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cherrywriterrr · 17 days ago

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Haunted (chapter one)

bodyguard!rafe x reader series

strong language, smut (18+ explicit content), graphic violence, blood/injury, captivity, emotional manipulation, talking about death, trauma responses, unhealthy relationship dynamics, age gap (consensual, adult) ,mentions of sexual assault (not between main characters), sexual tension (consensual, but intense), dark themes overall.

readers discretion is strongly advised. mdni. 18+ only.

introduction one two

➽──────────────❥

he’s leaning against your bedroom door like it personally insulted him.

backwards cap, jaw tight, gloved hand twitching against the grip of the gun holstered at his hip like he wants someone to break in. you wouldn’t be surprised if he staged it himself just for the thrill.

you’re half in bed, half out. one bare leg kicked free of the silk sheets, a white tank top and no bra — because you can.

“you could at least knock,” you mutter, twisting your hair up in one lazy fist just to feel his eyes move. “or do the hired thugs just walk in now?”

“not a thug,” he says flatly. “a babysitter.”

you roll your eyes, lips parting into a spoiled, mocking smile. “mm, right. my personal stalker. forgot.”

his jaw clenches again. if it were anyone else, it might be fear. with him, it’s something meaner. something hotter.

he hates you.

you give him a reason to.

he’s only here because your father didn’t want you alone. not today.

today marks three years. three years since your mother’s throat was slit in a hotel elevator — and the security footage was leaked before the coroner even zipped her up. your father was abroad. you were home. and there were enough pills in the marble bathroom sink to make headlines.

you survived, though. of course you did.

because perfect, arrogant, untouchable girls don’t die — they haunt.

and your punishment for living is him.

rafe fucking cameron.

he’s barely older than you. just enough for it to piss you off. tall, southern, clean trigger record with a dirtier mouth than you’ve ever heard. a body that makes security cameras glitch. hands that belong on weapons or waistlines and nowhere in between. and he’s made it very clear he thinks you’re unbearable.

“you don’t have to stare,” you mutter now, tipping your head toward the window, the moonlight slicing through your thighs like porcelain. “i’m not gonna jump.”

he doesn’t move.

you smile again, slow and poisonous. “what, scared i’ll land on your truck? dent your precious masculinity?”

he doesn’t bite. doesn’t blink.

instead, he moves forward — slow, precise steps, the kind that come from training. or rage. or both.

he stops just short of the bed.

“you took too many once,” he says, voice low and gravelled. “so don’t expect me to look away. not tonight.”

you freeze, lashes fluttering. something in your stomach twists — embarrassment? guilt?

no. you don’t feel guilt anymore.

“that was a long time ago,” you say. “i don’t even remember it.”

“i do.”

you look at him.

he looks back like he could kill you if he wanted. like he wants to.

and god, it does something to you.

“what’s the matter, cameron?” you purr. “tired of guarding your favorite brat?”

his nostrils flare.

you sit up a little, letting the strap of your tank fall off your shoulder like an accident. “your voice gets all low when you’re mad. it’s kinda hot.”

“shut up.”

you grin. “make me.”

rafe exhales sharply through his nose. his jaw ticks. his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there.

and suddenly the air between you goes nuclear.

because it’s not just hate. not just history. not just a rich girl in grief and a bodyguard with a bruised soul. it’s something else now. something no one dares to name.

“you’re not special, princess,” he says quietly, voice coated in contempt. “just another arrogant little girl with daddy’s money and too much time.”

“then why are you still standing here?”

“because if you take one fucking pill tonight, it’s my head on the block.”

“is that the only reason?” you ask, tilting your head, hair falling like honey against your shoulder. “not because you like watching me squirm?”

rafe’s hands curl into fists.

“you think you’re so powerful,” he mutters. “because you smile while you bleed.”

“maybe i am.”

“you’re not. you’re just broken. and bored. and so fucking used to being worshipped that you don’t know what it means when someone actually sees you.”

your breath catches.

he leans in.

“and i see you.”

silence.

the tension is thick, hot, awful. you swallow it like venom.

he straightens again, backing off. jaw tight, eyes colder.

“get some sleep,” he says. “your father wants you alive tomorrow.”

and then he turns — walks out without a second glance.

your legs are still shaking.

you let him go. for five whole seconds.

and then you’re slipping out of bed like sin itself, bare feet silent against the hardwood as you pad out into the hall.

the mansion is quiet. dark. all marble and echo and curated grief.

he’s halfway to the staircase when you speak.

“you gonna kiss me goodnight, or what?”

he stops. his back tenses.

slowly, rafe turns. his mouth is a straight, dangerous line.

“go back to bed.”

you raise a brow. arms folded under your tits, which you know are sitting real nice in that thin little tank. “aw. don’t be shy now. you wanted to be in here five minutes ago.”

he stares at you.

you tip your head. innocent. infuriating. “what, cat got your tongue?”

rafe doesn’t say a word. just stalks back down the hallway toward you, his boots heavy against the floor like threats.

you stay planted.

he gets in your face. you feel him before you even see him — heat and leather and danger. he’s close enough to taste. close enough that if you leaned in, your mouths would brush.

“you don’t fucking get it, do you?” he mutters, voice barely a growl.

“oh, i get it,” you hum. “you’re obsessed with me.”

“i’m this close,” he hisses, holding up two fingers, “to putting your spoiled ass back in that bed myself.”

you smile, slow and smug. “jeez, cam. take a girl to dinner first.”

his eye twitches.

and before you can blink, he grabs your wrist. not rough — but firm. solid enough to make your breath catch.

“fine,” he snaps. “you wanna act like a brat? i’ll treat you like one.”

you let out a surprised laugh as he turns and drags you back toward your bedroom. “jesus, okay! get a grip!”

“i’ve got a grip,” he mutters. “you should be fucking scared of what happens when i lose it.”

you’re still grinning. too delighted for your own good. god, he’s mad.

he kicks your bedroom door open with his boot and pulls you inside.

you stumble, laughing.

he turns and shuts it with a thud, stepping into your space again — way too close.

your pulse is thrumming.

“you keep pushing me,” rafe says, eyes dark, voice low. “and i swear to god, if i catch you outside that bed again tonight…”

he pauses. looks you dead in the eye.

“i’ll sleep in here. on that fucking chair. all night. you want that, princess? wanna wake up to me in the corner every morning until your daddy says otherwise?”

you stare at him.

your mouth opens — then closes. then opens again.

because fuck, you want it. and he knows it.

and worst of all? he wants it too.

you smile. not sweet this time. something twisted. breathless.

“well,” you whisper. “if you’re gonna keep threatening me like that…”

he stares at your mouth. your lips. that sliver of your thigh peeking out from the tank hem.

“…maybe i’ll start misbehaving on purpose.”

he doesn’t flinch at first.

just stands there, jaw ticking, arms crossed, watching you with a look that could skin a man alive. he’s not stupid — he knows what you’re doing. poking. pushing. peeling the scab until it bleeds.

“jesus christ,” he mutters. “you’re exhausting.”

you just grin, all sharp teeth and sin. “you’re obsessed with me.”

“delusional,” he fires back.

“dominant.”

“insufferable.”

you lean forward on your toes, lips parted like a fucking promise.

“you’re gonna crack one day, cameron,” you whisper. “and when you do? it’s gonna be messy.”

he rolls his eyes and turns toward the door again, like if he doesn’t look at you, he might not fucking strangle you.

and that’s when you say it.

quiet. careless.

“maybe i’ll just take the pills again.”

he freezes.

you tilt your head. “leave a cute little note this time. real poetic. maybe in lipstick.”

his back is stone.

you don’t stop.

“will say you did it, of course,” you smile, walking toward him. “that you were obsessed with me. couldn’t handle the rejection. couldn’t take no for an answer.”

he turns around.

and for the first time tonight, rafe looks dangerous.

“don’t fuck around like that,” he says lowly, voice thick with something that’s not anger. not exactly.

you shrug. “i’m just saying. it’d make a good story.”

“you think this is a joke?”

“you’re here to make sure i don’t do anything, aren’t you?” you blink up at him, wide-eyed and wicked. “so do your job, cam. or don’t.”

he’s across the room in seconds. grabbing your face.

not rough, not gentle — somewhere in the middle. fingers on your jaw, breathing through his teeth like it’s taking every ounce of strength not to do something worse.

his eyes are raging.

“don’t say shit like that,” he snarls. “not even to fuck with me.”

you blink, lashes brushing his knuckles. “i fuck with you all the time.”

“that was different.”

you don’t look scared. not even close.

your mouth tips into a smile. small. deadly.

“so you do care.”

he lets you go like you burned him. backs off, jaw clenched, breathing shallow.

you don’t move. just stare.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters.

you say nothing. because you both know it’s a lie.

➽──────────────❥

“you’re really fucking sleeping in here?”

he doesn’t even look up. just grunts from the chair by your window, legs stretched out, one boot already kicked off, the other hanging loose.

his gun is still strapped to his thigh like he’s expecting the devil to climb through the walls, and his stupid hat is tilted low over his eyes like this is some kind of sleepover.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mumbles.

you cross your arms. “seriously?”

he doesn’t answer. adjusts his belt, shifts in the chair, and exhales like he owns the place.

you glare at him. “you know that chair cost more than your fucking salary, right?”

“good. comfortable enough to watch your spoiled ass all night then.”

“fuck you.”

he huffs a dry laugh. “tried that already. you’re not my type.”

“please,” you snort. “your type’s whatever makes you feel like a man for five seconds.”

“and yours is whatever breathes near a bank account.”

the silence after that is thick. not empty—just waiting. like the moment before a car crash. like thunder holding its breath.

you crawl into bed, spine to the wall, refusing to look at him.

and yet—you feel him. heavy. still. an itch under your skin you can’t scratch.

the moonlight cuts a silver line across the room and lands on him. his neck. his hands. one of them flexes, knuckles tight, jaw moving like he’s chewing glass.

you close your eyes.

then open them again.

“you gonna stare at me all night?”

“not if you stay in bed.”

“you’d love that, huh?” you smile into the dark. “me nice and quiet. legs closed. mouth shut.”

“jesus,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “you ever stop?”

“nope.”

he mutters something under his breath. something that sounds a lot like fucking brat.

you roll onto your side, dragging the sheets with you.

the room’s too hot. your mouth’s too dry. and you can hear everything — the creak of the leather under his weight, the way he exhales through his nose, the slow, measured breathing of a man who’s trying real fucking hard not to snap.

you smile.

“sweet dreams, cam.”

he doesn’t say a word.

but his fingers twitch on the trigger.

you open your eyes again, voice low but sharp, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

“if someone comes in here to kill me, just let ’em. tell my dad you tried your best, whatever the fuck that means. at least i’d be spared the misery of living like this.”

he stills.

slowly straightens up in the chair like a rope’s been pulled through his spine, jaw locking tight. the lazy, half-asleep look he wore a second ago is gone—replaced by something colder. harder.

“what misery?” he snaps. “you’ve got everything anyone could ever wish for. a house the size of a goddamn hotel. people who move when you blink. closets full of shit you don’t even wear. what the hell do you mean ‘misery’?”

you sit up, blanket pooling around your hips. “oh, so that’s what you think, huh? that money and nameplates make someone happy? that i’m just some rich bitch who cries for attention?”

“you said it, not me.”

“fuck you, rafe.”

“don’t,” he growls, standing now. “don’t act like you’re the only person who’s ever had it hard. i’m not saying what happened to you isn’t real. but don’t come at me with this ‘let me die’ bullshit like you’re some helpless girl trapped in a tower. you’re not.”

you stare at him, chest rising, heat blooming behind your ribs.

“you think watching you waste yourself would be easy for me?” his voice drops now, tighter. lower. “you think i wouldn’t have to carry that with me for the rest of my life?”

you blink.

“cam…”

he steps back, shaking his head, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically pull himself together. “just… shut up and go to sleep.”

“you’re the one yelling.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “because you make me crazy.”

you lie back down. eyes fixed on the ceiling. the air between you still sharp, but quieter now. he doesn’t sit back down in the chair, just stands there in the shadows, breathing hard like he’s run a mile.

and somehow, knowing he’s still there makes it easier to close your eyes again.

the silence stretches.

not soft, not comforting. it buzzes.

you’re almost asleep when he speaks up again.

“why do you never show your back?”

his voice is low. not aggressive this time. not teasing either. it’s… something else.

your eyes snap open, breath hitching.

“what?”

