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artficlly · 19 days ago

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smog & spirits: the rat king (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, cults and religion mentioned, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: hi!! just wanted to say thank you all so much for the love on the last chapter and sticking with me!! i know i hadn't posted in forever with being busy with uni and all so it really made me happy that people still remembered this fic. this chapter (once again) was supposed to cover a lot more but i got carried away lol, so instead i'm posting this half and then the next half soon once i have it properly written up. anyway!! please enjoy!! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

Gertrude Crowley was a nervous woman.

It was the first thing you noticed about her; her movements were hesitant, as though she feared drawing too much attention. In the dim light, you noticed her face—worn, yes, but not aged beyond her years. Lines of worry etched her brow and framed her mouth. Her greying hair, streaked with darker remnants of its original chestnut hue, was hastily pinned beneath a weathered black scarf, frazzled tufts poking through the holes strewn throughout the fabric.

“Tea, Ms. Crowley?” You asked the woman. Despite your soft tone, the woman jumped in her seat, hand raising to her bosom as she took in a sharp breath.

“I suppose, Dear.” She squeaked in reply

You gave the older woman a reassuring smile, hoping to calm her fears. Her pale blue eyes darted away quickly, revealing a haunted expression. They glanced at you briefly, then withdrew as if frightened by what they might find. She fidgeted with her hands, the frayed edges of her gloves exposing trembling fingers.

“Tea is good for the soul, don’t you think?” You hummed to her softly, your upper half bent over your kitchen table, and you poured the steaming liquid into two cups. You hoped the woman wouldn’t comment on how the ceramic was chipped; the painted flowers faded from years of use. “Always so cold in The Warrens, it warms you up from the inside.”

Ms Crowley nodded stiffly, teacup rattling against its matching plate as she held it in trembling hands. You took a brief moment to observe her, eyes searching her appearance. Her clothing was plain but serviceable—a dark woollen cloak that hung unevenly over her frame, its hem damp and muddied from the streets. Beneath it, a simple grey dress fitted her modestly, cinched at the waist with a cracked but sturdy belt. A brass locket hung around her neck, glinting faintly when she shifted. Though practical and well-worn, her boots carried scuffs deep enough that you questioned if the dark fabric was her socks beneath.

She took a hesitant sip from her cup and looked up at you with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you, dear.”

You settled into your seat, dragging your cup across the table's woodgrain. “How can I be of assistance?”

Ms Crowley hesitated, her lips thinning into a line as she contemplated a response. You wisely decided to allow her some space, and the steaming liquid cupped in your palm suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world.

The older woman stumbled over her words, once, twice, thrice before finally settling on a simple, “I..I have never met a witch before.”

You smiled down into your cup, elbows resting on the table as you slowly looked up at her through a strand of loose hair that had fallen across your forehead. “I think you will find witches are alike most people you would meet—just like any stranger you would pass on the street.”

She peered across the table—as if testing your own words against you. Her tired, pale blue eyes squinting as she examined you from head to toe. “I suppose… I suppose you’re right. And I suppose I should trust you. I ‘ave been told most witches are trustworthy.”

“We are.” You state simply, only pausing to take a sip from your cup. The warm liquid fills your belly, a soft hum escaping your throat as you tilt you head in thought. “We’re salesmen, in a way, sellin’ our wares. There will always be scam artists, a few among the many, but most of us are just makin’ ends meet.”

The older woman contemplates your words. She takes a sip, a long one, then nods in affirmation. “You’re right. I should have some faith.”

“Now, Ms. Crowley, how can I help you?” You query once again.

“Well… I don’t know how this all works…”

“Just tell me what troubles you. From the start, if possible.”

Before she could speak, the door creaked open behind you, breaking the fragile quiet that had settled over the room. The sound was faint, yet it resonated through the stillness like the tolling of a distant church bell. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the chipped teacup as a wave of unease swept through you. The air seemed heavier, colder—an unspoken warning curling down your spine.

“Spirit-raiser.”

That voice. Gravelly, familiar. Unwelcome. You sucked in a sharp breath, though it felt as though your ribcage had suddenly shrunk two sizes too small for your organs. The bruises still present across your abdomen ached as every muscle in your body tensed, a tangled knot of shock electrifying your nerves. But beyond that, beyond the anger and disbelief, there was a feeling far more treacherous: relief.

He returned.

Your head whipped around, posture immediately straightening as though your spine was a pole made of steel. There he was—Bucky Barnes, leaning in the doorway like he owned the place, his sharp, stormy eyes swept over you, then flicked briefly to Ms. Crowley, whose face drained of colour. The woman looked ready to bolt, her hands clutching the table's edge as if it might anchor her in place. You couldn’t blame her. A woman already so anxious over the idea of magic she had positively turned green the moment she entered your flat. Now she was face to face with the dreaded Bucky Barnes, the fucking menace of the Sootstone? Many in The Warrens likely hadn’t seen the man in person, maybe at a distance, or knew him through whispered tales. You certainly hadn’t encountered the man until he came crashing into your life, smog and all.

“Bucky,” you said, his name slipping out before you could catch it. A string of curses nearly left your tongue along with it. How bittersweet could it be that despite all the hurt you felt, you still called him by a name so familiar? Too familiar. The taste of it burned on your tongue. Your heart slammed into a furious rhythm as what could only be described as a smirk graced his lips. How could he act like he hadn’t vanished from your life without so much as a goodbye?

