#at least give a reason for things like this!

[lologoinsolo]

Added after this one, Part 3, Part 4

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

You stammer at the man as he holds what looks to be a calico. His face looks worse for wear despite how handsome he is. Cut lip and cheek that look as though maybe the cause is from the one wiggling in his hands. “Sir, the uh,” you look down at your phone for the time. “The stores about to close.” You look from him to the kitten and then back to him.

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. Really, I am but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” He rubs at the baby’s head and she nips right at his finger. He groans, “why are you so mean? You were all cuddly in my lap and now you’re being hissy.”

You laugh a little at his lament and rub your own face. “Alright,” you can’t very well leave him like this. You’re sure the kitten would be more than happy to chew on something better than the man’s finger. “Come on,” you motion for him to follow. You don’t bother to page for someone to cover the front. The store’s about to close in 2 minutes anyways. “I’ll get you started, sir.”

“Kyle,” he grins when you quirk a brow, “just Kyle, none of that ‘sir’ business or else I’ll feel far older than I actually am.” He rests his kitten against his chest when she starts wiggling even more. “Curious little bugger, found her shivering at my front door.” There’s a glint in his eye as he retells his findings, “she didn’t even notice me grabbing her till I picked her up and look what she did to my face.” He says with dramatic flare when he holds her up to his eye view. The kitten merely blinks at him and her paws prod his nose.

You pull a cart since you have a feeling he’ll need a lot of things. He doesn’t give off ‘I already have a cat’ energy. “Serves you right for spooking her.” You joke about his woes when he gives you a playful glare.

“You’re only siding with her because she didn’t mark up your pretty face.”

You cough at that and push the cart more quickly down the aisle. You can handle getting yelled and cussed at but god forbid a handsome man says you’re pretty. “So,” you manage to say when he gives you a dazzling smile. He caught up quickly to your step and looks neither winded or strained. Why are all the tall men getting kittens? You inwardly roll your eyes, “you said a friend told you to find me?”

His brow raises slightly and he maneuvers his kitten to be more in his arms. “Yeah,” he simply says, “says you know a thing or two about cats.”

“Did he..” you look a bit hopeful, “did he say if he’d come back to the store.” Picking up some cat toys and placing some cute orange cat shaped bowls in the cart. “He uh, he left in a hurry last I saw.” You give a quick reasoning so as not to feel as desperate as you sound. You still feel the phantom touch of his hand. You never got his name…

“Can’t really tell,” he shrugs and he plucks some crinkle toys and tosses them in the cart. He doesn’t seem to care about pricing either. “Man’s unreadable unless you tell him a stupid joke.” There’s a short chuckle and flash of a memory that goes through his eyes.

You deflate a little, it wouldn’t make sense to feel like this. You don’t know mafia guy anyways. “Ah, well. If you see him, tell him he needs to take his cat to the vet.” Kyle nods and he perks up when he sees the cat clothing.

“When you get older, rug, I’m gonna buy you one of these.” He points to a cut pirate costume as if the kitten understands him. “You’ll hate me for it but at least I can get a picture out of it, yeah?”

You smile at his enthusiasm, from what you seem cats have never been a fan of clothing… but then again the clothing here doesn’t look— “wait,” you jerk your head to him, “rug? As in,” you gesture to the kitten that’s starting to meow when he pulls her back down from his shoulders. She must’ve climbed up there when he was looking through the clothes. “The cat?” You blink once then twice when he shrugs once more.

“Not really a naming guy, plus,” he rubs along her ears, “she was shivering on my rug. Figured I’d just say that and be done with it.”

Better than garbage, you think. “Well…” biting on your lip, “that’s unique.” Trying to save face, you don’t want to be too judgmental.

He gives you a look and then snickers, “I’m just kidding, love.” He comes close and you freeze slightly till he plops his kitten down in your hands. “About the rug name at least. I really am shit with names. Johnny’s better at naming animals.” Placing his hand on his hip and you wonder if that’s mafia guy but then you think maybe not. “If you got an idea then I’m all ears.” He turns on his side and he rubs his chin in thought. He mutters something and then walks off to the litter aisle.

You hold her in your hands. “A name, huh?” Bailey was the only name you could think of but that one’s been taken already… “hm,” you rub her nose to the top of her head. She seems to enjoy that as she curls into your fingers. “Pretty girl, what should your name be?” Humming softly in thought and leaning against the cart when Kyle comes back with a tub of litter and a nice looking litter box. You hadn’t expected to see the nice flex of muscle from his arms but you’re certainly not gonna complain about the view. “I got a secret to share, Kyle.” You say as he comes within earshot

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles and places the litter box in the cart first and then the tub. “What’s that? Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He makes an X over his chest.

“I’m shit with names too.”

His shoulders jump and he lets out a laugh. “Really?” Rolling his eyes, “guess we’re both in a pickle. Might have to stick with rug for now.” He rubs a thumb over his kitten's little head. She nips a little at his finger but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pats the top of her head like one would a dog.

“I think she hates that idea.”

“Very opinionated this one,” he takes over the pushing of the cart and you lead him down to the cat food aisle. You check her teeth and you are pleasantly happy that she won’t need formula. “Now,” he turns side to side to check the kinds of food the store sells. “What does my girl need?”

You give him a thorough answer after having learned your lesson with your mystery man. Explaining what he should and shouldn’t do and placing a weeks worth of 3 different foods. You then also speak about how he’ll need to see a vet. You checked her for fleas and you are incredibly happy to tell him that she only had one but that it’s still good for him to get some flea drops. After you give him the runaround once more around the store, checking for items you know she won’t need but she absolutely needs a carrot cat scratcher. You finally take him to your register so he can pay. Your manager looks none too happy about a remaining customer but your manager has nothing to remark when Kyle looks right at him.

“Okay,” you finally say after bagging all his items and placing them in the cart. “Here’s your receipt,” you pass it to him and you give a little pet to his kitten. “Sweet girl when she wants to be.” He chuckles around you and pockets his receipt.

“Only when she wants to, that’s for sure.” He lets out a low whistle, “cost me a high bill but only the best for her.” He tucks her a little closer and gives you a kind look. “Thanks for staying late for me,” he looks like he wants to say more but hesitates. “I’ll see you around?”

You blink and then nod quickly, “I’m always here, Kyle. Gotta make money,” you laugh shortly and his lips pull back so that you can see just a peep of his pearly whites. He takes his leave, chugging along his cart to place it in his car. He mouths something to his kitten when she tries to get out of his hands. Probably a scolding with how he tuts a finger side to side in front of her face. She’s hearing none of it though from how her tail flicks back and forth. You wave him goodbye and he waves back right at you before he steps in to drive away. You hope he’ll come back to tell you her name once he’s figured it out. You wonder if mafia guy will come back too…

[quitefawnish]

just thinking about reader having an nsft tumblr acct and tf 141 being obsessed with it..

cw: sexual content, slight voyeurism?

soap is the first one to stumble on your tumblr account. he originally got tumblr because he wanted inspiration for meal planning and thought about making his own fitness blog.

of course, he eventually went down the rabbit hole of hornyposting and after a few weeks, he discovered you.

you had started this blog to feel better about yourself, or at least that’s what you told yourself, maybe you just liked the attention. either way, you started off slow, posting in a sheer shirt or just a bra but not wanting to show off too much.

it only took a bit of prodding and pleading from your followers to get you to post your whole body. that’s where johnny first saw you, in a post where you did a full body reveal (sans face for obvious reasons). it had a few thousand notes and was the top picture for some of the tags you used.

soap practically felt his eyes bulge out of his skull at the sight of you, this perfect lass posting pics like that for free??? he was quick to follow you and then look at the rest of your posts, spamming you with likes as he went through your entire blog.

he contemplated keeping you to himself but knew the others would appreciate you just as much as he did, so he saved the original post he saw of you and sent it in the group chat. their messages were immediate, something to the effect of “holy fuck.”

that’s where the obsession with you started, and soap acted as their drug dealer, sharing in the group chat when you posted a new photo. of course, the other three knew that they could coax your username from johnny and they could make their own tumblr account to follow you but they found it more exciting getting your pics this way. one thing he did share with them was your throne wishlist which was full of lingerie and cute clothes you might want.

you had posted in sets you had gotten from other followers and the guys were interested in how they could buy you things too. your eyebrows practically disappeared into your hairline as you checked your phone and saw that your entire wishlist had been bought out. even the stuff that you put on there as a faraway desire, like the pair of mary jane’s you had been eyeing or the marker set that was too expensive to justify buying with your own money.

you always tried to thank people who bought from your throne personally, dming them on tumblr and sending exclusive pics in the things they bought for you. problem was, it was all under anonymous accounts and you didn’t get any messages owning up to the shopping spree. you decided to make a post asking who just bought you all that stuff and that you’d like to thank them.

soap was quick to message you, claiming responsibility for the gifts bought. you both get to talking and he mentions how he shares your pics with his mates, and how they get so excited when he sends a new picture of you. you respond back how you’re honestly so flattered, and you’d like to talk to them as well and thank them for their contribution to your wishlist.

eventually, you find some app or website that you can use to chat with them while not giving out any personal information. of course, when the things they ordered come in the mail, you make sure to send them plenty of videos and pictures.

they are hooked.

now it’s almost like you have four sugar daddies, paying for your bikini waxes (if you want them, they don’t mind hair down there yk), sending you money for groceries, for getting your nails done, or just because. sometimes, they even compete between the four of them to see who can make you the happiest (determined by the amount of exclamation marks you use when thanking them).

a/n: this is so self indulgent and kind of based on some of my experiences when i had an nsft blog on tumblr lolll 🙈 anyway, this is kinda unedited and rambling but would any of you guys want me to write more w this concept?

[bunnis-monsters]

Yandere!Dragon Hybrid Fluff

A/N: another kofi req! Enjoy!

It had been a while since you visited your dear friend, so you took a day off of work to bring them some freshly baked cookies and spend the day with them.

Working as a waitress in your local tavern wasn’t something you had planned on doing, but your family was poor and no one had asked for your hand in marriage.

Your parents had done all they could to put food on the table, what more could you ask for? Repaying them was the only thing on your mind as of late, leaving no room for your own desires.

Even if late in the night you imagined a beautiful and rich man falling for you, that wasn’t likely to come true. Even if it did happen, you doubted your parents could pay for your dowry.

At least the tavern owner was kind enough to give you a day off. You didn’t like missing work, but even you couldn’t keep going without rest. It wasn’t possible, and you needed to socialize before your mind became mush!

Leaves flew past you as you continued down the forest path. As of late, every day has been windy and cold. It was strange though, the wind followed you wherever you went.

“It’s freezing…” you murmured, pulling your winter coat tighter around your plump frame. In the past you wouldn’t have minded a nice snowy day, but spending it walking through a forest alone while the wind howled made it irritating.

The wind picked up, and all you could hear was how it whistled and howled around you.

But this wasn’t wind…

You nearly fell over, steadying yourself as a strong gust of wind swept over your body. All of a sudden, it all stopped…

“Hello, pet.”

You froze, a shiver running down your spine as someone spoke up behind you. Before you could even turn to see who it was, a talon wrapped around your entire body and you were lifted up into the air.

Not able to process what was happening, you lost consciousness from the pure shock.

The last thing you saw was a massive dragon carrying you off to god knows where…

“Come, my pet… wake up.”

You whimpered as you awoke, your eyes slowly opening. There was a figure leaning over you, but your vision was still too blurry to make out any identifying features.

“W… where… am I?”

A rough chuckle caused you to tense up. The deep rumble nearly shook the bed you were resting in.

“You’re where you belong, my precious one. Here, you’ll be safe, warm, and fed…”

He leaned forward, a claw tenderly caressing your cheek. “Is there anything else you could possibly need?”

Still too exhausted and scared, you fell back asleep.

When you finally awoke, you rubbed your eyes and got a good look at your captor.

He was a handsome man that seemed to be a bit older than you, his tanned skin mixed with red scales. When you recoiled from his touch, he only let out an amused chuckle.

“Scared you, did I?” he cooed, grabbing your chin and tapping it with a talon. “You’ll get used to me, princess. There’s not much else you can do besides that.”

You soon learned that this creature had been following and observing you for quite some time now. That explained the wind that followed you…

“Why, though? I can’t understand the reasoning behind any of this…”

His eyes moved down your body, landing on your soft thighs. “… there are not many of my kind left. Those that are don’t have what I want.”

He sat down, a large carcass of something that looked like a deer yet three times the size of one being skinned by the man as he spoke. “You are someone I wouldn’t mind having hatchlings with. That’s a compliment, I despise most humans.”

You were served a bowl of stew, with large chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots. He held you in his lap as you ate, rubbing his head against your hair and cheeks while giving you a few sniffs between bites of his own stew.

Despite being a creature meant for battle who should only care about preserving his riches, the hybrid seemed quite fond of you. Every single night, he held you in his arms, his thick tail wrapped around your lower half.

“My little one, precious little thing…”

He only left to hunt game, and returned as soon as he could. As time passed by, you became fond of him as well.

When you thought about your situation late at night, you couldn’t be too upset. The dragon left a fortune to your parents in exchange for your hand, and you had always wanted a handsome and rich man as your husband.

He had provided everything he said he would. Warmth, food, and safety.

In times of poverty, war, and harsh winters… could you in good conscious ask for more?

——————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @avalordream @atransmuter @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96 @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @an-ever-angry-bi @bath1lda @ilyanadelarosa @iswearimnotadrugdealer @whysageee @yumikomoon @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[fairestwriting]

Hi! Could I request Diasomnia with a reader who got injured but is too stubborn to let them help? Idk if you do platonic works but I would prefer this was. Romantic is fine tho :) have a nice day

i do write platonic relationships yeah! i wrote this one thinking of the reader more like their close friend but if someone wants to interpret it as a crush thing i think it could work too. i hope you have a nice day too <3

𐙚 Malleus Draconia

Malleus has enough common sense to not lose his mind over little scrapes, even though he’d honestly still want you to put a bandaid over it. But having mentioned that before, and receiving your very firm response that it was fine, he got the message that you might not like being fussed over.

So he mostly doesn’t voice these thoughts. He doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and he does know certain things really are so minor that it won’t make that much of a difference if you try to care for it or not. Even in a human body, which is still something that’s sort of a mystery to him.

But, for that precise reason of him not fully understanding the human healing process, if anything bleeds, or looks noticeably red, he refuses to leave you alone about it. You can still see some hesitancy in his eyes, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but it’s outweighed by worry. ”What if it gets infected, though? Are you sure you don’t want to at least bandage it?” He’s heard infections can get pretty serious, even if they’re very minor at first.

If all other arguments fail to reach you, he’ll ask if you could take care of it for his sake. Because he really hates to see you hurt, so could you just consider making sure it’ll heal faster? He’ll say that even over something like a nastier than average hand burn from cooking, and so honestly too — it’ll really put your stubbornness to test, regardless of how strong it is.

𐙚 Lilia Vanrouge

His knowledge on human injuries is, frankly, a bit all over the place. It’s hard to remember what’s serious and what isn’t when he’s been around for so long, and gotten so many injuries of his own. Sometimes he unconsciously projects his own body’s recovery ability onto others.