“you heard me.”

he’s leaning on the edge of the chair now, elbows on his knees, watching you in that way that makes your skin itch. “you’ll wear a dress with your ass out and a neckline that’s one wrong move from a scandal, but god forbid i see your back.”

you sit up instantly, sheet clutched to your chest like you’ve been caught naked.

“jesus, are you keeping a log of my wardrobe now?”

he shrugs. “i’m observant.”

“no, you’re nosy.”

“no,” he echoes flatly, “i just don’t trust people with secrets.”

you scoff. “good thing i don’t trust you with them either.”

but your voice is off. a little tight. a little too quick.

his eyes narrow just slightly. “so what is it?”

you cross your arms. “drop it, cam.”

he doesn’t. of course he fucking doesn’t.

“you act like you’re untouchable, like nothing sticks. but whatever it is, it’s got you spooked.”

“you’re imagining things.”

“am i?”

he’s standing again.

you glare. “i said drop it.”

but it’s too late—there’s heat creeping up your neck, your hands gripping the blanket tighter, like he might somehow see through the cotton, see you.

his voice softens, which somehow makes it worse.

“i didn’t ask to hurt you. i just asked why.”

you look away. swallow. “some things aren’t meant for people like you to see.”

he watches you for a beat.

then sits again.

and—for the first time since he showed up at your door with a loaded weapon and a dead stare—you feel like he actually saw something real.

and that’s what scares you more than anything.

he leans forward again, elbows digging into his knees like he’s bracing himself for something. voice low, slow, baiting you like he always does when he wants to get under your skin.

“what does that mean, huh?” his eyes flicker, tone sharp but steady. “does your dad know why you’re hiding your back?”

you stiffen. there’s a pause.

and then—quiet, dangerous—you say,

“no. he doesn’t.” your fingers tighten around the blanket. “and he won’t. not from me. not from anyone.”

rafe raises a brow, not even pretending to hide the way he’s studying you now”

“never say a word about what, exactly?”

you shake your head, eyes flashing. “you don’t get to ask that.”

“the fuck i don’t.”

“you’re my bodyguard, not my priest,” you snap. “and definitely not my therapist.”

his mouth twitches like he’s about to smirk—but doesn’t.

“so it’s something bad then,” he says. not a question. just an observation. “something you think would ruin the little princess image if it ever got out.”

you sit straighter, jaw clenched.

“i said drop it, cameron.”

he tilts his head, still watching. not pushing now—just waiting.

so you throw the covers over your head. not like a child—but like someone seconds away from unraveling, and desperate to protect what’s left.

you don’t see his expression change.

but you feel the air shift when he finally says—

“fine. keep your secrets. but don’t act like they won’t eat you alive eventually.”

and somehow…

it sounds less like a warning,

and more like he would know.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf @pluviophilis

#outerbanks rafe #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x female reader #obx fic #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #bodyguard!rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fluff #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb

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no1blacksapphirefan · 1 month ago

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Hope things get better for you!! If it’s not too much to ask I was wondering how you’d imagine the cookies would react to reader obviously being sick but still logging into the game, like “idc that I’m sick and need rest I need to do these quests IMMEDIATELY”

Me when I got hit in the back of the head with a frisbee tho. I couldn't leave my fav cookies alone <33 Pure Vanilla probably so disappointed though.

Thought it would be funny/entertaining to have this w/ cookies who have the healing element hehe

Pure Vanilla He shakes his head disappointed, you're sneezing so much!! You must get some rest, and no you playing the game to make yourself feel better does not count. Sleep will you? Take some medicine and then, after a long nap. If you're feeling better, THEN you can play.

He wants to tell you this, perhaps you'd be too sick to realise he's talking to you directly. How he wishes his powers could go through the screen and make you feel better, alas he'll have to settle on scolding you while hoping you don't realise in your sick state

Mystic Flour She knows it'll be hard to convince you to rest, she sees it in your eyes. You're dead set on finishing quests and other various tasks. So, she'll just make sure the work you want to do, how do I put this. Isn't doable till you get better.

Your main quest aren't working? Why not put the phone down and it'll be better when you wake up! The timers you want to use? Looks like they're buggy, worry not. It'll be done in a few hours. Rest.up. The longer you stay online, the more likely you'll catch her glaring at you through the screen...oh that? It's just a...glitch...come now, log out and rest, that's what you need.

Herb Cookie As your friend...he begs for you to rest. He's willing to "break the 4th wall" if it means managing to convince you to take a nap, sleep for 8 hours. Anything, as much as he enjoys having you around, he much prefers you to be happy and healthy. He doesn't want to see his friend just, lay around sneezing and coughing but still continuing to play because "there's work to do"

You may not care but he does!! A lot, he's worried about you. If talking to you through the screen is what he has to do to be able to convince you to go to bed, then so be it. Maybe he can mask it off as him talking to his plants? He'll just name it after you and put jr in front of it, he prays it works.

Sparkling Cookie Tut tut, you really shouldn't bother with your quests when you're clearly not well enough for it, he's seen things like it before in his own bars and he had to stop some drunken cookies from doing something they were unfit to do like drive/walk home. So while the reason for you being unfit to do something is different, he isn't exactly a stranger to this kind of thing.

Similar to herb, he isn't scared to talk to you through the screen, gently advise you to go to bed. Even if this ends up freaking you out to the point you exit the game, he hopes you're taking the time to rest, perhaps chalking it up to simply being to sick and hearing things.

Rockstar Cookie He didn't quite catch it at first but when he does he sighs. Do you really love the game that much you're willing to place it in front of your own health? He shakes his head, while he finds the reason to be...endearing in a way, especially if one of the things you "had" to do was say hi to him, maybe update his build and then tap him thousands of times, he still wants you to rest.

He'll play a song, a lullaby even if you had to name it. Something to make you sleepy, something gentle. He knows it's working as your eyes seem to flutter close, you yawn (and cough/sneeze...) and your grip on your phone slowly looses it's strength until you are fast asleep. If it doesn't work he'll only sigh and see if he can get other cookies to help, if it does he smiles and wishes you a good night...let's hope your game doesn't drain your battery though

#✦ Zeros Self-Aware AU #cookie run kingdom #crk #crk x reader #crk x you #cookie run kingdom x reader #Pure Vanilla x Reader #Pure Vanilla x You #Mystic Flour x Reader #Mystic Flour x You #Herb Cookie x Reader #Herb Cookie x You #Herb x Reader #Sparkling Cookie x Reader #Sparkling x Reader #Sparkling x You #Rockstar x Reader #Rockstar x You #Rockstar Cookie x Reader

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helluvapoison · 1 year ago

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Make Me Weak

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Everything you are she should abhor– and would if it was anyone else— so she doesn’t pretend to understand how you weave into her life so easily. That time is instead spent wondering how the fuck she’s survived both her hellish lives without you

• Velvette always felt she was owed the praise and compliments she got. Receiving them from you was an entirely different type of high to ride. Your candied tone and sickeningly sweet words clung to her like smoke and had her itching for more

• You massage her hands so she has no choice but to surrender her phone, only then does she realize how cramped they’ve become. You sit in her workshop during Hell Week, sending a mellowing wave that relaxes her chaos in the form of a simple thumbs up. You make up for not being on the receiving end of her camera by setting up aesthetic dates for her to capture instead

• Velvette captures your chin, “You put up with a lotta my shit, Dollface. I’m not great at sharing credit, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re my muse, baby. Gimme the word and I can have you on a billboard tonight. Fuck Joanne, the raggetty bitch, I’ll bump her and have you up there for all of Hell to see!”

Your smile falters to a grimace, your eyes telling her what she already knows. Vel doesn’t get why you hate the limelight. This conversation always ends one way and if she hears you say one bad thing about yourself, she’ll tear out her hair. With a sigh, she tucks you back under her arm and kisses the crown of your head

“Fine. I didn’t wanna share you anyways.”

Your light laugh makes her smile again

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val does everything in his power not to allow you to witness one of his volatile moments. He has a very specific image of you in his mind and to a looser extent, you do too. You’re not prim or naive that you don’t know what he does, but his violent tendencies are something else to behold. You’re too sweet, too pure to completely join his world

• It’s never bothered him before, seeing that look on someone’s face. The one where their eyes go wide in horror because they know exactly what comes next but there’s no telling what would happen if the pedestal Val put you on crumbled because you saw him grabbing a whore by the neck and using them as an ashtray

• Truly, no indulgence he’s ever sampled has come close to taking the edge off him like one of your hugs. Softer than angel wings and more intoxicating than any elixir, you’re euphoria trapped in a sinner’s body

• “I almost feel bad for keeping you to myself,” Val purrs in your ear. He’s been laying underneath you for six minutes and already the shittiness of the day evaporated, “I could bottle and sell you. Make everyone in Hell as happy as I am.”

A nervous, bitter laugh escapes you

“You wouldn’t make much money, Val.”

“I would make millions, corazón” He argues seriously, though he has no intention of sharing you

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The irony is lost on him; someone as soft as you could bring him, an Overlord, to succumb. Below the surface, he’s more insecure than he lets on. He’s perfected the mask of a charming show host, developed it so well that it bleeds into his personality. So much so, that you make him glitch when he gets an inkling of self doubt. Your gentleness makes him weak and it terrifies him, fills him with the urge to push you away but your arms are so inviting that he lets himself be cradled by them. How could he do anything but?

• Rare are the days where he actually feels tired but those are the days he seeks out your affections. To him, you’re safe. You won’t judge him, you don’t pry for details, you’d never tell him to suck it up

• Vox lets himself sink into the couch beside you, tapping your thigh with a claw to invite you to come closer. You never fail to accept and deliver exactly what he needs. It’s bizarre how you know what he needs when he doesn’t himself. Turning to straddle him, you rest your head on his chest and hug him impossibly closer

• “You’re tense today,” You comment quietly, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come with me to set for once, you’ll find out why.”

Nuzzling into his chest as if trying to find his nonexistent heartbeat, you replied, “Nah. Sounds like too much of a hassle.”

“Exactly why I need you there.”

“Promise not to bring me on air like you’re always threatening to?”

A dry cackle escapes as he keeps his gaze towards the ceiling. Vox has this fanatical plan that you two could be the power couple of Hell, outranking Lucifer and Lilith (and lasting twice as long) if you would just sit at the same desk as him, deliver news and playful banter that would knock 666 News down a couple thousand pegs. You were worried someone wouldn’t want to see your face, you’d make his ratings plummet, you’d ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He hates when you spiral like that.

“No.” Vox mumbles honestly.

He’d prove you wrong like he’s done everyone else, one way or another

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox imagine #velvette imagine #velvette headanons #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #valentino imagine #valentino headcanon #help i’m actually falling for val

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juniperdugong · 11 months ago

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Relationship Quirks 95s ver.

Aka habits I can see the boys doing in a relationship || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line ||

Scoups Calls you his "wife" while you guys are still dating

NOT AROUND YOU... at first but I doubt that the guys wouldn't secretly take video of him whining during practice talking about, "I miss my wife..." all pouty and everything (he saw you this morning), and NOT send it to you.

He's awkward when you bring it up because he doesn't know if you feel that way about the future of your relationship but once he knows you do feel the same way WHEW you do not hear the end of it.

Suddenly, all the reservations he makes are preceded by "Well, me and my wife...", anytime you're brought up in a conversation dude glitches out and HAS to mention you as his wife at least once (especially if it's to someone he thinks might be interested in you), and the yearning only gets worse! He'll leave for tour and after he texts his customary airplane goodbye message to you your phone will be blowing up with texts from the boys complaining about having to hear their leader practically sobbing about how much he misses his wife.

Jeonghan Steals your stuff

Has big "What's yours is mine" mentality, but don't worry! What's his is yours too! He swears it! Despite the drastic difference in how much he's using, borrowing, or straight up taking your stuff...

Let's be clear though, he never takes things he thinks you'll miss and if he finishes something of yours he always makes sure to replace it pronto. If you do get upset he makes a mental note to not mess with that particular item ever again.

Have you noticed a suspicious amount of your clothing (mainly hoodies, hats, and bags) go missing and suddenly see your boyfriend wearing them during a live? Yes. Has there been multiple arguments about this behavior? For sure! Does it absolutely warm your heart when you're at a concert and see a staff member run on stage to hand Hannie his current comfort item (a childhood toy of yours that you didn't even know was missing from your room)? Absolutely, it does. (Apologizes profusely once you find out...doesn't mean a single word of it and you know it because he's giggling the whole time)

Joshua Buys 2 of everything

Since the dawn of your relationship, Shua has gotten 2 of every item he buys. His initial reason was to get to know one another better by trying out things the other liked. This then spiraled to him doubling every single grocery item, clothes he buys, and pretty much anything he orders. Could be an insanely valuable item worth thousands that he's getting paid to promote but if there isn't a matching one for you then it's off the table. And no, he doesn't necessarily want to be "matching" all the time but he likes knowing that you guys could match whenever you wanted to.