How could he turn up here and act like all was well and normal?

It had hurt when he had left; yes, that was to be expected. But these past few days, he had avoided you. At least, it felt like avoidance. You hadn’t heard a word from the Smog Boys since your beating at the hand of the Iron Rats, not even a whisper on the sharp winds that rolled in from the dock. Natasha would have told him. In what world would she not have told Bucky that his pet witch had missed the summons because she was trembling, bloodied and bruised on her own floor?

You had convinced yourself that maybe it was for the better, an escape from Becca’s wrath and escape from the Smog Boys…

“I’m busy.” The words escaped you before you could think.

He raised his brows in disbelief. Your toes curled in their boots, cringing at your own blunt tone. But then again, had he just expected everything to return to normal?

“I need’a favour.” He stepped further into the room, his boots thudding against the floorboards as he surveyed the space with casual indifference. His gait was smooth, gaze unbothered. A morbid part of you wished you could inspect his back and see the damage you caused. It didn’t seem to bother him or impede his movements.

Ms. Crowley made a small, frightened noise, her trembling hands going to her locket as though it might ward off his presence. “I—perhaps I should come back later…”

“What’re you doin’ here?” you demanded, the words sharper than you intended, cutting over Ms. Crowley’s muttering.

“As I said, I need’a favour.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you fought to keep your composure.

“A favour?” you repeated, the words dripping with scepticism. “After everythin’, you show up here and ask for a favour?”

Ms. Crowley flinched at the tone of your voice, but you couldn’t stop now. Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crack in his facade of nonchalance.

“Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to push me.”

“And you don’t want to push me neither, Barnes,” You shot back, planting your hands on the table. “You don’t get to leave without so much as a ‘thank you’ and then show up here, actin’ like I owe you somethin’?”

“You say that, spirit-raiser, but…” He sucked on his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he looked down at you, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets as he sighed through his nose. “I just spent the last four days cleanin’ up your mess.”

Your brows drew inward, confusion slipping through. The entire time you had spent in misery, licking your wounds and nursing your broken heart, he had been out there defending you?

A devilish expression crossed his face. “You really thought you could, what? Walk on over to Grimrow unnoticed while under my protection? Do you realise how long it has taken me to talk the Rat King down from marching over the Sootline and wagin’ war ‘cause of you?”

“They crossed the Sootline. They pursued me.” You rebutted, though even your voice wavered, unsure.

“Yeah.” His head tilted, eyes squinting. “You better be praisin’ whatever fuckin’ witch god you follow, 'cause that little fuck up on their end is the only reason why you’re still here playin’ good little spirit-raiser.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“They hurt me.” You confessed, voice steadying.

“Yeah, I know. Nat told me. Good thing your pretty little face has all healed up. That’s your only fuckin’ worth to me right now after all the trouble you’ve caused.” His words stung; maybe you would’ve believed them true. But you got the sense he was being harsh for the sake of venting frustrations. He wouldn’t even catch your eye as the insults rolled off his tongue.

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with tension. You could feel Ms. Crowley’s gaze on you. Bucky’s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening as his eyes finally lifted and bore into yours. His expression was unreadable, a carefully laid mask to cover whatever real emotion raged behind his stormy blue eyes.

Then, to your surprise, Ms. Crowley’s feeble voice cut through the silence.

“I-I-I should go now—”

You whirled around.

“No,” you snapped, cutting her off before she could rise. Ms. Crowley froze, wide-eyed and trembling, her teacup rattling slightly in her unsteady hands. For a brief moment, you thought Bucky might let her stay, that he’d simply loom in the corner, his presence a warning but nothing more.

But then Bucky huffed a sharp breath, irritation flashing across his face as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“Get the fuck out,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument, his eyes sliding to meet the older woman's as you made a noise close to a whimper. “And keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about all this.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, her gaze darting between the two of you. With a frightened nod, she scrambled to her feet, clutching her bag and locket close to her chest.

“Apologies. I ain’t sayin’ a thing. Not a word. I swear.” she stammered, her voice a whisper as she made a beeline for the door.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you turned to Bucky, a glare sharp enough to cut steel fixed on your face.

“You didn’t have to scare her off like that!” you snapped, grabbing the teacups and stalking toward the sink.

“A waste of fuckin’ time is what she was,” Bucky replied casually, his voice dripping with indifference.

“She was a client,” you shot back, setting the cups into the sink with more force than necessary. “A payin’ client. I need clients, Barnes.”

Bucky leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching you. “You’re actin’ like I don’t pay you triple what they’re offerin’.”

You dipped your hands further into the soapy water, pressing your palms flat against the metal bottom as you sighed, momentarily closing your eyes in exasperation. “You don’t get to decide who’s worth my time. This is my place. My work. You can’t just—”

“I thought Nat was exaggeratin’,” Bucky cut over you, his voice low but carrying an edge that made your stomach churn.

You stiffened, your grip on the cup tightening. “Exaggeratin’ about what?”

“About this.”