Now, that doesn’t mean he’ll be any sort of neglectful of your injuries, though. On the contrary, he insists on personally patching you up every time he catches a glimpse of one. ”Hmm, you don’t want to bother with it? That’s okay. I’ll do it for you, just hold still.” He’s smiling as he talks, not even giving you a chance to properly say no before he’s already taking a closer look at the injury. His grip is too strong for you to pull away, even if it isn’t forceful at all…

When it comes to things like scratches, it’s more of a playful show of affection. He does know it won’t kill you, it doesn’t really need that bandaid and certainly not the little kiss he places over it after— He just wants to show that he cares for you. If you find it flustering that’s just a bonus. And yes, he will still do it even if you’re just friends, just in a more parental sort of way, unless you tell him it genuinely makes you uncomfortable.

If it’s more serious, the sort of thing that could actually cause an infection if not taken care of properly, he’s not as lighthearted. He does still joke a little about how you don’t have to worry about a thing because he’s here to care for you, but mostly to keep the mood light, especially if it looks like something he’d have to take you to the nurse to properly care for. Lilia wonders why you’re so stubborn about the whole thing, maybe it’s a matter of not wanting to seem weak? He hopes you’ll feel more at ease with him, eventually.

𐙚 Silver

To nobody’s surprise, he’ll likely be the most easygoing and knowledgeable of the bunch. There’s no species difference factor at play here, he’s very aware of what can be dangerous if left untreated and what can’t.

He does point out injuries and ask about them if he notices them, no matter how small, but it’s more of an expression of caring about you in general rather than specifically worrying that the bad scrape you got from tripping could make you deathly ill. It won’t really alarm him when you tell him it’s not a big deal, or it doesn’t even hurt. He’ll at most remind you to keep it away from dirt and then drop the subject.

Silver is very quick to recognize what could truly be potentially dangerous, though. Lilia taught him the basics of first aid when he was pretty young, and he later went on to study it in more depth as part of his training. The way he notices and points out things might even come off strange, because he’s usually so laid back in every aspect. Before you can dismiss him he’s already listing all the reasons why your “little scratch” is looking a bit off putting.

Still, he doesn’t want to pressure you, so it might create a bit of a dilemma in his mind when you keep insisting it’s fine. ”I’m being serious here, I’m not trying to annoy you. It’s not supposed to be this red. If you don’t want to see the nurse, at least let me help.” He’ll argue, and he can get pretty firm, but he’ll never cross the line into outright scolding you. You sound honestly careless to him, but he feels like there must be a reason for you to feel that way, and he doesn’t want to pry.

𐙚 Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is about as educated in the topic as Silver, and the difference between how your body recovers from injuries versus his is pretty minimal compared to people like Malleus or Lilia. But. Well. It is Sebek. You can’t really expect him to just let it go, if he likes you enough to consider you at least a friend. He’s just not someone who can be any sort of laid back with those he cares about.

Even though he knows so much about the theory, he does actually get worried if you hurt yourself. Yes, he’s aware that just because the cut you got from peeling some fruit bled a little bit, it doesn’t mean it’s going to get infected if you don’t clean and bandage it within an hour. But every body can be so different, even within the same (or similar) species! Besides, he’s read that poor immune system function can contribute to wounds getting easily infected— And how is he supposed to tell if your immune system is doing perfectly fine, if you’re so guarded even with small injuries. You’d try to hide it if you were feeling sick too, woldn’t you?

Even though he’s the youngest in this group, he’s the one who really comes off like some kind of… nagging parent or overprotective older sibling. Hell, he might even be younger than you, but he’s still pulling bandaids and antiseptic seemingly out of nowhere and scolding you for not taking care of yourself. “You were already careless enough to get hurt, and now you want to just leave it like that?!” He balks at your insistence that it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t have to do anything or even worry, you’ve dealt with things like that before— Yeah, he’s not listening to any of that.

He might end up overstepping your boundaries a bit in the process, but he really does mean well. It just makes him anxious to see you dismissing your own safety like that, and that makes it hard to try to understand your perspective, whatever it is. You know him well enough to be aware that all the fussing just happens because he cares, and not because he’s genuinely trying to make you feel bad for getting hurt and not wanting to accept help with patching yourself up. If it does end up upsetting you, he’ll be understanding if you bring it up later.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[ceesimz]

new person, same old mistakes

old habits die hard. (light angst -> fluff)

Alexia’s past relationships had left a hefty mark on her, and she hated it. But it wasn’t just them, it was everybody else she’d ever met and sold her soul to. There was something about her that people loved to abandon, which might be surprising to some but to her, no longer. 

Oftentimes, she saw herself as the catalyst in all those situations. It had to be something she did rather than anyone else because she was who she was. She was Alexia Putellas, a footballer that was hardly in one place for more than a week at once. Then add on top of that the events she had to go to, the cameras and the fans that followed her, how her name was somehow in the media everyday, and one comes to realise that they aren’t appropriate conditions to love another. She was the only one to blame, there was no other sensical explanation. 

It went the same way every time; she met someone, she loved someone, only to become no one. The notorious captain had learned to make peace with goodbyes before the words were spoken, if they ever were spoken. Some left with no warning, and she didn’t blame them, if anything she had to thank them because they were the ones that hurt her the least. They saved a slice of her dignity, a decency the others didn’t bother to give. Whether they didn’t care or didn’t think she deserved one, she didn’t dare dwell on it too long out of fear of what she may find, and she could never, ever, find it within herself to share it with anyone.

It was a problem in her life and her life alone, the ones that did stick around didn’t need to know about it, so she gave them no reason to suspect such a flaw in her character. She didn’t talk about it, didn’t let it shape how she acted in front of the world, but in the moments she was quiet, it was there. The awareness that people left was something she carried with her everywhere without meaning to. And as a result, she’d learned not to expect permanence – the other shoe had to drop at some point.

The only place it didn’t bother her was the football pitch, which wasn't a shock. Nobody could abandon her in the world of football, everyone either wanted to meet her or be her. As long as she worked hard to maintain her fitness and her technique and everything that made her definitively admirable in one aspect of her life, then she at least had something to fall back on.

Despite having gone through countless breakups, each more painful than the last, there was still a part of her that wanted to believe things could be different. She was a person that persevered and she prided herself on that. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, it plagued her mind more often than she’d ever admit. Every new conversation carried the possibility of an ending, every connection came with the knowledge that it would be another thing she looked back on rather than growing into the future with. Nevertheless, it never stopped her from putting herself out there. 

If she gave herself some slack, she would come to realise that that was something admirable and rare in itself. not everyone trusted the world the way she did, even after all she’d been through, but she still did.

And it led her to you. It led her to lying on her sofa, some hours after a Sunday lunchtime league game, tendrils of her hair still damp and a little wavy where it was fanned out atop your thighs as she rested her head in your lap. Your fingers stroked through her hair, every so often lightly massaging her scalp and hearing her hum contentedly. 

Where you both relaxed together, it was the picture of serenity and domesticity. In short, it was all Alexia could wish for. Moments like that, she managed to keep her head in check, because you were there and present to make her past seem a million miles away. But it was a past you were unaware of, through no fault of your own of course, yet none the wiser all the same. 

“What are you thinking for dinner tonight?” You wondered, keeping your voice even and low so as to not disturb the peace in the room. The woman below you gave no reaction for a little while, to the point you thought she was asleep, until she opened her eyes and smiled softly up at you.

“There is the ingredents for your favourite.” The blonde murmured in her thick accent, the little trip-up of her English bringing an amused look to your face.

“Ingredients.” You gently corrected her, which she often told you to do. But at times like that when her grammar and pronunciation was the last of her concerns, was when she made the majority of her errors. She was a perfectionist, or tried to be at least, in all avenues of her life, you just didn’t know the root cause of why. 

“Eh, ya sabes a qué me refería.” She grumbled with a click of her tongue that made you laugh a little. “I will cook for you, sí? No choice.”

“You had a game today, you don’t need to.” 

Before you could even finish your sentence, she was waving you off. Then you said something that was intended as harmless, not knowing that it’d feel like the end of the world for your girlfriend of just a few months.

“You love me too much.” 

A phrase that was simple to speak held far more weight to it than anyone outside Alexia’s mind could ever realise. The thing was, she’d been told that exact thing before, right when someone she once loved walked out on her, where that was the only reasoning she received. It ate away at her constantly. 

She cursed herself for it, because with her it was always either too little or too much.

‘You’re hardly ever here, I deserve someone that is.’

‘You’re too much for me.’

‘You don’t appreciate me enough.’

‘You love me too much.’

Relationships were the one thing she couldn’t win at, when funnily enough it was the only thing she felt she needed in her life.

She wanted another Champion’s League, she wanted to win the Euros, she wanted an Olympic medal. She wanted to win every single match she played. Yet she didn’t need any of those. She’d come to realise that, aside from her family, the sole thing she needed was you. And she had ruined that. Again. Like she did with everyone else. This time the heartache was immeasurable, because of who it was she’d messed up with. Or assumed she’d messed up with.

It took a while for you to notice what you’d done, by the time you suspected something was wrong the sun was long gone and the two of you had gotten into bed. Where you both normally lay together, engulfed by the duvet and each other, the footballer couldn’t have left more of a gap if she tried. 

She loved you too much, so she gave you space. That’s how her thought process worked. Whatever she had to do to make you stay, she would do it even if it killed her. But God you’d be damned if you didn’t dig her out of the worthless rut she’d been thrown into the last few years. 

And thankfully, for the sake of your futures and her life, you were a little less scarred and a little more aware than she was. You shuffled over across the bed and put a delicate hand on her shoulder, letting her know you were there. She didn’t move a muscle, not even an inch. The only thing she did was try to hide the slight shallowness to her breathing, which in the silence of the room, was a very futile attempt.

“Ale, what’s wrong?” You whispered, still not getting any sort of reply. “Alexia. Talk to me, please.” 

“‘tas bien, amor. Es nada.” She mumbled hoarsely. 

At that point you could feel her shoulders shaking under your hand, and knew there was something far more concerning going on with her than you initially realised. You were right, couldn’t be more right; the midfielder was minutes away from delving head first into a panic attack. 

With one short sentence from you, a mere five words, you’d unknowingly dredged up years worth of repressed memories and wounds she’d hidden from herself and the people in her life. Just a few months with you and there she was, nearly sobbing as you lay next to her. She hadn’t done that in any other relationship. It was either her breaking point, or the start of something new. Something better for her, much healthier, where she was valued wholeheartedly without a shred of doubt. Whatever it was, you knew you could tackle. Whether that be with her, for her, or to stand by and watch her. On this occasion, it was all three. And that didn’t put you off in the slightest. 

“No, it’s not nothing.” You argued, sitting up and trying to urge her to do the same with your hand on her back. Somehow that only led to her crying harder, her whole body wracking with the sobs leaving her throat as she turned to hide her face in her pillow. “Ale, sit up. We need to calm you down, you’ll make yourself feel ill.” 

At that, she gave in. She allowed you to help her up and sit her back against the headboard, your hands clutching hers tightly as she squeezed her eyes shut so she didn’t have to see you looking at her so pitifully. Would have just made her feel worse. First she loved you too much, then she cried like a baby. It was one thing after another and you shouldn’t have to deal with that, it tore her in two that you did. Never did she want to break like that in front of you, or anyone for that matter. Worst part was that it was far too late to do anything about it. 

“You’re going to end up having a panic attack, you’re hyperventilating. Breathe for me, nice and deep. There you go.” You instructed, and she followed along with all her might because there was no way she'd put more on your plate when you already had a blubbering, emotional mess to deal with. You didn’t need to witness a panic attack from her on top of that, it’d be immeasurably embarrassing for her and she didn’t think she could ever look you in the eye if things went that far. “Keep going, you’re doing perfect for me, Ale. Like that, little more.” 

Not so long later, her breathing was finally under her control again. Though, her emotions weren’t. Tears continued their path down her cheeks and you stayed in front of her, thumbs running over her knuckles as she came back to herself. Her eyes were red and swollen, and they had a heaviness to them that made your chest ache. All you could do in that second was pray she opened up to you. 

“What got you like that? That was almost pretty bad.” You smiled sadly, raising a hand to delicately wipe away some of the drops on her face, only for them to be replaced by more. Her mouth opened and closed a couple times, like she wasn’t quite sure what to say. She was caught between two minds; should she open up to you? Or save you the trouble, the drama, the theatrics and the sympathy?

“I…” She breathed out shakily, not daring to meet your stares. She settled for the one thing that seemed suitable. “Sorry. I am sorry.” 

“You’re sorry? What for?” You frowned in utter confusion, shocked that’s what she landed on when it was the last thing you would expect from her. In fact, you wouldn’t ever expect it from her, not after the state she had just been in.

“Sorry for a lot. A lot of things.” She stated insecurely, chancing it and glancing up at you before immediately averting her gaze again. There were too many feelings present on your face that overwhelmed her, that she felt she didn’t deserve. Just another thing on your plate.

“Explain for me, Ale, because I’m lost. I don’t know what you’re apologising for.” You prompted her, squeezing her hand that you still held while the other landed on her knee. 

God, where to start.

“Sorry for… this. Sorry for, uh, being me. Being a footballer and spending too many weeks away. Sorry for lo-” Whatever she was about to say next seemed to be too much for her, but when you went to tell her she didn’t need to be sorry for anything, she broke your heart in a rather unconventional way. “Sorry for loving you too much? I am sorry for that the most.” 

How on earth could she apologise for that? When she was the most loving, caring, adoring, thoughtful, and selfless human you’d ever encountered, nevermind be loved by?

Then you realised, it was a much deeper problem than you ever could have assumed. As you sat there in front of her afterwards, you slowly started to connect the dots too. This breakdown linked a lot of things together like a red string dating back to the very first date you met.

You scrambled internally to find the right things to say because you were speechless, more than you had been in your life beforehand. There were so many things rushing through your mind yet you knew it was next to nothing compared to how Alexia must have been feeling. That revelation was what kicked your head into gear.

In a split second, you went from being sat in front of her to having her in your arms. You caught her off guard with the speed you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her in, desperate to have her close to you so that your actions matched your words. You realised this broken woman with a desolate heart needed all the love she could get, to the point where she’d have to accuse you of loving her too much.

“You don’t need to apologise for anything. Not a single thing, Alexia, and I swear my life on that.” You told her sternly, ensuring she took in everything you said and more. There was simply no way you were leaving that bed before she knew she could never do any wrong by loving you. “I love you for you. Not for anything else. I love you for who you are, for being a footballer, for loving me how you do. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

The girl stayed silent, her forehead dropped against your shoulder as you kept up the strength of your embrace. From the way she let herself drown in it, you knew she needed it far more than words could describe. Needed you. 

Neither of you moved for quite some time. A lot needed to be said but getting it all out there and then wasn’t what was best. No matter what her mind told you, you weren’t going anywhere that wasn’t with Alexia in your life. You’d wait a year, five, ten, forty years if you had to for her to explain why she had apologised. And where she stayed in your arms, Alexia was beginning to recognise that, finally. It was a few months later than you’d hoped but better late than never, and it was worth it when she leaned back and gazed at you with gratitude so evident on her face. 

“You…” She started, though she trailed off, because she had no words in any and all languages to be able to voice how… astounding you were and how thankful she was. Whether you’d approve of it or not (she knew you absolutely wouldn’t) she would happily take the years of torment and heartbreak if the end product was a life with you.