He also gets extremely offended if you question why there's so much of everything, seriously he doesn't even want to hear it, like "Because it's ours! And we share! So we need double! Do you hate me or something!?"

"Babe, why do we have so much shampoo..." "I'm promoting it." "There's 2 of every type in here." "Yep." "We don't ne-" "We do need it." "It's too much." "I don't understand what you're saying to me right now."

A/N: The brainrot I have for these men is so real rnnnnn. I just had to separate these by years bc it was getting too long :( I'll have 96s up by today too, so stay tuned for that 96 line OUT NOW!! (Have to do it for my babe Nonu) Reblogs and Comments are much-appreciated lovelies!!

TAGLIST (open): @bemybabiibish

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chaoticace2005 · 1 year ago

Text

Why Vox needs to GET THE FUCK OVER THE RADIO DEMON:

(By Velvette, the only competent of the Vees)

(Her list for Valentino here)

1. He’s just not into you

2. We have better things to do than allocate company time to this.

3. He makes you look stupid

4a. He makes US look stupid (and Valentino already does that enough)

4b. Seriously how are we supposed to stop your boy toy from chasing whore around town when you can’t do the same with your ex? We need to set a (gag) good example for him.

5. What do you even see in him? Tacky coat. And that voice is so old-school.

6. You have two people who (reluctantly) want to work with you. Why spend energy on a guy who doesn’t?

7. This was seven years ago babe. Give it up.

8. I’m tired of finding your Alastor Body Pillow around the penthouse

9. Speaking of the body pillow, did you really have to spend 5k on it?

10. Company money should be used for COMPANY things. The fact we even have an “Alastor” budget is stupid. HE DOESNT EVEN GO HERE. ( @onesidedradiostatic )

11. He fucked off once, he probably will again.

12. Do you really want to fuck with someone who has the princess and king of Hell on his side?

13. It makes Valentino insecure about his sexual prowess, which is not good for anyone.

14. I have to LISTEN to him complain about it.

15. No matter how hard you try, nobody will ever beat “Susan” for #1 rival in that man’s heart. (Which is valid cause Susan SUCKS.)

16. Also you’re wasting company time by having Val put together shitty-Alastor look alike porns? Angel Dust does NOT look like Radio Demon ffs, I though Val was the blind one not you.

17. Your screens keep crapping out whenever you think about him, and we’re running out of ones in storage.

18a. I don’t want to keep having to go to overlord meetings for you because you’re having a breakdown over of he’ll be there or not.

18b. Speaking of breakdowns, STOP MAKING THE WHOLE CITY LOSE POWER.

19. You’ve taken over the entire office space with your Alastor-shrine. It’s not really an inconvenience, just creepy.

20a. Not to kinkshame but I walked in on you and Val fucking with Alastor-wigs on, REALLY?!

20b. Also I think you’re making Val insecure about his lack of hair.

21. STOP asking me to design Alastor-cosplay clothes for you. I don’t want anything to do with this.

22. I already have to deal with one pissbaby

23. Seriously, he isn’t into you. Maybe it’s cause you’re a mess. Maybe it’s cause he’s AROACE. Who knows.

24. You keep interrupting channels to brainwash people into hating the Radio Demon, when we should be brainwashing them into other things.

25. We can all hear you talking to yourself in the shower when trying to come up with shitty comebacks.

26. You display your dreams when you sleep, and while it was funny at first at this point it’s so boring. Val and I want to watch something actually interesting for once rather than the same shit.

27. You keep glitching out in bisexual whenever he comes up and it’s annoying waiting for you to put your shit back together again.

28. I’m sick of movie nights where we just watch your self-made compilations of “Alastor’s Epic Fails” or just watch security footage of him at the hotel.

29. Why do you even try and film him? Your shitty cameras can pick hardly anything up.

30. Honestly this whole thing is just pathetic.

31. Like it used to be cute but now?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel memes #velvette hazbin hotel #the vees #valentino hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #voxval #staticradio #radiostatic #one sided #OneWayBroadcast #lostsignal #stupid hazbin hotel lists #staticmoth #hazbin hotel crack

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badboydevotee · 1 month ago

Text

Your Name Is A Scar I Carry

Summary: He remembers everything. You remember nothing. Caught in a world of riddles, curses, and crimson-laced futures, an impulsive man with blood on his hands carries a burden no one else can see. You're just trying to survive. He's trying to save you—over and over again. But how do you love someone who’s already mourned you a hundred times?

────────────────────────────────────────────

It’s always the same goddamn night.

Same flickering lights in the train corridor. Same scream. Same outstretched hand reaching for someone who never should’ve been there in the first place.

You.

You don’t belong in his world.

You’re not a fighter, or a superhuman. Just a normal person who stepped on the wrong train at the worst time. Just a heartbeat, a laugh, a softness this world never deserved. You weren’t meant for blood and anomalies. And yet—you became the center of the storm.

Every time you die, the world resets.

And every time, Taiga is the only one who remembers.

────────────────────────────────────────────

He didn’t care the first time.

You were nobody. Just a girl with a too-heavy bag, tripping into the aisle with wide, confused eyes. He shoved past you, chasing the Kyklos anomaly, thinking you would disappear like the rest of the world that wasn’t cursed or cruel.

But when you died screaming, and the world snapped back to zero... And it happened again... And again...

He began to realize: You were the anchor.

You were the fixed point that marked the start of every nightmare.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Taiga tried everything.

He ignored you. He warned you. He let you die.

Nothing changed.

Each time, the dream reloaded like a glitching slot machine, and he was the only one holding the memory. Holding the guilt.

You, though—you never remembered. Not once. Every time he met your eyes, it was like you were meeting him for the first time. Innocent. Trusting. Unafraid.

God, it was torture.

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know what you meant. You didn’t know what it cost him to reach for you again.

────────────────────────────────────────────

This loop this time, he plays it differently.

The sun is warm for once. The air smells like citrus and smoke.

You’re struggling with your bag again.

And he’s there, leaning against a streetlamp like he owns the damn universe.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “You look like you’re about to throw your back out.”

He smiles, shark-like, all teeth and charm. “Been a long time.”

You blink. “We’ve never met.”

Oh, but you have.

A thousand times.

────────────────────────────────────────────

“I’ll carry that,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a soft spot for disaster girls.”

You don’t understand. You laugh, but your eyes narrow. You’re wary—he can’t blame you. He looks like trouble. He is trouble.

But you hand him the handle anyway.

Just like always. ────────────────────────────────────────────

At the casino, he plays the All-In. Not because he is one—but because he's desperate to stall the future.

You sit at his table. You laugh at his jokes. You call him reckless, arrogant, impossible.

And he lets you.

Because in every loop before this, you never make it past the seventh day.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You don’t know about the notebook hidden under his mattress. You don’t know about the stunned face of his that marks each time you died. You don’t know the sound you make when the curse hits you. You don’t know how many times he’s carried your body from the wreckage.

And you don’t know that every time he touches you, he’s mourning a version of you that’s already gone.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You don’t know the loop. Only Taiga does.

And it’s killing him.

────────────────────────────────────────────

“You’re not like the others,” you say one night, soft and quiet, watching the city lights glow outside his window. “You act like you know me.”

“I do,” he answers without thinking.

You look at him, confused. “We’ve barely met.”

He wants to scream. Wants to break something. Instead, he just shrugs.

“Feels like longer.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

Eventually, the Kyklos comes again.

It always does.

He sees it in the reflection of your eyes. The way your smile falters. The chill in the air that you don’t notice but he does.

You don’t remember the pain. You don’t remember the curse. You don’t remember dying.

But he does.

So when he shoves you behind him, when he stands between you and the monster, when he pulls the trigger without hesitation—

It’s not because he’s brave. It’s because he’s so damn tired of watching you disappear.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You wake up in his arms.

Alive.

Breathing.

And still unaware of what you escaped.

Taiga’s trembling.

You look up at him, dazed. “Did I...?”

“No,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “You’re okay.”

“Taiga... are you crying?”

He laughs bitterly, wiping his face. “Nah. Just allergies.”

You don’t push him.

You never do.

And he never tells you the truth.

Because if you knew—if you knew how many times you’d died for his sins, how many timelines he burned trying to save you—

You’d never look at him the same way again.

────────────────────────────────────────────

EPILOGUE

Taiga doesn’t sleep much anymore.

Sometimes he stands at the foot of your bed, watching you breathe, memorizing every rise and fall like it’s the first sunrise after a war.

You hum in your sleep. Dreamless. Peaceful.

You don’t know the loop.

You never will.

And maybe that’s a mercy.

Because he’ll remember for the both of you.

────────────────────────────────────────────

"You said you'd never leave, And then you did.

But now you're here, And I won’t let you go again.

Even if it kills me. Even if it already has."

────────────────────────────────────────────

Inspiration: Is It Too Late by Alie Gatie (song) Firebird Trilogy by Claudia Gray (book) ────────────────────────────────────────────

Ao3 vers. Notes: It has been a while, hope everyone's fine. I've been caught up with work and do covers so I barely have time to play or do fic TvT. Work's tiring but we must do our best to survive! Fic posts might be delayed again so please stay and bear with me! <3

#yumejoshi #yume #tokyo debunkers #tokyo debunker x reader #tkdb #angst #taiga hoshibami x reader #hoshibami taiga #taiga hoshibami #tokyo debunker #time loop

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revelboo · 7 months ago

Note

Hey, Happy Halloween, would you consider writing for Rodimus/Hot Rod?

Yep, I absolutely did. It’s fixed now 😅 18+ 🌶️

Attractive Today Pt 1

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

• How can one very large mech just disappear when he wants to? Venting as he walks, Rodimus keeps searching for his missing co-captain. He’d assumed Megatron would be on the bridge, in his quarters, or in Rung’s office. Because all in all, the former warlord isn’t that exciting. He doesn’t hang out in Swerve’s or mingle with the crew unless made to. Having to hunt him down for a meeting is a novelty he doesn’t appreciate, because Megatron is hiding from him. And the former warlord calls him immature.

• The high pitched scream shocks him from his thoughts and he’s moving toward the sound, because that hasn’t been a Cybertronian and it had sounded terrified. Rung’s therapy human? Rounding a corner, he’s not startled to see Whirl, though Trailbreaker is a surprise. But it’s the human running from Whirl’s outstretched claws that snags his attention, because it’s the wrong human. He only has a moment of consternation before it spots him, shrieks at the top of its lungs, Whirl lunges, and it bolts. Face first into a wall and bounces right off. And then Whirl is doubled over laughing, reaching for it. “Oh, this one’s mine. It’s defective,” Whirl says, but Rodimus catches him by the wrist.

• “Absolutely not,” he says as he carefully lifts the limp form to cradle against his chassis. You’re out cold, head lolling against him as he glares at the other two. Trailbreaker’s already lost interest, heading in the direction of Swerve’s as Whirl straightens to his full height like he’s considering trying to just take you. “Where’d it come from?”

• “No idea. It just glitched into what sounded like very painful existence in the hall, saw us and ran screaming,” Whirl grumbles, claws opening and closing. ��And I saw it first.”

• Primus, help him. “No,” he growls, looking around for Magnus or Megatron. Someone else to deal with this. All he does know is that he’s not just handing you over to Whirl, the mech is unpredictable at best and not exactly trustworthy. Ignoring that problem, he glances at your little form. Glitched into existence? Brainstorm. Groaning, he starts walking, aware of Whirl following. Somehow that maniac has to be responsible for this. They’d never figured out how Rung’s little human had gotten on the ship and it hadn’t been able to provide any answers, either. It had just came to on board and found Rung. “Go make sure there’s no more stowaways.”

• Whirl stares at him from his one optic, helm tipped disconcertingly. “If I find one, I’m keeping it and teaching it Cybertronian swears,” he mutters before walking away. “The good ones,” he calls over his shoulder and Rodimus isn’t sure if that’s a threat or a promise, but he doesn’t have time to figure it out, either. Heading to Brainstorm’s lab space shared with Perceptor, he lets himself in and the other mech looks up from where he’s bent over something. And immediately stiffens when he notices the human. “I have no idea where that came from,” he says just a bit too quickly. “And I can’t send it back.”