Your eyes flew open as his hand caught your chin, tilting your face toward him with an infuriating gentleness. His thumb brushed over your jaw, skimming the faint bruise that lingered there, and his eyes narrowed as they traced the fading split in your lip. A shiver raced down your spine, and you jerked your head away, pulling free of his grasp.

“It’s nothin’,” you muttered, returning to the sink.

“Don’t look like nothin’,” he countered, his tone sharp. “Let me see the rest.”

You froze, your hands hovering over the sink. “No.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped, moving closer. His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous edge. “I need to see what they did to you.”

You shook your head, your pulse roaring in your ears. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Bucky let out a low growl of frustration, and before you could react, his hand was on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. His other hand went to your waist, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Bucky, stop,” you protested, grabbing at his wrists. The soapy water made your hands slick, his skin slipping from your grasp. “This isn’t—”

“Quit fightin’ me,” he said sharply, his eyes flashing with something raw and unyielding. “I need to know.”

His words silenced you, leaving you to stare up at him in stunned disbelief. The fight drained out of you, replaced by a reluctant acceptance as you lifted your hands, a trail of water rolling down to your elbows. Your head dipped, staring down at his shoes as droplets dripped onto his boots. With a defeated sigh, you rested your palms on his chest, pressing the wet skin into his buttoned shirt until you could feel the warmth of his body. With a grunt, he tugged your blouse from where it was tucked into your shirt, ripping the fabric upward until it exposed your belly.

The air seemed to leave the room as his gaze fell on the mottled bruises that painted your abdomen, the angry purples and blues. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as his hand hovered over the worst of the damage, his fingers brushing against your side with an uncharacteristic hesitance.

You heard him swallow audibly, adam’s apple bobbing. A shiver ran down your spine as his thumb carefully ran up to your sternum, then across the band of your brassiere.

“How many ribs did you break?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the hair across your body rose on end. Tingles blossomed across your skull as his hand swept down to the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down to inspect the damage still hidden.

“Three.”

His grunt of acknowledgement was quiet, but the tension dominating his frame was unmistakable. He stepped back abruptly, running a hand through his hair, tongue running over his bottom lip.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” The question gave you near vertigo.

“I did.” You lie through your teeth

The gangster shook his head, hands resting on his hips as he looked down at you.

“Bullshit. I’ve seen what you’re capable of. I’ve felt it, doll.” Your gut clenched as he half motioned towards his back. “If you wanted to fight back, they would’ve been dead long before they touched you.”

You pause. He was right. He was entirely right. You hadn’t fought back because you were what? Dejected and defeated? Too swept up in your own pity? Living in your mother's shadow? Or was it just the shadow you had created for yourself?

“You’re punishin’ yourself, aren’t ya? Hm?”

“I’m not lyin’ Barnes—” You begin to speak, voice raising as hysteria begins to bubble within you. Why was he asking you these things? Why was he pretending to care?

“Why?” He cuts over you,

You turned away, refusing to respond. “I think you should leave now.”

He was silent for a beat. Then you heard the shuffle of clothing as he picked up his coat and swept it over his muscled shoulders. “I still need that favour.”

You sigh, an exaggerated noise as you spin to face him with a scowl. “What now? Can’t it wait?”

“You’re expected. At a meetin’.”

“Meetin’?” You echoed.

“About what happened. With the Iron Rats.”

“I thought you said you dealt with it—” You bite back, irritation flaring.

“Would you just shut your fuckin’ mouth for a second and listen?” Bucky cut over you, voice raised. You clamp your mouth shut in surprise.

“It’s the Rat King.” Bucky meets your gaze. “He wants to meet you.”

—

You would have never described Bucky Barnes as nervous, but the walk to the Sootline almost had you questioning that assumption. Bucky kept his pace steady, though you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw and the occasional twitch of his hand at his side. It wasn’t the demeanour of a nervous man—no, Bucky Barnes didn’t do nervous—but something unexplainable was simmering beneath the surface.

The streets of the Warrens were quieter than usual, the normal hum of life dampened. The sun had grown low in the sky, the usual grey fog warming to a diffused orange and pink glow. The cobblestones were slick beneath your boots, liquids you wouldn’t dare identify, leaving a sheen across the ground that reflected the faint glow of lanterns. You adjusted your coat, tucking it closer against the chill, and cast a sidelong glance at Bucky.

"Barnes, you alright?" you asked cautiously, breaking the silence. You weren’t one to pry, but the energy engulfing the gangster was strange.

“We’re late,” he muttered, his voice clipped.

You frowned, the sharpness of his tone needling at you. “Well, if you’d told me sooner than five minutes ago that I was needed—”

“And you would have come?.” His words were abrupt, cutting through your protest like a blade. “You do ‘ave a habit of ignorin’ my summons.”

Your jaw clamped shut, a heavy silence falling over the both of you. Further down the twisting, wonky street, you could see streetgoers dashing into nearby stores and homes. Above in the stacked homes that towered above the streets, faces cautiously peeked out, watching as Bucky and you marched past. You observed a group of three children ushered away by their mother, her tightly shutting the rickety window with a grim expression.

“It would be best if you kept your mouth shut during this. Only speak when spoken to. Just agree unless I say otherwise.” Bucky finally spoke, voice gruff.

“Why?” You pry, voice unsure.