Fixing years worth of emotional and psychological damage from past relationships wasn’t a one-conversation job, nor could it be done overnight. It’d last for a while into the future, but the knowledge that she hadn’t scared you off and that you had said the right things for now was more than enough for the both of you. Alexia’s ability to trust, even after all she had been through, was a unique thing. It only came from someone that had faith in the world and saw beauty in it even in its darkest moments. You didn’t know the full lengths of it then, but when she felt she was in a place to tell the whole story of her past, it would turn into something you cherished and would be in awe of her for, daily. How she found you, trusted you, chose to love you and accepted all that in return with no visible qualms was astonishing to you. And you would make sure she knew it.

But back in her bedroom, you let go of her with a kiss to her cheek before you moved down the bed for you both to lay down again, this time with the intention of sleeping without descending into a panic attack. Though that was wishful thinking, because your minds were individually running a million miles per hour where you lay, limbs tangled with Alexia’s head on your chest. A question slipped off your tongue before you could stop it.

“Why are you so… insecure, Ale?” 

You physically felt her recoil, felt her cower in on herself, and went to rush out an apology before she lifted her head up and looked at you. She addressed you with earnest and honesty, giving as much as she could in that moment.

“It’s a long story. Not for tonight.” 

That was enough for you. You nodded and placed a hand on the back of her head, gently willing her to lay back down again. She did, with ease. And you thought that was that for the night. 

Some time passed, the hands of the clock on the wall ticking away as you traced your fingernails up and down her back in a soothing gesture. There was so much on your mind yet you couldn’t land on anything before the next thought came bounding along and pulled you into yet another possible scenario that the love of your life had gone through. All possibilities were terrible, and it killed you that she’d suffered in silence with them all for so long. Until she spoke up about them, there wasn’t anything you could do but love her, which you were content to settle for. If it were up to you, however, she would hand over a hitlist straight away in the case of a possible purge event.

When you least expected it, she spoke up again. It was past midnight at that point, the pair of you exhausted yet minds reeling far too much to be able to relax anytime soon. One step at a time, you would take. Progress was still progress, no matter how little or large.

“A lot of people in the past have, uh, hurt me. In relationships. They always leave. Always walk out on me. I worry you will do the same.” The only thing you could do was hug her tighter. Nothing you could do or say would be remotely close to healing her, to rid her from those memories. All you could hope for was that being there was enough, and for Alexia, it was more than enough.

“I will never leave. I promise, I will never leave.” 

They were words Alexia had heard in the past. Just like the ones you said previously. Yet you were the first person she genuinely believed.

Too long, she had surrounded herself with the wrong people, tried to fit into the wrong crowds just to find someone to keep her bed warm. Meeting you had opened up a new world for her to step into. Your world had a particular rose-tint to it, one she initially didn’t trust because everything seemed too good to be true. But with you, someone so sincere and selfless, how could she not trust you? You were worth losing everything for, but for the first time, she believed with everything in her that it wouldn’t end like that this time. Only a few months of knowing you had told her that, and she didn’t know how she had ever settled for the people she once knew. 

Luckily, that wasn’t her problem anymore. Not with you around for the rest of her life.

—

everything about my writing lately from ideas to length to execution has been abysmal lately and i feel a tad (very) ashamed of that but once things settle down in my life i hope to get back on top of everything :') thanks for putting up with my bs as always and the reverie fic will be finished soon, trust <3

[chrattho1]

employee!matt x boss!reader

do you have a problem?

summary: matt has been working under you for 2 years now,you have a very professional relationship with all your employees but sometimes when you catch matt staring at you and checking you out—you can’t help but be intrigued by what goes on in his head.

warnings: use of pet names, oral (m.receiving),sub!matt

a/n: there will be a pt2 for this!

“so these have to go in today?” matt’s eyes squint as he questions you in your office.

you click your teeth before looking up at him from the computer screen. “yes matt,do you have a problem staying late and finishing them up?” your eyebrows in a knot.

“i guess not” matt’s voice lower now as he looks down at the files in his hands,his foot tapping the floor next to your desk.

“start working on them” you said,eyes not leaving the screen.

you can hear matt sigh softly as he walks out of your office with the pile of files he has to work on,the pile of files that’ll take at least 2 hours to get done.

its already 5 pm, everyone in the office has left the premise to go to their respective homes,families,maybe get a drink with their friends,but you and matt are stuck in the office.matt still working on those files and you on digitising them one by one as he comes by and drops each one of them off in your office. even though you could have more people wait back-you would rather have only one person stay back and do the work,so you chose matt. is there a specific reason behind you choosing him? maybe.

you walk out of your office,trailing down your way to matt’s cubicle where you hear him humming a song.

you lean on the cubicle wall,watching him bob his head to the song as he fills out some papers.

“i wanna share an apartment a room,-mh mhm mh-” matt spins in his chair as he hums the lyrics to a song,but the spinning comes to a halt when he sees you leaning on his wall,smiling at him.

“hey” you said,your arms crossed,your shoulders still leaning on to the wall.

“hi” matt returns the smile,but his expression soon changes watching you still stand there,why were you here? don’t you have work to do as well? his thoughts race up,just as any employee’s thoughts would if their boss stood there staring at them doing their work.

“what? can i not supervise you?” you spoke, playfulness lacing your words.you slowly make your way to his small desk,pushing up and sitting on it. you’re now right in front of his chair,your bare knees brushing against his clothed ones.

matt’s breath hitches but he can do nothing but simply shake his head at your question,his lips curl up when senses your playful tone.

“i like your earing” you said pointing at his ear with a smile on your face,a smile you don’t often give to people in the office.

matt’s hands involuntarily reach to his earing,touching it,almost not convinced that he just got complimented by you.

“uh—thanks-thank you” matt’s eyes never leave you. something building up in his chest,but he doesn’t really know what.

“lets take a break yeah?” you said bringing your face closer to him,your hand reaching to grab the hand rest of his chair,your faces inches apart. matt’s chest heaving,his breathing ragged and you’ve barely spoken two sentences to him.

to your statement of taking a break matt nods,his eyes fluttering not knowing what is happening right now.

“so matt,tell me about yourself,got a girlfriend? a wife? kids?” your manicured nails tap the hand rest of his chair. matt shakes his head to your question,to which you frown.

“really?” you ask in disbelief,feeling a rush of excitement as soon as you realise that this is perfect.

“i don’t” matt shrugs,he has a smile on his face making it very clear that he is embarrassed.

“how is that possible? you’re a good looking guy,well spoken,make good money at this company” you state facts about him that you know,sounding almost like you admire those things about him, and that makes matt suck in a breath.

you praising him,talking to him in this demeanour,he feels like he is in a wet dream that he’s definitely had before-so naturally his pants start feeling tighter around his groin.

matt shrugs,his eyes not batting away,he is not even blinking as much.

“i thought girls would throw themselves at you” you bite the inside of your cheek,matt’s non verbal,flustered state making you want to tease him even more.

matt shakes his head again,letting you know that girls in fact don’t throw themselves at him.

“that’s a shame,i personally think you’re a greaatt guy” you pout,your hands reaching down to rest on one of his knees.

“fuck” matt whispered under his breath,but the office being so quite made his voice almost echo in your ears,you smirk at his reaction. a reaction he gave from something so small.

“like when i touch you?” you spoke tilting your head down and looking up,matt nods frantically.

“gotta use your words matt” one side of mouth curling up.

“ye-yes i do” matt finally lets words out of his mouth-shaky,hasty words.

“want me to touch you more?” your hand now stroking his thigh,at an extremely slow pace. you can feel his skin radiating heat from underneath the pants he’s worn.

“yes- please—” matt couldn’t have sounded more desperate if he tried to,his hips rising and sliding down the chair.

you lean over him more with your hands moving up to his tie,loosening it.your eyes never leave his as you do so.

matt’s eyes scan all over your you,your tits right in his face. his hands go up from his sides to softly lay at your waist.

“is this okay?” shaky words from him fall onto your features with his breath,minty you think.

“mhm” you nod,his tie now almost fully loose.

“please-” matt’s voice low,but your receptors catch it perfectly.

you grab the end of his loosened tie,pulling him up with you.dragging him into your office,matt fully giving into your actions,loving every single second of what’s happening-even the walk from his cubicle to your office.

once you’re both in the office,you push him against the door,his body weight closing it on its own.the way you’re pressed onto him-you can feel the the rhythm of his heartbeat aligning with yours,his being just a tad bit higher than yours. you can also feel his throbbing dick press against your inner thigh.

your fingertips trail along his jaw,feeling the tiny hair from his stubble. “i see the way you look at me matt” you whisper. he looks at you with wide eyes,exhaling deeply. your fingers now making their way up to his mouth,index finger toying with his bottom lip.

“what do you have to say about that huh?” your finger slowly making its way in,and he opens his mouth for you to do so.

“always so quite,looking so innocent” your voice low and seductive,matt’s eyes flicker at the sound. his mouth still hung open with just the tip of your finger in it.

you lay small pecks on his cheeks slowly,before getting to his lips dropping your hand to his chest,pressing him down. matt complies immediately kissing you with hurry he’s never been in before. the room is filled with sounds of sharp breaths that were taken through matt’s nose while his mouth was occupied. as both your lips and tongues were tied your hands got busy untucking his shirt from under his pants. his hands rested on your hips softly.

you pull away to slide his suit jacket off of him-one shoulder at a time,and then his tie and then the buttons on his shirt. once his shirt slides off of his skin,you’re taken a back,a small gasp leaves your mouth.

“you have a tattoo sleeve?” you asked even though the proof lied in front of your eyes. matts eyes drop to his arm,and then on to you hoping that’ll give you the answer to your question.

“fuck-come here—” you said pulling him and kissing him sloppily again,flushed by the feeling of wanting him even more,the knowledge that him acting so quite and innocent is kind of for show did something to you.

your fingertips trail down his abdomen,deciding to rest right on his v-line.

matt pulled away this time,his lips swollen and mouth open catching a breath.

“can i take this off you?” he asked hesitantly,fingers toying with the collar on your shirt. a smirk grows on your face and you nod. matt wastes no time,his fingers got to work-unbuttoning your shirt as fast as he can.

you smile down at him as he does so,his desperate state making your panties wetter by the second.

“oh my—fuck” a small whimper falls from his mouth,the sight of your lacy bra that barely covered your tits making his knees weak,better than he’d imagine,or dreamt of.

you throw your shirt off somewhere,before leaning your head down to his neck. lips leaving traces down to his collarbone,sucking on it. with a moan matt’s head falls back making a “thump” sound on the wooden door behind him. you immediately look up at him to check if he’s okay.

his eyes on you when he notices the look of concern on your face. “im okay” he whispers,his voice cracking. you smile holding in a giggle before getting back to what you were doing before.

after about a good 5 minutes,you’ve kissed him all over his neck and chest,when you get to his lower tummy matt noticeably squirms under you. a smirk forms onto your lips as you continue to trail kisses down his stomach,getting right above the band of his pants. you look up at him once,batting your eyelashes.

“please—” he spoke between his teeth,his eyes half lidded but you can see the glint on them.

you unbutton his pants with one hand,the other rested on his chest stretched out.

his pants fall to his ankles,you’re met with the sight of his calvin clien boxers that have a small dark patch of precum on them.

your long manicured nails graze the skin over his hipbone while you slowly pull down on his boxers. matt’s dick springs out of them as soon as the boxers come off,his dick more desperate than he is. tip red and swollen,precum oozing. the sight making you suck in a gasp he is big-you thought.

you lean down even more,your face at his dick-level. matt squirms at the feeling of your breaths falling on to his dick.

“hmp-please—” every time he begs,you want him to beg more,but this time you have a feeling if you keep teasing-he might cry.

“such a good boy for me yeah?” you say looking up at him,to which he nods with his eyes closed.

“yes-yes—i am” you smile at his words that motivate you to do more for him. your tongue pops out of your mouth,kitty licking his tip a few times.

“OH—” matt’s eyes pressed shut at the small action. his hips involuntarily thrusting in the air past your tongue.

you bring your tongue from his tip down to the base of his dick and swirl it around.

“oh fu—d-don’t tease—i’ll cum—” whining and groaning,matt’s voice isn’t even his at this point,so cracky,full of pants and heavy breathing. his brain working in favour of the pleasure and not him.

you finally put your mouth around halfway through his dick,taking the rest in your palms. matt’s mouth focused more on whimpering than breathing.

“hmpph—just like tha-so good mama” moaning and whimpering matt’s hands fall into your hair when you start bobbing around his dick,your tongue covered in his saline precum.

“so-so beautiful—ahhh fuck—” matt tries his hardest to open his eyes to get a glimpse of you sucking his dick in a bra with your short skirt riding all the way up your thighs but his eyes betray him and shut once again.

“i cant—cant—” matt almost sounds like he is apologising when you feel his dick twitch in your mouth,you knew he was going to cum right then,so you pulled off of him

the whine that leaves matt’s mouth next made your breath hitch,he is so desperate.

“not yet baby” you got up from the floor and grabbed his hand,leading him to your desk.

english is not my first language !

[solarbiomechanist]

...Everything I'm about to say has already been said but I stay on this train; "But what if someone grows something horribly invasive or toxic????" ...If someone wants to grow something that obliterates the local ecology and/or their neighbors, do you think that a little thing like the law is stopping them? like, making it explicitly Legal to grow plants of any kind on your own property means people are less likely to have their zucchinis destroyed when the city/cops come by, and gives them recourse against their neighbors potentially having destructive vendettas against vegetable life. It doesn't change restrictions on the importing, sale, propagation, and transport of dangerous plants, which already exist. Also, many beloved plants that we have in our gardens are at least a little toxic because they don't want to be eaten. That's one of the reasons we teach young children not to shove random plants in their mouth. I get being afraid, but the antidote to fear is knowledge, not restriction.

in my opinion it is essential to make a "right to garden" law that means no one can stop you from growing whatever you want in your yard.

I think it should even apply to renters so a landlord is required to allow you to have a garden

And I think this can become a reality

[ablobwhowrites]

guys I have a yandere crk idea.

Mega yap session rn

What if instead of gingerbrave and his team having to build their own kingdom, cookie y/n who is a ruler of their own kingdom let's gingerbrave stay as it was a small kingdom with a reasonable amount of cookie citizens and y/n lets them come and go whenever they please and end up staying at the kingdom but gingerbrave and his team saw how kind hearted and nice y/n was to their people and even to strangers who might need a place to stay and of course they wouldn't leave y/n's Kingdom without protection cause y/n helped them and it's the least they could do.

Slowly as new cookies came in, y/n was overwhelmed as their kingdom was small but gingerbrave got the other cookies to help make the kingdom bigger and better and y/n was thankful but was kinda felt off about the new cookies and even gingerbrave and his team as they began to act odd to y/n, whenever y/n was trying to do the most simple thing, the cookies would rush to help. Even once when y/n helped with one of their cookies citizens flower shop when they went out to get a new flower stock, suddenly rebel cookie comes out of nowhere and offers to take this duty off of y/n's hands.