• “You knew this whole time where Rung’s human came from?” He demands, suddenly understanding why Ultra Magnus is always so exhausted. He can feel your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of you, helping calm his frustration. “Why did you bring them here?”

• “It’s not like I was trying to. It wasn’t supposed to be able to move organic life. I was working on a sort of mini space bridge, a compact version, and things went a bit sideways through no fault of mine,” Brainstorm says in a tone that clearly implies that he’s also not dealing with the fallout from his mistake.

• “There’s just the two, right?” Rodimus growls, servos flexing before he remembers you and eases his grip.

• Brainstorm rolls his hand in a vague gesture. “That’s a bit unclear. There might be two on the Lost Light. There might be a few others. Maybe some not on the ship.” Brainstorm shrugs and Rodimus grits his denta. Reminds himself that as the co-captain, he shouldn’t punch his crew in the face. Even if he dearly wants to. Some not on the ship, what in Primus does that even mean?

#rodimus x reader #transformers x reader #idw rodimus

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 months ago

Note

Hi there! I had an idea for either series!ENA or BBQ!ENA interacting with a reader who's like a therapist or something. Like Ena says something kinda messed up and reader's like "no, that's not normal. Are you ok?" Both these girls need so much therapy, or at least a friend. I think reader becoming protective of Ena would be cute. Reader getting mad at the other entities for being mean to Ena without any real reason (that they know of). If you can't/don't want to do this for any reason, that's OK! Take your time and put yourself first!

I can do both!

..........

Series!ENA

Even though Ena (in Power of Potluck) talked to the Therapist, got rid of Mask, and tried to find joy in the little moments--he believes that someone should still keep an eye on her.

That's where you come in, befriending her just to see how she's been handling life in general ever since her session.

Mask hasn't returned, but right off the bat she looks troubled as you explain who sent you and why, although you reassure her it's normal for your boss to request that you checked up on his past patients.

During your talks, her happier side has no complaints really, always grateful to have a new friend. But she does admit to being bothered by her sad side--mainly the effects it had on people she knew.

She's constantly apologizing for her emotions getting "out of hand", even in front of you, and tries burying that sadness--but she gets a wakeup call after you explain how that can do more harm than good.

Eventually, you build enough trust with Ena that she'll willingly turn into her sadder form, and remain in that state long enough for you to make meaningful progress with her.

You notice her tendencies to jump to nonsensical negative conclusions/inaccurate perceptions of herself.....and of course, she has a lot of crying fits/glitches that you gotta help her cope with.

"I-I don't know, I just feel..stupid and worthless sometimes..a-and everyone around me agwees.."

"You believe everybody thinks of you that way? Can you give me an example?"

"W-Well..this one guy asked me for diwections yesterday, a-and...and I couldn't help him!"

"So...he called you those things as an insult?"

"No, h-he thanked me for twying and w-was polite. But I know that's what he weally wanted to say!! Because I'm too stupid and worthless to give anyone diwections!!"

"How do you know for sure he was thinking that?"

"......I....I-I don't know, actually.."

You've gotten better at redirecting her negative thinking, and making her realize that a lot of her assumptions are kinda silly...

Least to say, she feel better coming to you for advice.

Some days she wants to ramble about her day with Moony or what she saw in the sky. Other times, she just needs a hug and a shoulder to cry on. And you're more than willing to offer those at any time.

Outside of your work, you've tagged along in her many adventures, seeing for yourself how rude other entities act towards her---and knowing so many languages helps you easily back sass those who insult her.

They always assume you can't understand them...until you leave them (and Ena) shocked when you suddenly speak their same language.

Dream BBQ!ENA

"So the Genie of the Lonely Door basically told me I'm unforgivable and should be punished for being born.......but that's not even the worst part of that day-"

"P a u s e."

That pretty much sums up your sessions/hangouts with this Ena.

As soon as she was done dealing with the Boss, she finally took time off of work to get some much-needed counseling.

Fortunately, you were a friend she met during one of her assignments who happened to be pursuing psychology, travelling far and wide to study the minds of everyone you've met.

You suggested that she gave therapy with you a try and, holy hell...you were in for a surprise.

She was willing to pay you in chocolates, fatty catties, etc. for your services....which was perfect compensation considering you may need therapy for yourself.

Salesperson yaps about the most recent absurd/rude thing an entity did or said to her...while pretending like it's just another day in the workweek, looking confused when you point out how that's not normal at all.

Meanie, on the other hand, is a different beast. And is honestly the half you're more worried about.

Since she represents the typical fatigued worker who's trapped in their job and feels like they can't afford to have any fun or luxuries without suffering for it.....she vents a lot, and her opening up about it is like her chipping through a brick wall.

Her anxiety over even mentioning the things that bother her is enough to make vines creep onto her body.

And one time, her broken green form showed up at your doorstep, which was terrifying at first glance....but then you recognized that she desperately needed your help--and you let her in, consoling her until she was able to restabilize and explain what led to that state.

Luckily that's the only time you've ever seen that form, and the vines on her body have grown smaller and weaker to the point where they were barely visible.

It quickly becomes apparent to you that Ena is struggling with some form of PTSD, as though she was a soldier trying to find her place in regular society again--returning from a war that you had no idea even occurred.

You've been trying to uncover the mystery of what she's done in the past...and if that was connected to why so many people seemed to hate her.

Regardless of the reason, though, you hoped to remain her friend and that she'd keep visiting you as often as she needed.

#homegirls need therapy fr fr #at least series!ena did get some #but dbbq ena will def need it by the time she's done with all the doors #clanask #anonymous #ena x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #webseries ena x reader #headcanons #platonic #hurt/comfort #therapist reader

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yourplaywright · 7 months ago

Text

hey did someone say they want more babybee? i say as i shove someone out of the way.

i brought more…. so…. take it ig

“You’re going to get me in trouble!” Jazz hisses, picking B up. The bot dangles down like a roudy newbuild, crossed arms and pout included. Well, that makes sense, since nobody knows how old B is, though it can’t be more than 10 cycles with how underdeveloped some parts of his frame were.

“I was trying to help!” B cries, eyeridges furrowing. “How was I supposed to know that would happen?”

Jazz gestures wildly to the light fixture that, suspiciously, was now shattered and scattered on the floor. “The fact it was swinging didn’t clue you in?”

“Everyone deserves a chance!”

“It is— was— a fragging light!”

B’s shoulders slump. “‘m sorry, Jazz.”

“You should be,” he huffs, glaring at the younger bot through his visor. “Honestly, if you got hurt Elita would flip out. You aren’t, right?”

“Nope!” B gives him a thumbs up.

Jazz shakes his head, feelings simmering down. “I’m sorry for yelling, I just got stressed thinking you were hurt. Check in with Ratchet to make sure you didn’t cut yourself on any glass, alright?”

“Alright.”

—

“What do you mean you can’t find him?”

Elita levels him with a look. “You know what I mean. He’s not in Optimus’ office, he’s not trying to bother me, and Cliffjumper and Hotrod have been racing with Mirage all day.”

“Oh,” Jazz says. “Have you checked with Ratchet in the medbay?”

“Why would B be in the medbay?!”

Jazz raises his servos. “Hey, hey, calm down Dad. I told him to check in with Ratchet after he had a little accident, that’s all.”

“An accident?” Elita places her servos on her hips, looking less than convinced.

“He fell,” Jazz says, not technically lying. “He was totally fine, though, just thought he should get looked over.”

Elita’s face softens. He won’t be maimed, then. “Right. Well, you’re coming with me to check when Ratchet last saw him.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

—

“B hasn’t been in for any checkups,” Ratchet says, scrolling through a datapad. “I think he’s been ignoring the developmental ones, too.”

“Oh,” says Jazz, who’s chance of being murdered have increased fivefold. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Ratchet sighs heavily, squinting at whatever he’s reading. “I need to take his inner energon samples to see if he still has that mineral deficency…”

“We’ll leave you to it, doc,” Elita says, smiling.

“Please don’t send Jazz back to me,” the medic deadpans.

Jazz laughs awkwardly and backs away. “I’ll go look over… here.”

Elita glares. “If I find him first, I’m cutting your pay.”

“If I do?”

“Your reward is survival.”

Jazz takes the hint, sprinting down the hallway.

—

B messed up. He messed up and Jazz was mad at him.

He covers his mouth to stifle another sob, curling up more. His frame hurts, glass shoved into delicate joints and under thin plating. His digits ache. It hurts and he deserves it, doesn’t he? He messed up, like he always does.

They’ll realise how useless he is and then they’ll send him back to sublevel 50 because that’s the best place for a useless glitch like him—

Above him, something creaks. He glances up and yelps quietly when he sees Laserbeak staring back at him.

“Wh- How did you get in here?”

Laserbeak chirps, hopping down and landing on his shoulder. He cringes a bit and the cassessete starts rumbling gently.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, which just makes Laserbeak hunker down more. “Alright, alright.”

He shuffles to place the cassessete in his lap, messing with some of the kibble on his wings. “It’s a long way from the base,” he says. “Are you hungry?”

The cassessete hops around, doing an uncharacteristically obvious basic scan. B blinks, realising his own energon levels are low. “Oh.”

Laserbeak nudges his helm gently, before taking off out an open window he never noticed before.

“That’s one hidey hole compromised,” B says, standing up on shaky legs and sliding out of the storage room.

He presses himself against the wall as a blur of colour rushes by. He recognises the shades of blue, white, and black as belonging to Jazz.

… he should probably help him.

#transformers #bumblebee #transformers one #jazz #tf jazz #elita one #elita 1 #laserbeak #he’s a good friend #bird #thing #b 127 #ratchet #my fav grump #babybee #live laugh love bumblebee #he’s curing my writer’s block

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theconstantsidekick · 3 months ago

Text

Sad and Funny

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader (future), Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader (past), Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Angst? I think?

Summary: Bucky gets an unexpected call on a random Tuesday night, asking him to come to a bar and be the designated driver for Y/n Stark... the woman whose family he murdered? Yeah, that one. But she used to be his best pal's best girl, so he can't not show up, right?

(This takes place before the events of Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static. However, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. But it’s fun. I promise.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Near Alcoholism, Mentions of Past Traumas, Grief, Self Deprecation, Self Hate, just an overall sad time tbh.

a/n: I read some destiel fic about dude a crying about dude be to dude c and this idea just sprung up.

Bucky Barnes, The Boyfriend (other one-shots) | The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Static Verse Masterlist

“Hi.”

“I’m—I’m looking for—a girl? She’s apparently really drunk, looks like an Avenger?”

“Sergeant Barnes,” a voice calls out to him from the end of the bar. “This way!”

With a hushed thanks to the bartender he’d been talking to, he makes his way through the bar.

“Thanks for coming, Sergeant Barnes,” the guy puts out his hand for him to shake.

Bucky takes it. “Murdock, right?” He searches his brain for the full name. “Matt Murdock? The lawyer?”

The guy—Murdock, smiles. “Yes. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances considering the last time, but this is as good as it gets for a guy in my line of work.” He seems very sincere, like he actually is very happy to meet Bucky at a shady little bar in Hell’s Kitchen. And what does Bucky know? Maybe he is.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies in a non-reply. But Murdock doesn’t seem to mind, and well, no one really should. Bucky’s mind is elsewhere. “I—I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what I’m doing here.”

Murdock fidgets, fixing his red glasses while his smile falters, only a little. “She’s—uh—” his lips curve up again”—pretty out of it,” he points behind himself, at the table. “I didn’t think I’d be very capable at handling that situation given… my predicament.” Murdock nods at the walking-stick in his hand. And, well, yeah. Fair enough. “So, she asked me to call you.”

“Why?”

Murdock stills for a second, gripping the handle of his walking stick with both hands. “Don’t you think that’s a question better posed to her?”

Well, yeah.

He can’t fucking ask her, though. Can he?

But Murdock doesn’t give him the chance to counter. “So, can I count on you?”

“What?” Bucky’s so fucking lost right now.

“Can I count on you?” He repeats. “To get her home safe?”

Oh, shit! Yeah. “Yes… Yes, of course.”

Murdock hands him a napkin, “Great! That’s her address and her keys are in her pocket.” Bucky nods, still very lost. But Murdock smiles at him again, “Thank you so much for doing this. I have an arraignment early in the morning, so I gotta be on my way. I’m really sorry for dumping her on you like this.”

