pavement between the tall, cubic pillars of the Estkle slums. 

The tall woman turned back to us, pulling up a holomap and approaching Crosshair. 

“The station is a few blocks this way towards the city center,”

From here we just grab our tickets and ride the train to Sohn. Easy peasy. 

The rail system being called a train was a vast understatement, the magnetized track powerfully propelling cars that were the size of buildings. The many floors containing sleeper cars, massive cargo storage, an entertainment holoplex and more restaurants than you’d ever actually see attempting to navigate the massive, moving city. 

East rail was more popular for civilian travel, whereas the West rail on the other side of Nohct used to be solely industrial, connecting the mining colonies to the ports but now it was reserved for military and political transport. Not exactly easy travel.  

The holomap was snapped off, and Ger'nahei made to leave. I moved in to give her a hug and she put her hands up, side stepping me.

“I ain't touching you after that concert we heard,”

She was laughing, Sevill was staring daggers at me. Not unusual. I smirked and gave them a little wave as I stepped away from the humming vehicle.

“Good luck, kids,”

Ger'nahei climbed into the rig with a salute and they chugged off, headed to the cargo loading bays of East Station. 

Crosshair casually draped an arm over my shoulders, opening up his own copy of the map to check our heading before steering me out of the alley to the main street lined with ramshackle stands and door stoops full of laughing chattering groups enjoying the weather together.

It was pleasant… strange to me, but pleasant. I watched younglings play along the curb while their families argued jovially about something nearby and was overcome with something wistful and aching.  

Hugging tighter to the side of my escort I tore my eyes away from the smiling faces. 

“It's so peaceful, this busy little world of yours…”

His voice seemed to reflect the ache that gripped my heart as we traveled farther from the residential buildings.

“Yeah… not that war has never touched us, these ghettos are a result of conflicts after all,”

“Still…”

He looked back towards the laughter carried up the street on the breeze to flow through us, then picked up the pace, distancing us from the source of the discomfort coiling around us.

The shopfronts lining the road began to have less bars over the doors and more spotlights casting warm lighting over the stone street with their displays. 

As we rounded the next corner the station pavilion came into view. 

A towering, steaming railcar clung to a tall wide track that stretched off to the horizon. The structures to the sides of the station kept most of the train out of view, but it blended against the gaps to look like parts of the building, almost even with the skyline.

“That's impressive,”

“Mm, it's the only way to get from Nohct to Sohn anymore, the Western line is a lot smaller and not open to civilians… especially since the occupation,”

“No one just… goes through the mountains?”

He looked in the direction of The Equator Range and I shook my head. 

“It's too dangerous… Weather's mild but the ground is unstable, there's Cockerexes everywhere, and above all else it's vast,”

It would take nearly two rotations with a ground vehicle just to cross the desert between the mountains and Sohn’s farmlands, and that's after navigating the mountains and valleys of the dividing range. 

“Besides, the train route is scenic,”

The tracks skirted the Eastern storm Mehaklei, cutting through the rain eroded valley that was now a misty wetland, shimmering and prismatic with the stray rays of light that managed to reach it from the sun facing hemisphere. 

“I’ll get us a view then…”

“My Vah'hadarr should have left us tickets…”

“It'll be safer this way,”

I could see thoughts whirring in him again but was afraid if I asked he would try to distract me with… well, himself… again. His increasingly reckless behavior had me worried what he'd deem appropriate in the small city square. I was trying to gauge when the shift in demeanor started. The private box, the moon… maybe since we left the watchful eye of the military?

He was steering us across the open block, approaching the lit kiosk selling tickets for the massive railcar. 

“Stay here,”

He instructed, angling me to a lamp post,

“I don't want anyone working for the rail to see your face till we're out of the city,”

He pulled my hood up, drawing the cloak about me a little tighter,

“Crosshair, your name was on that list too… and what about chain codes?”

He paused a moment but took my hand reassuringly, gently brushing his lips against my knuckles. 

“They shouldn't be able to recognize me, as for the codes…”

He jiggled our heavy satchel of credits. 

“Nothing money can't buy, Stay.”

He squeezed my hand and backed away, turning into a confident step as he wove his way to the sales counter. 

I leaned against the light and watched him go, his own cape blowing in the soft breeze, giving a peek here and there at the armored physique beneath. The glimpses were teasing as he drifted off and I smiled at the memory of what those hips felt like. 

Minutes passed with him at the counter, chatting to the clerk. A flirty tilt to his shoulders and a smolder in his stern brow was making her giggle while she made our reservation.

Look at him flaunting it.

I chuckled and entertained myself by taking in the surroundings. 

The open street wasn't as busy as the center of Nohct City, though people still drifted about the sidewalks navigating around the speeders that would occasionally pass through. The buildings were close together, shops and restaurants interlaced with hotels and apartments. 

Everything looked a little dingy, the buildings some of the oldest I've seen on Ga'hah. However, the updated storefronts still shone brightly, luring in the foot traffic of the evening diner crowd and a higher class of tourists waiting to depart on the train in the morning. 

I sighed, releasing a tension that I had been holding in my shoulders. Cross was right, this was peaceful. It felt safe… 

I knew the sense of security was foolhardy… Behind the facade of the train square there was the crime, the turf wars and the instability caused by Sohn's absolute disregard for the problems it created in the Southern hemisphere… But for now it felt, safe. Peaceful. 

A hand on my shoulder made me jump and the soldier smirked down at me, handing over a set of train passes. 

“You let your guard down,”

“Can you blame me? Its nice out here,”

I looked down at the passes in my hand and my eyes widened. 

“Cross, a whole suite?”

“We have a lot of credits, and the clerk was easier than I thought she'd be… this much is no good to me, and nothing to you…”

I caught the hint as he gave the satchel another jiggle, sharing a conspiratorial smirk.

“A last night hurrah huh?”

He shrugged.

“How much we got left?”

I was passed the still heavy casino satchel and whistled, checking the time on our tickets. We left early, first thing on the new rotation.

“Let’s find a hotel first, somewhere nice or somewhere less conspicuous?”

We could backtrack, go to something less formal off the beaten path. 

“It's safer where there's more people,”

“Then we'll stay somewhere close, your winnings, your pick,”

He leaned into the lamp post, an arm over my head, talking lower. 

“Then what?”

“A warm shower, then we'll get dinner,”

“Dinner?”

“Dinner”

“Mm, after dinner?”

“We’ll have a few hours, I'm sure we'll think of something…”

We pushed off quickly, an eager sway in his step I couldn't help but mimic as he pulled us to the first hotel within our line of sight. As we made towards the lighted porte cochere his pace faltered in front of a patio packed with patrons clinking cutlery against fine plates. The smell drifting from the restaurant was heavenly, a mix of grilled meats and wood smoke. 

“Let's go here,”

“Mm, sure, but there's a dress code, we'll need to stop and get you a dinner jacket…”

He grimaced, causing me to laugh lightly, patting his chest. 

“Don’t worry, it'll suit you,”