“‘Cause I can’t help you if you say somethin’ stupid ‘n end up gettin’ yourself in more trouble.”

Your steps faltered, confusion flashing across your face. “Why do you suddenly care?”

His lip twitched, but he continued with his persistent gait. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re scarin’ me—”

“I have a reputation to uphold, spirit-raiser. Can’t have these rats thinkin’ I’ve gone weak ’cause of some bird.”

The words landed heavily, and you bit back the sting of their dismissal. “What does your reputation got to do with me?”

His stride didn’t falter, but his gaze flicked toward you, brittle and intense. “If I can’t protect you, then what’s to say I can protect the whole of The Warrens, huh? What’s to stop them from marchin’ over the Sootline?”

“So, what’s this, then? You strikin’ a deal, handin’ me over to them, actin’ like you don’t care so they don’t think you’re weak ‘cause of some bird?”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead a long time ago.” He huffed out in an empty laugh. He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. The weight of his stare rooted you in place. “No, doll, those rats… they fucked up.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued, his voice low and deliberate, every word laced with venom. “I’m gonna get them to bend the fuckin’ knee. Show them whose the real fuckin’ King around here.”

—

The Sootline River separated the two territories like a jagged scar, its sluggish current carrying the city’s filth toward the sea. On either bank, the Smog Boys and Iron Rats assembled in tense lines, a mix of swagger and unease flickering across their faces. The lanterns they carried swayed, casting fragmented shadows on the water as the sun finally slipped beyond the horizon, coating the land in creeping darkness, its coffin-like suffocation only exaggerated by the smoke and ash from the Smokestacks.

Bucky stood at the river’s edge, his posture deceptively relaxed, his hands buried in his coat pockets. His gaze locked onto the figure across the river: Varlan Crey—The Rat King. Varlan was everything Bucky wasn’t—brash, loud, and lumbering, his bulk swathed in a tattered black coat with yellow stitching. His grin was wide, but his teeth were uneven, lending him the air of a predator more accustomed to snapping than scheming. His gang flanked him, a pack of diseased rats, restless and waiting for a signal.

“Barnes,” Varlan called, his voice carrying easily across the water, gravelly and full of mock cheer. “Shame we ain’t meetin’ unda different circumstances.”

“Varlan,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, almost clipped. He didn’t move a muscle, his stance radiating a nearly unbearable calm.

Varlan cocked his head, his smirk widening. “I’m guessin’ this is the bird in question?” He nodded towards you.

You froze under his scrutiny, your skin prickling under the weight of his gaze. The air seemed colder now, and your chest tightened as though the river’s chill had seeped into your bones.

Bucky gave a single, deliberate nod. “Yes.”

Varlan snorted softly. “A bird from The Warrens, crossing inta my territories ‘n causing a ruckus amongst my boys… you undastand how this looks bad, Barnes?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. His smooth and unhurried tone carried across the water like a blade. “I can. But it weren’t her that was causing the ruckus now, was it? I’m guessin’ these lies you’re tellin’ yourself are why you so recklessly declared war before examinin’ the facts.”

Varlan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “Facts,” he repeated, shaking his head as though the word itself amused him. “You’re soundin’ more and more like them fancy wankers up in The Flower Districts, Barnes. Especially in those fine tailored suits a yours.”

A chorus of low laughter rumbled from the Iron Rats side of the bridge, the lines of men with their yellow handkerchiefs grinning amongst themselves.

“Oh, I can recommend you a tailor, Crey,” Bucky said lightly, his voice laced with faint amusement. “I know one who gives discounts for friends.”

It was now time for the Smog Boys to stir behind Bucky, muffled chuckles rippling through the crowd. A flicker of a smile ghosted across Bucky’s lips, though his gaze remained fixed on Varlan. With the subtle jab landed, Varlan bristled. His shoulders stiffened, and his smirk turned brittle. He barked a short laugh, more bark than humour.

“Well,” he said, his voice sharper now. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

“Go ahead,” Bucky replied.

You glanced at him, searching for some clue about his thinking, but his expression gave away nothing. Beside you, the Smog Boys settled, hands tucked into their pockets and chests puffed out as they eyed the Iron Rats across the river. Their stillness wasn’t as practised as Bucky's. He held the type of quiet that preceded violence, the kind that made your stomach churn. As you scanned their faces, you noted how young some men were, barely out of boyhood. It might have been a cause for concern, but you knew many sought out Bucky’s leadership out of desperation. Their energy was much better placed under the guidance of someone like Bucky instead of them turning to the streets where their violence and frustration would run rampant. Regardless of their age or status, you had noticed one common theme among the Smog Boys—none were left unfed, and their clothes were always without holes. The same could not be said for other less fortunate souls who braved The Warrens alone.

“I admit,” Varlan began, dragging out the word with a performative sigh. “That I may ‘ave been… hasty. But ya can’t blame me, not with the information I was told.”

“I guess so,” Bucky replied simply.

Bucky’s lack of reaction agitated the larger man, a cross expression forming on his greasy face. Then his smirk returned, sly and serpentine. “Well, I am impressed by ya…little investigation. Touched a nerve, did it?”