“It’s—it’s no problem.”

He nods then, smile still intact. “Thanks again, Sergeant.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not completely registering what’s going on. Murdock takes the opportunity to walk past him, and make his way towards the door.

Bucky’s intently staring down at the napkin he’s just been handed and he can’t help from wondering… did Murdock write it down? He couldn’t have, obviously. So, does that mean some random person in this bar just knows her address now? Should Bucky be worried about that? But then again, he’s gotten his ass handed to him on a platter enough times to know, it would be frankly, silly to take her on. However, the world has gone to shit lately, so maybe—

“For what it’s worth,” Murdock calls out, halfway to the door, “she seemed quite—content when you agreed to come.”

Bucky’s left speechless.

“Take care, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Yeah. See you around, Murdock.” Oh fuck.

The moment the words are out of his lips, he knows he’s fucked up. He’s fumbled—hard. He winces and his hand slowly comes up to clasp his mouth in pure embarrassment.

Mudrock pauses at the door, head falling.

Bucky’s thanking all the Gods above for his super hearing right about now, cause he can hear Murdock chuckling at Bucky’s horrifying fumble.

Before he can apologise, Murdock’s already out the door.

He sends out a silent prayer cum apology to the universe, and adds this to his never ending fuck ups.

Trying to shake off the embarrassment, with measured, slow movements, he takes a seat on the table, opposite the woman who’d apparently asked him here.

“Y/n?”

She’s sitting—if he can call it that—with her head on the cold, hard table. There’s a slice of lemon in her mouth that��s sticking out and her hand is gripping onto her liquor filled glass like someone might steal it.

She looks like she just conked out mid sentence, and fell face first onto the table.

He tries again, “Hey, Y/n?” No response.

He doesn't want to jerk her awake, but it doesn’t seem like he has a choice anymore.

“Y/n?” He gently touches her elbow. And motherfucker! She’s up in an instant.

The first thing she does the moment she’s up is spit out the slice of lime from her mouth and down her entire drink in one go.

Once she’s done, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, slamming the glass on the table. “Tess!”

Who the fuck is—

“What do you want?” The bartender from before shouts back.

“Another drink—for me and tall, dark and brooding over here,” Y/n replies, pointing at Bucky.

“I already told you, you’re cut off!” Tess, the bartender, throws back from behind the bar, as she continues to work.

“You can’t cut me off, Tess! I’m an Avenger! I saved the world! You can’t cut me off! Them’s the rules!” Y/n argues. Bucky can clearly smell the liquor on her, he thinks he could probably do that even without his enhanced sense of smell. But her competence doesn’t seem all that hindered because all of that made very clear sense. And sounded borderline logical too. You save the world, you get to drink however much you want? Seems like a fair bargain to Bucky.

“Not in this bar!” Clearly it doesn’t seem fair to Tess.

Y/n huffs, deflates. “Fine,” she gives in. “I’ll take a look at the refrigerator in the back, tomorrow—when I’m sober, if you give me and my roguishly handsome comrade here another round. How about that?” Bucky’s entire body stops functioning. But Y/n either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. “What say, Tess?”

“There’s something wrong with the lights in the office too—”

“I’ll look over the entire bar’s electrical grid.”

“... One last round and then you’re done.”

Y/n rejoices like she’s won a war. Clapping her hands, she shouts in excitement. “You’ve got yourself a deal, sweets.” And then she turns to him, “What will you have?”

Bucky’s been rebooting so far, so instead of saying anything competent he just makes a noise that sounds something like, ‘What?’

“The drink? What’s your poison?”

“Uh, no. I—I’m good.”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed. “Come on, man! Just have a drink.”

“I’m supposed to be your designated driver, wouldn’t it be pretty irresponsible to drink?” Bucky shifts nervously and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

But she doesn’t think his excuse is anywhere near valid. “You’re a super soldier, dude. One drink won’t even touch you. Just—gimme some company, alright?” She huffs, “Please?”

He swallows thickly. “Whiskey,” he tells Tess. “On the rocks.”

The bartender nods, “Two whiskeys on the rocks, coming up.”

The bar is fairly free of commotion, if you discount Y/n Stark’s antics. It’s a cosy little joint. Bucky must have walked past it a million times without paying any attention to it before. But now that he’s here, he can see why someone like her might enjoy it. It’s dimly lit, there’s a jukebox in the other corner, playing songs that Bucky knows for once in his life and all the patrons are on the older side, and completely unbothered by the presence of two Avengers amongst them.

Maybe he’ll come back here some other time. Neat place, nice bartender and no-one ogling him, the place meets all his criterias.

“Oh!” Y/n exclaims suddenly. “Where are my manners?” She sits up straighter. “Sergeant Barnes, thank you for coming. I won’t pretend that I’m not surprised to see you, but thankful regardless.”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly, brows knitting together. “Don’t—don’t mention it.” He can’t help it, he has to ask, “Sorry but, are you drunk? I really can’t tell.”

“Oh, I’m plastered,” she answers casually, grabbing another slice of lemon from a shot glass full of them. She begins nibbling at it.

“How’d you manage that? Isn’t your metabolism like mine? It would’ve taken you at least a couple bottle to even—”

She looks at him dead straight, “I own half of Stark Enterprises, and I’ve been drinking like a tankard since I first tasted freedom—back in ‘53.”

Fair enough, he thinks to himself. “So, you’re saying you’ve got practice.”

“And then some.”

Tess brings their drinks just then, and places a glass each in front of them.

Both of them quickly express thanks.

She raises her glass, he follows too, because what the hell else is he supposed to do?

“To Steve Rogers, the lying piece of shit.”

Oh.

She clicks her glass with his and takes a sip.

Bucky just cocks his head in mild disagreement and sets his drink back down on the table. “That’s what we’re drinking to?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, “Why? You got a problem?”

He sighs, “I understand why you’re upset with him, but he’s still my best friend.”

“Why?”

He bites his lip, trying to control whatever emotions are stirring inside him.

But Y/n Stark isn’t one to back down. “He left you,” she says. “Just like he left me—except yours is worse.” She smiles, and it’s the most cutting and painful thing Bucky’s seen in a while. “End of the line, he’d said.” Snorting, she adds, “Guess his line ended a lot sooner than yours, huh?” Bucky’s jaw clenches. And she must notice the shift in his demeanor instantly—which he has to admit is a feat considering her claims of being plastered. Her hand comes up to lips, covering them, like a child caught saying a cuss word. “That was—that was mean. I’m sorry—I wasn’t… It wasn’t a jab at you—really. It was,” she stumbles over her words, finally seeming drunk. “It was—it was meant for him. Not you.” She shakes her head, sadness clear in her motions. “Not you.” She raises her glass again then, “To life,” she begins, “that’s mostly sad, but sometimes—like in this moment—funny.”

Bucky’s not sure what to do next, so he decides to do the obvious thing. He raises his glass, clicks it with her and takes a drink. “Funny?” He asks, “How?”

“It’s tuesday night, and I’m so fucking hammered that I had to call up the one guy who hates me more than I hate myself to come drive me home.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Don’t know about you, but that’s pretty fucking funny in my book.”

He’s more lost now than when he walked into this joint. “Hate—I don’t hate you? Why would I—Why would I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She asks him like it’s the most obvious thing. But it’s not. And she must see that to him it is not obvious at all, because then she explains, “I am the reason why he left, pal.” She points to herself so hard, Bucky wants to pull her hand away, “I am the reason why he left you. Why don’t you hate me?”

His heart breaks.

“He—he didn’t leave because of you, Y/n. You—you have to know that!”

“Didn’t he?” She challenges with her head cocked. “If I could make him love me enough, then he never would’ve left—he never would’ve felt out of place in this world, in this time. If—” She lets out a hollow, broken laugh. “If I could make him love me enough, he would’ve stayed.” She closes her eyes briefly, before opening them to face him again. “I’m your culprit, Sergeant. If I had been… enough then you wouldn’t have had to navigate this shitty new world all by your lonesome.”

Fucking hell, Steve.

“That—that’s not true! He loved you.” She begins to protest, but Bucky cuts her off. “I knew that guy since before he could stand up long enough to pick a fight, and I am telling you—he loved you.” He really did. Steve really did love her, completely and utterly. “He just needed—” he sits back. “He needed to go live the life he lost. It—it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t because you weren’t enough… He loved you, more than you know.”

“Well, he had a funny way of showing it,” she remarks, feigning ease. Taking another swig from her glass, she says, “But that’s just life, isn’t it? Sad and funny—sad that he left, funny that he maybe loved me even as he did it.” Bucky has to look away. “Still, at least he gave me this.” When he looks up she’s pointing at him. “Another curiously morose, and remarkably hilarious moment.”

“I want to ask, but I’m afraid to,” Bucky admits to her, with a curious look over his glass.

She holds up her finger, “Think about it, Sergeant Barnes—ex-Hydra assassin,” she points to him, “ex-Hydra assassin,” she points to herself. And then slowly she spreads her arms, motioning to the entire place, “United States of America, baby!”

Bucky can’t help it. He shakes his head with a hint of a smile.

“Can you imagine? If Armin Zola saw this?” She asks, clearly finding this all very, very funny. “Do you think, when he was creating us—the Winter Soldier and Static—that he could’ve even imagined a scenario where I would call you up on a random Tuesday night to be my designated driver?” She begins laughing. “Can you—can you imagine if someone were to tell him that this would happen? Do you—” she’s having a hard time getting her words out, with all the giggling, “Do you think he still would have created us? Hydra’s two most lethal weapons, sharing a drink in Hell’s Kitchen?” She cannot physically control herself, cannot stop the laugh that bursts out of her.

And Bucky’s gotta admit, that is pretty damn funny.

Sad and funny.

“Come on, you think it’s funny too,” she accuses. “I can see in your eyes, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he says, his smile blooming as he takes a sip. “It is kinda funny.”

“I remember,” she begins in between her laughs, “Peggy used to tell me Red Skull said that he could see the future, in the Tesseract, and man! That’s a load of shit, cause if he actually could, and he knew this would be the outcome, I don’t think the man would have experimented on himself and turned, you know?”

“Red?” Bucky supplies, smiling wide now.

“Red!” She shakes her head, still chuckling. “He was so fucking stupid. I mean—all of Hydra’s fucking stupid.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Bucky counters, adjusting in his seat.

“No, seriously, consider this for a second!” All of a sudden, she’s all excited and pumped. She takes another sip of her drink before she starts, “They were fucking useless, man. I mean, name one great plan of world domination that worked out for them?”

Bucky—he stops. “What—that’s—What?”

She puts her hand up and begins counting, “Started a war, lost the war because of a kid from Brooklyn who juiced himself up with a serum they could never really recreate.” Well, okay. Bucky can concede to that. “Infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., schemed for decades, only to be found out, by the same fucking guy.” Alright, that’s fair, too, he supposes. “Created Babayaga, a fucking ghost story,” she motions to him, “but then lost him too, cause they were dumb enough to send him on a mission to encounter his best bud—who, again, same fucking guy.” In retrospect, that does seem very stupid on their part. “Decided to commit mass genocide again, tried to kill 7 milliion people but got taken down by a guy in an eye-patch, a dude with wings, an ex-Widow, a fucking ex-Hydra employee,” meaning her, “and the same fucking guy!”

Put it like that?

Bucky’s not sure what to say.

“You have to be a special kind of incompetent to screw up that bad, and be defeated by the same fucking guy that many times,” she surmises. “I mean, did they ever even actually accomplish anything?”

“I think you’re forgetting the countless assassinations they orchestrated,” he counters, leaving the ‘and we pulled off’ part silent.

She meets him eye to eye then, “Sure, we killed a bunch of people for them but—I’m gonna talk about the one thing we don’t talk about, now. I’m sorry, but it’s important to the point I’m making here—take Howard and Maria, for instance. The Winter Soldier killed them and stole the last of the serum, sure. And then what? They made more Winter Soldiers that were killed in their sleep by Helmut fucking Zemo?”

Bucky’s having a hard time breathing with the crushing weight of his guilt burning a hole through chest, but Y/n seems distinctly unaffected by it.

“None of the shit they did, or made us do, ever really panned out,” she summarizes, easily. Like she isn’t technically stating that her family died for nothing, that he killed them for nothing.

“Just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean there wasn’t any damage done, Y/n. That’s not how it works,” he argues, with a curt tone.