I looked about at the glowing storefronts and hurried us to one that was still open. 

~~~

Our room key guided us to the fifth floor, three doors from the main lift. I held my hand out for the key and Crosshair slipped it to me quietly.

The store experience had left him flustered, having let me take the lead in picking him an ensemble. At least flustered beat the heated irritation the experience started with. The switch in the shop keeper's demeanor between taking in our shaggy appearance and catching sight of our heavy wallet rubbed us. Cross about punched the man on principle and I probably would have let him. 

The door clicked and slid open leading to a simple king suite. A small kitchenette was just inside the door, opposite an alcove leading into the fresher. The large bed took up most of the room, but the feature was a nice set of chairs in a sunken sitting room overlooking a wide window. 

I sighed out a bit more tension, the safety of walls, silence and a locked door. 

“This'll do…”

Cross immediately went to the window and drew the curtain, locking us away from searching eyes. 

“You say that a lot,”

“What?”

“This’ll do,”

He was mocking me slightly. 

“Ever happy with your accomodations?”

“Maybe I'm just greedy…”

My things were starting to pile on the floor. Desperate to wash up and change into something clean, I was already walking to the refresher midstrip, bouncing on a foot stuck in a pant leg. 

“Greedy, huh?”

Cross seemed amused as he followed my half naked, self imposed obstacle course to the tiled room. He growled something under his breath I didn't quite catch, that familiar fire behind his eyes. No time for that though.

I almost cried at the sight of the oversized tub and double headed shower stall, we had been slumming it so long. It did raise a question though…

“Bath or shower?”

It was whispered in my ear, but his hands were busy undoing his armor.

“Mm, let's let fate decide…”

He raised a brow at me as I made my way back into the room undoing what remained of the buttons on my shirt, letting it fall to the ground. 

I picked up the directory next to the complimentary com. After making sure the display scanner was off, I opened a channel to the restaurant we passed. 

“Yes, hello… What time is your next reservation available?... Great, I'll take it… Tah- uh… Tahny. Of course thank you,”

Closing the com, I looked at the device, sparing a moment of regret that I couldn't contact Kahtzi. Changing coms so frequently, you would think I'd have her register memorized but… I was overdo by at least a day, she must be worried… maybe Jar'ath commed her. I shook myself mentally and turned back to the man watching me. 

“Plenty time for a bath,”

As I finished talking I realized the water was already running. 

“Can you still read my mind, Crosshair?... You have to tell me if you can,”

He strutted over and pushed me down onto the bed I was sitting on. Any lingering thoughts of home were wiped clear when my lips were his again; hard, hungry kisses while his strong arms wrapped about me. 

“No… unfortunately, but I can tell the future,”

“Oh yeah? And what does the future hold?”

I was breathing heavily already and he chuckled as he shifted, scooping me off the bed to drape over his shoulder like a rag doll. We headed back to the sound of echoing water.  

“Clean, warm, bath,”

He shifted me down slowly, pulling my body against him as I slid off his shoulder.

“Futures looking bright then…” 

The porcelain was filling quickly with nice clear water and I glanced about for the house soaps on the counter, smelling a few of them before dumping something delicately floral into the forming pool. 

Bubbles sprang forth spreading over the surface and I looked back at Cross. He was fiddling with the light panel, setting the tone to something warm and low before he finished undressing, slipping his blacks to the floor. 

Testing the water briefly, I stepped in with a refreshing slosh that swirled the bubbles. 

“It'll be easier if you settle in first,”

He breezed to the side of the sunken tub.

“Should we let it fill more?”

“Don't worry, you'll displace most of it,”

There was no further hesitation, he stepped in with me and lowered himself into the water causing it to lap at the sides of the smooth tub. I followed, nestling my back against his chest and sighing into the warmth seeping into my senses. 

We let the water finish leveling around us before I tapped the spigot with a toe, not wanting to shift from where I was. It had been a long day and I think both of us were more weary than we let on. 

The water slowed to a trickle and the soft tinkling echoed in the large room with its smooth stone surfaces. 

We had let exhaustion win this time. Curled in the tub in an odd kind of stasis as the world that had been spinning since the night we jumped ship slowly crawled to a stop… letting us be still. 

His fingers were trailing up my arm and back down again. The line he followed was faded, barely visable against my skin now tanned a few shades darker then when the ink was applied. He finished his tour by lacing his fingers in mine, cupping the back of my hand in his, and turning my palm upwards. It was the dark scars on my fingers he was after, stroking his thumb over the small marks. 

My eyes were wandering over his arms, taking in his own sets of markings patterning the skin. Shiney burns, raised rips…

“What's this one?”

I used my free hand to trace a set of parallel marks on his forearm and he groaned, a low laugh, sounding embarrassed.

“Wrecker’s lothcat… he snuck it onboard, guess who found it?”

I smiled softly. 

“Don't like cats?”

“I like cats, that one just didn't like me,”

“And Wrecker… who's that?”

The name had conjured an odd image in me, not really a picture but an impression; loud… apprehension. Odd. 

He took a moment to answer, I was starting to think he'd let another question of mine go flat, but eventually he spoke… softly, fondly. A nameless warmth that I hadn't realized was missing.

“He's my brother, one of, He's a big sweetheart… you'd like him,”

He nuzzled my hair encouraging me to pry further. 

“There's four of them?”

“Three… no, Echo counts, four, I have a sister too now…”

“They make female clones?”

“Yeah, special…like us, but she's just a child,”

“Aren't we all,”

Crosshair had gone quiet again and my heart and mind ached with him. He missed his family. He felt betrayed by them, replaced even, but he missed them. I could feel a tension starting to coil between us, in his muscles pressed against me. A now distant memory of a darkened service tunnel.

“... I had hoped they'd come back.”

I sat up, and turned to straddle his legs, wrapping my arms about his shoulders to pull him into a wet, tight hug against my chest. 

“How do we quell that storm in you, li’nen?”

…

“This helps…for now,”

For now. 

“What do you call the rest of them?”

There was still that lingering guilt of not learning the names of the clones that had traveled with me and his references stirred an odd feeling of familiarity in me, tinged with hurt and longing… a deep sense of broken trust… will I always be colored with his memories, or will this fade? 

He leaned back against the side of the tub to look at me more comfortably. 

“Hmm? Besides Wrecker… I mentioned Echo, he was a Reg before the Clankers got a hold of him,”

“Clankers?” 

“Uh… droids, tore him to bits, now he's part Clanker himself, Then there's Tech, we came from the same tube,”

“That's a thing? You have twins?”

“A few… Echo was a twin too,”

Was a twin?

A pang went through my heart again.

“Are you close? With your twin?”

“You could say that, he's the one of us that does all the talking… then there's Hunter, he's our leader… mainly cause no one else wanted to do it,”

He snickered softly at his own dig, the rumble of it in his chest caused me to smile a little too. I was glad he was talking for a change.

“Is he any good,”

…

His eyes went dark and distant at that, the little crook of amusement leaving his lips, I pivoted,

“... And the girl?”

…

“Her names Omega, honestly… I didn’t get to know her, didn't seem… prudent… seems like a good kid,”

You know the word ‘prudent?’

I was scanning him in the nice warm lights, finally getting a chance to really look at him. The red sun had filtered out our imperfections, making us like new in each other's eyes. The cargo hold was lit, but barely… This was the first time we were able to truly see everything.

 Like his arms, his chest was patterned with the stripes of war. Long gashes here and there, over a peck, across an ab. Countless healed burns from blaster bolts. I ran my hands up his stomach to trace the tattoo over his right rib.

“Ninety-nine…”

“That's our squad… we all have one of these,”

He stretched to give me a better look at the skull over the number. 

I sighed in exaggerated disappointment.

“Guess you're married then…”

His brow furrowed, not expecting that… I winced, rushing to explain the joke.  

“Sorry, old… Ga'haiian stuff, before we adopted the Republic’s ideas of marriages we had our own ways, rather than splitting into couples we would form tight knit clans and they would share a mark… military squads and their tattoos are kind of… similar,”

I leaned, moving my drape of hair to show him the tiny diamond star hidden behind my ear.

“Kahtzi and Jar’ath have matching ones, it's a promise to take care of each other, today people try to equate the two, clans and marriage, to make the fact that clans aren’t legally recognized any longer more palatable,”

“You and… Jar'ath? Not to judge a book by its cover but…”

I shot him a look, but I guess it was a fair question.

“It's not like that, doesn't have to be for the clan to work, he's like a brother… but that's why equating the two is kind of absurd,”

He was quiet again running his fingers over the ink on his ribs. 

“They left me behind… so much for taking care of each other.”

His voice was suddenly thick with bitterness.

I didn't really know what to say, every word feeling hollow as it passed over my tongue just to be swallowed again. The phrase was simple, but I knew the tempest that lived in him. What could match the devistation of such a storm?

“How could they?”

Was all I could really manage, cupping his jaw to turn his eyes so full of hurt to me. 

“I don't know… but they left me again, and again, They just don't want me anymore,”

“That can't be true…”

He choked back a dry, humorless laugh. 

“I guess not directly, Wrecker offered me a half assed invitation… but I've known him my whole life, the very thought of me on the Marauder again made him nervous. And when I didn't immediately jump on their very enthusiastic offer, they left. The second my back was turned, without even another glance… they left me for dead,”

“That can-”

“Thirty two rotations, Tahny…”

“What?”

“They left me, alone, on a platform in the middle of a raging sea, nothing but the smoldering remains of our home for company, it took. Thirty. Two. Rotations. for scouters to find me,”

I froze. 

“How are you alive?”

The words came out as a whisper, my lungs unable to fill against the tightness forming in my chest. 

“I shouldn't be, I should've died out there… I don't belong anywhere anymore,”

I carefully shifted, coaxing him to lean into my arms, to let me cradle him against my breastbone. 

“What about the Empire?”

He sighed,

“Might as well stay… rigid and unyielding, just like me,”

…

The phrase sent a wave of hurt through the back of my mind, alienation, loneliness,

“I don't find you rigid…”

“You don't know me… not everything,”

“Have you not been yourself with me?”

There was a heavy pause, reflecting his contemplation. 

“I don't know…”

“Do you like who you are with me?”

…

“...yes,”

His answer came soft and unsure. I took a deep breath, noting how heavy he felt against me as he surrendered to my touch, his muscles finally relaxing. The waves in him may never cease, I suppose…but I might be a shore for him to crash upon… for now.  

“Then… that's who you are, not what you've done, or what someone says you are… so I do know you, as for the details… tell me, don't tell me, I'll have your back either way,”

He lifted his head from my breast, a shimmer in his eyes as he searched for truth from my words, clinging to it once it was found. 

“I might not be a good person, Tahny,”

“You don't have to be li’nen… might be better if you're not,”

I'm not exactly a good person either… 

I found his lips, pressing against them to sooth him, reassure him. Arms wrapped about me, crushing me against his damp skin. My muscles ached in an unfulfilled bid to protect my lover, all I could do was cradle him, kiss him. 

…

The water began to cool around us, and I made to turn the tap back on to add more heat but Crosshair caught me, tapping the stopper lock instead.

“I’d love to stay like this, cy-uh… but I'm ravenous, and if I remember correctly… we have a dinner date,”

I snorted at that. 

A dinner date after everything?…

“This feels a little backwards, doesn't it?”

“Welcome to Strange.”

“Ha. Ha.”

It seems we had recovered from the shadowy place our thoughts had turned. 

I shifted to stand, but first turned into the soft kiss that was waiting for me. I had started to expect this temporary goodbye between our brief moments of private, quiet intimacy. 

He watched me as I dried and left the refresher before I heard the water slosh again as he made to do the same. 

Picking up the duffle from the floor I tugged out the paper bag from the casino. The shift I had purchased was black and slinky, the satin quality of the fabric making it shine like wet ink. I stepped into it, pulling the tight cut over my hips and sliding my arms into the straps. I hooked on the beaded filigree pieces to drape over my bare shoulders and adjusted the cleave cut that made a sharp line between my breasts down to my navel. It wouldn't drag, and the long skirt had enough flow to hide the egregious slit to either hip. Until I walked that was. 

On second thought, maybe this was too much for Estkle. 

I reached into the bag and grabbed the simple blazer and catsuit that I snagged as an alternative, laying it out on the bed. 

As I slid my thumbs under the straps to undress again, Cross rounded the corner, new slacks pulled up and hanging from his hips while the rest of him was still exposed. 

I looked at him and he looked at me. 

“Is that what you're wearing?”

“No… I was about to put this on instead,”

I gestured vaguely at the outfit on the bed and once again made to lower the straps. 

“Don't. I like this one,”

He had made his way over, catching my hand from its task and turning me to get a better look at the plunged neck line. 

“It's gonna draw attention,”

“I'm with you, their eyes won't linger…”

I doubted that, but admired his confidence. He was intimidating… maybe he'd be right. 

“We're still laying low, right?

His fingers traced the gapped fabric between my breasts down to the dip of my navel.

“As low as can be,”

~~~

We integrated into the posher crowd gathered on the busy patio alight with fiery torches, a few heads turning at his tattoo and my faded markings but otherwise no one paid us much mind. I did catch a few brief glances, the start of a head turn as my thighs split the hem of my dress as I walked, but they quickly turned back down to their food.

It was amusing, the slight man commanding such presence. He wasn't even that tall by Ga'hah standards. And yet…

By Be'llahl, they are scared of him aren't they?

I leaned into Crosshair's arm as he guided us to the host podium. The dark gray lapel jacket was soft despite its chunky knit, the leather patch on the elbow making a cool spot against my skin where my arm wrapped about his.  

He cleaned up well, the coat accentuating his slim waist and broad shoulders. I had picked out a thin, ribbed sweater to wear underneath, simulating his comfortable black bodysuit. The loose cut slacks had a crisp crease drawing the eye to the length of his stride as we strutted forward. 

A slim Ga'haiian girl looked us over briefly before taking us up a staircase past massive vases stuffed with fresh flower arrangements in vibrant, saturated tones. She showed us to a table for two on the second floor, snugged into the open bay doors overlooking the busy street below. 

A brief explanation, a bottle of nectar requested, and we were left to our devices. 

Cross subtly angled the window shades, his foot reaching between mine to hook the chair leg, drawing it slightly more into the room to obscured me from outside observers and keep a better eye on my back. 

“Want to see the cold bar?”

“Not yet,”

He clicked the flag device at the table which switched the glowing pattern from red to green. Almost instantly a muscular man brandishing an oversized skewer laden with a sizzling roast appeared at his side. He explained the cut and marinade then asked if we'd like a portion, which Crosshair eagerly accepted. 

A quick slice of a traditional blade and the seared meat fell to the waiting stone plate. 

“Should I wait for you?”

I shook my head, standing.

“Dig in, I'll be back,”

I sashayed across the wide stone floor, past a stories tall glass wall. Droids puttered about behind it, pulling nectar bottles down from the vast floor to ceiling storage racks just feet behind the glass. Buff men and women in leather aprons and chefs coats carried various roasted meats on skewers to the packed tables filling the space. Voices echoed off the dark stone walls, droning out the soft, live music drifting up the stairs that led back to the lobby. 

Finally I reached the massive bar laden with more fresh flowers framing overladen trays of cheeses, smoked fish and various salads. It didn't take long to fill a chilled dish. 

Cross had several cuts of meat laden high on his plate by the time I had found my way back to the table. He looked up at me, a subtle red tinging his cheeks. 

“I forgot to turn the flag off,”