A ripple of unease passed through you as Varlan Crey lifted his brows, head tilted to match his devious, wide-eyed expression. A subtle dig at Bucky’s involvement—or worse, his attachment to you? You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of both their gazes shift momentarily to you.

By some miracle, Bucky didn’t react to the provocation. Instead, his voice came low and steady. “I take it you spoke with the witch?”

You felt your face react before you could steel yourself, face scrunching in confusion. Witch? What witch was Bucky referring to? He certainly wasn’t referring to you—you had never met the Rat King before, let alone spoke with him about your misdeeds of crossing into his territories. In retrospect, with the gravity of the situation weighing upon you, it was a foolish assumption to make thinking you could walk into Grimrow unimpeded or unidentified. In recent months, it seemed everyone and anyone knew who you were before you knew them. It was as if you walked your life with a ginormous red hot brand across your forehead that simply said: Bucky Barnes!

“Spoke? Yes,” Varlan said, his voice emerging in a drawl. “Come ‘ere, girl.”

He turned slightly, and a figure emerged from the Iron Rats’ crowd.

Wanda.

Your chest tightened, bruising squeezing painfully. She walked forward with her usual unnerving grace, her head high, her eyes sweeping the scene before her. Her auburn locks bounced across her white dress, sheepskin draped over her shoulders to protect her from the chill. Coven garb. She was calm. Too calm. The shock of seeing her in the Church of Light clothing almost made you physically recoil. You had never seen the attire in the flesh, but you remembered how your mother had described it—white to symbolise the light and the chosen babe, the Light-bringer. Diviner.

The voices of the past echoed those names in your mind.

Light-bringer…

Your mother had always been short in her tales, too afflicted by the trauma and illness that had ruled most of her life away from the Coven. She had only spoken of the cruelty and sickness in those temple walls. The white was purity, the end of times, the rapture… but also a symbol of their devotion. The crimson blood of their self-inflicted or sometimes forced punishments showed up best on a fresh canvas.

How had Wanda inserted herself in your life so quickly? How long had Leofric and his coven of fucking madness been tailing you? And how had Bucky known to bring her? You glanced at him, desperate for a flicker of understanding, but his face remained devoid of emotion.

“It seems my friend, Barnes ‘ere, is obsessed with facts.” The Rat King spoke, pulling you from your confused daze. He wheezed out a laugh, a phlegm-filled cough quickly following as he spat the glob into the filthy churning Sootline.

“Go on then, girl. State the facts.” Varlan instructed with a bark.

Wanda folded her hands in front of her, her voice level and composed. “I invited her to Grimrow.”

A surprised murmur swept over the crowd.

“The Church of Light has been expanding its temple across the Sootline. I was honoured to become the Head Priestess for our new build—”

“Yeah, yeah, cut to the facts, girl.” Varlan cut over Wanda.

The auburn woman's eyes sparked with something that could only be described as irritation, but it was only a flicker as she expertly composed herself. “I invited her over to celebrate with me, as we have been friends since childhood.”

The word friends felt like a slap. Or even better, a well-placed stab to the abdomen. Your throat tightened as you stared at her, horrified by her ease in lying. How could she say it so smoothly? So convincingly? You tried to form words, but they caught in your throat, leaving you in silence.

“You agree,” Varlan pressed, his voice breaking through your haze, “that you were invited?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came, head spinning. Finally, you forced yourself to speak. “Yes.”

Varlan’s sly eyes narrowed, assessing you. “You say you are both friends but… the bartender and my men witnessed a fight between ya both,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Why?”

Wanda quickly stepped in, her voice carrying a faint trace of sorrow. “I had expressed my concern. I wished she would stop workin’ for the Smog Boys out of fear for her safety.”

Varlan’s amusement flickered across his face, but you caught the subtle way his eyes darted toward Bucky. It was a jab meant to provoke. Bucky didn’t bite. He remained as unmoving as stone.

“And what do you say?” Varlan asked, turning his attention back to you.

Wanda’s eyes burned into your own, her chin lifting. You could’ve sworn you saw the ghost of a smirk across her lips as she watched you squirm. You couldn’t claim she was lying, or this elaborate fabrication would fall apart. You couldn’t gauge her motive. Was it to make you feel you owed her and the Church of Light? Was it to protect you? Plant seeds of doubt within Bucky, and make it seem like you had hidden parts of your life from him?

“She’s tellin’ the truth,” you surrender, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

��And do you have evidence? Of this letter sent to you to invite you?”

Your stomach dropped further, quickly scrambling to come up with a believable lie. “No… No, I burn all my old mail. I use it as kindlin’.”

“Convenient,” Varlan spat out with a slow shake of his head. “Very convenient.”

“I have evidence,” Wanda interjected smoothly, producing a rolled parchment from somewhere on her person. “It is the reply she sent me, confirmin’ the date.”

Bucky’s shoulders subtly relaxed beside you. Had he known about the lie, or was he being strung along by her games, too? Had the two spoken as well? What lies had she told him? Worst of all was the flare of jealousy in your gut—the thought of him talking with that woman, the idea of him trusting her over you—the weight of betrayal was suffocating. Wanda had gone to unimaginable lengths, forging a note in your handwriting to solidify this ruse.

“You wrote this reply?” Varlan asked, holding the parchment aloft.