She must notice it too, “I understand you must think I’m inferring that your… misery was all for naught. Which, I suppose I am, but I hope you can also see that if I make that statement with respect to you, it also reflects upon me.”

“Let me get this straight, what you’re saying is—we both got the shit end of the stick, years of torture and guilt, for absolutely nothing?” He leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Yes,” she answers simply.

“And that—that’s fine with you?”

She shrugs. “Isn’t all misery meaningless?” She throws back, not impolitely. “Furthermore, if there were a meaning behind our misery, would it be any less miserable?”

Well, fuck.

Bucky’s at a loss for words.

Because while it pisses him off to no end, she isn’t wrong. If there had been a reason behind Hydra’s years long torture of him, would that have made any of it better? Would it really have mattered to him? Would it have changed anything other than the fact that he’d feel far more guilty about it? And if there really isn’t any meaning to it, does it make it hurt any less?

While she’s clearly sympathetic to Bucky’s spiralling inner monologue, she doesn’t seem all that affected by it as she looks over at Tess and wordlessly asks for the bill. “Look, pain is pain is pain. Meaningful or not makes no difference. My comment wasn’t on either of ours, though. I just meant—if one has the kind of power and resources Hydra did, I’d like to think they’d do something a little more significant with it.”

It takes a second for Bucky to readjust to her casual tone and even more casual words. And that’s not even taking his spiral into account. So, his answer comes out after a short pause, “I thought you already did.” She cocks his brow at him in question. “You founded S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She tilts her head, impressed. “Most people don’t know that.”

He shrugs, “I’m not exactly most people.”

She smiles, giving in.

Tess comes to them with a check, and Y/n pays it leaving a hefty tip.

“I may have been a founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D.” she says, once Tess has left, “but you forget that I also worked for them as an agent.” Both of them begin getting up from their seats. “I went on just as many missions for them, as I did for Hydra, if not more… But knowing what we know now, I couldn’t tell you where the orders really came from.” With that she puts on her jacket in one clean motion and walks past Bucky towards the exit.

When he catches up to her, she’s outside, staring at his bike.

“That yours?” She asks.

He pulls the keys out of his pocket. “Yeah…” His eyes fall to the ground as he adds, “Steve gave it to me.”

“Figures,” she says with a hint of annoyance. “It’s a Harley-Davidson Sportster, right?” Her eyes are set on the bike in front of her, but Bucky nods anyway. And though she can’t see him, she continues, “He gave me the same one in red.”

“You—you’ve got a bike?”

She turns to him then, “I’ve got several.”

Color him surprised. “Huh,” is all he can say. And to make up for the lack of words he begins walking over to the bike. “You coming?”

“Coming where?” She asks, blocking his way with her body.

He nods to the bike, he sidesteps her to finish his initial task of getting onto it. “I thought the whole point of calling me here was to drive you home.”

“On that?” She questions like she doesn’t already know the answer. “I’m shit faced dude, and you’re a fucking furnace. I’ll fall asleep on your shoulder in 10 seconds flat and fall off the damn thing.” The image does something to Bucky that he doesn’t want to look too closely at—not the falling off part, the other part.

“You said the word ‘furthermore’ in there like it was something people say in casual conversation. The longer I stick around, the more I wonder if you’re actually even drunk,” he argues.

She rolls her eyes and stomps her feet. “Yes, because being babysat by you was on top of my Make A Wish list.” She puts her hands in her jacket pockets. “My place isn’t that far from here. I’ll just walk home. Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/n—”

“Thanks for showing up, especially because you didn’t have to,” she smiles at him. “You’re a good man, Sergeant Barnes.” With that she begins walking away.

And fuck him.

Fuck this all to hell.

He gets off his bike and catches up to her in a few steps.

At first, she doesn’t acknowledge him. But then she says, almost to the world, instead of Bucky, “My place is actually really far from here.”

“I know,” he replies.

“You could’ve just put me in a cab,” she offers.

“You want me to hail one for us?” He asks.

“No,” she confesses, like it’s a secret but not one she wants to hide from him. “I want to walk.”

“It’ll take an hour on foot,” he reminds her.

“For most people, yes. But we’re not most people.”

He sighs, “So, we’re walking?”

“I know I’m walking—to my place. You can still run back to your bike and just ride off into the sunset… or moonlight, whatever.”

Yeah, right.

Like Bucky’s gonna do that.

So they walk.

It’s not all that late, the streets are still buzzing with pedestrians, none of whom neither care nor notice the two Avengers walking around.

Bucky’s gotta admit—it is peaceful.

“You like bagels?”

He’s caught completely off-guard by the question. “What?”

“Bagels, Sarge. I know they had them in the ‘30s. And I’m certain they are a thing in Wakanda, so you can’t—”

“Yes, I like bagels.”

She smiles. “Great! Come on!” She takes a right on the street and Bucky, as is the theme of the night, lost and confused, follows her.

The bagels are pretty fucking great.

Bucky had skipped dinner to rush over, so he really needed to put something in his stomach so you won’t really hear him complain. He’s not all that picky about what he eats, never had a chance to be. But these—they are really good.

Well, except for—

“Why is mine rainbow colored?” He asks, but eats it anyway, it’s his last bite.

“To make up for the lack of it in your life.”

That makes him snort.

“Can I ask you something?” She says then, looking deceptively small.

“Will it stop you if I said ‘no’?”

She makes a face that says, ‘you’ve got me there, Sarge.’ “Why’d you come?”

He almost chokes.

Clearing his throat, he composes himself a little before he answers, “Your friend, Murdock sounded… worried on the phone.”

“He is not my friend,” she tells him laughing, as if it isn’t a sad thing to say. “We’re just… acquaintances. Even that might be a stretch. He hates me, actually. Well, maybe not hate. Let’s just say he doesn’t like me an awful lot.”

“You make it a habit of drinking with people who don’t like you very much?” He doesn’t really mean anything by that. He’s just making small talk.

But then she looks at him sideways, with a smirk. “It would seem so, yes.”

He gets up from where he’s sitting on the bench. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that I don’t like you but it’s wrong.”

“Is it?”

Bucky’s not sure why he’s getting so worked up over this. All he knows is that he doesn’t want her to think that he holds any ill will against her. “I have no reason not to like you—none whatsoever. You, on the other hand, have plenty not like me!” She laughs at him. And that works him up some more. “So, tell me, Y/n, what the hell am I doing here? Why the fuck did you call me?”

It might have been all the blood rushing to his head courtesy of getting worked up, or maybe it’s just plain old carelessness. Because Bucky knows, as soon as the words are out, that he’s fucked up.

And the atmosphere immediately shifts.

He was supposed to emphasis on ‘me’ and not ‘fuck’.

“Y/n—” he tries to walk his words back but it’s already too late.

“What, you had something better to do?” She asks, cutting and unkind towards him for the first time in the entire night. Bucky looks away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, triumphantly. “Did it cross your mind that maybe I called you cause you’re the only person on my contact list who I knew wouldn’t have any big plans tonight? Seeing as the only friend you ever had left you hanging like a ditchable prom date.” She looks at him, accusing, “And yet, you still won’t kick him off that damn pedestal.” She laughs, pacing now. “You’re fucking pathetic, Barnes.” Oh. So that’s what this is. “You’re stuck here, still holding on to him, looking up to him like a beacon of hope, defending him—for what?” He really should have known that this is what this was. “I don’t know whether to pity you or laugh at you.”

He can’t help it.

He laughs.

“Something funny?” She bites back, still raging.

He relaxes. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Sad and funny, like life.”

“You wanna share it with the rest of the class, Sarge? Tell us what’s got you giggling like a teenager?”

He looks at her then, with all the patience in the world. “You called me to pick a fight.” Her face loses all color, it goes slack. “You’re drunk and you’re sad, and you wanted to fight… And who better to pick it with than me?” Her jaw clenches. “Look, I know you’re hurt. You’re mad at him for leaving and it hurt—I get that, I do, better than anyone else—”

She cuts him off. “No. No! You don’t get shit. Don’t do that—don’t act like you and I are the same. We are not!” Her hands are flying everywhere. Her anger is very animated. “When he left me he was being an asshole, but when he left you he was being a fucking traitor.” And just like that, Bucky’s left dumbstruck as all the anger leaves her body. “We—we weren’t together, not really. I mean, we weren’t even a thing anymore, not since Siberia. He didn’t owe me shit anymore. But you? He owed you the fucking world and he left you anyway. So, we are not the same! Because I have absolutely no right to be mad at him!” She turns away from him. “You’re not the ditchable prom date, Sergeant Barnes—I am.”

It feels like a gut punch hearing her say that.

“Hey, look at me.” She doesn’t. She’s stubborn. But he can be stubborn too. “Look at me, come on.” She relents. “You’re not a ditchable anything, alright? Now, he may be my friend, and I can understand that he had to go live out the life that was stolen from him, but that doesn't mean I didn’t tell him he was a jerk for leaving you behind.”

“You did that?” Her brows furrow.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because he was being a jerk…?”

And then, and only then—when she’s laughing does Bucky feel like he can breathe again.

“I didn’t call you to pick a fight, James—can I call you James? I’m gonna call you James. Sergeant Barnes is really hard to say when I’m this drunk—but yeah. I didn’t call you to pick a fight with you. I called you, because you’re the only person I could.”

Bucky’s lost all over again. “What are you talking about? You could’ve called Rhodes? Or Pepper? Or Banner, or that guy with the bow and arrow, whose name I can never remember—”

“Clint Barton.”

“—Barton,” he corrects and continues, “Hell! You could’ve called Sam and he’d come running. You’ve got people, Y/n. People who care about you, a lot.”

Sighing, she slowly walks over to the bench and takes a seat. Shoving her hands in her pocket, she begins, “Rhodey’s got a hot date tonight. And Pepper’s probably reading some stupid book, after having tucked Morgan into bed. Banner is deep underground, somewhere on an Island, which you never heard from me. Batron’s youngest’s got this cold that won’t quit. And Sam is on a mission…. And we don’t really talk anymore…” She looks up at him from where she sits, “But even if every single one of them weren’t busy, I still would’ve called you.”

Bucky’s gonna happily ignore how the sentiment warms his heart. “Why?”

She takes a second. She pauses to find her words.

Once she has them, she begins, “Apart from Sam, they’ve all done the picking me up from a bar when I’m shit-faced routine at least ten times over, each of them.” Ouch. “The last time it happened, Rhodey read me the riot act and yelled some sense into me,” she confesses. “He—he said, ‘I get that you’re grieving, Y/n. But if you don’t pull yourself together sooner rather than later, you won’t have anyone left to come pick you up from your bender.’ And yeah. He was right, but that’s not why I didn’t call him.” She clenches her jaw. “I didn’t call him, or Pep or Banner, or Barton or Sam, cause they’ll always presume that I’m grieving—and don’t get me wrong, I am. But—” her voice breaks. “I’m also trying to get over the world’s most extraordinary break up.” She sniffles and Bucky’s legs almost give out at the sound of it. “They—they think this is about Tony, and fuck. It should be about Tony! It is about Tony! But—but it’s about Steve, too! I mean, fuck. Yeah. I lost my brother, but—but I lost the only man I’ve ever loved too, goddamn it!” She’s crying now and before Bucky can think better of it, he walks over and kneels in front of her. “And—and I can’t tell them that. I can’t tell them, that I’m out here drinking myself into oblivion because of a fucking boy! Because, how fucking stupid is that?”

“It’s not stupid at all.”

“Of course it is! My brother died, James. He fucking died! He sacrificed his life to save the whole world! And I’m sitting here crying cause I got dumped!” Bucky wishes he was back in the ‘40s when he always had a handkerchief in his pocket for a dame to wipe her tears, because she’s crying in earnest now. “You know what’s the worst part?”

“What’s the worst part?”

“The one person—the one fucking person I want to call to pick me—fuck that. The one person I want to drink my sorrows with, the one person I want to go on a bender and paint the town red with is fucking dead!” Well, fuck. “Not that it stops me—you know? When I’m drunk, and I mean three sheets to the wind, kinda drunk, I completely forget that he’s—that he’s not gonna answer the fucking phone anymore.” Sniffling, she tries composing herself. “That’s probably why I drink, I think. Cause for those 30 minutes, when I’m plastered, I forget that my best friend, my brother, my Tony is dead.” And she laughs, surprising him and herself both. “I mean, that and the fact that America’s Golden Boy fucking dumped me for the most amazing woman there has ever existed in all of existence.” He can’t help me, he laughs a little at that too.