I covered my mouth as I snorted back a giggle. 

~~~

Stacked plates, a case worth of empty bottles and a settled tab found us a little over an hour later. 

“... And that's how Ga’hah stayed out of the war… for the most part, not sure what the point was with the Empire moving in the second it was over,”

“I was there you know, in the field… at the end,”

“Yeah?”

“Our last order… was to kill the Jedi generals that turned on the Republic… I was the only one of us that complied,”

I was eyeing the flush tinging Cross's cheekbones trying to determine if he was actually a lightweight. I knew I was, and glanced back at the empty bottles scattered about the absolute carnage of the evening's feast. He just shrugged trying to hide the odd look creeping up on him. 

“You're serious…” 

“Lot of good it did,”

“What do you mean?”

He swirled the last of the nectar in his glass.

“It just doesn't feel any different, It's not called war anymore but the blaster fire sounds the same…”

“And now it's brother against brother,”

He downed his spirit, emptying the glass and drowning the ghosts in his inner storm. 

“They were cowards for running, nothing can be changed from out there… and now there's no choice for them,”

“You could have still gone with them… I'm not sure how much change we're really doing here,”

…

“Maybe I just stayed cause it was comfortable,”

He was starting to look really down. I took his hand around his cup, sighing,

“It doesn't sound like you've been comfortable at all honestly,”

He didn't answer, instead, checked the bottles for any remaining nectar. So I rambled…

“Hurts the pride though, just… enforcing some status quo, just look at me,”

He obediently met my eyes, though I really meant that figuratively. 

“Uh… look, I stay in my Vah'hadarr's shadow of progressive legacy, I uphold the appearances… but there's reasons we kill Bly’ju’s guards but not Bly'ju, there's consequences for one and not the other, some changes… people like you and I can't make them. Not without martyrdom and there’s better deaths out there than rotting in a jail cell for shooting some asshole,”

“Do you feel bad about the guards?”

“Nah… kark ‘em. Even a life contract can't compel you to act… they knew what they were doing,”

His brow furrowed in confusion, not really making the connection I was getting at.

“Maybe we just…chose the path of least resistance because we're too tired to really get what we want, holding your guard up your whole life will do that to you,”

“What is it you want?”

I felt like that should have sounded accusatory, but when I searched his gaze I found the same desperate questioning in his eyes. Like I might have an answer he was looking for. Chugging the considerable amount left in my glass I blurted,

“Peace… some quiet too, for myself and the few people I give a shyte about,”

“Sounds nice…”

“...Quiet?”

“Having someone to give a shyte about…”

His gaze matched mine, eyes shiney from the liquor. In amazement I tracked the occasional flick of him scanning around us, even drunk he was ever the professional.

“Oh Cross, you'll find your people!...some kindred spirits, plus I'll always be about in my tower for you to visit… or just find a familiar face and cling on, I'm sure there's one or two or three thousand at the GAR,”

I giggled, the absurdity of his reality dawning on my addled mind. 

“That's not funny,”

But his cheeks were tight from trying not to smirk. I found his eyes with mine again, laying my head on my arms, folded on the table. He mimicked my posture,

“You should know the regs don't like me much…”

“They're just jealous… just wait till they find out you have connections to Kahtzi Zho,”

He blinked,

“Wait, Zho? Why does that sound familiar…”

I smirked, raising a brow at him.

“The holocal? In the GRSO relief packages,”

“No… your Kahtzi is the Kahtzi Zho?

“Mm, which month was your favorite?”

“Nelona.”

“Of course you like Nelona.”

“What's wrong with that one?”

“Nothing… I took that one myself,”

He chuckled, closing his eyes a moment,

“So you want some peace, princess? Good luck if you plan on having your girlfriend in tow,”

“Mm… you know, I'd probably hate it,”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah… I need chaos, Crosshair. I need speeders racing through the night and bar fights, and toying with people who could easily kill me in sick, brutal ways, Without it I itch… without it I'm just my Vah'hadarr's… pet,”

The last word was spat with contempt and he started stroking my hair, leaning into the table to reach me. We were quite drunk…

“Peace still includes your father?”

“Family is important, Kleinthu Vah'hadarr nam’patri… there is no me without mine Vah'hadarr, so… all my rights flow through him till I'm married off…unless I abandon my station,”

I dramatically gestured to the red smudges under my eyes,

“It is my duty as a low-born Lady of Sohn,” 

“Well there's a Ga'haiian custom I'm not in love with…”

His brow was pinched in frustration on my behalf, charming me yet again so that a sad smile colored over me,

“It's not… Ga'haiian, not really. It's Sohnese. These marks under my eyes may as well be a for sale sign, but unlike your common slave I’m to be traded for political favors, I have my freedom on Coruscant… for now, but one day I’ll be sold just the same, It’s not so bad, symbolic mostly… and my Vah’hadarr has been good to me, teaching me and letting me have a life…”

Crosshair's eyes had darkened as I spoke, fingers sliding through my hair to cup my chin. I was too inebriated to really read his expressions, Maybe he could relate,

“Besides, I like the work for the most part… It suits me, Perhaps that's why you stayed too, not cause it's the right thing exactly… but because the blaster fire sounds the same… if you left, if you never had to fight on a battlefield again, Too quiet. You'd have to think about it all like… like I would,”

“It all?”

“Mhmm… all of it,”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“Isn't it though?”

“Mm, I think we're drunk, and overstaying our welcome,”

The man was keeping his cool though, trying to mask his slight wobble as he stood up to take my hand. I couldn't help but giggle drunkenly.

He takes himself so seriously…

“You're… kind of funny sometimes, you know that, Crosshair?”

“...funny? I don't think I've ever been called funny before,”

“Deal with it, it… it rounds you out, Mr. Rigid and unyielding,”

“If you say so… up you get ner’burc’ya,”

I leaned on him as we turned, with dread, to the long staircase. Giggling again, I checked that I still had my clutch.

“They must have a lift…”

“I can still handle stairs,”

He was maintaining balance fairly well, even with me hanging on him, and we haphazardly navigated the descent. 

“Where to?”

I jiggled the casino purse, there was still a good chunk of credits to spend. Once we were on the train I could charge my father's account to my heart's content, so splurging on souvenirs seemed in order.

He leaned in, the smell of nectar rolling sweetly from him as he wrapped his arms around me. His weight guided me to lean against a pillar, and he pinned my arms over my head, brushing his lips to mine. He still tasted like the fruity spirit and I drank the flavor of him as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue over mine before withdrawing.

“I just want to get you back in that bed…”

Maybe saving some cash would be wise…

He angled us out of the restaurant and we swifted back in the direction of the hotel, passing storefronts and groups of chattering people in a hurried stride. 

The fresh air was sobering, though it was getting cold, the smaller of the moons positioned to the West. The wayward winds from the Mehaklei pressure front made Estkle a breezy city, and they ran through the loose cloth of my skirt, making it dance about my legs as we briskly made our way up the street to where the buildings thinned to a view of the plains…

Until Crosshair slowed and stopped, staring into a glimmering display of fancy bottles. 

“What was it… that scent you wore, the night we met? Is it here?”

It was my usual bottle, long gone now somewhere in our travels. The perfume was something my mother had gotten me as a graduation present. Nothing too fancy, I wouldn't have used it, but the flowery scent was complimented by a fiery resin musk underlay. It smelled like a late summer evening. 

“That one,”

I pointed to a square of the display housing a red and gold bottle in various sizes. 

“Stay here,” 

He left me on the sidewalk, disappearing into the store with a staggered gate. 

I mean… I think I know what you're up to…

I shook my head but smiled to myself, turning to lean on the stone storefront. 

My eye was caught by a tiny store at the corner a few paces away. It was barely the size of a closet, with only a service window facing the street, a thin man zoned out behind the glass in front of his rolled wares. 

Cross had the big bag, so I rifled my own stash of credits in my clutch as I approached the dingy little stand. 

“You have Darh?”

“Sure do, plain, flavored or spiced?”

“What flavors do you have?”

“Berry or citrus,”

“Berry then,”

“Good choice,”

The clerk slipped the rolled herbs into a small tube to hand to me, took my credits, and I was at the perfume shop again before Crosshair had finished his purchase. 

He stepped back onto the sidewalk moments later and handed me a small bag. It was heavier than expected and I looked in curiously. 

“You got one of every size?”

I pulled out the tiny travel version to glint in the light from the shop window, lips quirked in amusement. 

“That one's mine,”

Cross lifted it from my fingertips, tilting the small vial to puff against my pulse point before he tucked it into his breast pocket. 

I looked at the small lump under the jacket lapel and felt my face flush with more than alcohol. 

“How you surprise me…”

Shaking myself, I pulled the tube from my clutch. 

“Now for me to surprise you,”

…

“What's this?”

~~~

My pumps hit the floor with a muted thump as I kicked them off and slumped into one of the chairs. The room was dark, the only light coming from the refresher. 

I flipped the hollow tube in my fingers, watching Cross carefully rip into the wiring panel, finding a way to disable the smoke detector without setting off the alarms.

Neat skill.

He had scoffed at the idea of lighting up in the stairwell, which was traditional, but I wasn't gonna complain about the privacy. 

I popped the tube and took out the paper roll and strike, waiting for the go ahead. There was a quick skrtt and Cross nodded that he had figured it out, before he came to sit with me by the window. 

“Have you ever smoked?”

His toothpick habit was suspect, but I wasn't even sure clones were allowed to pick up such things…

“No…”

“So the toothpicks?”

He turned away, hiding a new flush blooming over his cheekbones.  

Okay then,

I got up from my chair and moved to his,knees about his hips to face him.

“I'll help, first time rookie mistake is resisting the inhale,”

I put the end of the Darh stick in my mouth, hitting the strike to create a little flame. There was a crackle as the plasma caught the end of the paper and I drew air like a straw to pull the heat into the herbs, lighting them. A sweet smelling smoke coiled lazily from the fresh ember and I drew another breath, pulling smoke from the herbs, coughing a little. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, it's normal… now here, just breath in through your mouth, slow and shallow,”

I pulled deep on the smoking herbs, filled my lungs and leaned into him, grabbing his chin to coax his lips open, exhaling slowly into his mouth. Smoke leaked between our lips, as we shared the hit, his arms wrapping about my waist as I pulled back again. 

He coughed as he exhaled what I gave him, but tried to suppress it, putting on a brave face.

Cute. 

I took another puff, but let him sit with what he had. 

“What's supposed to happen?”

“Give it a minute, it'll absorb into your blood stream and travel to your brain, everything will feel a little slower…”

Clipping the burning end of the roll, I set aside the rest. The first wave was already starting to hit me, the air taking on the thicker quality of water, the illusion of more resistance. More importantly my thoughts slowed.

The ever whirring flow of information halved it's speed and I could peer through my thoughts a little more carefully, examine them longer before they slipped out of sight again. 

Right now I was staring at Crosshair. My position was slouched, even to his face. A small crack in the drawn curtains was letting in a beam of moonlight to cut across his features, highlighting his tattoo. 

I love this tattoo…

My fingertips were reaching out to it and he leaned into my touch, closing his eyes. He was probably floating by now. 

I scooted closer, resting my elbows on his shoulders my one hand still cradled his temple, thumb tracing the thin lines of ink over his brow. I set the other to stroke his head, starting from brow to neck. 

Bristles of new growth had began to come in across his scalp, coarse against my skin. I delighted in the tactile feel of it, bringing both hands up to massage with my nails and fingertips.  

“So you do have hair,”

“I actually have amazing hair… it's just been easier to keep it off,”

“Is that so?”

I scratched a tad more vigorously and he leaned into it. 

“Maker, it's been driving me crazy,”

He giggled,

“Whatever you do, don't stop till it's fully grown back,”

I laughed lightly at his sudden, boyish demeanor, but my fingers were starting to cramp and I eventually had to stop to a sad whine from the intoxicated man. 

I quieted him with kisses, soft, small kisses… to the corner of his mouth, his nose, the cheekbone and brow. Feeling the shapes against the sensitive flesh of my lips, mapping his face, imprinting a memory. As I pressed my lips lightly to his forehead I felt his breath heavy against my neck, breathing in the scent that had been spritzed there,

“You'll come back to Coruscant… won't you, Tahny?”

“No one could keep me away, once whatever this is has blown over I'll be back,”

“...and I can come see you?”

“Of course, Cross, whenever you want…”

He relaxed into me, arms tightening slightly as he sat still, breathing me in.

“So…”

I slowly rocked back, sitting even with him again. 

“...the toothpicks?”

“If I tell you will you scratch my head again?”

We both giggled a little at that,

“Sure,”

…

I waited while he gathered his thoughts through the haze of the Darh root. 

“Back when we were cadets, there was a holofilm, Tech somehow managed to get a hold of it… an old Outer Expansion story about a gunslinger,”

I raised my brow, those old films were hokey, but I couldn't deny I liked them occasionally. 

“This gunslinger kind of became my hero…”

“What was the name of it?”

He flushed, looking down. 

“We didn't know… it was a silent film, the text files had gotten corrupted so the cards between scenes were just blank, I was meaning to ask Tech if he could look for it again…”

He trailed off. 

“So, your hero…?”

“He was the stoic good guy, never missed a shot or took insults, good guys could smoke in those days… but, obviously I couldn't,”

I was starting to put the pieces together and my heart started to warm. 

“I started taking toothpicks from the mess hall, and chewing on them to… look tough like the gunslinger,”

He said the last part fast and looked away, his cheeks turning bright red. 

My heart melted completely. Though I had little reference, I couldn't help but try to imagine a young Crosshair on Kamino. 

Tiny Crosshair with toothpicks. Tiny Crosshair making finger guns at the other clones. Tiny Crosshair acting like an Outer Expansion action star. By Be'llahl, can I survive without a heart?

I couldn't handle this story high, that was for sure, and resisted the urge to start bawling from the adorable imagery that flooded me. To disguise my distress I pulled him to me in a hug that could probably crush bones. 

He leaned against me, yawning. 

“Don't ever tell anyone that…”

“Who would I tell?”

…

“Jar'ath.”

“I absolutely would not tell Jar'ath.”

“Kahtzi.”

…

“Okay, I might tell Kahtzi,”

He groaned into my shoulder but seemed to accept that reality. 

“Scratches?”

“Mhmm, let's move though, you're getting tired and my legs are falling asleep,”

I slid to the floor and he obediently followed as I took his hand, guiding him from the sunken alcove back to the bed at the center of the room. 

I stacked the pillows into a nest and crawled in, fancy dress and all, reaching for my lover staring down at me dreamily through an addled haze. He crawled, more clumsily than usual, over me, resting his head against my chest with a relieved sigh. 

Starting slow I worked my nails in little circles, up and down, careful around the edge of his scar. His breathing eventually became heavy, the drinks and food and smoke catching up to him after an absurdly long day. 

I wasn't fairing much better, my hands folded around him and still, eyes heavy but… watching him sleep, not thinking much of tomorrow.