“Yes.” Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

Varlan examined the note for a long moment before nodding. “Well, seems you’re right, Barnes. My men were in the wrong. “

“So, we have an understanding now, Crey?” Bucky asked, his voice steady.

“Believe we do, Barnes,” Varlan replied. “Your woman can walk free.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his hand flexing at his side. For a moment, he didn’t respond; his cold blue eyes locked on Varlan like a wolf sizing up its prey.

“That’s it?” Bucky asked, his voice low, dangerously calm. “She walks free, and we’re supposed to call it even?”

Varlan spread his hands in a gesture of mock generosity. “What more do you want, Barnes? She crossed into my territory. I’ve agreed to let her go, no harm done. This should be the end of it.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He glanced down at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at Varlan. “No harm done? Is that what ya think?”

“She’s standin’ here, ain’t she?” Varlan said, his tone oily, his confidence growing in the face of no immediate retaliation. “No blood spilt, no lastin’ damage. Consider this a…generous gesture from me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. Without another word, he stalked toward the bridge.

The movement drew startled murmurs from both sides.

“What’s he doin’?” one of the Iron Rats hissed, his hand twitching toward his weapon.

“Hold!” Varlan snapped. “Let him come if he wants.” There was a cool confidence to his tone, a confidence that was likely misplaced.

“Barnes,” Varlan said, his voice rising as Bucky drew closer with deliberate, measured steps. “There ain’t no need for this. I’ve said the matter is settled.”

Bucky said nothing as he reached the other side. His hand slid into his coat, and when it emerged, he held a knife. The blade gleamed in the lantern light, its sharp edge catching the flickering flames.

The Iron Rats stiffened as if momentarily stunned and unable to make a move.

“Let’s be clear,” Bucky said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension like the edge of his blade. “You think you can cross me, threaten a woman under my protection, and walk away with a few pretty words? Is that what ya think, Crey?”

Varlan stepped back instinctively, his misplaced confidence crumbling as Bucky loomed over him. “Barnes, this is unnecessary—”

Bucky moved faster than anyone expected. His boot struck Varlan’s chest in a brutal kick, sending the Rat King sprawling onto his back. Gasps erupted from the Iron Rats, a few finally thawing out enough to jerk forward, but were quickly off-put their heroism by the crowd of Smog Boys inching across the bridge, blades drawn and faces like jackals.

At some point in the chaos, you had lost sight of Wanda, the witch disappearing into the shadows and fog like a ghost in the night.

Varlan scrambled backwards, his hands raised in a panicked gesture of surrender. “Wait! Barnes, wait!”

Bucky crouched over him, the knife hovering dangerously close to Varlan’s throat. “Ya think this is a game, Crey? Well, let’s fuckin’ play then, huh?” he spat.

“I—I didn’t mean for any of this!” Varlan stammered, his voice high with panic. “I swear, Barnes. Please!”

“Beg,” Bucky said, his voice cold and unrelenting.

Varlan’s face twisted with humiliation, but the knife at his throat left no room for pride. Slowly, he rose to his knees, his hands still outstretched in surrender but his entire form trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I was wrong. Please.”

“Louder,” Bucky demanded.

“I’m sorry!” Varlan cried, his voice cracking. “You can ‘ave the men, do what ya want with ‘em. Is that what you want? Please… just—”

Bucky gripped his balding head with a firm grip, directing Varlan’s watery, terrified eyes to look across the Sootline at you. You had a sudden epiphany, an understanding that Bucky had never been nervous. No. That strange energy, that twitchiness… it had been pure, unfiltered rage.

“Now, say sorry to her.” Bucky instructed, his voice near seething.

“I am sorry! I’m sorry for me actions. And my mens.” The Rat King cried out. Your gaze lifted to meet Bucky’s as he stared back across the Sootline at you. His grip on the man’s head tightened. “Please!”

“Bucky.” You finally spoke up, your voice soft as the breeze as it carried across the river.

As if your brief speech had broken a spell cast across the gangster, Bucky immediately straightened, his expression calm as he sheathed the knife. He reached out and patted Varlan’s head mockingly.

“Good little rat,” he murmured. “You know, I’m hostin’ a party soon. Maybe I’ll invite you, and you can dance and entertain me like the fuckin’ jester you are.”

Varlan’s humiliation was evident, his men exchanging uneasy glances. Bucky grinned wide, showing all his teeth.

“As for the men,” He said, his tone sharp as he turned to face the crowd of Iron Rats head-on. “The ones who crossed the border. Hand them over.”

Varlan hesitated for a moment, his pride still clinging stubbornly. But the weight of Bucky’s gaze, the threat of what he might do, was too much to bear. He nodded quickly, motioning to his men.

As if not wanting to anger the gangster further, the Iron Rats were quick to locate the three culprits and push them ahead, their expressions ashen with terror. Smog Boys emerged from the mist like spectres, grasping the men and dragging them across the bridge before they could escape and bolt back into the depths of Grimrow.

“Take them,” Varlan said hoarsely, his body sunken in defeat. “They’re yours.”

Bucky didn’t even look at them. He turned and crossed the bridge, hand grasping your forearm as he tugged you along. You frantically looked back, watching through the filthy haze as Varlan Crey stumbled back to his feet, cheeks burning, forehead slick with sweat. His men around him looked dejected, their beady eyes following you as you disappeared into the smog.