Y/n does get a bit bored of doing nothing as all the cookies usually jump in to 'help' y/n with a duty when y/n was just trying to help one of their citizens. But when I tell you, y/n fainted from pure shock when they saw the ancient cookies come to their kingdom including the beasts and let me tell you the citizens where in panic cause they thought y/n just died but no they just where in shock to see the ancients and the beast in one place which was a very much shock to them. And I do imagine just y/n's helpers around the castle are the sugar gnomes and some cookies who took on the job of helping y/n with duties around the castle but the main attendant thats y/n's closes advisor is a sugar gnome named clover who doesn't really talk to anyone except if they are running a errand for y/n or something. but clover worry's about y/n's health sometimes as y/n being a ruler of the kingdom still has intense duties with trades from other kingdoms, safety of new buildings and other things and this weights on y/n heavily sometimes especially with the new cookies has them worried and the strange behavior the cookies are towards them, like some giving flowers, leaving poems for them with the name secret admirer and such.

They sometimes wonder what would have happened if they never let gingerbrave and his team in their kingdom. But they do forget about that thought as all cookies deserve good shelter and a good place to live. Also y/n definitely loves to help their citizens decorate the kingdom when holidays come around and does a kind of big feast for the kingdom (hollyberry also helped by getting drinks and helping with the preparations of the feast and festivities) as clover thinks its useless to celebrate with a big feast for such short holidays, clover does join in as to keep y/n from doing something dumb or getting hurt.

I love kingdoms ruler y/n, they keep their people safe no matter what and also love to think Mont Blanc Cookie is the unofficial personal designer for y/n's outfits and cookie y/n definitely appreciates it but they feel it's to flashy but wears it regardless and it's nice and don't know where their old fits have gone so they kinda wear Mong Blanc's custom outfits. And love the thought of rockstar (or any musical cookie that you might think fits this) like cookie outside of the castle playing songs and y/n just waking up at night as their assistant clover tells the cookie it's to late in the night to be singing and to go home, before closing the window.

(I have many more ideas for yandere crk and other y/n ideas and would love to yap about them with you guys and I'm working on more of the new home sweet home au but yeah. If you like this, please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's that you have. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hiii! May i request a fem!reader x alucard where alucard happend to isekai into the modern universe and reader helps him, but he also ends up falling in love with her?

“Do you miss your old world?”

“I’m not really sure how to answer that question.” Alucard replied as he looked out across the night sky with [Y/N]. Pondering the implications of the ask.

When he first arrive in her world, through a magical portal or some divine intervention, he had been overwhelmed by it. His father had machines of electrical energy but nothing like this. Everything was bright. Everything was loud. People were in mass but it also seemed that vampires were too; finally doing what the vampire Messiah had long hoped to achieve in ‘conquering the night’. Who needed an endless dark when the glow of neon would draw the humans out like moths to a flame, and technology let you have anything you wanted at your fingertips from a little lighted box. Who needed an army of thrall when there was Doordash now?

“ ‘Miss’ I don’t think is the word. Even before we met, I had seen the world shift so much over time. A year a blink. A century to wipe what was missed completely away.” The jump to here was a bit of a shock for Alucard, but he adjusted quickly. With [Y/N]’s help.

She had taken him in when that was objectively foolish and helped him come about in this new world. Taught him things. Showed him how to act to be less conspicuous. Although some of his ‘old world’ habits refused to die down, but at least people perceived that as eccentric rather than insane.

“I don’t know. I think I would like it. The dresses. The old architecture.”

“I assure you, shitting in a bucket once will dissuade your rose tint on the ‘old world’.” Alucard reasoned as he closed his book and came up beside [Y/N].

“What about the magic?” She asked.

“There is magic here.” He reasoned. People of this time just refused to see it. The magic of invention. Modern medicine. Clean water that came from just a flick of a tap. Iron giants that flew through the air. And yes, even indoor plumbing. “The old magic may be gone, but the world has adapted in its absence. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy being here. And, the old world does not have you.” Alucard leaned in to give [Y/N] a kiss. His favorite part of this new world. “Shall we order in and watch that new show on that Netflix you were talking about?”

“Yes please!”

[lostintransist]

Hell's Spawn | Do You Think My Boot Would Fit Up Your Ass?

Part 1 | AO3

CW: Minor burns, exhaustion

Krueger witnessing your relationship death, a marlin gasping for air on the deck of a boat, flashed through your mind at least once a day. Like the white man ripping the great beast from the depths, he witnessed your ending when nature intended it to be a quiet affair.

Ruminating didn’t help you feel better. Planning though? That helped. Krueger seemed, and let’s be honest all four of them, seemed to thrive on attention. Horangi didn’t piss you off, though he did seem to flourish under the smiles you gave him. Since it pissed off his teammates it made it all the more appealing to do. Krueger would be getting no attention whatsoever and if the cafe was empty you might invite one of them into the kitchen. Thinking it over Horangi wouldn’t irritate him badly enough but Nikto had yet to give you anything to work with other than the fact he liked to stare at your ass. That left König.

The lip curl that the thought of inviting König behind the counter brought nearly made you reconsider the plan. Each man reminded you of a war machine. It helped that you knew they were actually often in war zones since your boss’s boyfriends did the same thing for the UK government. König though? He commanded the machines and he was a pig about women.

The snide comments about being in the kitchen where women belong, or about needing a man to take care of you had you grinding your teeth to not rip into him. Each time he came in it got worse. He only ever commented in front of other customers. Maybe he wanted to rile you up and see what finally made you snap; almost as if he were twisting a wind-up doll a click too far. Taking a ceramic cup to his face, even if you could reasonably patch it back up, would life harder. Your boss knew how these men could be but you doubted her leniency would bend that far.

Already rubbing your eyes and wishing for close at ten you fought back a groan when the door opened and they arrived. The shop had been dead. A Tuesday after a bunch of recruits shipped off to different bases, the bars were also pretty quiet. You called to check, if you went two hours without a customer you could close up early. Ten-fifteen would have been two hours.

“Y’all have the worst fucking timing you know that? I was fifteen minutes away from being able to lock up early and actually get to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

König, the cocky bastard, had to comment.

“You could sleep in my bed,” his eyes drifted over the parts of you he could see over the counter.

“Anyone else have any…pleasant…offers?”

Horangi laughed while both Nikto and Krueger stared daggers at König.

“You know what? Nikto, go and lock the door. Flip the sign-off while you’re at it. If we don’t have anyone here beyond you four we aren’t getting anyone else tonight.” Waving your hand you gestured for them to go and sit. “I’ll have your drinks out soon.”

“Think about us often? Have our drinks memorized,” Krueger settled his hands in his pockets.

“Know what? König, come and help me in the kitchen. The rest of you go sit,” you turned as you finished speaking.

For being such a persistent asshole the possibility of an opportunity seemed a bit hard for him to grasp. Keeping your eyes on your task of readying four cups for black coffee you wait until the others have shuffled off to the table before addressing him again.

“Do you not fit through the opening?”

Your snarky question sets him in motion. He ducks slightly as he enters the kitchen. The headspace opened back up again for him.

“I know somewhere that would be a tight fit.” The insinuation couldn’t go unchallenged.

“Do you think my boot would fit up your ass? These babies are pretty large for a woman,” you lift your foot, showing off your resoled boots that are laced up over your ankles. The dark red leather needed to be buffed again. “You’re such a big asshole I bet it will fit with enough force.”

Before König can fire off a rebuttal Horagi appears, ducking into the kitchen.

“As interesting as that would be to see,” he scans the room and heads to the corner where a stool has been collecting dust. His interruption is enough to stop you from committing to inserting something without a flared base.

“I am going to run these out and then will come back and teach you how to make me a latte,” you fill the tray with two black coffees, creamer and sugar. The two of them are still on the counter. “If you’re going to insist on continuing to bother me at work the least you can do is learn how to make me something.”

Lifting the tray you leave the room, ignoring the snarling behind you about how König is a man and can make a damn latte. Leaving the kitchen and turning the corner you find Krueger and Nikto set up at a table halfway across the cafe. Both men tracked you as you walked closer. The clattering of metal on tile reached your ears as the tray touched the table.

Cursing you turn away from the man who had yet to speak to you and the one who needed to be ignored and head back into the kitchen.

How that man managed to create such chaos in the moments you were gone will forever astound you. The steamer blasted, milk lay splattered on the floor, a metal cup in the puddle, and König stood with a hand cradled to his chest. Without a word, you start to fix the problems he created by his inability to wait.

Leaning over the puddle you turn off the steamer, silence now the dominant sound in the space. Stepping on dry patches of the floor you use a technique your mom always used when you were small to force your body to move. Settling your thumb over the meat of König’s uninjured hand you twist, pinching the nerves in the wrist. The big man had little flexibility in his wrist; he moved where you aimed him.

Forcing him to stand next to the handwashing sink, you turn the water on. When the water runs tepid, nearly body temperature you shove his hand under it. The whole of his palm is an angry red. Bastard must have held the cup around the sides instead of the tiny handle. Once he is settled you head further back into the kitchen and ready the mop. Might as well mop the whole floor and check that off the closing duties list. Once the bucket is ready you wheel it out and grab the first aid kit on the way.

You drop the kit on the counter and begin by mopping up the milk mess and working your way over to Horangi.

“Can I have your number?” He asks from the stool he commandeered in the corner of the kitchen.

“Sure. Pass me your phone?”

Holding Horangi’s phone in your hand you glance at König. A silent alarm had been triggered in your brain. He is where you left him, handheld under the running water. Eyes like shards of glacial blue stab at you across the kitchen.

“What? Keep your hand under the water for two more minutes,” you point with your chin and turn back to your task.

Four numbers are entered before his low muttering has you turning fully around to yell at him.

“I can’t hear you. If you have something nasty to say, speak up!”

König glares at you, your ugly stare comes out to match. A three-count passes before he admits defeat and looks down at his hand. You can only imagine at the mulish look splattered across his face. Looking back to the phone you erase the number you already entered and angrily slam your thumbs on the screen.

“That’s what I thought. If you want my number you gotta fix those misogynistic attitudes. When you can look at me and see a person and not a dick hole, I’ll think about discussing it.”

Number entered you pass the phone back to Horangi, who watches you with amusement in the lift of his cheeks beneath his mask and the tilt of his brows.

“What?” You snap at him.

He lifts both hands, one still holding the phone.

“Nothing. Never seen anyone put our colonel in his place so easily.” He is grinning even as he says it.

Without turning to look at him you point back at König, intention in every line of your body.

“He wants to touch, he pisses me off for no fucking reason, I would break him like a twig if his wrist weren’t the size of my ankle. He will behave because otherwise he will get ignored like Krueger is right now.”

“What did he do?” Horangi is gleeful as comprehension lights his eyes.

“None of your fucking business.”

Horangi’s eyes slide from your face to König’s in that sly kind of conversation that happens when you learn to speak the unspoken with another person. Snapping your hand before his gaze you lean forward.

“Fucker, if you don’t include me in conversations about me I will stop being nice to you.”

He stands, looming over you. Man could kill you but you would leave psychic wounds before you quit breathing. You had learned weapons as words at the breast of a narcissist. Four, five, six seconds pass and the only sound is that of the running water cooling König’s burn.

“You done?” Lifting a brow at him you settle your hands on your hips.

König busts into a small laugh behind you and Horangi is once again your friend and not a killer who leaves only a red mist behind him.

“She would survive a battalion of grandmothers.”

Horangi snorts and rolls his eyes before addressing you.

“We weren’t discussing you, but Krueger. He has been snappish since we were here last. Gotten into more fights and training harder than is needed,” he looks you up and down. “Seems you are the reason for the change in him.”

Humming you turn and head toward König, grabbing a towel along the way. You lower the water pressure before forcing his burned hand where you want it. Scrubbing your hands clean you rinse the soap before washing his. Rinsing the suds off you kill the water.

“I told Krueger to quit smoking, he smelled like a men’s bathroom.” All your focus is on patting dry the bubble without rupturing it.

König and Horangi both muttered something under their breaths, but the conflicting sounds of Austrian German and Korean entered your ears as verbal spaghetti.

Slathering petroleum jelly along the wound you lay a sterile bandage across it and wrap it with a layer of cohesive bandage. Why the fuck was there cohesive bandage in the first aid kit? Setting that thought aside for later you rub your eyes again. Uncaring of the deep pressure that caused lights to ignite in your eyes you knew if they didn’t leave soon you would end up falling asleep on the office floor.

“Leave that on tonight and follow up with your provider tomorrow. Now get out of the kitchen I need to finish closing duties. I can’t mop the floor if you are going to walk all over it.”

“Why do you ignore Nikto?” Horangi asked. Neither of them moved.

Lifting your hands away you take several seconds to blink away the vision issues.

“I’m not ignoring him, but if he doesn’t say anything I’m not willing to start a conversation.”

Both men give a grunt of confirmation and squeak across the floors as they leave the kitchen. Thankfully most of your closing duties were done and anything you couldn’t reasonably get to you would text Quinn a heads up. He offered often to help since he knew how hard you were working to get through school. Said his sister was in her first year of med school and wished he could help her more.

That last blink must have taken a long time because when you open your eyes again all four men are watching you from beyond the display glass.

König spoke for the group.

“John will be here soon to drive you home. Nikto sanitized all your tables.”

Another slow blink.

“Kay,” pushing off the counter you didn’t realize you had leaned against, you gesture for them all to move out the door.

The lock clicking home is your queue to turn and lay your head down on a cleaned table, John would come in when he arrived. He had a key. It wouldn’t be the first time one of your boss’ guys had driven you home due to exhaustion.

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog

[enbye]

I looked up leather sustainability vs vegan leather sustainability a while ago because I wanted specifically a leather jacket and this is the conclusion I came to:

Just buy used real leather. That's really genuinely the best option. And, even if you can't, like if for whatever reason you specifically need your saught after item to be new, buying real is better than buying at least most vegan options.

Real leather, firstly, is usually from cows that are already being slaughtered for their meat. They're not going to kill a cow *just* for the leather that would just cost them more money. Both the meat and the leather parts would be sold off.

Second, vegan leather, with the exception of weak mushroom leather like above, is not biodegradable. None of them are biodegradable. Real leather *is* biodegradable. Even if they put a coating on it, it just delays that biodegrading a bit and you can usually remove that coating if you really want to. Genuine leather is, at least, mostly biodegradable

3rd. Despite leather production having a large environmental impact, the majority of vegan leathers affect the environment more or similarly during production, then, on top of that, they are, again, not biodegradable. Even if the effect of the production is less than with genuine leather, the fact that it's not biodegradable makes it ultimately have, like, twice the environmental impact of genuine leather.

4th. Genuine leather *always* lasts longer than vegan/fake leathers. So, while you're going to throw away that plant fiber leather after a few years maybe, that genuine leather jacket? You could probably pass that shit down to your children. My leather biker jacket from when I was ***5*** (I was in a family biker club) is still holding up good as new. With a little cleaning I could give it away to a brand new biker child and that thing had patches on it that I took off recently to reuse. (For context, I'm nearly 24 now and that thing hasn't exactly been stored with a *lot* of care).

So, really, in my opinion, it's just better to get genuine leather than fake leather. I can't stop you, and I wouldn't really judge anyone for getting fake leather if you really can't do it, but real leather is overall more practical, more long-lasting, and ultimately has less of an impact on the environment by the end of its life, which isn't going to come for a *while.* a pair of genuine leather boots will last you a ***long*** time compared to vegan leather boots. A leather jacket could last you your whole ass life.

Thrift it when you can, obviously, but yeah. Imo genuine leather beats out fake leather where it matters.