It felt important to remember him like this. Unguarded, content. There wasn't much time left, it was important to drink him in… like sweet water. 

~~~

BONUS TRACK: This kept playing while I was doing the illustrations.

It's them ✨

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tag List:

@feral-ferrule @here-comes-the-moose

[jeridandridge]

Today’s physical media pick ups!

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 18. Hackneyed

Featuring: @scrollsfromarebornrealm Weird West AU Characters: Themis, Rrahnald Chai (U'rahn Nuhn), Fordola Lupis Expansion: Endwalker Rating: T Summary: Rrahn arrives at the total honesty part of his relationship well before Themis. Notes:

“In the same fleeting moment thou shall live, die, and know.”

Themis closed his tome and looked out into the sparse congregation only having a handful of the elder townsfolk in attendance along with Claudien Hephaistos in front nodding reverently along and Rrahn staring dreamily at him with Fordola beside him at the back. He felt the side of his mouth twitch, wanting to smile; however, kept his even composure. “Now, let us bow our heads and give thanks to the Mother and Father,” he said, closing his eyes and lowering his head.

The room fell into quiet murmurs and shifting, many going to their knees, Fordola among them. Rrahn squirmed a bit then joined his friend, settling beside her before leaning over. “What are you wishing for?”

“Wish!? What do you mean-,” Fordola balked before shaking her head and pushing Rrah’s head to face downward, “I’m wishing for you to have some damn sense. Be quiet and sit still if you’re not going to pray.”

“Okay,” Rrahn mumbled, putting his hands together to stare at the floor. “Dear Zodiark and Hydaelyn. It’s me, Rrahn. Please take good care of my family and friends. Also, I would really like a new repeating muzzleloader. Thank you.”

Fordola scoffed then jabbed him in the side before she got back up into her seat. Themis seeing the congregation start to rise, leaned over his pulpit. “Go forth and walk in the light of the Mother and be protected by the shadows of the Father. I hope to see you all this coming sabbath.”

People began to make their way out of their rows, some coming up to shake Themis’s hands and others taking their leave to their homes until only Rrahn remained, smiling at him in his earnest way. He felt his heart flutter, a feeling he’d not felt since he was, well Rrahn’s age. Realizing this, the feeling turned into guilt, having yet to approach the subject of his past with his budding paramour.

Wandering down the aisle, he moved to sit next to Rrahn, the other patiently waiting for him. His hand gently laid over the other’s giving it a small squeeze as he looked up at the dark blue tapestries with white and violet inlay. “How did you like the sermon?”

“Ah, well. It was okay,” Rrahn said, squeezing Themis’s hand back as he sat up to free his tail to wrap about the other’s waist.

Themis blinked, surprised at the other’s lukewarm reception compared to his usual clumsy attempts at flattery. “Only okay? Did you find something wanting?”

“Well. It’s kinda dark and dreary in here and you’re talking about hope and stuff. The townsfolk say it’s kinda spooky here so if you open up a few windows and let the light in. Oh! And then I’d be able to see your handsome face more,” Rrahn explained, scooting his thigh against Themis’s.

“Well, there’s a certain-” Themis started before Rrahn perked up.

“Oh! And you need better songs. They’re all so sad,” Rrahn continued.

“The, ancient, sacred hymns?”

“Yeah Yeah! Those are real downers! You gotta get everyone super excited to be here! Maybe get a whole chorus that can rile up the crowd for you! Put a spin on them!”

Themis stared quietly at Rrahn as he looked eagerly back at him. “You don’t perhaps think the tonality is to be soothed by the Mother’s love and the Father’s sacrifice?” he asked.

“Yeah, but you can be excited about those things too, right?”

A sigh escaped Themis, conflicted as to whether he should feel a bit insulted by the other’s criticism of his life’s passion or happy the other felt close enough to him that he could be so honest with him. The latter was winning out, though that didn’t come with the pangs of guilt.

“Ah. So um…we’re all alone now and more modestly dressed. Do you think we could maybe exchange a few smoochies,” Rrahn asked, waggling his eyebrows as he drew. 

Themis recoiled, standing up while untangling the tail around him.

Rrahn fell forward, catching himself in the pew before looking up at Themis as he held himself. What’s wrrrong?”

 “I think you might benefit from the chapel’s intended use instead. Quiet, self-reflection,” Themis said before moving to start blowing dark flamed candles around the room.

“There’s no mirrors in here though,” Rrahn said, watching Themis pause, hang his head, then return to what he was doing.

[dr-will-wood-confessions-is-dead]

I listened to the entirety of Camp Here and There in hope of hearing "Yes to err is human, so don't be one!" in it but it wasn't, only the instrumentals. Campfire songs still slaps as an album. Also Camp Here and There is pretty alright. Hope Will makes more music for it when season 2 happens.

[captainmvf]

OUGH YOU'RE TAKING JOE REQUESTS-

Hrmmmmmm

Maybe some monster Joe? (Monster of your choice of course)

(Or maybe your interpretation of corrupted Joe if you want? No pressure.)

Hi Zestyyyy!!!!!

Thought of a few Monster Joe stuff, featuring Miitopia Imp, Werewolf, my vampire, and bird person Joes:

And of course, someone witnessed the downward spiral of Corrupted Joe >:3

[t-lostinworlds]

Warm Winter & Fiery Frost [1] | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x ex-HYDRA assassin!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x grumpy, enemies to lovers-ish, slow burn-ish, angst, fluff-ish

》 SUMMARY: They say opposites attract. You and Bucky were so alike—He was called The Winter Soldier and you were called Frost, for fucks sake—that it's probably the reason why you hated each other. Or was it the denying of powerful feelings in fear of getting hurt? You know, like how the cliché goes. Because you know what they also say: There's a fine line between love and hate.

》 WARNINGS: read full warnings here

》 WORD COUNT: 12.6k+

A/N: so, i decided to divide the fic into two just to give you guys the option to read it here as well since i feel like a lot of ppl are more comfortable with just reading it on tumblr sksksks but you also still do have the option to read it on AO3 if you want. will be posting part 2 tomorrow around the same time. it will be linked at the end. i hope you enjoy!

📘 READ ON AO3 | ★ FIC MASTERPOST

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Some said first impressions have a lasting impact, that it might even be a crucial pillar of any relationship. Others would vouch that it could be a bit misleading, that everybody deserves a second chance, that getting to know someone on a deeper level was far more important. After all, people were good at pretending, wearing masks for different occasions, putting on a façade depending on who they were standing in front of.

Bucky's first impression of you was that you were downright rude.

You definitely were not the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, a confident aura surrounding your graceful form as you entered the conference room. You definitely didn't capture his attention easily, didn't make his heart skip a couple of beats when he briefly caught your piercing gaze, eyes a beautiful shade that he wanted to look closer to see if there were any variations or they were as perfect and pure in color at first glance. You didn't make his breath nervously hitch when your head tilted ever so slightly, almost scrutinizingly as you studied him with your pretty lips pursed.

He definitely didn't linger there for a second or two, either.

Nope.

All he could think about was how cold and arrogant you seemed to be, head held high as Steve introduced you to the team one by one, settling for formal handshakes and a barely-there smile.

Bucky definitely was not thinking about how you were able to keep your features impassive yet stay so gorgeous in his eyes. He definitely wasn't intrigued about the slight gray of cautiousness tinting your irises, definitely not curious to know more of your quiet and reserved nature. He wasn'tat all itching to peel back your layers with such tenderness and care, to know more about you—light, darkness and demons alike.

Who knew lying to yourself could be so easy?

"And this is Bucky Barnes," Steve said, patting his shoulder, smiling excitedly for some reason he knew nothing of. "You know, the one I kept telling you about."

Bucky glared at his best friend curiously before turning to you, keeping a straight face as he held his hand out.

"I read your file."

That was Bucky's first words to you.

A second after they left his mouth, his stomach churned as he watched your face harden, lips pressed tightly into a thin line. You glanced at his outstretched hand, pointedly ignoring it as you crossed your arms over your chest. Chin up, you looked at him dead straight in the eyes, a certain fire flickering over yours, a brow raised in challenge.

You didn't say a word.

Bucky only got a curt nod before you turned back to Steve.

"My room?" you asked the blonde, features softening.

"Come on," Natasha interjected, nodding towards the door.

Bucky felt a sudden surge of jealousy at the cordial way you regarded the two. He felt envious when you returned Nat's grin with a small smile of your own as you followed her lead. It was faint enough to not be noticeable if you weren't particularly observant but definitely better than the scowl you wore when looking at him.

He ignored the way the redhead shot him a look over her shoulder as she guided you out of the conference room.

It was safe to say that as far as first impressions went, both of yours definitely weren't the best.

"What?" Bucky sighed when he caught the way his best friend was looking at him.

"Really?" Steve scolded, hands on his hips. "'I read your file' is not a conversation starter, Buck."

Fine. Maybe that wasn't the best—nor appropriate—thing to say to you first. But it was exactly because of that file that he was wary of you.

You were a spy, an assassin, trained in the Red Room only to get traded to HYDRA after some negotiations. They probably saw your potential—took you under their wing before you could even graduate so you didn't class as one of the Black Widows. Still, that didn't mean you didn't have the abilities of one, especially when you started young like most did. Now, adding the brutality and mercilessness HYDRA taught their killing machines?

You were one deadly mix.

The file said you were enhanced in some way. It didn't have the specifics as to what but it did state what wasn't. No superpowers, nothing magic-related, not even a case of superhuman abilities. But since these were organizations known for their hunger to experiment and enhance individuals, he had an inkling that you weren't just human, either.

Bucky didn't understand what level of consciousness you were in when you were doing their bidding. All he knew was that newer technology was involved, something to do with a microchip embedded on the back of your neck, connected right into your brain stem that any attempt at removing it carelessly would lead to your death.

He didn't know the extent of what that chip could do, didn't know if it was roughly the same as his programming where his mind was wiped and then controlled. It was possibly different yet similar—two sides of the same coin.

That part of the file was redacted, and Steve was adamant about staying quiet with that side of your story when asked. It was understandable, he supposed. It was nobody's place to tell but yours.

But judging from those alone, Bucky could guess it wasn't a lovely walk through the fields.

You were free from that now—thanks to Shuri, of course—but you could never be too cautious.

Just because Natasha saw you as a long lost sister, or how Steve was quick to trust you enough to escort you to Wakanda himself, and for both to vouch for you to join the team, didn't mean Bucky had to follow in their footsteps of plain blind faith.

It definitely had nothing to do with how nervous he suddenly got when you were standing right in front of him, or the way his heart picked up the pace when you were in the vicinity, let alone, glanced his way.

But with all the lies he'd been keen on feeding himself, Bucky had to admit, you were mesmerizingly and gorgeously terrifying.

There was just something about the way you carry yourself that even as simple as you walking down the hallway had everyone parting out of your way like the Red Sea.

Your reputation preceded you—Frost, a name most people feared to cross, belonging to a list of the most feared assassins who were still alive, of those who roamed free.

Whether that was second, equal, or better than The Winter Soldier…well, it depended on who you asked.

It somehow conjured this unspoken competition throughout the entire facility.

Who was more menacing?

Who was more skilled in hand-to-hand combat?

Who had the best death glare?

Who wielded the knife better?

Who had the better murder strut?

Who was the better assassin?

Who would win in a staring contest?

Who was grumpier, colder, the deadlier killer—The Winter or Frost?

Even the core Avengers team was silently in on it. The bets were mundane but they were there. An extra pizza slice, a dollar or two, who gets to go on the next coffee run, who gets to do whose laundry—they were thoroughly entertained by it.

Even Sam commented how you made Bucky's glare look like puppy eyes.

He honestly felt a little offended.

Probably because the truth sucked since, hell, even Bucky felt intimidated by you—in more ways than one.

Nobody intimidated him, not until you.

Bucky hated it.

If you asked his ego and pride, they'd tell you it was because the comparisons were insulting. He was the best in his field, he had decades of experience under his belt—he was a goddamn super soldier for crying out loud. A newbie, someone who didn't even reach half of what he'd been through, wasn't going to be better than him, even with similar skill sets.

But deep down, he knew it was something else entirely.

If he were to truthfully answer those questions that circled the compound, he would be biased, subjective, completely and utterly infatuated because his answer was you.

In Bucky's rose-tinted eyes, you win anything because he would wholeheartedly give you everything.

That was another thing he was entirely terrified and intimidated by.

Never had he ever felt this strong pull before, an intrigue and need to be closer to someone, let alone someone he just met. It was new territory, something unfamiliar, especially in the last couple of decades.

Bucky hated not being able to understand what he was feeling, hated not being in control of the way his thoughts sprinted in all directions, fast and unrelenting to match the beating of his heart. He hated the way you made him feel a plethora of overwhelming yet warm emotions all from a simple look, a complicated concoction of admiration, fear, infatuation, lust and everything in between.

He hated the way you threw his whole world off its axis when he'd been doing good so far at gradually understanding his mind, his heart, his whole self.

Now, he was confused, terrified, captivated by you in so little time and he hated it.

And like Pavlov's dog and the Theory of Classical Conditioning—

Bucky hated you.

•••

As it turned out, you hated him too.

You weren't verbal about it for the first few months you lived in the compound. But then again, you had been keeping to yourself most of the time.

People barely saw you roaming around. You didn't sit with the team during meals, you even skipped over movie nights or any other 'team-bonding' exercise the rest came up with. The only other person who saw you more frequently than most was Natasha. But given that you two were floormates, that was to be expected.

Bucky would sometimes catch a glimpse of you in the gym during the early hours, dancing around punching bags like a graceful ballerina but with a forceful punch and kick that would rival the best and the greats—ruthless just like how you were trained to be.

It was the same time he usually went down, hoping to let off steam when he couldn't shake a particular nightmare. But when you got there first, he opted to go for an early run outside instead, giving you the space to yourself.

He had a feeling you needed it more.