She wipes away her tears and composes herself fully. “I called you, because you’re the only person who probably won’t think I’m an asshole for sometimes being just as heartbroken about losing Steve as I am about losing Tony.” She looks at him with her wide eyes, vulnerable and open for the first time since he met her all those years ago in whichever Hydra base they were trapped in. “I called you because, you, Sergeant Barnes, are the only person who I wouldn’t guilty with, for setting my all-consuming grief aside once in a while to let myself drown in my heartbreak.”

Bucky Barnes doesn’t know this yet, but in a few years, he’ll become her permanent designated driver, for all time, always. He’ll become her emergency contact. He’ll become her ride to every single event. He’ll become her safe place.

In a couple of years, Bucky Barnes will become the man she loves more than she’s ever loved anyone ever before, and he’ll love her back with everything he is and everything he has—steadfast, unwavering, without hesitation.

And while Y/n Stark will give up drinking in the memory of her relationship with Steve Rogers, she’ll never fully outrun the grief of losing her brother. It will come in waves, fierce and unrelenting. And on the nights when it feels too heavy, she won’t reach for a glass of whiskey. She’ll reach for him. She’ll find him, just like tonight. But instead of throwing verbal punches, she’ll ask him to hold her. And he will—like he’s holding the world, because he will be, indeed and in fact, holding his entire world.

He’ll even ask her about this night. Only to find out that she has no memory beyond the point of falling face first into the bar table. He’ll laugh, shake his head, and tell her the whole story. She’ll groan in embarrassment, apologize too many times, and he’ll just smile, admitting that this was the night he first knew—if he spent too much time with her, he’d fall for her completely.

She’ll tease him for being a sap.

But that comes later.

Tonight, here, he doesn’t know any of that.

So tonight he’ll say, “Come on, let me take you home. I think we’ve had our fill of sad and funny things happening for one night.”

Find other one-shots here. Find other Static Verse works here.

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blackcat-star · 22 days ago

Text

IN THE GLITCH ZONE.

✭ CHAPTER 0: ERROR | Chapter 1.

> Subject: [ERROR_███] — status: DECEASED. > Initiating data purge protocol... → Deleting user data... ▷ Progress: 0%... 37%... 68%... 98%... ▷ ERROR: Data fragment remains. ▷ Purge failed. > Attempting memory overwrite...

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

▷ ERROR_0x04C: Subject presence detected. ▷ Retry: Initiating deletion... ▷ 0%... 12%... 50%... 97%... ▷ CRITICAL ERROR. ▷ Deletion failed.

> Recovery protocol engaged. → Reloading entity... ▷ ERROR: Entity does not exist. ▷ ERROR: Entity persists.

[DELETION: COMPLETED] [USER ███ NO LONGER EXISTS.]

★・・・・・・★

...

Pain.

So much pain!

It seems like you are suspended in nothingness and empty space. There are neither colors nor sounds.

You slowly regain awareness as you either open your eyes or feel the agony of your surroundings, determined to withstand the pain and find out what is going on. Every inch of your body aches as if you are being ripped apart. The most intense agony emanates from the region where your heart would normally be located within your chest. Somehow you feel as though your left side, close to your heart, is bleeding, even though you experience no physical sensation of blood oozing from your body.

Then you hear the continuous buzzing of machines, distorting and overlapping each other, making the space chaotic as if something is broken.

You try to struggle, but your body doesn't listen and lets the pain that seems like it can't get any worse invade your body. Your head suddenly aches violently, as if something is being pulled out of your brain. Chaotic images appear randomly and one by one they shatter into fragments and disappear into nothingness.

The cold and distorted mechanical voice kept making error messages and annoying beeps. Everything happened so fast that you wanted to tear everything apart and end this pain. Tears fell from your eyes, like two streams, running down your cheeks and then evaporating.

You screamed.

"Stop! Stop it! It hurts!.."

But no matter how much you resist, it doesn't stop.

The mechanical voice continues to ring out.

You don't know how long you've been enduring. You don't know how many days or months you've been in this space.

Until finally, when your body no longer feels pain, a final message appears.

[DELETION: COMPLETED.]

You fall asleep from exhaustion.

__________________

You glare at the man sitting on the bench across from you, your expression full of disapproval.

The man is holding the woman close to him. That wouldn't be a problem if he hadn't been kissing another girl right here an hour ago!

"You bastard!"

You just threw a punch at him, but all your punches just went straight through him.

"Girl, wake up! You're being cheated on! Dump him and find someone else!!!"

But no matter how angry you are, the couple still doesn't pay any attention to you, ignores you.

Why is that?

Oh, they don't see you. They don't even know you exist. All they see is that they're sitting on a bench in a deserted park, under the shade of a sturdy old tree.

"Do you feel cold?"

The girl leaned her head against her lover, smiling lovingly, completely unaware that she was just a fish in his fish tank, and completely unaware that someone was fighting for her.

The guy smiled fakely, kissing the girl's forehead. "Are you cold? Let's go to my house, I'll make you feel warmer!"

The girl smiled shyly and hit his arm lightly, but still stood up and followed the guy.

And you were still trying (though it was useless) to stop the girl from following the bad guy. You sent thousands of curses and middle fingers at him, until both of them were out of your sight.

You plopped down on the bench, crossed your arms and snorted loudly. 'That guy will definitely not have a good ending! I'll go to his house in the middle of the night and scare him into peeing his pants', you thought.

Even though you think so, you know that you can't get out of this park. In fact, you don't even know how big this park is. More accurately, you're stuck with this centrally located ancient tree. (This is what you hear people say it is in the center, but you don't know if it is actually in the middle of the park.)

You cannot go more than two meters away from the base of the tree.

And this has been going on for over a year, you think.

Ever since you became conscious, you found yourself in this park. At first you panicked and tried to find a way to escape, but as soon as you went more than two meters, you would be pushed back by some invisible force. Once you managed to get out of range, but immediately you felt like you were being torn into pieces. You only returned to normal when you returned to the tree.

It seemed like the tree wanted to tell you why you couldn't get out, it seemed like it was protecting you.

Or maybe you were just paranoid.

Regardless of what it was or what its purpose was, you couldn't deny the fact that you were stuck with this tree.

'I wonder what kind of tree this is...'

You also thought about asking someone for help. But you immediately realized that no one could see you. No matter what you do to people, no matter how loud you shout or scream, no one pays attention to you. Even if you touch people, you just pass through them.

Only then do you realize your condition.

Your body is not normal. It is slightly transparent, not enough to be able to see through but enough to give the feeling of half real and half unreal. Your heart does not beat. You don't even need to breathe.

It's like you're not alive anymore.

And you're sure you're dead.

How cruel.

You don't remember anything about yourself, but you remember this world very clearly.

Many years ago, dungeons suddenly appeared, along with monsters, causing chaos to the whole world. They killed, and harmed many people. To deal with that that, hunters appeared. They were ranked from E to S, and the power of an S-rank could be enough to level a country, but S-rank hunters appeared very rarely, so they were considered national treasures. Meanwhile, E-classes are often looked down upon.

Maybe it's the law of the world, the strong survive, the weak die. But you don't like it at all. It's not fair.

You see that sometimes E-rank is more precious than S-rank. They are just doing everything to live, even though they know they are weak, but they need to live, and earn money to take care of themselves and their families.

And one of the people you see admiring the most is a hunter nicknamed The Weakest Hunter Of All Mankind. What's his name? Sung...

"Hunter Sung Jinwoo!"

Just mentioned, he appeared.

He was a skinny man with wounds all over his body, long black hair covering his ears, and a rather childish face.

He was cute. You nodded in agreement.

He's an E-ranker, just a little stronger than a normal person. His father is missing, his mother is in a coma from Eternal Slumber, and he has a younger sister who's still in high school. He's the sole breadwinner of his family. So even though he's weak, he still ventures out to be a hunter, since hunters can earn a decent amount of money.

But he can't earn much more with his rank, so life is still very difficult.

How do you know about him?

He passes by this park quite a lot, his house must be near here, and he often sits on the bench near you. You don't mean to eavesdrop, you swear, but he talks to himself too loudly sometimes, and there are many people gossiping about him.

You don't approve of him coming out of the dungeon with so many injuries on his body, but you can't do anything about it because he can't see you. Besides, you have no right to interfere in his life.

You sighed as you looked at Jinwoo running towards his raid team this time.

At least you knew that orange-haired girl named Juhee would heal him.

For some reason, you had a bad feeling about his raid, and your intuition was usually right. You could only shake your head in helplessness and pray that he would return safely.

Because you liked Sung Jinwoo quite a bit. He was a gentle and kind person.

Helloooo! Blackcat-star is back with the new version of Lost Spirit :3

Sorry for not posting anything for too long guys.

I was busy and had a mental breakdown but it's all okay now! And my summer holiday starts beginning, I'll have much free time to write fic (if I'm not being lazy ;-;) !

Hope you enjoy this new version ❤

Love you all!

Taglist: @delusionillusion322 @o-qi-shisme

if anyone ask and yes I'm making the new taglist 'cause I'm doubt if people want to read this version

#sung jinwoo x reader #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #sung jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung

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robolvrr · 6 months ago

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Love your writing soooo much. Could you make some sfw headcanons (and nsfw) if youre okay with it of conjunx (tfone) d-16 with his femme conjunx??? Also what do you think would be his ideal partner? Maybe someone shy and sweet or someone bolder to contrast him?? Would he ever want a family?? Hes so sweet i love him i cant stop ranting about him😭🤍

déjà vu ☆‿⁠｡✷

[ requests: 3/11 ]

d-16 x fem!conjux headcanons

warnings: nsfw under cut!

realistically, you're both miners. there isn't a lot of fraternization on shifts.. though every once in awhile, you catch his optics and he peels through the crowd (and shoves orion, too busy making kissy-faces and calling out embarrassing memories he's sure to pummel him for sharing), making efforts to get to know you.

d-16 is strong. mentally, emotionally, even his physique, is quite literally built for his role in all aspects. he's appreciative if you take care in yours and share that competence.

isn't judgemental over frames. while he is actually pretty charming and easy to speak with, he's not used to attention and doesn't even stop to think of the possibility.

of course - that was before you, that is. and this tug at his spark, that makes him ignore the cycles of grief, anxiety, fatigue and instead want to earn a bit more from you than a simple hello.

conjux aren't unknown, just a foreign concept for many of the uncogged. especially miners, due to the natural risk with the job. many had died and understandably, few were actually willing to grow close for this very reason.

it's not as if he hasn't weighed the decisions. a part of him is frustrated you smile at him because then he can't forget how his servos shake when you do.

in between short conversations - "what do you think about megatronus?" - "yeah, orion is kind of a glitch, but he means the best." - "oh. so you.. don't have someone waiting for you?"s, it's so obvious he wants you.

when you talk, he leans against the wall, his expression soft. because as violent as he can be, as grouchy or prickly his vocals edge, he wants be soft for you.

elita just shakes her head. he does pick up heavier gear and material around you, puffing his chest. offers you spare energon cubes even though it's digging into his rations.

d-16's love language is touch. he doesn't like it much but he initiates and if you're allowed to instead? then the unspoken is obvious. he may be... stubborn, at first, admitting his feelings. his actions do the talking.

i think he'd do well with a combination - someone who isn't as pessimistic, someone who can still encourage his hope to continue to burn. a little bantering never hurt anyone and coupled with attraction.. well. he's not as irritated with it as one might think.

while he thinks the idea of sparklings is something he may like in the future, he doesn't want to put any risk when he's still so low on the totem pole. if you bring it in passing he tries not to jump you. because while it's clear you two are intertwined, the idea of a part of him connecting with you and creating something new makes him dangerously possessive.

nsfw.

the first time wasn't full interfacing.

you explored the ridges of his empty cogcase, watching him twitch and grunt watching your smaller digits flirt along the sensitive surface.

he makes a sound, some cross between a sharp hiss and a moan that slows you down.

"did i do something wrong dee? you're. you're looking at me kinda intense."

"ffff... just be careful."

"i-i am being careful!"

"hng.. shut it."

even though he wants to flip you right off, pin and yank open your modesty paneling, he wants this to be slow. he wants to take all the time you can afford, because he has no clue when he'll get it again.

that's why even in your fidgeted affections, he keeps still. looks at you in the dark with haunting yellows, two beams of sunlight in his stare that make your plating hot.

he huffs out, slick with lubricants and glad he hit the refreshers before being undone. his servo finds your back, trailing up and down before hooking at your hip.