[sreppub]

straight up, I wish you would write a fic to go with the art of Bruce crying over baby-fied Duke and Damian 🥹

The art in question :)

"Why are you crying?" Tim's incredulous toddler voice actually kind of surprises Bruce into stopping, just for a moment. It's not like he hadn't realized his eyes were getting glassy, but he thought he'd be safe to relax a little bit in his Alfred-ordered isolation with three drowsy babies while the older, noisier kids were being kept busy in a completely different wing of the manor.

The younger boys had been getting fussy but, thankfully, went to sleep within minutes of Bruce reclining on his bed with the both of them. He and Alfred had figured out how to troubleshoot with them pretty quickly; with Damian, try putting him down, and with Duke, try picking him up. Like two angelic little charms, Damian had settled down in the crook of Bruce's armpit, and Duke found peace atop Bruce's chest. Tim, his little wildcard, had been extremely wiggly when Bruce instructed him to lay on the bed beside Damian, so after some deliberation Bruce told him he instead could sit on the floor with his dinosaur encyclopedia (Bruce's, actually, from decades ago). Quiet time was still restful, right? Probably. Tim had seemed pleased—at least, until he wasn't and looked up to see if Bruce had gotten up to anything new while he'd been whispering, "Wow!" at faded dinosaur illustrations for the last half hour.

Are all three-year-olds capable of sounding so judgemental, or is his kid just special?

God, kids are so funny. If terrifying.

"I guess I felt sad," Bruce answers after a moment. He'd been grieving, mostly. Damian may not have died when Bruce thought he did, but Bruce had lost him. He'd missed out on a tiny, round-faced baby that drools like a waterfall, inherited his stupid pointed eyebrows, and has a dimpled little baby grip like a vice. Duke, who they'd thought would be funny to be dressed in pastel yellow, is happiest when he's being held, and all Bruce can think about is two people who were probably so in love with this kid they could barely put him down between them (and he couldn't blame them), and he feels like he has stolen this moment from them. He also couldn't give it back to them if he tried.

Bruce can only guess at what an appropriate level of honesty with a toddler is, so he just distills his rabbithole of heartwrenching thoughts into 'sad'.

Tim scrunches his little face in confusion, and Bruce's heart clenches because it's unbearably charming.

"The babies are making you sad?" It's clear from his tone that he's skeptical that the babies are capable of much of anything. They're not even awake, is the implied judgement. Before Bruce can formulate a response, Tim has scrambled up onto the bed and the man watches in slow motion as his fat little hand reaches for his fat little brother.

"Tim—" Bruce hisses, but the boy has already gotten a hold of Damian's chin, and is now... playing. The infant's sleeping pout is popped open, and closed, and open again, as Tim waggles his fingers. The first incredible thing that happens is that Damian remains fast asleep, sparse eyebrows furrowing but otherwise generally unbothered by the action. The second incredible thing is that Tim starts growling, in his soft little baby voice, in time with his puppeteering of Damian's mouth.

"Rrrroaw," he murmurs. "I'm a Dami-saur. Rrrrahh." And then he looks up at Bruce expectantly, like there's no way anyone would still think this baby is sad, when he's clearly a dinosaur and is therefore awesome.

Bruce still feels somewhat overwhelmed, but for different reasons now. He risks reaching for Duke's sleeping little face and mirroring Tim's antics. "Grrr." The two babies have a very gentle but thought-provoking back-and-forth conversation until Tim also drifts into sleep, his little hand caught in a very tiny raptor grip.

[jamiehe4rtsmen]

¹ money, money, money!

୨ৎ

your friends hadn't expected it to go viral, honestly. your best friend had hundreds of twitter posts (and thirst traps) that had gone unnoticed by the twitter algorithm and exes alike.

managing to drag your antisocial little behind to a party, you started whining about how you wanted to go home, make yourself some tea, and be in bed by seven. unfortunately, you were the 'adopted introvert' of the friendgroup, and to make the whining stop, they subdued you with the first video they could fine. like they would a four year old.

but it worked, successfully! your wide eyes were glued to a stream of a boisterous and raunchy man with a beard that kind of looked like two inhalers glued on the sides of his face; screaming and driving drunk in a video game. if it kept him off the streets, you supposed, it was for the better. your face paled at some of the out-of-pocket things he was saying (bless your heart), but some of the things made you laugh.

so you decided to talk to him! managing to somehow get a donation in there, you happily typed away — "hi!! you make me giggle. maybe you shouldn't drink so much though it's bad for your liver!"

oblivious, you didn't even noticed one of your friends snickering to themselves as they recorded you typing away. and apparently, schlatt had read that message not with the tone of a sweet little lady but instead in the patronizing voice of a 6'0"+ man, because he barked back, "fuck you! i'll give you something to giggle at, you little —"

at the very least, you were the sensitive type. so when the streamer cursed at you for just trying to make what you thought was a friendly suggestion, you promptly burst into tears. unfortunately for you, instead the recording being deleted in regards to your sadness, it was posted to twitter (or as schlatt referred to it, x; the everything app).

and it went stupid viral. viral enough that schlatt was tagged in it over a hundred times over, and he'd stumbled upon it during a begrudging morning doomscroll. he watched the shitty-quality video of you wailing over his comment on stream, and for some reason, his heart shattered. he— believe it or not— felt kinda bad. yelling at a girl who looked like she genuinely enjoyed the stream definitely wasn't his intention, to say the least.

under the original video, he commented:

@/jschlatt:

↳ sorry toots. was very drunk. send me your venmo?

and that seemed to be enough for the internet to go absolutely wild. then, with the creepy powers of the internet, people online found not only your venmo, but your instagram and all your socials. so you woke up the next day to see a nice little message in your inbox—

↓

$500 venmo payment from @/jschlatt. [ add. message ] : sorry for the trouble ma'am. next time you donate maybe you can give me your number?

୨ৎ

divider credit: @issysh3ll

[randomasfuk]

idiot boyfriend

Jason x reader hurt/ comfort kind of ig I’m not the best writer

Reader has implied trama nothing all to specific though, some is this is a-bit slightly cliché ngtl

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You stared at the note in your hand, not quite processing its contents. A mixture of emotions bubbled inside you, accompanied by millions of questions as you stared at the small piece of paper, only just understanding the words written on it. You crumpled it up and tossed it across the room. Anger. Complete rage. What the hell? Of all the ways he could’ve done this, a note? Did he really care so little about you that he couldn’t even give you the decency of an explanation? He couldn’t even grant you so much as a goodbye. Then, the tears came. You tried so desperately to hold them back. He didn’t care enough to tell you why he chose this, so why would you care enough to cry? Not that he could witness the response. But he had obviously cared about you—you saw it in the way he treated you, how he looked at you, how he noticed the little things: what you liked, what you didn’t, how he made sure to accommodate even your smallest preferences. He would go out of his way, break his own habits, just to please you. Even the slightest bit. You couldn’t help but wonder what you did for that to change, seemingly overnight. What had you done for him to choose to break up with you over a note?

Back to anger again. You knew you weren’t perfect, but he was hardly… well, a well-earned nap. How the hell could he do this? How could he have the gall to do it over a mere note, with absolutely no explanation? What had you done wrong? Anger, frustration, and sadness fought for control in your mind. You picked the note back up. It couldn’t have been bigger than a post-it, and it read: “I’m sorry but we’re over.” That was it. That was all you got from him after months of dating. He couldn’t even be bothered to see you in person. You had taken things slow with him, but you were so sure things were good—up until fifteen minutes ago, when you returned from work. He was practically living with you.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your messages—nothing from him. Without missing a beat, you started typing. You had no clue what to say, so you went with a basic: “WTF Jason, you could at least give me a reason,” only to realize he had blocked you.

It had been about three weeks since you received your now ex-boyfriend’s heartfelt breakup note. Walking home from work after a particularly late and stressful shift, the Gotham air hardly helped your frustration. Seething for a multitude of reasons, you were lost in your own head, distracted. Distracted enough not to notice the man creeping up behind you in the dark alleyway. Only when it was too late did you realise, and you hit the ground. A stinging sensation engulfed your elbow and leg as they scraped along the rough concrete. “FUCK!” you exclaimed, looking up at your attacker—a man in all black, with a Ruger LCP in his hand. You couldn’t help but scoff at how he appeared to be the most basic mugger ever.

“Money, phone, everything, hand it over,” he said quietly but demanding.

“How about you go fuck yourself?” you retorted. You weren’t a vigilante, but you knew a thing or two. You could handle this guy—he was short, his voice fairly high, and he had a mask covering the bottom of his face. He looked to be about fourteen, maybe. He looked taken aback by your response, but before he could say anything else, he was face-first on the ground. None other than Red Hood stood where the boy once was.

And you were pissed. Upon sight, you picked up a nearby stone and threw it at his helmet. It hit with a thud. He whipped his head around to look at you, but didn’t say a word before walking away, which only pissed you off more. You scrambled to your feet and yelled after him.

“What the actual fuck, Jason?”

He merely glanced at you before muttering, “Names.” His voice was deadpan.

“I don’t give a shit. Why would I? You didn’t care enough to give me so much as an explanation,” you spat back.

“Why would you give a shit anyway?” he asked in the same deadpan tone.

That caught you off guard. “Why would—WHAT? Because you are—were my boyfriend, Ja—Red Hood?” You stumbled over your words, slightly confused as to why he would think otherwise. You were affectionate in your relationship, which had always been encouraged by your very different lifestyles. Him being a vigilante and all, meant you’d had less-than-ideal amounts of time together.

You didn’t know what to do, how to feel.

“Why?” he spoke, his voice weak, quiet. You’d never heard him speak like that—so softly?

“Why what?” you questioned.

“Why… why was I your boyfriend?” His voice sounded the same as before—like he was unsure of what he was saying.

You found yourself unsure again. It was becoming the night’s theme, and it was really starting to get under your skin.

“Because I enjoy you,” you said.

He turned around to face you. “Elaborate,” he demanded, sounding more sure of himself this time. You took a moment, not knowing what to say. All you could think was, ‘I love you, dickhead.’

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could speak. “I mean, I enjoy your humor, the way I can talk to you about whatever the hell I want, whenever I want, knowing you won’t judge me. I enjoy knowing that, despite how fucked up I am, you won’t judge me. I enjoy cuddling with you on the couch. I enjoy the way you act like you know how movies or shows are going to end, even though it’s really fucking obvious you don’t. I enjoy relaxing with you after you get back from patrol, the way you look at me, the way you organize the cups in the cupboard in a really specific way I can never remember until you do it again. I enjoy your presence, even when we’re not doing anything. I enjoy talking with you until ridiculous hours in the night, and I know I always say it annoys me, but I actually think it’s really cool when you come through the window. And I really, really enjoy the white streak in your hair.”

Jason remained silent, his mask preventing you from gauging his emotions. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“You wanna leave me? Fine, I guess, but can you at least tell me why you left? What did I do? You can’t possibly think I didn’t care because I—” You paused, the words catching in your throat. “You know what? Forget it.”

You turned to walk away, but his voice stopped you.

“I love you,” he stated, definitively.

That shocked you. AGAIN.

“That’s why I broke up with you.”

You were stunned, to say the least. You took a breath to compose yourself. “Jason, that’s the single most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. And I’ve heard some stupid shit, so please, in your words, elaborate.”

It was his turn to be at a loss for words. He couldn’t fathom why you didn’t understand, and you couldn’t fathom his logic.

“Because I’m fucked up. I’m broken to shit. Like smash-a-vase-off-the-wall broken. And it’s only gonna get you hurt.”

You were still dumbfounded, but much less than before. You walked over to him until you were right in front of him, without thinking, looking up into where his eyes were. Although you couldn’t see them, tears were flowing down your cheeks now you never even noticed when they started.

You were right in-front of him now and he knew he shouldn’t, he should walk away. But instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he leaned his on yours.

“I know,” you whispered, “but you’re not as rough around the edges as you think. And I think it’s part of why we work. Because you’re broken, and so am I. Our little broken vase bits fit together really, really well.”

“Can we please stop using the vase analogy?” he laughed softly. “That’s one of the most cringey things I’ve ever said, as much as I meant it.”

Everything stopped for a moment—it was just the two of you. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to truly feel the moment, which ended all too soon. Jason sighed into your hair.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“If you leave, you will,” you replied.

“Now, are we gonna keep hugging and arguing about this like idiots, or can I get my genius, stupid, funny, kind, idiotic, caring, amazing—did I say STUPID—boyfriend back?”

He pulled back, looking at you, and wiped a tear rolling down your cheek with his thumb.

“How could I say no to you?” he whispered.

[fighter-paladin]

As someone who came from that culture, it functions off of fear. Fear of the end times. Fear of what comes next.

I remember having vivid nightmares throughout my whole childhood of the apocalypse happening and trying to reach out to friends who weren't Christian just to watch them slip through my fingers into the depths of Hell. I started having those dreams at age 5. They lasted until I was about 12-13 when I left the Chruch. But even so, those lessons stayed buried in me like a sleeper code until I got therapy as an adult.

Fear and arrogance. We were taught that non-Christians are the enemy. That the biggest enemies to the church are Atheists, Satanists and Pagans (any non-Christian was a Pagan). That we were "better" than them, which is turn begins turning into "well all [POC they're about to be racist to] are pagans and anti-God".

Another phrase that is drilled in is "Be Jesus to the least of them". An absurd claim that keeps the bar for being a "good" person ridiculously high when you're taught that Jesus was completely sinless and without flaw.

Christians are terrified people because of how they were brought up and taught. It is a cult to be sure, and props to OP's class for not openly mocking her. And OP's teacher for it too. The problem with delusion and spiritual psychosis is that anything to the contrary is seen as an open threat to you and your own.

In order to break it a person has to remember a few things.

First, don't match their energy. Remain calm and level headed. I work with people with disabilities and the first thing I was taught was "Don't get into a power struggle because you will not win", when you raise to their energy all you're doing is giving them more reason to be paranoid, because you're getting loud. Doesn't matter the reason. You're getting loud and angry and are now a threat.

Second, use gentle logic. Point out small flaws in their arguments and decisions (like OP's teacher did). When raised in a cult all you know is what the cult teaches you. You don't have a frame of reference for how life actually is. This part takes a while because one of the key parts of any cult is undying loyalty. In order to break that you need to make sure you are basically Inception-ing the person by planting the ideas of logic and sound reasoning in their head.

Third, kill your pride. Kill the part of you that has been hurt by Christians. It's not about that. You have a person in front of you suffering from psychosis, paranoia, depression, anxiety and most likely self destructive behaviors. Whatever they're saying is a defense mechanism they were taught. It's NOT about you. The second you start showing offense to any of the bullshit they are saying, the training of "See? They aren't like us. They want to hurt you. They are the World and you aren't" kicks in.

Fourth, understand that this is a long process. Undoing YEARS of brainwashing doesn't happen overnight, or in a few weeks, or even a few months. Like I mentioned earlier, it's like codewords. Even now I have to fight certain triggers and training the Church instilled in me. There's a concept in the Healthcare field "Care fatigue" which is exactly what it sounds like. You have to take time for yourself and step away when needed. Take deep breaths. Do what you need to do. And if that means walking away entirely if you know you can't help them? That's okay.

For all that is good, please be patient and kind with those who are trying to find their way. They've been through enough Hell, and depending on if anyone reading this also was raised in the church, so have you. Give them, and yourself, grace and love.

When I was getting my associates degree I took a Mythology class that I loved. But one of the girls in class was absolutely off the rails conservative Christian which made things… interesting.