Other than that, you were like a ghost in the compound. There was no physical evidence or any lingering traces of you in the common spaces.

But if and when you were around, your presence alone was palpable—quietly minding your business in a corner, but everyone was aware that you were there. It was that commanding and powerful aura you exuded.

It definitely reminded him of how a certain someone acted when he first got into the compound.

So he didn't take your indifference, borderline coldness to heart at the start since you weren't overly friendly to everyone.

But as weeks turned to months and the atmosphere around you began to shift, the contrast between your attitudes suddenly became more apparent.

There was a difference between how you acted around the team and how you behaved around him.

Bucky was quick to realize that you were definitely colder and much more judgemental when it came to him.

From your deathly glares during meetings, pointed eye rolls with each question he asked about letting you join on missions, audible enough scoffs to every comment he made, to completely turning away from him with a disapproving shake of your head, cursing him out in Russian under your breath as if he wasn't fluent in the language, as if he wouldn't catch you with superhuman hearing.

Your dislike towards him was excessively obvious.

Even more so as you began to acclimate in the compound, feeling more and more comfortable around fellow Avengers as you came out of your hard shell—you were now present during game nights and movie nights, you'd sat in the dining hall with the team during dinners, and willingly joining in when it was time for training. You'd even become fast friends with Wanda and Sam.

You were now a little less menacing towards acquaintances and agents, too. Most were still scared of you, and rightfully so. You always wore that impassive expression that never gave a hint whether you liked the person or not. You barely even smile, at those you didn't know anyway—well, unless you wanted to make a point.

Like that one time you knocked an agent off his feet during a spar, clean and swift when he told you, 'You would look prettier when you smile.' You towered over the heaving man on the floor, eyeing his bleeding nose with a grin, wide and sarcastic.

Other than that, you'd learned to be somewhat cordial—consisting of curt nods, to tight-lipped smiles and less glaring—with everyone else.

Well, everyone except him.

Oh you hated him.

Bucky could feel it searing on his skin just from one simple look, rattling deep in his bones with every scoff of disdain.

As a matter of fact, everyone could feel the simmering tension in the air when you both were in the same room, quietly bubbling like magma under the earth, waiting for that small opening to finally burst into chaos.

It didn't take long for the first shift to happen, a crack between each other's resolve, the slight change between you both.

Bucky couldn't say it was for the better.

After all, going from silent glares and unspoken distaste to petty comments and loud arguments wasn't exactly classified as an improvement.

•••

"I don't trust her, Steve."

"You haven't even given her a chance."

"She's an ex-HYDRA assassin," Bucky pressed, his scowl deepening when his best friend brushed him off. "They can never be trusted."

"Takes one to know one."

Bucky's heart stopped at the sound of your voice, body freezing momentarily once he saw you sat on the kitchen counter, legs kicking aimlessly as you read a book.

You looked innocent—so fucking cute, but he wasn't going to acknowledge that—like you could never do any harm. But he knew better. Which was why he couldn't stop his stomach from churning solely from the fact that you heard what he said.

And without even lifting your eyes from the page, you still were able to get a read on him.

It was frustrating how good you were.

"What?" you scoffed, taking a bite of the plum he was sure was taken from his stash. He was the only one who constantly brought them into the team. Finally looking at him, you raised a brow, pouting at him tauntingly. "Too scared to say it to my face?"

"I don't like people who keep secrets," Bucky huffed, arms crossed over his chest with a sharp glare as he looked you straight in the eye. "It was never mentioned how they found you, and we usually don't pick up strays off the street."

"Buck," Steve warned.

You closed your book with a harsh snap, hopping off the counter swiftly before walking towards him with a blank face. Taking another bite of the plum, you never broke eye contact, the fire in your gaze flickering the second you were standing right in front of him.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat, his skin prickling with heat as you pointedly scanned him from head to toe, arms over your chest to mirror his stance, your head tilted in that annoyingly adorable way.

Yet the smallest adoration he held was quickly replaced by pure animosity the moment you opened that pretty little mouth of yours.

"Rich coming from HYDRA's favorite lost and found pet," you said, face calm, voice just as much with a touch of being cold. The only other hint that showed your emotion was the fire that kept growing in those gorgeous eyes. Brow raised, you added, "At least I don't look homeless."

"Watch your fucking mouth," Bucky snarled, taking a challenging step forward, towering over you with fists clenched at his sides.

You pouted, seeming innocent as you hummed, "You know, they say lice make people irritable. You should get that checked."

His vibranium arm whirred, nostrils flaring as a growl rumbled in his chest.

You did nothing but smirk.

Before he could even open his mouth for a rebuttal, Steve was quick to get between you both.

"Alright, knock it off," he sighed, hand firm on Bucky's chest as he shot him a silent warning before turning to you. "There's a quick undercover op in Palermo, Sicily. Nothing more than a quick recon mission. Fly in, attend a party, gather intel, interrogate if necessary, fly out. And I want you two to be partners in it."

"When is this?" you asked, turning to Steve with brows furrowed in curiosity.

"In two days."

"Okay."

Bucky blinked.

He was surprised at how quick you were to agree. He expected you to argue against it, whine and complain about how you didn't want to go with him, list a bunch of things where he wasn't capable enough or just downright say you didn't trust him.

As if reading his mind—or perhaps he really needed to work on his poker face—you shrugged, adding, "It's a job at the end of the day. I can work with anyone and be professional about it."

You definitely did that on purpose to make him look bad.

Fucking kiss-ass.

"Good," Steve said with a smile which you irritatingly returned. "I'll have FRIDAY send you the file."

"Rogers that, Captain," you snorted at your own joke, waving your hand at Bucky before turning on your heel, your voice echoing down the hallway as you called out, "Just make sure he washes his hair! I don't want whatever's living in there to inhabit mine!"

Once you were gone, Bucky let out an exasperated sigh when Steve gave him that I'm-not-angry-just-disappointed look.

Again.

"Are you seriously taking her side?" he griped.

"I'm not taking any sides." Steve shrugged, arms crossed. "But, I mean, you called her unreliable behind her back, basically told her you didn't like her to her face, and then called her a stray which was unnecessary and uncalled for. You were kinda asking for it."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, a few deep breaths before grumbling, "Is there really no one else available for this mission?"

"Well, I'll see if Liam—"

No.

Liam was an arrogant piece of shit agent who stared at you for far too long during training to be considered appropriate. It was obvious enough, how he saw you as a prize to be won, proof of being 'the ultimate alpha male who could tame the lioness.' Those were the exact words Bucky overheard in the gym showers and it took everything in his power not to break a jaw or two.

That idiot would bottle the whole op trying to get your attention. And judging from what Bucky knew about him, it wasn't difficult to assume that he would end up thinking with the wrong head. He'd be more of a burden to you than an actual help.

Bucky was already filled in on what the mission was about, including what you were going to be pretending as. It was one of the many reasons why he was having doubts about you two being partners in this.

After all, for the mission to be a success, you had to sell the cover first. When you both couldn't be in the same room without showing utter disdain, when all of your conversations—the rare moments that you did have one—were more or less an argument, when you didn't even like each other, how on earth would you manage to convince everyone else that you two were happily and lovingly married?

It was impossible.

So you couldn't really blame him for being doubtful.

And no, it had nothing to do with how his whole body tingled with anticipation—and maybe excitement—nor the way his heart stuttered at the thought of being your husband.

But with all that said, he would be caught dead first before he'd allow Liam to take full advantage of it and see this mission as an opportunity rather than something to be taken seriously.

"Liam is incompetent. He'll only slow her down, compromise her and end up blowing their cover. It's obvious he's going to be distracted with all the fancy shit to not do his job at all. Someone's going to get hurt because he's fucking full of himself and—" Bucky stopped when he caught the way the blond was looking at him.

Steve was smirking, proud and all-knowing, wriggling his brows as if he got the exact reaction he wanted.

It was obvious Bucky fell right into his trap.

The consequence of having a best friend who knows you too well.

"I fucking hate you, Rogers," he growled, shoulder-checking Steve as he made his way back to the elevator.

It only made the punk laugh.

"I'll see you at the briefing, buddy!"

•••

Bucky rolled his eyes when he saw the audience waiting on the tarmac two days later.

The whole team was practically present, obviously wanting to see what would happen during your first mission together with him.

It was ridiculous.

They somewhat made this whole thing between you two as a source of entertainment. It was harmless enough since they never really did anything to provoke reactions. It was wholeheartedly both your own doing. But that didn't make it less annoying.

His scowl deepened when Sam took one look at him before bursting out into rambunctious laughter. He also didn't miss the way Nat and Wanda were trying their best to hold back their giggles.

"Looks good on you." Clint nodded, grinning.

"Thanks." He rolled his eyes, instinctively running his fingers through his newly cropped hair.

It was closer to how he used to wear it back in the 40s. The long cut was starting to get in the way, even during simple, everyday errands. It was also to help him look less recognizable for this undercover mission, paired nicely with the flesh camouflage Bruce had temporarily installed on his metal arm.

Other than that, Bucky figured it was time for a change. And what better way to mark a new chapter in his life than by getting a haircut?

It definitely wasn't because a small part of him was craving your approval.

"Oh," Steve said when he reached the tarmac, blinking a few times before smiling. "It looks good, Buck."

"Why is everyone making a big deal out of my haircut?" he grumbled exasperatedly.

"It's not about the haircut," Natasha butted in, the corner of her lips curved up. "It's why you got it."

"I didn't think you'd take what she said seriously," Steve chuckled.

"First of all, I got this haircut because I wanted a haircut. That's it. Second—" Bucky glared at his best friend. "—did you tell everyone about the lice insult?"

"I didn't tell anyone!" he defended, hands in the air. "I swear!"

"He didn't. Frosty was ranting to Nat and Wanda and I just happened to overhear the best parts," Sam snickered. "But God, you need her attention so bad."

"I don't need her attention," he huffed, crossing his arms. "I very much enjoy it if it's elsewhere."

"Whatever you say, Buckaroo."

Speaking of the beauty that was the devil, you walked out of the building with Tony, his hands gesticulating wildly, probably explaining the enhancement on the outfit you were currently wearing.

A newly improved tactical suit.

Bucky cleared his throat as he ran his fingers through his hair, straightening out his gear as he tried not to stare.

But fuck it was hard.

How could he not look when the combination of Kevlar and lycra hugged your body in all the right places? At first glance, it was all black from head to toe, but underneath the light, the color would shift. There was a bluish tinge to it, the straps and belts a deep silver-blue, the combination of colors representing the likes of dark ice and frost. He couldn't see the lower half of your face, your signature mask only showing off those menacing eyes. And show them off they did because not only did the half-mask make you look even more threatening, it also made your eyes even more beautiful. The dark fabric definitely brought more attention to them, a twinkle in your irises especially when the sunlight would hit them just right.

You definitely brought two different meanings to the phrase 'If looks could kill.'

One, your death glare was definitely promising, and two Bucky had never seen someone be so beautiful, so gorgeously deadly that his heart felt like it might take him out.

He didn't realize that he was actively staring until Sam's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Damn. You're more pathetic than I thought."

Bucky shot him a glare, landing a very soft punch to his stomach before storming into the Quinjet, quickly settling into the pilot's seat. He was done dealing with the team's antics, and he knew they'd only get rowdier when you're close. 

"Why is everyone here?" you said, and he could almost picture you rolling your eyes. "Why are you guys acting like you're sending your kids to boarding school?"

"Well, with how you and Terminator behave, it's not that different," Tony quipped. You must've glared at him because he was quick to add, "I'm kidding! You two are very mature adults."

"You guys are ridiculous," you snorted, boots hitting metal echoing around the space as you made your way inside.

"Have fun you two!"

"Not too much fun! I want that jet spotless when it gets back!"

"Please don't kill each other on the way!"

"Oh they grow up so fast."

Bucky rolled his eyes, shutting the latch once you finally settled yourself right beside him.

Your reasoning for the choice, he had no idea. You honestly could've picked every other available seat which was plenty. He decided not to dwell on it, stopping his mind from wandering too far into presumptuous thoughts.

But he definitely didn't miss the way you glanced at his hair.

He also didn't miss the way you were trying not to smirk.

"Stop gawking and put your goddamn seatbelt on," he grumbled, starting the jet before shrugging. "Or don't."

"You're so full of yourself," you scoffed, yet did as he said without any more protest.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are."

"M'just glad to know you actually listen to me, much less, take my advice."

"Now, who's full of themselves?" he mocked, rolling his eyes. "My haircut has nothing to do with you."

You were quiet for a moment. But he should've known better. It was something he learned lately, how you always felt the need to have the last word.

"Whatever pacifies your ego, Barnes."

Bucky could only growl in response.

•••

"Can you hurry up!" he called out after glancing at his watch for the fifth time.

He was fully dressed, in a suit and tie this time instead of his tactical gear. He'd already double-checked his weapons twice, a variety of them hidden underneath his jacket for ease of access.

And you still hadn't come out of the bathroom.

Bucky was sitting on one of the lounge chairs by the bed, glaring at the dark wood separating you from him as if it would help you be quicker with whatever it was you were doing in there.

He was about to call out again when the door slammed open, harsh and quick that it bounced off the wall.

Bucky's breath was sucked out of his lungs once he saw you in your long and fitted black dress, the silk fabric complementing your figure, a very high slit exposing your thigh, straps thin on your shoulders they might as well be non-existent and a deep V neckline to match.