“Come,” Bucky uttered to you. “We have business to attend to.”

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 6 months ago

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Hi, could I have Moxxie x reader where the reader is teaching Moxxie how to do magic. The reader could be a goetia or possibly a imp (idk how but it might be cool) have a good day

Today's lesson!

"Alright my dear Imp, let's begin today's lesson." You began cooly, waltzing around the little Imp as he stood in the centre of the courtyard.

"Now, as I'm sure you remember, Imps are naturally attuned to fire based magic, though very few possess the, well, spark to use it."

That got a giggle from the Imp, the man staring up at you in pure aduration.

"And so, today's lesson we will..." You paused, looking down at the man as he just smiled like up at you, wearing that dopey smile he wore when he wasn't paying attention.

Rolling your eyes, you gently swatted the Imp with your tail feathers.

"Pay attention darling, you know I don't like to repeat things~" you purred, smirking down at him.

Moxxie just smirked back.

"Oh, really?" He hummed. "Cause last night you didnt seem to mind going again and again and again-"

To that you just bumped your hip into him, the little Imp stumbling as the two of you shared a laugh.

Moxxie has always been fascinated by your magical abilities.

It wasn't surprising. Magic was a wonderful thing, something very few Imps got to witness up close. Moxxie always had a dreamers heart burried under all that paranoid and fearful flesh.

And so, after the man became increasingly curious, you decided to teach Moxxie some magic.

"Now, remember the finger lighter?" You hummed, the Imp perking right up.

With chest puffed out in pride, he proudly snapped his fingers, a flame pouring off the tip of his thumb.

"Excellent job!"

You smiled beaming with pride, as you gave the Imp a little clap.

Moxxie just smiled ear to ear, filled with pride, you always enjoyed praising the Imp.

Being an Imp, you knew Moxxie had limited magical abilities, so you couldn't teach him any particularly advanced spells.

But that wouldn't stop you from having some fun and teaching him some the spells you could.

You'd begin the lesson, working from that. You teaching him a few more basic fire spells. Nothing crazy, just enough he could use in a bind.

Moxxie was adept at basic magic, but while he was excellent at following instruction, the man lacked creativity, the Imp often time focused on the physical part then the instinctual.

Well... sometimes~

Youd teach him to the best of your ability, the Imp learning several basic spells, his favourite being able to throw fire, even if he was clearly limited.

And so, after a few hours of lessons, you taking several moments to ensure he knew the spells like the back of his hand.

Well, maybe not that well, but that he could do them without direct instruction.

"Now I'll be showing you perhaps the best spell I have." You told him sternly, pulling an armchair over as you sat down.

You always made a sure to show off some of your own spells, the man loving to see you preform a magical spell.

Moxxie, as always, was paying full attention, perking right up as you sat back.

With a a sly smile you'd wave your hand, a portal opening beneath him, and with an adorable little squeak, the man would fall into your lap, the portal above you disappearing with a 'pop', you instantly pulling the man to your chest.

"See? The best one I've got~"

You purred, leaning down to kiss the Imp.

"Stooop!" The Imp whined, giggling as you pulled back.

"Oooooh, but you love my kisses~"

You teased, Moxxie just giggling as you began kissing along his body, the Imp squealing as you kissed at his neck.

You'd both be a laughing, giggling fit as you held the Imp close, refusing to let him go.

Though it'd be in the midst of your kissing attack, the Imp squirming and giggling, he'd try and jump out of your grasp, only for him to slam the top of his head straight into your face, drawing a loud, pained squawk out of you.

You'd pull back, releasing the Imp, subsequently allowing him to smack against the floor as you gripped your now very saw beak.

While it didn't draw blood, the top of Imp heads were notoriously thick, allowing him to dish out an incredibly painful smack.

While rubbing his head, the Imp would look around before realising what he'd done, the Imp jumping up.

He'd apologise profusely, absolutely distraught at the idea of having hurt you, the little Imp almost in tears when you finally raised a hand.

Taking a deep breath you'd turn to him.

"It's alright my love, I just... mmmh... need a moment."

The Imp breathed deep, you taking the moment to touch your sore beak. Before you'd look down at the man, tears building in the Imps eyes as you chuckled, coughing softly as you reached down, grasping the Imp.

Holding him to your chest you hold the man close, the man sniffling softly as you pat his back. "It's alright dear, I'll be fine."

You cooed, doing your best to comfort him.

After a minute he'd pull back, the Imp wiping his eyes.

"Oooh please don't cry my love." You cooed, kissing the man on the face. "I'm fine. It'll take far more then that to really hurt me."

You spoke softly, kissing his forehead.

"Now, can I see that smile?" You asked, the Imp sniffling as he hesitated.

"I won't have to tickle you again will I?" You spoke sternly, enough to make the man pause, staring up at you. Before you'd smile, the Imp smiling back, chuckling as you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

Being careful of your beak.

The two of you sat there for several moments, just holding the Imp close.

"I love you..." You spoke softly, hands coming up to cup his chubby little face.

The Imp froze for a moment before he blushed. He always acted so bashful when you espoused your love for the him, but that never stopped you before, smiling warmly as he responded.