The professor started off the class by being like, “Mythology is stories associated with religion.”

This girl. Haaaated that. She was like, “No, Christianity is true. It’s not mythology.” Mythology was delivered in the same tone as someone trying to spit excrement from their mouth.

The professor raised her eyebrows and said laconically, “Yes, most people believe their religion is the real one, that’s part of it, and the stories surrounding religion are referred to as mythology.”

The girl stewed in a hateful sullen rage. I truly don’t understand why she didn’t drop the class but perhaps it was court mandated education. We all expected her to drop the class but she dug in like a tick and derailed discussions as often as she could.

On a different occasion the professor was drawing a comparison between social constructs like gender. The girl raised her hand. The class hushed to hear her announce, “It’s just a fact that women like domestic work and even though men are awful and stinky we just have to love them anyway. It’s biology, we’re just hardwired like that.”

I was sitting next to my friend a baby gay Jewish girl and our eyes met in mutual hilarity while the professor tried to pretend she hadn’t just been stricken with a stress induced migraine while she steered the class away from that landmine.

The next sticking point was a week later when the professor informed us that many mythologies have overlapping events like floods but these didn’t necessarily happen in such literal terms. It was a metaphorical way to process and understand the world.

This girls hand shot up. I watched the professor exercise extreme self control to keep her expression bland before calling on her.

“The world did flood. And Noah saved all the animals. Before the flood all the water was in a dome outside the earth and then the dome broke and the world flooded. All of it.”

The whole class stared at her as if struggling to comprehend the overlap of her acceptance that the world was round while also firmly believing that there had previously been a barrier that held up all of the earths water before god smashed it in a fit of pique.

She raged under the attention, glaring balefully at our astonished faces.

The professor stared at her blankly, unable to form words to such a bizarre belief. I wanted to ask clarifying questions- what they’d drunk before the dome broke, if there were rivers or lakes prior, or did the dome allow some rain in somehow, but then I really looked at her.

She had the eyes of a feral, cornered animal who regarded any deviation in worldview from her own to be a physical assault on her person. Like the professor, I said nothing, and after a wretchedly long pause class moved on.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (x)

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

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, conventions, mediums,

A/N: this chapter is 9k words long. next one? who knows.

Previous part || Series masterlist

The stupid cat is plotting something. 

There’s no outwardly indication but the vibes are there. She’s evil. Plotting comes with the gig.

Bucky knows this, accepts this, but refuses to bow to tyranny.

She stands in his doorway. Unmoving. Unblinking. Blocking his exit like she pays rent.

She takes a slow, calculated step forward. A warning.

He blocks the doorway. A counter-threat.

She glares at him. He’s fairly certain he’s going to be late to meet you, because Bucky, never one to pick his battles wisely, glares back.

It’s a western standoff.

There is no reason she should be sauntering into his room the second he has to leave. None. Therefore, it would be wise to assume she has untoward ambitions. 

“What are your intentions?” he asks.

Alpine narrows her eyes.

His phone buzzes. Another missed call. 

Fifteen minutes late.

Bucky does not have time for this.

She knows he does not have time for this.

She takes a daring step forward. He steps back, blocking the doorway.

"Do not rip my pillows again," he warns. "I made you a scratch post. Use that. Or I will drop you fifteen miles away from the house."

She blinks at him, slow and deliberate. He swears she scoffs, but at this point he’s not convinced whether it’s the confirmation bias of you telling him she can speak because she was hexed, or that he was losing his mind. 

His fingers twitch at his sides.

The second he takes a step over her, she immediately brushes past him, slipping into his room like she was just waiting for an opening.

Bucky turns around just in time to see her jump onto his bed. Like she owns the place. 

Like she won.

The door slams behind him, cutting off his irritated growl.

The hotel is overrun.

The lobby? Packed. The hallways? Worse. 

Every inch of this place is crawling with ghost enthusiasts, cryptid fanatics, and people who are way too comfortable walking around in full Victorian mourning attire.

A few months ago, Bucky would say that he hates it here. Now he’s grown a sort of indifference to it all. Begrudging acceptance, even. 

But it doesn’t help that he and you are stuck there for two days, thanks to Maya “Budget Cuts” Reyes, who apparently decided that ParaCon didn’t warrant separate accommodations. 

Bucky’s grateful that at least you had different rooms, because can’t imagine how you were going to be after hanging around a convention full of people who were furthering your agenda. 

He wonders if you know there are two rooms booked, considering that you’ve plowed your way into his instead of going to yours, which was literally across the hall from him. 

“This is so exciting,” you say, flopping dramatically onto his bed.

He supposes this is where Alpine gets it from. 

Bucky, standing in the doorway, stares at the strange hotel decor and the suspicious stain on the carpet.

“This is hell,” he corrects. “And you’re in my room.” 

You wave a dismissive hand. “You’ve survived worse.”

He drops his bag onto the nearest chair, then holds up the massive brochure he had thrust into his hand in the lobby the second he entered. 

PARANORMALCON 2024: EXHIBITS, PANELS, AND SPECIAL GUESTS!

“Give me a rundown,” he says, flipping through the pages, scanning the many pictures and standard haunted font. 

You stretch out on his bed but he’s already gotten over it, phone out as you scroll through the con schedule. “Alright, so there’s three main areas. The exhibit hall where we’ve got cursed artifacts and overpriced ghost-hunting gear. The panel rooms where people talk about their haunted houses, near-death experiences, or whatever. And the main stage, which is where they do the big interviews, and stuff.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, processing the information. “And is there any particular reason they decided to hold it in the dead of the night instead of the day like normal fucking people?”

“Witching hours, Barnes,” you tsk. “It’s a paranormal convention. You gotta commit to the bit.”

Decidedly terrible. 

“We’re also live streaming for both days, so we gotta hit all the big stuff. Maya said if we don’t get enough footage, she’s making us do another investigation next week, and I am not getting locked in another basement with you.”

Bucky’s lip curls up inadvertently at the four hours you spent blindly stumbling around together after your flashlight ran out of juice. “You think I wanted that?”

“I think you pray every night to get locked in basements with me.” You sit up and grin. “Also, you’re fine with suffering in silence. I, however, am not. We’re making content.”

Bucky does not suffer in silence. His favourite thing to do in the world is whine and bitch. 

“Do I have to be on camera?” 

You squint at him. “One of us has to hold it because I don’t want to freak out a bunch of trigger happy ghost hunters with a floating recording rig, so I guess-”

“I got it,” he interrupts. “I’ll hold it. Love holding cameras. Love it.” 

You raise an eyebrow, but there’s a smile on your face. “I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great two days.”

Bucky doesn’t feel the same, but he doesn’t not feel the same. 

He’s right. Well, half right.  

Bucky knew this was going to be bad.

He did not, however, realize just how bad it could be, considering he’d always skipped out on large conventions and gatherings. Those were more Clint and Sam’s speed.

If he thought the hotel was packed, the convention center is even worse. Crowded hallways, groups of people huddled together, debating ghost sightings and cryptid encounters. There are panels happening in three different rooms, vendor booths stretching as far as the eye can see, and a worrying amount of sage in the air. 

Some guy in a trench coat brushes past, carrying a full-sized Ouija board under his arm like a briefcase.

Bucky holds steadily onto the camera gimbal.

“Welcome to Day One of ParanormalCon!” The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, followed by a loud screech from the microphone feedback. 

Bucky visibly recoils.

The guy continues regardless, “We have amongst us today enthusiasts of the supernatural, the supernatural themselves. Be sure to check out all the exhibits, the panels, the mystery, and of course, our special guest speakers!”

A wave of polite applause across the convention from whoever was still listening. He’s sure the guy made the announcement hourly. 

Bucky checks to make sure he had fully charged the camera, and checks his pockets for extra SD cards and batteries. 

“Don’t miss our exclusive panel with the author of best-selling ghost erotic novella Ghost Lusters--”

He exhales sharply through his nose, especially considering a copy of the book lay on unread on his nightstand. A very unwanted gift from you, signed and with a note addressed to him on the front page so everyone knew it was his.

“--and, of course, tomorrow’s highly anticipated panel with the stars of The Graveyard Shift, the latest paranormal sensation!”

There’s another round of applause.

Then there’s Bucky.

“What?”

It’s loud. It’s too loud. Several people turn to look.

You make a noise in the back of your throat and step slightly to the left, creating some distance like you don’t know him, still peering into your phone. 

“What do you mean ‘special guests The Graveyard Shift?’” he demands. 

“Hmm, yeah we’re scheduled for a panel discussion,” you correct, not looking up at him.

Bucky turns fully toward you now. “What the hell does that mean?”

You squint at the screen, scrolling through messages. “Apparently that’s why Maya sent us here.”

His stomach drops.

“And when,” he says, voice carefully level, dangerously calm, “was anyone gonna tell me that?”

“Mmm.” You tilt your head. “They weren’t. To me either, apparently, because he didn’t trust me to not tell you. Because then you’d make a run for it.”

Bucky stares.

“Yeah,” you add, scrolling further. “They literally said, ‘Don’t tell Bucky, or he’ll make a run for it.’”

Bucky hisses like a feral cat. “I am not going on that stage.”

Your face pulls into exaggerated shock. “You’re really gonna send me up there alone? In front of a bunch of people who clearly know more than us?”

“Without a doubt.” 

“Wow.” You shake your head, letting the disappointment sink in for all of two seconds before your face resets like nothing happened. “Yeah, no, I figured. I already texted Maya and told her I’d do it by myself.”

Bucky blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“Rarely is, when it comes to me,” he mutters.

“I’m heading down that path too, it seems.” You pocket your phone. “Anyway. Vlog time. This camera should last us the whole day, but you got your phone in case?”

“It’s on 20%.”

“That’s fine, no one’s calling you anyway.” You clap him on the back.

Bucky exhales slowly.

It was going to be a long 2 days. 

The con floor is something out of his nightmares.

People are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, moving in clusters, stopping without warning in the middle of walkways like NPCs with broken pathfinding. Someone in a full Slenderman suit glides past, which is just fantastic.

Bucky follows behind you, camera held up, watching you navigate the space like you were born for this. You’ve got a big smile on your face as you point out artefacts and people with an explanation for each. He may not be the most comfortable but hearing you prattle on about lycanthropy makes it oddly better. 

You move through the crowd easily, glancing between the camera feed and the con map on your phone, while he keeps an eye on the strangest people in the room. Which is most of them.

He doesn’t even mind them. He’s not made one comment so far, which is a personal record.

It’s just that most of them stare at him the second he walks past like he’s got a neon sign hanging above his head pointing out that something is strange about him and his presence. Which could be because he was generally off-putting and weird, but the way they were staring at him makes him believe it was something else entirely. 

"You know, this is kinda fun," you say, stepping around a guy holding up a ‘Bigfoot is My Dad’ sign.

Bucky does not respond.

You laugh, undeterred. “Already got you to one, it’s only a matter of time.”

He hates that you’re right. 

A speaker crackles overhead, making both of you glance up as another announcement rings through the venue.

“Attention attendees! The séance demonstration will begin shortly in Hall C. Please remember- do not antagonize the spirits.”

Bucky stares at the speaker. . “What the hell does that mean?”

You grin. “How does it feel, knowing you could absolutely get possessed in the next twenty-four hours?”

“I’m not joking,” he warns. “If anyone even touches me with an incense stick, I’m leaving.” 

“Good, keep that energy. Makes for a great thumbnail.”

In a split second, you snap a picture. He blinks. 

“I’m keeping this one. You look especially handsome when you’re mad,” you note, observing the picture. “No wonder everyone’s all over you in our comments. I got competition.”

He watches you very calmly stuff your phone back into your pocket and start walking ahead like nothing happened.

For the first time that day, Bucky already knows this is going to piss him off. 

He just doesn’t know how much yet.

“What are we walking toward?” 

“There’s a guy that says he can astral project himself.”

“What?”

“His consciousness leaves his physical body and travels to the astral plane, but in his case, we can actually see his conscience separate from his body.”

“So there’s gonna be two of him?”

“Well, apparently this is just his astrally projected self.”

His eye twitches. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t think his physical body is here,” you say, scanning the crowd ahead.

"His physical body isn't here," he repeats, deadpan.

“Yep.”

“Then how the fuck is he here?”

You grin, already relishing how much this is going to ruin his day.

The crowd is way too excited about this.

You and Bucky push toward the front of the roped-off area, where a dramatic announcer in a cape stands next to a spotlight-covered chair.

Bucky doesn’t like any of this.

“Welcome,” the announcer calls, hands clasped together, “to the extraordinary phenomenon of astral projection!”

People oooh and ahhh. 

“Before we reveal one of nature’s most unexplainable wonders,” the announcer continues, “we ask that you refrain from crossing the barrier. Touching the astral projection is strictly prohibited.”

The spotlight clicks on.

“Behold.” She sweeps an arm toward the display. “Mr. Astro himself.”

A man sits in a chair. Motionless.

Eyes closed. Hands on his thighs. Pale, glowing blue. His skin shimmers faintly under the stage lights, like a goddamn glowstick. He is shirtless but wearing pants, rocking a thick mustache, looking very, very peaceful.

The audience gasps.

Bucky looks around, watching them stare in awe.

He leans closer to you. “What are they all looking at?”

“That,” you whisper.

“What?”

“That he’s astrally projecting.”

Bucky squints. Hard. “Where?”

“Right there,” you say, motioning toward the man. “Can’t you see it?”

Bucky turns, eyes narrowing at the guy. “It’s just a guy sitting in a chair.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky blinks, processing. “What?”

“You see him,” you say, nodding like this is the most profound thing in the world. “Which means you can see his astral projection.”

Bucky’s brain actually stalls.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I see him because he’s right there.”

The guy next to you shushes Bucky loudly.

“This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen,” he whispers aggressively.

“Behold,” the announcer repeats. “His physical body is at home, resting.”

Bucky fucking hates it here.

"Just touch him," he says, voice low and dangerous.

"Sir," an attendant immediately warns, stepping closer, "you are not allowed to touch the astral projection."

Bucky’s head snaps toward him.

"The what?”

“The astral projection,” the attendant repeats. “It is strictly prohibited to make physical contact.”

Bucky looks at the guy. Then at the attendant. Then back at the guy in the chair.

“Just touch him,” Bucky repeats, growing increasingly frustrated. “He’s right there.”

“Sir, you need to move along--”

"Fucking Christ.” Bucky runs a hand down his face, physically forcing himself to walk away before he loses whatever is left of his patience.

As he moves past, the guy cracks one eye open, looking directly at him.

Bucky glares.

The guy closes his eye again.

Bucky exhales violently, one second away from walking into the woods and never returning.

“Good job, Buck,” you say, clapping him on the back. “You totally ruined his astral projection with your bitching.”

“He was sitting there in blue paint like a fucking Avatar, that’s not astral projecti--”

Bucky is still muttering under his breath about Mr. Astro and his bullshit astro body glitter when you drag him toward the vendor booths.

There are stalls selling everything. There’s even a guy doing aura readings in the corner, staring at people way too intensely.

He’s barely recovered from the last stunt when you veer off-course, pausing in front of a booth displaying protection sigils and tattoo designs.

“Oh,” you say, voice casual, flipping through a binder. “Would you ever get a tattoo?”

“No.”

“You answered that real fast.”

“Because it’s a hard no.”