He suddenly felt hot when he saw that the dress was unzipped, exposing your back from the nape of your neck all the way down, stopping just above the swell of your—

He blinked out of his haze when you ignored him completely and marched towards the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room. Your scowl was deep, irritation obvious in your demeanor as you looked for something, your back facing the mirror as you glared at your reflection over your shoulder.

"I'm going to kill Natasha for picking this dress," you mumbled under your breath, so obviously talking to yourself but without taking into account his enhanced hearing. "Who puts a zipper this goddamn small you can't even find it."

"Jesus—" Bucky rolled his eyes, standing up from his place and stalking towards you. "Turn around."

Your eyes snapped up to his, glare deadly as you hissed, "I don't need your help—"

"Get over yourself will you?" he scoffed. "We're going to be late."

"Fine," you gritted, turning around abruptly and crossing your arms. "Since you so badly want to make yourself feel useful."

Your quip went in one ear and out the other. Not because he was done with your shit—which he was—but because he was rendered speechless by what he was seeing.

There was a temptation to trace the path from the small of your back up to your spine, to feel your warm and naked skin underneath his fingertips.

But his attention was captured by something else entirely.

His lips curled into a frown as he scanned the nape of your neck. Now that he was closer, he could see the way your delicate skin was littered with scars, ones that weren't his nor was his infliction, but were familiar to him it made his chest ache.

Absentmindedly, his fingers hovered over it, close and featherlight to feel a prickle of electricity, but not enough for it to fully touch. He circled the smallest yet deepest one, right in the middle where he assumed the chip was embedded. His frown deepened as he traced the various jagged lines that started from the center, crawling down like roots and stopping just at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

Bucky ignored the goosebumps that rose from your skin, heavily fighting the urge to kiss it.

You cleared your throat, looking at him through your periphery. "What, you've never seen scars before?"

"Those are scratch marks," he stated as a fact, voice coming out rougher than he'd intended to.

Bucky knew because he had similar-looking ones that covered his left shoulder.

Like someone was trying to claw it out of their skin.

"Yeah, well," you grumbled, shifting in your black heels. "It's not like I wanted that chip in me."

Almost instinctively, he leaned closer, lips parted, your body shivering as his breath brushed over your skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, hurriedly yet carefully zipping up your dress before walking towards the door.

"I'll wait for you outside," he said before closing it behind him without looking back.

Bucky paced up and down the hall in hopes that it would help shake the absolute rage he felt.

Not at you, but for you.

It was sudden yet burning, the anger in his blood at the simple thought of what those fucking assholes did to you. It didn't help in the slightest that he was so familiar with their methods.

It made him want to burn every person who laid a hand on you alive.

If the world managed to catch fire during that, then so fucking be it.

Bucky didn't know where it came from, the sense of protectiveness over you. It was so strong and unrelenting that it blatantly showed the second you stepped into the ballroom. From the way he'd held you closer by his side, arm secured around your waist as you mingled with guests, to his sharp glare aimed at any man who lingered too close and stared at you far too inappropriately.

He was telling himself it was part of the ruse, to sell this fake marriage to a viable audience so you could get the intel—gathering names that were connected to the Mafia, and when you're attending the birthday party of the Don, it wasn't difficult to do so—that you needed. He was watching your back like how any good partner should during missions. Even though he hated you, he wasn't cruel enough to let you get hurt. You could never know who was harmlessly flirting with you, and who was there with ulterior motives. It was better safe than sorry.

It definitely was not anything personal for him.

Despite everything, the mission went surprisingly well—smoothly even. It was impressive, borderline uncanny, the way you matched each other as if you'd been partners for years instead of this being the first.

It was easy, reading the signal you gave before Bucky made his way toward the elevators. The few moments he left you alone were enough for you to do what was needed, tempt and seduce. It was easy, a slimy yet important capo immediately taking the bait. Not that Bucky could blame him either. Nobody stood a chance when you were the one luring.

And just as the metal doors opened with a soft ding, Bucky stepped aside, letting you and the unsuspecting, inebriated man stumble in, slurring obscenities about 'getting some' as he clung to you, grumbling about 'showing you a better time than your husband.'

Bucky didn't even hide his scowl as he followed, fist slamming harshly on the button of your hotel floor. He wasn't gentle either as he injected the guy with a drug Bruce had concocted, one that made someone drunk to a point that they wouldn't remember what happened the next day while they were under the influence. Something about brain chemicals and whatnot.

Once you reached your shared room, he let you take the reins, sitting in a corner with a glass of whiskey as he watched. He wanted to see just how immersed you got when you were in your element.

And Bucky was impressed.

The way you circled that tied man, unhurried yet calculating, fingers trailing, taunting him, making him shiver in anticipation as to what you'd do next. Your voice was sickly sweet yet never less threatening as you asked questions that even Bucky had a whiplash listening to you talk.

You were like a poisonous wild berry, sweet, alluring, tempting on the outside, but downright deadly if you take a bite.

He also found it extremely hot but he wasn't going to talk about that.

It didn't take long for the man to spew out valuable information. But when he was being particularly difficult in some cases, Bucky stalked closer, shrugging his suit jacket off, rolling up his sleeves, and turning the flesh camouflage off. When the lamp on the bedside reflected on his metal forearm, it was enough to make the captive talk more.

Bucky took the liberty of doing cleanup once you got all the information you needed while you changed out of your dress in the bathroom. You were adamant about not needing his help with the zipper this time. He didn't bother to insist.

He stripped the unconscious man down to his boxers, tucking him to bed to make it seem like a one-night stand and nothing more. It wasn't like the idiot would remember much in the morning, anyway. He also made sure there was no trace of any of you in the room, checking twice to be sure he didn't miss anything.

Once everything was cleared and his bag was packed, you emerged out of the bathroom, now back in your tactical suit. You wordlessly made your way out of the hotel, Bucky right on your tail.

Neither of you spoke a word as you flew back home that same night.

The air was tense in the Quinjet.

And as much as people could argue that it was always like that whenever you and Bucky were in the same room, this time, it felt different.

Bucky couldn't just pinpoint as to why exactly that was.

The only thing he could clearly see was that you were even more guarded than before. Yet as hardened as your face was, your eyes were telling a different story. There was a distant look in them as if you were in a different place right this second.

Even as you got back to the compound and sat in one of the conference rooms for a debrief with Steve, there was still something off about you. You were quieter than usual, only speaking when spoken to. You even rushed to leave the room before Steve could fully wrap things up.

The blonde had shot him a questioning—almost accusing—look, probably also noticing your uncanny behavior. But all Bucky could do was shrug because even he wasn't quite sure as to what was on your mind that undeniably put you off.

Was it the moment in front of the mirror when he'd traced your scar? Or was it everything that transpired in the ballroom?

Having his arm around your waist, pulling you so close to his side he could practically feel your body heat through the layers of his suit, moments where he'd lean down to whisper in your ear, you masking it with a giggle as if the intel was the funniest thing he'd ever told you.

It was without a doubt the closest you two have ever been physically, pretending to be husband and wife, gazing into each other's eyes as if you were in love.

That was quite a lot for people who hated each other.

Or was that just him?

And even though Bucky was tired after the mission, he couldn't get a wink of sleep.

It wasn't from nightmares this time though—well, not his anyway.

Laying in his bed, staring at the random design engrained on the ceiling, Bucky couldn't stop thinking about what horrors you went through while you were under HYDRA's influence.

He wished his imagination was way worse than reality, that his head was making every situation far more gruesome and cruel than it truly was.

But Bucky knew better.

He knew that his imagination couldn't even come close to what truly transpired. And in this line of work, reality was always much worse.

Besides, he did live through it himself.

But knowing you had gone through something similar, somehow, it felt much more…hurtful.

Maybe this was the whole not wishing it on your worst enemies type of thing. Maybe it was an understanding. Maybe it was simply empathy. Maybe it was the culmination of everything mentioned all at once.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

•••

"I didn't think I'd see the day where someone would actually challenge his staring problem."

"She doesn't look phased, though."

"He's definitely losing."

"I can hear you," Bucky said, loud enough for Sam and Wanda to hear but never taking his eyes off you even for a second.

"Good morning, Frosted Flakes." Sam walked over to you with a pat on the head.

You looked away from Bucky then, swatting Wilson's hand away, nose scrunched adorably with a snort, "What happened to 'Frosty'?"

"Oh no, your nickname is still Frosty," Sam chuckled. "Just sprinkling some spice every once and a while."

Bucky's grip on his mug tightened when he saw you flash Sam a genuine smile.

It's been a week since your mission together and you were back to your usual self—friendly to the team and absolutely loathing him still. As a matter of fact, you'd been acting as if the mission didn't happen at all, fully putting it behind you like a closed case.

Bucky wasn't quite sure if he was relieved or annoyed about it.

Fine.

He was annoyed because how could you be so nonchalant about the whole thing when he hadn't been able to think of anything else since?

It was infuriating seeing you so unaffected while he was still losing sleep, remembering how your warm body felt pressed up against his and the way your breath tickled the skin just below his ear whenever you whispered some information to him.

Then came the thoughts about your scars—what ifs and I hope not's with what happened to you in that facility. His chest would ache every time he closed his eyes and the image of your hurt skin would flash in his mind.

Or he'd find himself blushing like a schoolboy, wondering how things would've played out if he didn't hesitate, if he actually tried kissing it better—

"I never got to know why your alias is Frost," Wanda asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Cold-blooded killer, stone-cold heart, grew up and was trained in a cold climate, pretty basic actually. And, well," you paused, raising a brow his way. "Winter was taken."

"Can never trust someone who still goes by their name as a killer," he scoffed.

The way your whole face turned cold as you looked at him was so impressive it made Bucky's heart sting with longing.

Still, he didn't shy away from your glare.

It was only during these moments that he could shamelessly look into your gorgeous eyes, after all.

"I'm reclaiming it as my own. You give the name they gave you power, they still have control over you. Now, when I take back that power, the only one who has control over me, is me." You crossed your arms over your chest, head tilting as you added, "I think you can learn a thing or two about that, Soldat."

The chair screeched as Bucky stood from his seat, stalking towards you with a low growl. You simply turned to look at him, letting him tower over you with no ounce of fear in your demeanor. His fists clenched, vibranium arm whirring when you dared to smirk at him. 

You raised a brow, chin raised high and cocky, so defiant, so bratty, it makes him want to—

"Case and point," you whispered proudly.

Before Bucky could even come up with a comeback, Steve's voice interrupted,

"Break it off." The captain walked into the room with his shoulders slumped as if he was tired of dealing with the same shit every day.

Bucky almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

"Do you have a radar for when we start fighting?" you snorted.

"Maybe," he said, brow raised at you. "Nat's been waiting for you in the training room."

"I don't need any more training," you grumbled, and with Bucky still standing quite close to you, he could almost see you pouting.

Or maybe he was just imagining it.

"There's no such a thing as too much training," Steve said in that 'captain voice' of his. "Besides, you need to learn how to hold back your punches."

"So, you're saying…" you sighed. "You don't trust me not to kill anyone?"

Bucky has never seen Steve turn bright red so quickly in his life.

"No! That's not—"

You giggled.

Bucky couldn't even begin to describe what his heart did in his chest.

You walked over to the blushing blonde, patting his chest with a bright smile. "Just messing with you, Steve."

He wasn't sure if he was jealous of the casual affection you were able to give to Steve, or the fact that his best friend got along so well with you that you might as well have known each other all your life.

Yet either thought was pushed to the back of his head as he watched you walk away in those goddamn leggings. There was always a certain sway to your hips whenever you moved, a confidence he couldn't help but be captivated by. But those goddamn gray leggings, for reasons he couldn't explain, were somehow accentuating everything that much more. From your hips to your thighs and that ass—

"Get out of my head, Maximoff," Bucky grumbled, cheeks burning when he caught the way the redhead was quietly smirking in the corner. 

"I wasn't even in your head," Wanda laughed, still honoring the promise she made to him to always respect his boundaries when it came to his mind, which he was grateful for. "It's all over your face."

"You look hungry as hell, man," Sam added, grinning. 

"Well, if you want to ogle more," Steve teased, smiling amusedly. "Don't you have your recruits to train?"

Bucky could only flip them off as he walked towards the elevator.

•••

Fists hitting against bags, punches blocked with precision, hisses and groans as bones met muscle, bodies landing on padded floors with low grunts, and the occasional cheers and hollers from the opposite side of where he stood.

There was quite a crowd at the training room—and by room he meant a whole floor—at this time of day. After all, it was mostly everyone's schedule for it.

It was hectic, and for someone with enhanced senses, it can be overstimulating. But Bucky had grown to learn how to focus the amount of input his brain took. Right now, it wasn't on the young boy he was currently sparring with.

Oh no.

It was over at the mats where a crowd had formed. It was like fight night, a challenge born out of pure pride and ego as to who could land even just one blow on the current victor.

You.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky watched you dance around a man who was more or less a foot taller than you. It was graceful, the way you jumped onto his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his neck before you twisted your body, using the momentum to flip the agent onto his back, tightening your thighs around his neck before he rapidly started tapping on the mat.

You barely even broke a sweat.