"e-enough. your turn."

when he slips underneath you, prevents even the slightest suggestion of a wriggle, you have to bite back a whine.

"are you sure? i. i haven't —"

"sit. this? is mine. you are mine. let me show how good you can feel."

that'll do it. he can be commanding but that appears moreso in the berth. it rubs a smug part of his ego that half the time you do what he asks anyways, without even thinking to snark.

"you're so wet.. that's it. open up for me."

quickly your panels open, valve quivering. and his intake is right there, dermas teasing against the pulsing throb of your need. because you don't only want him, you think as his glossa starts to lick — you need him or you might just offline.

maybe in another universe, your lover is a poet. he croons up to you, intimate, filthy, all the praise he never dares to say in public.

you can't see him. but there's a smile you feel pressed up when he finds your exterior node, takes it between his dentae. you relax, only for his glossa — which is thicker than you imagined — eagerly sinks further inside you.

who knew your dee was such a romantic.

remember when i said he wouldn't want to make sparklings? well, he certainly doesn't fuck like that's the case. he can be rough but in a slow, hard and relentless way. his strokes are deep, he never pulls until every drop of transfluid is mixing with your own. he likes when he can pick you up, still your strong and valiant dee, nestled inside when he thrusts up into you.

there's a liiiittle toxicity. just a smidgen. he has a lot to work on himself and some of that is his passiveness. so sometimes, his stress comes rearing its ugly head, or his silent jealousy is starting to flare, which ends with you having to recalibrate your stability and try not to go into stasis while he works that off.

robolvrr 2024.

#transformers #transformers one #transformers x reader #/nsft #headcanons #valveplug #d 16 x reader #tfone x reader #d 16 transformers #you know that one interview insinuating dee has a giant d #well he does and its canon #megatron x reader

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buckysouvenir · 3 months ago

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in the hex, episode 4: the cracks appear

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n summary: Y/N, a witch with no memory of her true nature, lives a seemingly perfect life with her husband, Bucky Barnes, in a quiet, idyllic 1950s town. Everything seems picture-perfect—Y/N and Bucky are a deeply loving couple, content in their everyday routine. They share playful moments, enjoy simple pleasures, and have a deep connection that feels unshakable. Their life is peaceful, with no hint of anything out of the ordinary. However, things aren’t what they seem.

last episode | in the hex masterlist | next episode

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

The morning air is crisp, sunlight filtering through the curtains as Y/N stirs in bed. Bucky is already awake, sitting on the edge of the mattress, buttoning up his shirt. He looks over his shoulder and grins.

"Morning, doll."

Y/N smiles sleepily. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep much," he admits, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off a restless night. "Figured I'd get a head start on the day."

She watches him for a moment, something tugging at the edges of her mind. There's an unease settling in her chest, though she can't pinpoint why.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says, but there's a flicker of hesitation before he leans down to kiss her forehead.

Maybe it's nothing.

Y/N stands at the stove, stirring a pot of soup as the aroma of herbs fills the kitchen. The radio plays softly in the background, an upbeat jingle from the local station. She hums along, the melody familiar—until it suddenly isn’t.

The song distorts, the cheerful notes stretching unnaturally. The static crackles, and for a split second, Y/N hears something buried within the noise. A voice.

"Y/N?"

She freezes, her hand gripping the wooden spoon.

"Can you hear me?"

The voice is distant, almost pleading, but before she can react, the radio snaps back to normal. The song picks up right where it left off, as if nothing happened.

Y/N glances around the kitchen. The warm glow of the evening sun filters through the curtains, casting long shadows. Everything looks the same. Feels the same.

But she knows it isn't.

The day moves along as it always does. Bucky heads out for work, and Y/N busies herself around the house. She hums softly as she washes the dishes, the sound of the radio filling the quiet.

Then—

A sharp noise.

She startles, turning toward the radio. The song cuts out, replaced by harsh static.

Her brows knit together. She taps the side of the radio, fiddles with the dial, but the static persists.

Then, beneath the white noise, she hears it.

A voice.

Faint, distorted.

"... can you hear me?"

A chill runs down her spine.

The voice is familiar, but distant—like someone calling from another world.

"Hello?" Y/N whispers, leaning closer.

The static crackles again, and then—

Silence.

The radio clicks off by itself.

She stares at it, her heart pounding.

Something is wrong.

Later that evening, Bucky walks through the front door, shaking off his coat as he leans in to kiss her cheek.

"Smells good in here, doll," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around her waist.

She melts into his touch, but the unease from earlier lingers.

"Hey, Buck," she starts, hesitating. "Have you… noticed anything strange lately?"

His brow furrows slightly. "Strange how?"

She chews her lip, considering how to explain it without sounding insane.

"The radio was acting weird today," she says carefully. "And I swear I heard someone say my name."

Bucky watches her closely. "You think someone's messing with the signal?"

"I don’t know," she admits. "It just—felt wrong."

A silence stretches between them. Then Bucky exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I had a weird moment today, too," he finally says.

She straightens. "What happened?"

He shakes his head. "I was at work, talking to Steve, and for a second—just a second—I swear his face glitched."

Y/N's heart pounds. "What do you mean, glitched?"

Bucky sighs, as if trying to make sense of it himself. "His expression didn’t change. At all. Like he was frozen. But then his mouth jumped, like an old movie reel skipping a frame. And just like that, he was normal again—kept talking like nothing happened."

A chill runs down Y/N’s spine.

"Something’s not right," she whispers.

Bucky meets her gaze, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something else.

Something like fear.

That evening, Y/N and Bucky walk through town, hand in hand. The streets are calm, the world seemingly normal.

But she can’t shake the uneasy feeling from earlier.

As they pass the bakery, Y/N suddenly stops, gripping Bucky’s arm.

"Did you see that?" she breathes.

Bucky follows her gaze.

A woman across the street is frozen mid-step.

Her eyes are vacant, her arm outstretched as if reaching for something unseen. A bag of groceries dangles from her fingers, unmoving.

Bucky tenses beside her.

"Maybe she's just—"

Before he can finish, the world around them distorts.

A flicker.

For half a second, everything shifts—colors bleed, the sky darkens unnaturally, the buildings blur at the edges.

And then—snap—everything is normal again.

The woman moves as if nothing happened, continuing her walk like she hadn’t been frozen in place.

Y/N and Bucky stand frozen, staring.

"You saw that, right?" she whispers.

Bucky nods slowly, his grip tightening around hers. "Yeah, I saw it."

Bucky exhales slowly. "Okay, so we’re definitely not crazy."

"No," Y/N says, feeling the weight of it settling in her chest. "We’re not."

Neither of them speak for a long moment.

The town moves around them, oblivious. But Y/N and Bucky know—

Something is breaking.

And they’re the only ones who can see it.

#taglist: @whisperingashgarden @baw1066 @mirrorballbb @skittslackoffilter @fan4astic @torntaltos @lovebabybellah @annoylinglyaries

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #bucky.txt #bê.txt #in the hex

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selineram3421 · 1 year ago

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*sleepy*

Courting Pursuit

Part 2

Part 1

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ gender neutral (gn) reader, mule deer reader, assuming Alastor is a marsh deer, Spanish translated, stalking-Vox, cussing, implied/suggestive, italics=thoughts, ha..watch out for the end ⚠

You continued to act affectionate towards him.

Even the others noticed and most of them would often ask you to do their work if it was related to him.

Niffty doesn't care and does her work as usual.

The thing is, you don't mind one bit and take up the work.

"Hola Alastor.", you'd greet him every time.

Today you were helping someone else, Husk to be exact, putting away some bottles in storage.

And then he heard that obnoxious voice of the sad excuse of an entertainment performer through his radio next to the television shop, Vox.

"Top of the hour! Today I have a special little treat for you, though the image is sadly glitched out, you can still see what is going on in the photo.", he says. "It's the Radio Demon, receiving an affectionate peck on the forehead from another deer!"

What a creeper. Alastor rolled his eyes and waited for the perfect moment to jump in and make the flat headed piece of tech look like a complete fool.

"From the looks of things, Alastor has a fuck buddy.", the TV demon grinned. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was taking it from behind.", he laughed and continued to rant on about innuendos like an idiot.

Turning a few knobs and flipping some switches, the Radio Demon was live.

"Salutations!", he greeted his listeners. "What an interesting start to the day! An overly cocky man acting like a news anchor when he doesn't have all the facts!", his smile widens. "For a demon asking his viewers to trust him, it's quite bold that he so blatantly lies to their faces."

"That's bullshit! I only provide the best-"

"Vox is so insecure and craving for attention from a powerful Overlord like myself, it's obvious that he's jealous.", Alastor laughed.

"Am fucking not you old timey prick-!"

"Why would he make such an announcement if not for that? Its clear to me that he wants someone to focus on him all the time.", he chuckles. "No wonder he always something new on his screens. But they lack so much that he has to resort to childish news broadcasts to seem important."

"Childish!?"

"As for the demon in the photo, that is a hotel guest and they do not understand English that much. There was a misunderstanding in translation and well..I'm not allowed to kill hotel guests.", then his voice switches. "This does not mean that I will let such an action pass, I will do something mμc# ￦θrs€ than death."

"You lying piece of shit! Tell me them the truth!"

"I should announce that the Hazbin Hotel has its doors open for all sinners who want a shot at redemption! Try to climb your way out of this fiery inferno, some might try to drag you back down, or you'll have trouble all on your own trying to redeem yourself! Anything is possible!", he put in his two bits for advertising the hotel. "And with that my wonderful listeners, I shall bid you all adieu~"

He switched on some jazz, not wanting to hear anymore of Vox's whining.

Something still irked him however..

Perhaps I should pay Rosie another visit. He thought. This time without them knowing.

As soon as he walked through the door of the emporium, his friend waved him over and pointed to her office, letting him know that she'd be there soon.

Once entering the office, he sighed and sat on the couch, already tired of what else would happen later in the day. He didn't want any other unnecessary conversations.

Rosie entered the office not too long after, setting her hat aside as she closed the door.

"You won't believe the gossip I've stumbled across today. Betty, the one with the pooch, not the one with the scar. She-", the woman started but then took notice of his mood. "What's wrong? You look worn out already."

"I don't know what to do with them. Vox, that piece of shit tech, has already made comments but I already put him in his place.", he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"I heard.", Rosie let out a short laugh.

"The deer is still doing things, not as bold as the first time but I don't want them near me. It's-", he growled and made a choking motion with his hands.

"If it's bothering you that much, you know you can tell them to stop.", she says.

He looks up at her with a wide eyed stare.

She dead pans.

"Alastor. You know you can tell them to stop. Right?"

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind.", he simply says.

"Oh for crying out loud-!", she tosses a pillow at him. "You are unbelievable! Go and speak your mind! You've never had a problem with it before!"

She was right. Why had he been so bothered about something like this?

He should have spoken up about it from the start.

It was late when he returned to the hotel. The lobby was empty and he could only assume that everyone had long been asleep. Walking to the dining room, he spots the kitchen light on.

Angel is probably making an abomination of a hangover cure- He thought and opened the door, only to find the mule deer leaning against the counter half asleep.

You perk up when noticing him.

"Bienvenido. Hice la cena y te guardé un plato.", you wave and smile. (Welcome back. I made dinner and saved you a plate.)

"What are you doing up at this hour? Granted, it is Hell and there are barely any rules around here, sleep is still important.", he says as you pick up a plate covered with tin foil.

Taking off the foil, you give him a plate of food.

Your fingers brush against his, making him flinch back and drop the plate, causing it to shatter on the floor with a loud crash.

Instead of focusing on the mess, you looked at him with worry.

"¿Estás bien? No estás herido, ¿verdad-?", you reach out to him but he smacks your hand away. (Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you-?)

"Don't touch me.", he hisses out. "I am not comfortable with your advances, so I advise you to stop NOW before I tear you apart and make you into tomorrow's dinner."

With that you took a step back.

"No quería incomodarte. Me detendré. Perdóname por no tener en cuenta tus sentimientos.", you muttered and looked away. (I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I will stop. Forgive me for not taking your feelings into account.)

Alastor didn't bother trying to translate your response in his head, just walking around you and to the door.

"Lo siento.." (I'm sorry..)

He heard you whisper as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.

With a sigh, you kneeled down and began to clean the mess.

Sad times means cookies.

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @sleep-7372 @wat4r @lustylita @xdolls-crownx @lonelysimp18 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @dap11 @al1fers-haven @futureittomainn @random-3455 @+?

ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

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