You hum, still flipping through the pages. “What if I designed it?”

“Even more of a no.”

“How rude.”

“Why did you think that would work?” 

“Because,” you say smoothly, “people in love often get tattoos together.”

“Commonly a garbage decision,” he asserts. 

“Speak for yourself.” You scoff. “I’d get this one right now if you agreed.”

He rolls his eyes at the random design you hold up. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’d actually get a tattoo with me?”

Your eyes barely flick up. “Why is that your question? Why didn’t you question the ‘in love’ part?”

“I’ve developed this thing where I automatically filter out most of the shit you say.”

“Oh, have you? That’s romantic, you know.”

“Give it a rest,” he says, picking up a tattoo design and pretending to be interested in it just to avoid looking at you. “Besides, everyone knows you’re in love with me. No point acknowledging it.”

Your entire face lights up.

“Bzzt, wrong,” you say loudly. “Everyone doesn’t know. Only most people.”

“You better get right on that.”

“I’m trying to get on that but you’re not letting me,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Bucky looks to the heavens for patience.

“What tattoo do you want to get together?” you push, grinning.

“I don’t.”

“Stick to one answer, you flip-flopping son of a bitch.”

“Fine.” He pauses, then settles on a firm, “No.”

“You hurt me so much every day.” You clutch your chest dramatically. “All I do is be nice to you--”

“You’ve almost broken my window several times.”

“From feral longing. All I do is show you kindness--”

“You tie-dyed my shirt.”

“You have seventy-five black shirts, pick another one and cry about it.”

“Wow,” Bucky deadpans. “Kindness.”

“Just say you don’t want me and put me out of my misery.”

His eyes narrow, instinctively snapping back, “Never said that.”

You stare at him, waiting.

Bucky just stares back, expression unreadable the second it leaves his mouth. 

“Oh my god.” Your mouth drops open when he doesn’t add anything else. “Are you saying I have a chance?”

Bucky turns on his heel and walks away.

“Excuse me?” you yell after him, immediately discarding what you were holding. “Come back here and explain yourself. I love you.”

Bucky walks fast.

You walk faster.

“You know, there’s a playground behind the hotel. Be a big boy and play with the sand instead of my feelings.”

Bucky does not respond. He picks up his pace, determined to lose you in the crowd, but it’s no use.

You’re tenacious. Like a bloodhound. A very annoying, very persistent bloodhound.

“Come here, loverboy,” you yell, finally catching up. “I demand clarity.”

“No.”

“I think you love me.”

Bucky exhales so hard it should’ve put out a small fire.

Before you can continue your line of attack, a voice interrupts.

“Oh, what a tormented aura,” someone says.

Both of you turn toward the source.

A woman sits behind a booth stacked high with charms, protective amulets, and little glass vials of salt. She wears dark clothes, and so much jewelry.

She locks eyes directly with him.

“You,” she says, leaning forward. “You are not alone.”

“Excuse me?”

Her expression darkens. “Something follows you. Always in step.”

“Yeah, can’t you see this pest?” he asks, jutting a thumb towards you.

“You just said you’re in love with me.”

“I did not,” he bites. 

“No. Something not in this realm,” she says, voice low. 

You slowly turn to Bucky. “Oh, this is fun.”

He glares at you. “Shut up.”

The vendor ignores this. She tilts her head, scanning him with an intensity that is deeply uncomfortable.

“They have strong emotions,” she murmurs. “It is almost like torment.”

Bucky’s entire face locks up. “What?”

“You are not the only one carrying your burdens,” she continues. “You have a presence that lingers with you.”

“Holy shit.” You turn to him immediately. “You’re being haunted?”

“I am not.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide with delight. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I am not being haunted,” Bucky repeats, teeth clenched.

The vendor nods gravely. “He is.”

Bucky gives her a look.

She does not falter.

You clap your hands together. “I cannot believe you were gonna hide this from me.”

Bucky looks like he wants to walk into traffic.

“Oh, what’s the ghost like?” you ask, practically vibrating. “Is it vengeful? Does it like to follow you around? Does it ever like, I don’t know, whisper ominously in your ear at night?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do you ever see it?”

Bucky rubs his temples. “I am not talking about this.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely talking about this. I think I deserve to know if my boyfriend is being haunted.”

“Not your boyfriend.”

“You literally just said you wanted me, you-”

“This will protect you,” she says, reaching nto a box and pulls out a small charm. “Twenty dollars.”

Bucky stares at her.

Then at the charm.

Then back at her.

“You should buy it,” you say immediately.

Bucky glares. “I should punch you in the throat.”

“You should absolutely buy it.”

He does not. He turns on his heel and walks away, towards Mr Astro and his not-physically-here body, because he prefers that over feeling very attacked from every direction.

The guy is still sitting in his chair.

Some of the blue near his hairline is smudged off, beads of sweat glistening under the bright stage lights.

He looks mildly uncomfortable.

Bucky, standing a few feet away, free arm crossed over his chest, deeply suspicious, narrows his eyes at him.

The guy cracks one eye open.

Bucky asks wearily, “Do you even want to be here, man?”

The guy shuts his eye again.

_______

Bucky is starting to get tired of people trying to sell him things for his strange aura. 

It’s also nearly midnight, and you’ve been here hours already. He thinks he has seen everything the con has to offer and more. Perhaps he could even skip the next day. 

Which is exactly why you drag him further into the con chaos.

"C’mon, Buck, you’re missing out,” you say, weaving through the crowd like this is your natural habitat.

“I am not missing out,” he mutters. “I’m actively avoiding. There’s a difference.”

You ignore him, because of course you do.

Bucky trudges behind you as he always does.

To the left, there’s a booth with ‘Genuine Werewolf Hair’ in tiny glass jars. Suspicious.

To the right, some dude is holding a full exorcism consultation like it’s a casual business transaction. Deeply concerning.

Ahead, a vendor is selling extremely cursed-looking mirrors, each one labeled with ominous tags like “Do Not Look Into This At Night” and “Object May Contain Attached Entity.”

A guy in a Mothman costume poses for pictures near an exhibit about unsolved disappearances.

And then, of course, there’s the die-hard conspiracy theorists.

Bucky should’ve expected them.

"Oh shit, Bucky, look." You point toward a makeshift stage area, where a man in a wrinkled suit is gesturing dramatically at a whiteboard with a detailed diagram of the moon.

"The moon landing was faked,” he declares, voice booming through a barely functional microphone. “And NASA has been covering it up for decades.”

Bucky’s face twitches.

You immediately pull out your phone. “We’re watching this.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

You both end up standing there for ten full minutes.

It is a mistake.

By minute two, the guy is ranting about shadows and camera angles. By minute five, he’s talking about secret government bases on the dark side of the moon.

By minute eight, he’s making direct eye contact with Bucky.

"You there, sir!" he calls, pointing. “You look like a man who’s seen the truth!”

Bucky stiffens.

“Would you like to share your opinion on NASA’s involvement in the biggest lie in American history?”

Bucky slowly opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Reopens it.

Then at last--

Bucky turns and walks away.

The guy blinks.

You burst into laughter. “Stop, you’re ruining your chance at being on Fox News.”

"You’re the worst person I’ve ever met,” Bucky mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No, I’m your best friend,” you correct. “And that’s so much worse for you.”

After two hours of wandering the convention floor, being forced to look at ghost-hunting equipment, and listening to the guy in the Mothman suit explain his spiritual connection to the cryptid, Bucky grows sort of interested. Which is worse than actually being done. 

You're thriving.

"Alright," you say, scrolling through the event schedule. "We’ve still got some time before we have to stream at the main stage, so where do you wanna go next?”

Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You think I wanna go anywhere?”

"You haven’t left yet, have you?” you challenge, still looking at your phone. “Alright, well, there’s a panel on spirit photography, a paranormal VR experience-”

“Absolutely not.”

“--or we could go to the past-life regression hypnosis booth.”

Bucky pauses. “What?” 

You grin, flashing him your phone screen. "Says here they’re doing a free group session.”

"Not a chance in hell."

"Oh, come on," you say. "It could be fun. What if we find out you were, like, a 16th-century poet or some shit?"

Bucky stares at you.

"I’ve died before. If I go, it’ll tell me I was me,” he deadpans. 

You scoff. “Okay, but what if it says you were like, a farmer before that?”

"No."

"You are so boring," you groan.

“You just tried to drag me into a fake hypnosis session.”

"The poster says it’s legit scientific!”

“Oh, then by all means, they must be right.”

"You literally came back from the dead and you’re still doubting past lives? You just don't wanna go because you're scared it's gonna say you were a moth or some shit."

Bucky opens his eyes, deadpan, ready to retaliate when a voice interrupts.

“Wait, so you guys really are just like that in real life?”

Both of you turn.

A group of con-goers stands nearby, staring with mild fascination.

You blink. “Us?”

“Oh my,” one of them breathes. “You both are so much worse in real life. We only get the edited version.”

And just like that, it happens.

The first person notices you. Then another. Then another.

It starts as a trickle, just a few curious looks, but then the recognition spreads.

The group grows. People start turning, whispering.

And then, like a goddamn avalanche you’re swarmed.

“Holy shit, are you guys filming right now?”

“Do you guys actually believe in ghosts or is it just for the show?”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Who wins in fights more?”

Bucky clenches his jaw.

You, on the other hand, light up like a fucking Christmas tree.

And then you do the absolute worst thing you could do in this situation.

You start feeding into it.

“Oh, boy do I have answers for you,” you say, grinning. “You wanna know who wins in fights? Me, obviously.”

“That is a fucking lie,” Bucky responds immediately. 

“He’s haunted, by the way,” you tell them.

Bucky’s head snaps toward you. "I am not."

And then your phone buzzes.

And then it keeps buzzing, frequency only increasing until you’re concerned that someone has actually died.

It goes absolutely wild. 

You finally whip it out, holding a hand up to the crowd for a quick pause, turning away for a second to check what the fuck was going on.  

Bucky barely registers it at first, still caught up in his escalating war with the growing crowd who wanted to know whether he actually saw a cryptid or was it just a prank.

But then you freeze. Your entire expression shifts.

Bucky’s brain takes a second to catch up. He sees the way your shoulders stiffen, how your posture goes rigid as you look at your screen.

And then he sees it.

The onslaught of notifications you ignore as your phone screen floods.

Bucky only catches a glimpse of it, but it’s enough.

There’s a headline, all caps, stretched across your phone screen. 

His eyes snap to yours, but you’ve turned on your heel, shoving your way through the crowd.

Bucky reacts immediately. “Wait-”

You don’t answer. You’re already moving fast.

Bucky moves to follow, but the crowd’s already lost one part of the crew, and they certainly were not going to lose the second.  

More people push in, asking questions, talking over each other, swarming.

Bucky grits his teeth.

You disappear into the crowd.

Bucky stares after you, and then at the livestream camera, still rolling.

How the fuck does he turn this shit off. 

It takes ten full minutes for Bucky to dig himself out of this mess.

By the time he manages to break away, there’s already a thread of frustration curling tight in his chest.

The livestream is still running.

Bucky stares at the interface, clicking through random buttons, trying to find the off switch.

The camera flips.

Shit.

Now it's just his face, tired and unimpressed, staring directly into the lens.

He exhales slowly. “Fucking-- whatever.”

He clicks something.

The screen goes black.

After Maya’s third ignored call and just letting his phone die so it would stop buzzing, and after shoving his way past the last group of people still trying to ask him questions, he heads straight for the hotel floor.

First he checks his room, but no dice. So he turns his attention to the room across the hall. 

His knuckles rap against the door, firm and quick.

No answer.

He knocks again, harder this time, ears straining to hear any signs of life. 

Then finally, he hears footsteps. The faint shuffle of movement before the door unlocks and swings open.

You stand there, leaning against the frame, already out of the clothes you wore to the con. 

Expression calm. A little tired. But you look fine.

Bucky doesn’t say anything right away. Just scans your face, looking for something, anything.

“You okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn't know how he knows, and quite frankly, why it’s a bone-feeling when a few months ago, he didn’t even know who you are- but he can tell the answer is too easy. It’s too quick.

Bucky doesn’t quite believe you. But he doesn’t push.

“Alright.”

You shrug, stepping back inside. “Maya’s freaking out.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

You shuffle, throwing yourself onto the bed. “Shit happens,” you mutter. “It’s whatever. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

There’s a part of him that wants to call bullshit.

Wants to ask questions, press for details, push until you actually say what’s on your mind.

But he doesn’t.

So instead-  

“Alright,” he says again, turning to leave. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, already pulling the blankets over you. “You too.”

He hesitates at the door, but you’ve turned away from him.  

So he just leaves. 

Bucky doesn’t sleep.

He remembers the trials by court and media, remembers how anything he did made headlines for month. It was easier to slink back and stay away from people than to feel like he had to justify every move he made in public. 

Every new discovery in court of leaked Hydra documents, of testimonies from informants, all eager to know exactly what had happened to him, what he had done as if he wasn’t a fucking person. Like he didn’t have a right to keep some things to himself. Like he was just a stone-cold, barren cadaver ready to be dissected. 

He turns in bed, ratty sheets feeling too hot all of a sudden. 

He didn’t want people to talk to him. He doesn’t know if that’s what you want.  He doesn’t want to assume because plenty of people are assuming things on your behalf right now. 

From Buck:

awake?

From Steve:

Are you guys safe?

From Buck:

yeah. we’re at the hotel.

From Steve:

Next steps?

From Buck:

do i just pretend like nothing happened

From Steve:

Is that what you want to do? 

From Buck:

i dont know 

He pauses, letting his fingers hover before he types. 

From Buck:

no 

From Buck:

i dont want to overstep

From Steve:

You’ll know if you are. You know each other.

Bucky swallows back a tightness in his throat.

From Steve:

Let me know how it goes. 

And so he hastily shoots you a text, asking if you're up. 

He waits for a response to  a text that would in any other circumstance have you asking if he was booty calling you. 

The message doesn’t even say delivered. 

It’s past 1am when Bucky’s knocks to your door get no response. 

He presses his ear to the door like before.

There’s nothing, not late night sounds of television, not sheets rustling, no air conditioner hum. 

You’re not in your hotel room.

And you’re not even in his hotel room, which is more worrying than the last.

And so he starts looking.

At first, he thinks maybe you just needed a walk. Something to clear your head. But when he circles the floor twice, the side entrance, the lobby, and there’s still no sign of you. 

He knew you had to be somewhere away from the noise. 

He doubts you’d have gone back to the convention. There was no library in the hotel, he checked. You couldn't have left because he knows you would have told him. 

Right? 

The more he thinks about it, the more the uneasiness settles in because you never actually told him if you’d ever waited to say bye to the places you’d left. 

He shakes it out of his head and instead zeroes in on raking through his memories of the day. 

Any sort of clue, anything about the center, the hotel-- until something finally clicks. 

Bucky cuts through the lot, past the street, toward the small stretch of open space behind the hotel.

An empty playground, just far enough from everything to be quiet.

The cold air of the night does nothing to help soothe the nerves that are building, and the lack of any people around admittedly makes it worse, but he’s daring to hope for once that maybe he’s right, and Steve was right and he knows you enough that--

And there you are.

You’re seated on one end of the old metal see-saw. The only movement around is the slow, steady rhythm of the old metal structure shifting up and down. Except there’s no one on the other end.