Bucky swiftly raised his right arm, blocking a high kick from the recruit. It was a valiant effort but it simply wasn't quick enough to surpass his enhanced senses.

"Good thinking to use a moment's distraction to your advantage," he commended, grabbing his ankle and flinging the kid over his shoulder. "But never underestimate your opponent."

He looked around his group, fresh graduates and all looking properly beaten and tired, and not just physically. None of them had ever won a spar with him. But, well, not to sound egotistical, but it was never a fair fight to begin with.

He was a supersoldier for crying out loud.

As their trainer, he could keep going. There were no breaks out there in a real fight. But then again, he has to remember that his blood was fueled differently compared to them.

Besides, his attention was most definitely elsewhere, and he kinda wants to watch a different session instead.

Was he slacking on the job? Maybe.

But hey, let's say he was simply trying not to drain the life out of the newbies.

"Great job today," Bucky said with a curt nod. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

Relief rolled over the group like a wave, and he resisted the urge to chuckle. As they all left one by one, Bucky remained at his station, leisurely sipping on his water as he watched the commotion across him.

"Do I really need to keep doing this?" you sighed at Steve after you pinned down yet another recruit who was definitely a few sizes bigger than you, swift and hard to disorient them but not enough to cause any real damage. Properly learning how to hold back your punches. "Aren't I supposed to be showing what I'm truly capable of?"

"You're getting cocky," Nat chuckled, throwing an M&M in her mouth.

"I'm not," you shrugged, yet your smirk said otherwise. You stood up, dusting your shoulder to make a show out of it. "I just want a challenge for once."

"Okay," Steve hummed, scanning the room before his eyes met his, gesturing for him to come over. "Hey, Buck!"

Here we go.

With a sigh, Bucky walked over to your group.

"Really? You want me to hold back on him?"

You couldn't have toned down your disdain even if you tried.

"Bold of you to assume you can lay a finger on me," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You wanted a challenge so, go ahead," Steve hummed. "No holding back this time. I'm sure Buck can take it."

"I feel insulted that he's the standard," you grumbled, hands on your hips as you raised a brow at him. "But if you're telling me not to hold back I might end up killing him."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Cute."

"Let's see if it's cute if I've got a knife down your throat."

"Jesus—" Steve ran a hand over his face before shooting you both a look. "I didn't say kill each other."

"Fine," you sighed dejectedly. "I'll try not to."

"Don't worry, Steve," Bucky hummed, smirking. "I'll go easy on her."

You were the first to attack.

Bucky expected you to go for the chest. With the short moment he observed you, that was usually what you went for when an opponent had a much larger stature than you. But surprisingly, you slid through his legs, kicking the back of his knee to make them buckle, causing him to fall forward. Catching himself on both hands, he rolled to the right just as your foot landed on where his head had been.

Is she actually trying to kill me?

He grabbed your ankle then, pulling it so rapidly that it had you landing on your chest with a cough. Before Bucky could even blink, you twisted, your leg hitting the side of his face. He stumbled back with a groan, giving you enough time to get back on your feet.

With deep breaths, you glared at each other from your places on the mat, bodies at the ready for another round.

Bucky attacked.

From the outside looking in, you two might as well have been doing a choreographed routine. You were dancing around each other, blocking some punches, landing a few kicks, and just when you thought that one had locked the other down, they'd immediately slipped from their grasp.

And this went on and on and on and on.

Nobody could decipher as to who would win this fight.

It was mesmerizing.

Bucky was impressed at the way you could keep up with him. He wasn't counting the time, but your stamina never seemed to waver. You didn't seem to have any need to catch your breath. You were definitely better than any of the agents, and dare he say it, any of the Avengers he'd sparred with.

Then again, your skills were a mixture of a Black Widow and HYDRA. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you were simply that good.

But Bucky was better.

He was also at an advantage since The Winter Soldier's fighting style was so clearly the blueprint for your training. That was one of the things he always noticed when it came to HYDRA. When one thing was a success, they were going to run that program to the ground.

If Bucky hadn't known any better, he might as well have trained you himself.

He was able to predict your next move quite easily, already knowing what his counterattack would be before you could even land a blow.

It was making you frustrated.

Bucky couldn't help but be cocky about it.

"Killing me, huh?" he whispered against your ear once he had you in a chokehold.

Again. 

"Don't tempt me to do it," you hissed, head thrown back abruptly to catch his nose.

Once his grip loosened even the slightest bit, you pushed his arm and dropped to the ground in a crouching position, spinning with one leg out to sweep him off his feet. He stumbled but didn't fall. In an attempt to keep the momentum, you tried to go for a handstand kickup, but Bucky caught your ankle before you could even complete your move, tossing you over his shoulder with little effort.

Quickly, you were back on your feet. Sweat covered your body as you heaved. There was a cut on your brow to match his bleeding nose, the bruise on your lip was looking quite similar to his, too.

Still, you looked absolutely beautiful.

But even with your fists up, seemingly ready to go again, Bucky could see your strength waning by the second, and your frustration wasn't helping you one bit.

That was always aweakness.

You will lose if you let your emotions come into play, no matter how well trained you were.

"That all you got?" Bucky taunted, arms out as he tilted his head with a pout. "He told you not to hold back, принцесса."

He hadn't meant to taunt the nickname in Russian. It just slipped out, like it somehow felt right to say it that way.

Yet the fire that lit your eyes was screaming at him otherwise—a look so raw and unnerving it made Bucky break out into nervous sweats.

It all happened so fast.

Bucky was caught off-guard when you ran to him at full speed with a growl, your knee hitting his chest with such force it knocked him onto his back. He hissed when he felt your knee dig into his rib, putting all your weight on it to hold him down. His head tilted up once he felt the cold, sharp blade against his neck.

In his periphery, he saw Nat patting herself down, eyes flickering over to the knife you were holding against Bucky's throat, her eyes wide in shock. 

Natalia Alianovna Romanova, one of the world's best and deadliest assassins, didn't even notice you taking a knife from her belt.

That was how fast it happened.

"Call me принцесса again and see what happens," you said, low and menacing. You were so close, your warm breath was tickling his lips but Bucky could only focus on your eyes.

There were so many emotions swimming in them, yet the sadness was what intrigued him the most.

But before he could get a proper read, you were gone.

The next thing he knew there was a dagger flying past his head, embedding itself on the mat. He felt something warm trickle down his ear. Bucky didn't need to see to know that you'd managed to graze his skin enough to draw some blood.

A warning.

He wasn't even given the time to collect himself before you were already leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind you.

Blinking twice, only then did Bucky realize that you had managed to gather quite the audience, all of which were silenced as to what just happened.

"What'd he call her?" Sam asked, holding a packet of Skittles in one hand.

"Printsessa. It's Russian for princess," Nat explained, shaking her head disappointedly before rushing to follow you.

Bucky was confused. 

He thought it was quite an overreaction to calling someone an innocent nickname.

"Right! The show's over!" Steve's 'captain voice' boomed. "Everyone back to their duties!"

Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face before taking the outstretched hand Steve was offering him.

"I don't get it," the blonde murmured once he helped him up and offered him tissues.

"What?" Bucky asked, wiping the blood off his skin. 

"You and Y/N," Steve elaborated. "I really thought you two would get along so well."

Bucky frowned. "What made you think that?"

"You're basically two peas in the same pod," Steve said as if it was obvious enough.

"We're nothing alike," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"The two of you are more alike than you think."

•••

"What's all this?"

It was never common to see Steve Rogers hauling boxes out of his room on a random Thursday morning. And one glance at his open door, the space was completely empty.

"You're leaving?" Bucky pressed worriedly.

"No," Steve chuckled. "Just moving floors."

Bucky's brows furrowed. "Why?"

"Because you—"

The blonde was cut off when the elevator dinged. It was more stacks of boxes being rolled into the space. But then a figure stepped into view. Steve turned to him with a shit-eating grin.

"—are getting a new floormate."

Bucky has never wanted to punch him so badly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Rogers."

His so-called best friend only smirked at him.

To most, Steve Rogers was the golden boy, America's greatest hero.

To Bucky? He was just an annoying little shit.

"Y/N," Steve greeted once you crossed paths in the living room.

"Steven," you responded, moving aside to let him and his stuff into the elevator.

"Try and don't kill each other please," he said, raising his brow knowingly.

You shrugged. "No promises."

"Be nice!" was the punk's last words before the elevator doors closed.

You didn't even spare Bucky a glance.

Instead, you just started bringing the boxes you brought with you into Steve's—well, your room.

Bucky, with no desire to help, casually leaned against the wall. He simply watched you make the repeating journey, taking box after box with you.

"Why did you agree to this?" he asked after a minute.

"Because I'm a good fucking friend, Barnes."

"What did Natasha bribe you with?"

"Fuck's sake," you groaned, dropping the box only to shoot him a glare. "Are favors for friends a new concept to you?"

"Favor? What favor?" he pushed. "Having Steve as a floormate?"

You ignored him, continuing with your task at hand.

"Why would she want Rogers to be next to her room—" Realization hit Bucky like a flying red white and blue shield. "Oh."

"Wow," you scoffed. "I knew you were dense but I was hoping Steve would've at least filled you in."

Bucky always knew that there was a little something between those two but he wasn't buying it as the only reason why Steve suddenly switched floors with you. They probably thought he wouldn't notice, but he did. Nat and Steve were the number one duo who had been trying to push the two of you to get along.

And when the tension only grew that much more after that incident in the training room, Bucky wouldn't be surprised if this whole floormate switch-up had something to do with their pursuit of making you act at least civil with one another.

"Don't worry," you said, placing the last box on the floor before meeting his eyes. "You won't even notice that you have a neighbor to begin with."

You slammed the door shut.

For the rest of the day, your statement remained true. Bucky barely heard from you at all, despite staying in his room given that it was his day off.

You were back to your ghostly ways, he supposed, keeping to yourself for the most part. But then again, it was only day one.

Unfortunately, your statement was immediately proven wrong that very same night.

Bucky was woken up by the faint whimpering he could hear through the wall. 

They weren't exactly thin, but they weren't soundproof either. There was a feature to cancel out the noise and prevent it from going out, but you had to enable it through FRIDAY.

You must've forgotten to turn it on.

He bolted out of bed when he heard you scream.

Bucky was outside your door in seconds, chest heaving as he pressed his palm flat against the surface.

He couldn't bring himself to knock.

Bucky simply didn't know if rushing inside your room was going to help you, or make things worse.

So he stood there, right outside your door, eyes screwed shut as pain clawed at his chest, listening as your screams turned to heart aching sobs.

Bucky had never felt so useless in his life.

He didn't know how long he was standing there, ears on high alert as he listened to every shaky breath you let out. He only went back to his room once you had gotten calmer.

Yet he didn't quite get some sleep that night.

Bucky—unbeknownst to you and him—had grown even more protective of you.

It was an unconscious act on his part, one he didn't even realize he was doing until Sam pointed it out.

It was always him who pointed things out, unfortunately.

"Since when did you become her guard dog?" Wilson had teased him once, right as they got back to the compound after a morning run.

His actions came to him in flashes. Whether that was immediately clocking any HYDRA agent coming your way and taking them out of the equation before you could even notice, taking extra precautions on missions for your behalf, or simply glaring at any agent who even did as much as look at you the wrong way. And if they actually said something, best believe Bucky didn't make it easy for them when it came to training.

But he never acknowledged Sam's words or outwardly showed that they affected him.

He only walked past Sam with a soft punch on the arm.

•••

Living on the same floor as you was…something.

For the first two weeks, it felt like Bucky was truly alone and that nobody lived in the room next door.

But as weeks turned to a month, traces of you were slowly integrating themselves around the common area, little things that made him know more about you.

You had a few cat-shaped mugs in the cupboard that made Bucky think you were a cat person. But then on a random day, he saw an orange one which looked like a dog, its face on one side and its butt on the other. He deduced that you simply liked animal mugs altogether because he saw a raccoon one, too. 

Then there was a knitted throw blanket on the sofa that smelled so much like you. It didn't take long for that to get followed by a fluffy pillow or two. All of them were one specific color but Bucky didn't know if that was your favorite one, or you simply liked to keep things coordinated. Maybe it was both.

Whether that was random knick knacks around the shelves, a DVD set by the TV, a well-loved book on the coffee table, the breadcrumbs of him having you as a floormate were starting to become apparent.

Besides that, he never truly felt like there was someone else on the same floor as him because rarely did you end up in your shared space at the same time.

If you did, you two always bickered to no end.

But as the sky turned from a shade of blue to the deep black of the night, Bucky was reminded that you were there right next to his room.

He wasn't overly fond of how the reminder was given.

Your nightmares didn't happen as frequently as he was prepared for them to be. But every other night was still a lot for one person to handle.

Bucky was yet to gain the courage to knock on the door.

It might have been creepy to just stand outside, it might as well have been cruel to do nothing while you were in distress.

But he was scared.

Not for him, but for you.

He honestly couldn't decipher whether he would be of any help or not if he just burst into your room unannounced. Because as confusing as living with you was, one thing remained clear.

You definitely still hated him.

"Can you fucking pick up after yourself?" you complained.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "It's one fucking spoon."

"Then put it in the sink!"

"Jesus fucking Christ what has that spoon ever done to you?"

"It's dirty and you're leaving it on the counter!"

"And?"

"You've got milk and cereal all over it!"

"I'm not asking you to clean it."

"But it's fucking annoying, you fucking slob!"

"Stop acting like you own this whole fucking place, printsessa."

It was truly impressive, how fast you had him pushed against the fridge with a goddamn bread knife against his throat.

It also stirred something in him but he wasn't ready to unpack that.

Bucky was holding his breath because if he did as much as relax, he knew the blade would nick his skin.

Who was he kidding, that definitely wasn't the reason he was holding his breath. He was a super soldier for crying out loud. He healed fast. A menial scrape wouldn't do much harm.

But you had just finished showering after your morning run and Bucky could smell your shampoo. Vanilla. Simple and sweet, a stark contrast to your fiery glare and the way you were holding a knife to his throat.

It was driving him insane.

"What did I say about calling me that," you said lowly.

"You know, you act so tough in front of everyone," he said, eyes defiantly glaring back at you. "But a meaningless nickname scares you this much?"

"Ne ispytyvay udachu, Soldat," you growled, pressing the knife that little bit harder.

Don't push your luck, Soldier.

Such a simple sentence yet it threw Bucky into an emotional rollercoaster.

He didn't know if it was the threat in itself, the way you spoke another language in that deep growl, or the fact that you were holding a knife down his throat but he felt scared there for a moment.

You were terrifying when you were angry.

And maybe this was such a fucked up thing to say but why was he turned on by it?

Bucky was grateful that you quickly left him alone after that. Once you were out of his enhanced earshot, he dropped his head and sighed, hoping and goddamn praying that you didn't notice the tent that had grown in his workout shorts.

It would've been so humiliating otherwise.

Shaking his head, Bucky could almost hear Sam's voice. 

"Damn, you're more pathetic than I thought."

•••

The mission was a bust.

One of the most important HYDRA scientists got away and managed to take with him the files they needed to track down other facilities.

The Avengers were gathered around the forest where the Quinjet was hidden. But instead of getting aboard and being on their way home, everyone was watching a screaming match instead.

Whenever a mission would go awry, everyone would regroup in the jet to try and discuss what went wrong and how to improve it on the next mission. There were never fingers thrown around as to whose fault it was because it was never anyone's fault.

But right now, you decided to blame it on him.

"What the fuck is your problem!" You all but marched up to Bucky, shoving him hard on the chest, making him stumble back in surprise. "Do you always get a kick at sabotaging my part of the mission?"

"Sabotage?" Bucky laughed humorlessly. "I don't care about you enough to do that."

However, if someone had seen what happened beforehand, they absolutely would call him a liar right to his face.

"Oh really?" you argued, shoving him again. The action was really riling him up. "Then why are you so fucking hell-bent on meddling with what I'm doing!"

"Because I don't fucking trust you!" Bucky gritted, aggressive with no ounce of truth as he took a step towards you. "I wouldn't be surprised if you let him get away. Sure as hell looked like you recognized him."

"Wow." You shook your head, scoffing, "So we're going to pretend like I'm the only one who used to work for HYDRA here?"

"Then why didn't you catch him?"

"You shoved me away!" you yelled, hands balling into fists. "I fucking had him!"

"You were being careless!" he stated the obvious, growling when you decided to shove him out of spite. Again. "You were about to get shot!"

"So fucking what!"

That only angered him more.

"Well, I'm sorry for fucking saving your life then!"

"How was I supposed to know someone was behind me? I don't have eyes on the back of my fucking head!" you countered, shoving a finger at the Captain without taking your eyes off Bucky. "And no, Steve, my partner didn't say a fucking thing even though he was supposed to watch my back!"

Bucky will throw his hands up and admit that you were right. But he didn't get a chance to warn you about it because he admittedly got distracted by nothing else but you.

For some reason, Steve found it helpful to partner you and Bucky during missions from time to time, said it was to build up the team chemistry. He had no qualms over it the first couple few, since you two did work quite well together despite your personal animosity.

But something about today's mission threw him off—specifically, the second you managed to get a hold of that scientist whose name he was yet to learn.

Yet it was clear as day that you recognized this man.

It was the first time Bucky truly saw this darker side of you. The pure and unbridled anger that captured your whole being was mesmerizing, the low drawl of your voice akin to a siren, captivating and that much more deadly.

And your eyes.

You didn't have superpowers but they honestly looked like they were starting to catch fire as you examined the man, as if thinking about all the ways you could make him suffer, turn him inside out with as much pain as you could muster.

During that moment, Bucky realized that he would've let you scorch the earth if it meant finally getting that revenge over the people who'd made you endure years of torture.

He would've stood by your side proudly.

It both aroused and scared him.

Embarrassingly so.

By then, Bucky didn't notice the HYDRA agent until they were already too close. All that was needed was one pull of the trigger.

So in a moment of panic, he ran, straight at you and shoved you out of the way.

It was either a slight bruise on your side or a bullet to the back of your head.

Bucky didn't take any chances.

Unable to control his strength, he pushed you across the room and knocked the breath out of you. And when he finished off the agent and you still hadn't gotten up, Bucky panicked. He honestly thought he might've killed you. And as he stood there in shock, only breathing again once you let out a sharp cough, the scientist already used that slim time to get away.

Yet despite the fear he felt during that moment, and the utter shame he was harboring because he failed as your partner on the field, his ego right this second couldn't even begin to admit that it was all his fault. So, he matched your glare.

"What's the point of saying something if you won't even fucking listen?"

"You know what, sure," you threw your hands up, so clearly exasperated. "Nothing of sense comes out of that mouth anyway,"

"Maybe I should've just let you take that bullet," he seethed, anger boiling over. Your defiance and absolute lack of fear as you squared up to him didn't help by one bit. "Finally get rid of the pain in my ass."

"As if you don't like getting pegged."

"Walk away you two," Steve commanded, voice stern and void of any patience. He gave Bucky's shoulder a push. You turned on your heel then.

But Bucky was just so angry that he couldn't stop himself from muttering under his breath in Russian. 

"Useless bitch."

He didn't mean it.

But you heard.

Oh you heard it loud and clear.

Bucky was sure of it because the next thing he saw was a gun pointed right in between his eyes.

"Maybe a bullet to the head will finally heal that blended brain of yours," you said, voice scarily calm, your face hardened and void of any emotion as you stared at him dead in the eye. "Or at least give justice to those innocent lives you took."

"Y/N!" Steve scolded, attempting to get you two to break it off.

But neither of you budged.

Everyone was on edge now, not entirely sure what to do next in case one wrong move would set either of you off.

"Rich, coming from you. But go ahead," he challenged, taking a step until the barrel of the gun was pressed right against his forehead. "Besides, it won't be too hard for you since you don't really discriminate against who you kill, do you? I mean, this wouldn't be the first time you killed your own teammate."

Tilting his head tauntingly, Bucky pouted. "Or was that your boyfriend?"

"Bucky!" Natasha gasped.

It wasn't the firm push of Steve's hand nor his tall stature standing in the middle that sobered Bucky up.

Oh no.

His anger left his body way before that.

The way your hand began to shake, the tremble on your lips, and the look of pure pain in your eyes was like a bucket of ice cold water.

Bucky knew that look.

He'd seen it through the mirror when a memory would replay itself in his head and there was nothing he could do except watch—the light leaving their eyes, the echo of screams, a gunshot, a body falling on the floor.

It was a look that was too familiar that Bucky felt the guilt clogging his throat because he knew he'd just managed to make you relive that specific moment over and over.

"That's enough!" Steve said firmly. "Both of you."

Bucky tried to meet your eyes, tried to immediately take back what he just said. But Natasha was already guiding you towards the jet, your head down with your arms around yourself.

"Don't," he sighed when Steve shot him a disappointed look. "I know."

Bucky followed the rest of the team after that.

The silence hung in the Quinjet during the journey home, a touch awkward but thick with tension.

You both have been forced to sit on opposite ends, as far from each other as possible. Well, forced wasn't the right word. You willingly put as much distance as you could from him, as if breathing the same air as him was out of the question.

Still, the jet felt as cramped as ever.

Rotting in his own guilt and self-pity, Bucky couldn't help but glance at you from time to time.

There was a harsh tug on his heartstrings when he saw you fiddling with the fabric of your tactical suit, flinching at the slightest turbulence or even the softest of sound. You'd never looked up once the second you sat there.

You were anxious.

He had never seen you like this before.

Mission reports could only tell so much, and when yours had been mostly redacted, Bucky knew nothing about what truly went down. Yet despite not being stated on the pages, he had an inkling that whatever your bond was with your aforementioned partner, it went far deeper than just a simple boyfriend and girlfriend relationship.

He didn't even know if it was given that label to begin with.

The worst of it all, Bucky knew that during that circumstance, you did the right thing.

And you paid a heavy price.

PART 2

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[gradelstuff]

Them and their fancy chairs lol

[aspenonpawzzz]

ALL OF MY AU'S

Phantom of bonesborough (PoBb): talk alot Abt this au, fiction-kin-type is from here, werewolf hunter. I talk Abt it here @phantom-w0lfbane

Wispers on the wind (Wotw) Au: the duology

A whole garden of flowers (ahgof) [WIP]: 12 years pre-canon, hunter disapeared, and was replaced with Maple, a omni-genderfluid, "system" (explained in brother au) pan orientied aroace nerd grimwalker. maple is the grimwalker that phillip likes the most, least ab#used and is the most Phillip (due to hair color) looking. instead of becoming the Golden Guard, Philips made them the Platinum Peacemaker. Phillips gave it a heart transplant, allowing them to do some magic, but she can't do some of the more draining/ diffcult spells. he looks like a (depending on the day) andro, masc, fem, or all/none mix of hunter, Phillip, and @catboymoments huntlow child. tracks IF she went to hexside/ special interests are oracle, illusions, and poitions. he is 15 physically, tho she was "born" Abt 6 months after hunter dissperred. instead of a wolves and cardinals for hunter, foxes and starlings are maples symbols. Platinum peacemaker outfit is a gender neutral GG out fit, with black inplace of white, deep violet =yellow, gold= dark silver. instead of a barn-owl mask, smybolising wisdom, helpfulness, and death of the unworthy, the PP( noo) mask is a phoenix, which smybolises rebirth, second chances, the afterlife.

My name carved in a rock (mncir)[WIP]: Ahgof's brother story, about this Au's hunter, a demiace biro boyfreak he/it (called graves [gray for short] in this) who 12 years pre-canon was "kidnapped" by Darius, but lost, and fell into a titans blood pool, entering the inbetween, and meeting collector. Graves learned many wittabane and Phillip things, and is far more unhinged than canon. he is still 16, but far less mentally stable. it watches luz and the gang, and TRIES to help (cause he has conversed with kings dad before like 3 times) out giving hints, using the wind. oh did I forget to mention that it can control the wind in this AU? yeah, so he uses that to push importiant papers toward luz, whispers things in the gangs ears (sound like that little voice in ur head but its the wind saying it but not out loud? that makes sense?). the main hexsquad can kinda hear it, but not really. maple however, being a grimwalker so having a intamite relationship with death, hears it quite well! maple mistakes this as a system, and gray plays along. it meets luz when she enters the inbetween in "yesterdays lie", and luz pulls him out, ignoring its demands to stay. he stays tho, and after a little bit freaks cause he's like "oh shit maple " and maple has not heard for their head mate gray in a minute. graves doesn't spoil the whole "phillip is Belos" stuff tho.

deviltown (syshun)[WIP]:

ok this is a stupid self-indulgent au where hunter is the Evenader system with 3 alters. everything happens like canon, but system style.

Flint: "Hunter". he/they. biromantic demisexual. Trans demiboy. mostly canon. front-sticky, host/core.

Xander: "The GG incarnate." it/its, doesn't mind he/him tho. caedo-triple a battery. (aroace, Agender). standoffish, robotic, jumpy. trauma holder/ protector

Juniper: "Me but a head mate for a hunter" they/it, red fox alterhuman. apothisexual, arospike. sarcastic, aloof, wild-card. no one knows. nobody understands juniper.

oh happy day (ohd) [WIP]:

s3 happen, but flapjack lived.thats it. that's the whole au.

Partners in Crime(PiC) [irl au, I live in this one kinda]

my world. i live in this universe lol yes I am insane inside my head is a house ? building? thing that's cool and connected to The Inbetween.

I live there with PiC phantom (from PoBb) because he was a OC that got sentient. I do stuff like see universes. I "copy" peoples au OCs and theses ones know Abt my life. I am a chaotic entity that sarcastically comments on hunter AUs lives because I am the titan and the archivists combined. phantom and I have an almost Luz and hunter pre-kings tide relationship. I made this because the brainrot is too strong and I am a INTJ with a hero/god complex.

Wolf Warren (ww) [Oc AU]

An owl house swap AU in which all of my OCs are in their respective places (my gg oc=hunter, exc)

Fox Fort (FF) [swap au]

a swap AU with my main (insert character) AU eg. phantom for Hunter.

WILL ADD MORE WHEN MORE COME!

[ohitslen]

I have an idea but I thought about the details of it and how it begins roughly, now my brain is about to collapse but I’ll try to word it as best as I can OQNNS

[bardic-tales]

For this week's WIP Wednesday, I would like to share a few paragraphs from my upcoming fan fiction: Blood & Stardust.

Content Warnings: bleeding, body horror, graphic descriptions of injury, poison

Her free hand pressed against the gaping wound in her stomach, futilely trying to stem the flow of blood soaking through the cashmere sweater and her trembling fingers. With each passing moment, the poison from the tachi spread, a relentless tide of black that flowed through her blood, leaving dark, spreading lines in its wake.

Above her, the platform still loomed. Its jagged edges silhouette against the swirling arms of the nebula. The air grew thinner, as it was charged with a current of unearthly energy. Noctemaris dragged along behind her, carving jagged streaks of glowing star dust into the rocky steps: a macabre path marked by her own blood and the sword’s malevolent hunger.

“What is a soul but a tether to the past? Cut it free, so your true self will emerge,” Noctemaris whispered to her. Its voice, a siren’s call, reverberated through her, mixing with the frantic beat of her heart, creating a discordant rhythm that sent chills down her spine.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @glbettwrites

@seastarblue

[barin-mclegg]

"this is your country" *shows a picture of mainland nl and waddeneilanden only* "we don't talk about the still-not-free colonies"

[tezasadzki]

Czy wiecie że wróżki mają najwięcej łez??... Smutne historie moje i braci znój w dół. Amentia americano callia to właśnie wróżka zmarła. A żyje w waszych sercach. Hookaj. I dopent turn a round dopnt turn a round.