You’re moving it with your mind. A small push, just enough to tip your weight, then another to pull yourself back up. A slow, mindless repetition. Like you’re not even thinking about it.

Bucky exhales through his nose. Forces himself to unclench his fists and loosen the tightness in his chest. 

Finally, he steps forward.

You don’t look up. He doesn’t force you to.

Instead, he walks toward the see-saw, before crouching slightly. 

Then, without a word, he presses his palm against the other end and pushes.

The motion is smooth. Subtle.

The second he adds his own force, you slow your own down, letting him take over.

The see-saw goes up and down. And repeats and repeats and repeats. 

It’s quiet for a long time, except for the mechanical whine from the rusted playset. 

“You’re up late,” Bucky says at least.

“I’m always up late,” you reply, voice almost a hum.

“Y’mind?”

You don’t answer right away. Just give a small, half-hearted shrug.

He takes that as permission and keeps his hand pressed to the see-saw, moving it up and down, keeping the motion steady.

A few more beats of silence. He lets it play out the way it wants to.

“I’m fine, you know.” Your voice is carefully even.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“I mean,” you continue, and then under all the calculated responses, he hears that tiredness he’s been expecting, “I knew this was coming.”

“That what Nat was talking to you about?” he asks. “The other night?”

“Yeah.”

The see-saw creaks softly.

“Yep,” you reply. “She heard from sources that people were looking into it. It was just a matter of when.”

Bucky shifts his weight, keeping the rhythm smooth. “It’ll die down.”

You let out a slow breath.

“After Nat leaked all of SHIELD’s files, it was madness for a while. And look where everyone is now,” he continues.

You glance at him.

Bucky continues to look only at fulcrum, a slight crease between his brows. 

“Did you read it?” you ask, voice quieter now.

“What? The leaked files?”

“The article,” you clarify. “About me.”

Bucky keeps the see-saw moving. Steady.

“No,” he finally admits. 

The seesaw comes to a halt, with you paused in air. 

“You didn’t?”

Bucky avoids your gaze, but answers steadily, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t think you’d want me to.” His fingers press a little harder into the see-saw handle, insistent. “Besides, what’s a fuckin’ article gonna tell me that being stuck with you every day won’t?”

Your lips twitch.

Bucky pulls the see-saw bar back up, watching you lower back down.

When he sneaks a peek at you, there’s a small smile on your face.

When you’re close to the ground, he pushes the handle back down so you’re lifted into the air again.

“Did you read it?” He clears his throat.

“About half.”

“What’d you think?”

You shrug. “It’s all facts. Don’t really have an opinion on it.”

Another long pause. Bucky feels like he should have more to say but he finds his mind blank. 

You push out a slow breath. “Got that panel tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Maya texted me. Told me to lay low, stay out of sight till it’s over.” Your lips pull into a straight line.

“What does lay low mean?” Bucky questions, still keeping his focus on the see-saw. 

“No leaving the compound. No interviews, no posting, no official statements, no videos,” you recite, voice dry. “Especially no panel tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, like he already knows where this is going. “But you’re gonna do it anyway.”

There’s a small pause. He wonders if he miscalculated. 

Your voice comes back slightly surprised. “I am.”

“Good.” He nods. “You got no reason to hide.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice lighter now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with no hesitation. “And I hate most of your ideas, so that should tell you something.”

You let out a small laugh.

It’s silent for a while as the see-saw moves up and down, with you seated on one end as Bucky maneuvers it from the other.

“I know what she’s saying is the logical thing to do,” you say eventually. “But I don’t know. I just feel-”

“Trapped,” he says simply.

You swallow the stone in your throat.

Bucky doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Just keeps his hand steady on the bar. 

He knows it’s why you jump from place to place. What happened at the clock tower may have confirmed it, but he’d picked up on every breadcrumb in the last few months whether you’ liked it or not. Why you left when the café lady gave you keys to a home. Why you didn’t like closed doors, routine, time loops. Why you hadn’t picked a new codename even though you’d been here months. Anything that makes you feel like you’re tied down, anything that makes you feel trapped again with no room to breathe.

The see-saw tips slightly.

You let out a long, slow breath.

“I just don’t want to feel the way I used to there,” you admit.

Bucky nods. “I know.”

“Every day was the same. And everything looked the same, and everyone was the same,” you say, voice quieter now. “Staying still leaves you exposed.”

“I know,” Bucky repeats.

“Not everyone does,” you say, staring at the sky. “I don’t leave a place because I don’t like the people there anymore-- but sticking around for too long feels like…”

“Another trap,” he finishes.

You glance at him.

He shrugs. “You got no reason to explain. I get it.”

Except, the reason why he’s stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you couldn’t. Bucky liked stability. He likes being rooted. 

You exhale a small laugh. “Lived a thousand lives, huh.”

”And then some,” he says, pushing the handle down, slow and deliberate. “Maya’s just another person. Do whatever you want.”

You study him. The way his jaw flexes just slightly, the way his fingers press into the metal bar, like he’s already thinking about what comes next.

“There’s gonna be a lot more eyes on me now.” Your voice is careful, testing. “On you too, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to end the show.”

“I’m aware,” he says again. “But ‘m fine. Got all these batteries I need to use somehow.”

He lets a hush fall between you as you contemplate your next words. 

“Do you ever get used to it all?”

His grip tightens, just for a second. Then--

“I didn’t.”

It’s a quiet confession. One that sits between you for a moment, stretching out into the cool night air.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same for you,” he continues. “You’ll figure it out.” 

Then finally he looks at you.

And he really looks this time. Not just a glance, not just a flicker of acknowledgment, but something that lingers.

Something weighty. It makes your stomach stumble and your breath catch.  

His mouth twitches, just barely. Not a smile, not quite. But close.

“Spotlight looks better on you anyway,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

The morning is quiet.

Not in the world outside, though. The internet is still on fire, messages still flooding in, theories spiraling out of control.

But in the hotel, it’s different.

The air in the room is still. Heavy, like static waiting to shock someone. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, scrolling through nothing, really. You keep opening and closing the same apps, flipping between blank notes and unsent messages.

Bucky watches from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe.

He knows that look. The anticipation before impact.

“You eat yet?” 

You glance at him. “Not hungry.”

He doesn’t push. Just nods. “You will be later.”

Your lips twitch, but no real smile.

Bucky doesn’t like the flatness behind your expression.

But he doesn’t call it out. Not yet.

Instead, he asks, “You sure about this?”  

You look at him. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“You do,” Bucky says, matter-of-fact. “Always do.”

You blink. Like you weren’t expecting that.

Your gaze flickers.

“Yeah,” you say, voice a little softer. “I know. But I feel like I owe it to myself.”

Bucky holds your stare for a second.

He pushes off the doorframe, straightening.

“You got time to kill,” he says. “You should eat something.”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky-

“You should eat something,” he repeats, firmer this time.

A pause.

Then, begrudgingly, you stand.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Whatever. You’re buying.”

“Absolutely not,” he remarks, as if wasn’t fully intending to before you even asked. 

“Dick.”

“You brought me here, you’re paying.”

He lets you lead the way, wait until you’re ahead of him to let out a small flicker of relief. 

_____

The hallways are buzzing.

Everywhere you look people are talking, whispering, staring. Some subtle, some not.

Bucky walks beside you, shoulders squared, pace steady.

The closer you get to the panel, the more the weight in your chest presses down.

It’s not fear. Not exactly.

It’s the knowing.

Knowing the eyes are on you. Knowing the second you step on that stage, this all becomes very real.

“Y’okay?” Bucky asks, voice low.

You exhale slowly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

You huff a small laugh.

Even as the crowd thickens, even as you near the panel doors, the noise rising, the air buzzing with anticipation, Bucky keeps a steady pace beside you.

Just in a way that says he’s around.

The second you step into the backstage area, a con staffer immediately moves toward you.

“Hey! Oh, great, you’re here.” They glance behind you, at Bucky, panicked like he wasn’t expecting him. “Is he--”

“Not on the panel,” you say, quick.

Bucky just shrugs. “Not on the panel.”

The staffer nods, relieved. “Okay, cool. Just making sure.”

They move to adjust something on their headset, then glance at you again. “Uh-- how are you feeling?”

“Grand.”

They nod again. “Okay, cool. If you need anything, let us know.”

You give them a smile, and they move away.

Bucky watches you for a long moment.

“What?” you ask, feeling a bit squirmish under the intensity of his stare.

“What?” he asks right back. “Don’t lie about me out there. I’m not haunted.”

“The truth. Got it. So I should say you’re in love with me.”

“You can get your own ride home.” Still, it makes him feel better that you’re still somewhat okay. 

You throw a smile on, shaking the nerves out of your shoulders and standing more straight. “I should go.”

Bucky nods. “See you in a while.”

You take one last breath, and step onto the stage.

The lights are bright.

Clearly, there are more people than had attended the con yesterday because the front row is entirely stuffed with people with mics and notebooks. The seats in the crowd stretch farther than they should, a sea of people watching, waiting. 

The air is thick with attention, the hum of voices settling as the moderator clears their throat and leans into the mic.

You drop into your chair way too casually, tossing a leg over your knee, leaning back with the complete ease of someone who has zero fear.

The moderator glances at you, vaguely unsettled by your energy because they clearly had not prepped for the absolute hellfire that is Maya dealing with a PR nightmare. You had no doubt she had put the fear of God into that man the morning of, vetting and then re-vetting every single syllable that was to come out of his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, clearly trying to find footing. “We, uh-- we’re really excited to have you here, especially after everything that’s been going on.”

You grin. “What’s up?”

The moderator visibly stumbles. “You-- you mean, regarding the article?”

“Oh,” you say. “That. Yeah, wild week.”

He pauses.

“…Yeah?” he tries, attempting to meet you where you are.

You just blink at them. The audience is completely silent.

You shrug. “What about it?”

“Well,” he presses, clearly hoping for something, “given everything it exposed--"

“Sure.”

Another pause.

The moderator glances at his notes, clearly flustered.

“Oh-kay,” the moderator says, regrouping before quickly saying, “You know what, let’s open it up to audience questions.”

A ripple of excitement moves through the crowd as the first person grabs the mic hastily and stands before anyone even gets a chance to fight for it.

“Hey,” they say into the mic, clearly hyped. “Love the show, love your work. Just wanted to ask- does any of this change what you’re doing? Like, do you think your past is gonna affect the future of the show?”

You hum, taking a long break before finally, you go, “Nah.”

Some people in the audience laugh. Others are still unsettled. 

The moderator looks like he’s breaking out into a cold sweat. You don’t even know what he’s so nervous about, unless Maya had held him at gunpoint the night before and threatened him. 

The next question comes.

“So, like, do you- do you regret not saying anything before?”

You tilt your head. Squint at them. “…Saying what?”

“About your past. About everything.”

“Oh.” You pause, nodding thoughtfully. “Nope.”

Maya was going to kill you, you think, unless she didn't die from a hemorrhage. 

Then, someone stands up, clearly a little hesitant. "Okay, so, uh- sorry if this is a weird question, but, like…"

They shift awkwardly.

“Did Bucky know?”

The room stills. Not in a bad way, not tense. Just expectant.

You tilt your head, raising your eyebrows slightly. Like you hadn’t considered that being a question.

“Bucky?” you repeat. 

“Or any of the Avengers really,” he adds quickly.

You reponse comes out slowly as you think, “Well, I don’t want to speak for him-" 

The crowd instead drowns you out immediately. A loud ripple of noise in surprise, excitement, recognition.

You blink, whipping our head to see where their eyes had diverted. 

You snort loudly when the fool steps into view, a scowl on his face and shoulders stiff like he would rather be literally anywhere else. 

“Oh,” you say, leaning back. “Look who decided to show up.”

Bucky doesn’t sit.

Just sweeps the mic off the moderator, turns toward the person who asked the question, and tilts his head slightly.

“Did I know?” he repeats.

They nod.

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah.”

The room buzzes.

He leans into the mic slightly.

“I mean,” he says, flat as anything, “we literally live together. What, you think I found out from Twitter?”

The audience laughs, tension in the room dissolving.

You grin.

The person with the question nods slowly. “Right. That makes sense.”

Bucky hums. Moves the mic away.

Then he reaches down and tugs a chair closer, flipping it around.

“Move, would ya?” he grunts, face slightly flushed. 

You silently move your chair to give him some space. 

He drops into it, not even bothering to look at you.

He doesn’t even say anything else, just sits. 

Close enough that his knee bristles with yours.

“Uh, good morning.” The moderator stares at him, shuffling through cards rapidly as someone hands him another mic. 

“Morning,” Bucky says, voice gruff.

“We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’m in the show too.”

“Well, yes, but-”

“So ask me questions too,” Bucky grunts.

You glance at his knee still touching yours. Then at him, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Bucky just shifts, adjusting so he’s comfortable.

He doesn’t move away, just sends you a curt nod, clears his throat and looks straight ahead. 

It brings a stupid big grin to your face. 

The whole thing goes by quickly, question after question, answers delivered with just the right balance of stupidity and earnestness. 

Bucky had sat beside you the whole time, occasionally muttering some dry remark into the mic, mostly just letting you take the lead.

Things feel good. Not as heavy as the world did the night before. 

The moment you step off stage, you exhale sharply, shaking out your hands.

“That was fun,” you say.

“For you,” he responds dryly.

“That’s why it was fun.”

You glance at him as you walk, stepping through the side exit toward the quieter halls behind the venue.

People glance your way as you pass. Staff, attendees, lingering eyes that recognize you now.

Bucky doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like the sharp shift in the air, the new weight of attention that seems to cling to you heavier than before.

But you’re still walking easy. Still comfortable in your own skin.

Not because it surprises him. But because it makes him feel something he can’t quite name. 

He didn’t even think he had feelings like those anymore. It makes him deeply bothered that he doesn’t immediately hate it. 

A staff member nods at you as you pass. "Great panel."

You flash them a grin, throwing up a lazy thumbs-up. "Hell yeah, it was."

Bucky shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. "You're insufferable."

"You love it."

"Not even a little."

"Liar."

Bucky doesn't immediately deny it.

He just keeps walking.

You catch it, smirking slightly but let it slide.

A few more turns, and the noise of the main venue fades into a distant hum.

Bucky watches you roll your shoulders, adjusting slightly, as if releasing the last bit of energy from the stage.

Channelling the last bit of insane energy from the last day, he says-

“You looked good up there.”

You freeze mid-step. Just for half a second.

You turn your head, slow blink, slow grin. "Oh?"

Bucky regrets it immediately.

"Ohhhh?" you drag, delighted.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line. Keeps walking. "Forget I said anything."

"Oh, no, absolutely not." You catch up, shifting to walk backwards in front of him, grinning the whole time. "Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. Giving me a genuine fucking compliment."

Bucky looks to the ceiling like he’s begging for an escape.

“Truly, a rare occurrence,” you continue. "I gotta savor this moment. Hold on, let me memorize every word. Can you repeat it, but this time do it way slower."

"You are the worst person I've ever met."

"Say it again."

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, one more time."

"Nope."

"You looked good up there," you mimic, voice dramatically low and serious.

Bucky shoves you. You laugh, almost tripping over your own feet.

When the teasing fades slightly, he catches you looking at him for real this time.

Bucky shifts slightly. Looks away. 

"Hey," you say, voice lighter now. "Thanks."

Bucky keeps his eyes forward. 

"Yeah," he mutters. "Whatever."

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