"I love you too."

Your smile grew, you grabbing the man, dipping him down as we shared a passionate kiss, tongues wrestling with each other as the Imp held you close, absolutely in love~

(Come on, I gotta give you a little more of this dynamic.)

It'd be a dinner party, almost a gala, the denizens of Hells upper crust all gathered in one place.

And of course, you'd bring your beloved, the little Imp sitting on your lap as you caught up with an old friend at the bar.

It'd be as you were given a cigar from the bartender that you'd turn to the Imp, smiling down at the Imp with an expectant smile.

It took him a moment before he'd perk right up, snapping his fingers, summoning a little flame, allowing you to light your cigar.

You'd thank the Imp, kissing his cheek before staring down another goetia as they had the nerve to sneer at you.

You'd spend much of the night like that, you holding the Imp close, openly kissing the Imp, being sure to have him show a few of his tricks to your acquaintances.

It'd be as you left him at the bar, a terrible desicion in hindsight, but you'd had several drinks and you'd desperately needed to piss.

But upon returning, you'd find a small group around the bar, your stomach dropping as you rushed over.

You'd find some oversize royal bitch gripping his arm, Moxxie trying to pull free. The woman, obviously drunk, loudly demanding.

"I saw you do the fire thing! Do it again you little fire toad!"

She spoke with an arrogant, smugness to her voice as she yanked his arm.

But it'd be when Moxxie yowled in pain.

You snapped.

You were on her before she could get another word out, you'd grabbed her arm, ruthlessly twisting it until she released moxxie.

You'd stand over the woman, sneering down as you twisted her arm further, staring down at her, not stopping until you heard flesh tear and bone break.

You'd throw her to the floor, ignoring her screams and yowls of pain as you simply turned to the Imp, checking him over softly before softly kissing his arm, picking him up and kissing his cheek.

Turning to the shocked and aghast crowd of goetia before snarling at them.

"This one's Mine!"

You were sure to step on the bitches torn up arm, the crowd clearing as you carried him out, holding him close as you apologised, kissing him over and over as you stepped into your limo, the two of you riding home, you using a touch of magic on his sore arm.

"I'm sorry my love." You spoke softly, holding him close.

"I forgive you." The Imp told you, giving you cheeky smile.

Turning to him you'd wear your own smile, laughing as pulled him close, kissing the man as it rapidly grew more heated, the two of you rapidly shedding layers as you held him close.

You'd show him you loved him any way you could.

#helluva boss #headcanon #x reader #helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss moxxie #moxxie x reader #moxxie

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vodika-vibes · 9 months ago

Note

Gonna ask for a diamond with Scorch in some rainy winter weather please!

For Always And Forever

Summary: A sudden rainstorm on a blustery winter day, changes your plans with Scorch.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x Reader

Word Count: 622

Prompts: Diamond - Everlasting Love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Honestly, I was going to write this later, but I've been in a Scorch mood for days now, and no one makes requests for my baby boy, so I had to write it as soon as I could. Lol.

The rain wouldn’t be so bad, you decide as you peer up at the sky from where you’re sheltered under an awning, if it was cold enough for it to be snow. Rain in the winter is just depressing, after all.

You huff and lean against the wall, folding your arms over your chest. You were on a date with Scorch, but when the rain started he ran off to do something, leaving you behind.

You’d be hurt by it, if he hadn’t shouted that he’d be back in a little bit as he ran off into the rain.

Honestly, that man is lucky that you love him.

You lift your gaze when you hear footsteps, and a small smile crosses your face as Scorch comes back into view. “I’m back! I brought you an umbrella.”

You press your hand over your mouth, to hide your smile, “Scorch, baby, why didn’t you use the umbrella to keep the rain off of you?”

He blinks at you, and color rises on his cheeks, “I didn’t think about it.”

You press your lips together, you will not laugh at the love of your life when he did something so sweet for you. “Scorch,” You step closer to him, and reach up to brush one of his dripping curls off his face, “I love you, you know that.”

He grins at you, “Even when I do silly things like forget to use the umbrella?”

“Especially then.” You pull the sleeve of your sweatshirt down over your hand to wipe some of the water off his face, “You’re going to catch your death if we don’t get you warmed up though.”

Scorch opens the umbrella and holds it out for you to step under, before he presses next to you, “I’m sure I won’t. I’m used to the rain.”

“You don’t become immune to the rain, Scorch. That’s not how it works.” You glance up at him, “Will you let me take care of you, please?”

You watch as he melts at your words, “Well, how can I say no to such a tempting offer.” He asks, “So, cyar’ika, how do you intend to take care of me?”

You hum as you start walking and Scorch falls into step with you, “I’ll draw you a shower, and throw your clothes in the dryer…and make you that stew you like so much.”

“You spoil me, babe.” Scorch murmurs, his gaze soft and adoring as he looks at you.

“Well, someone has to, so it might as well be me.” You reply with a slightly shy smile.

Scorch slows to a stop, and you stop as well, your head tilting to the side as you look up at him, puzzled.

His free hand comes up to brush against your cheek. His touch is feather light as his fingers ghost across your cheeks, over the bridge of your nose, across your eyelids, and then pause on your lips, “I love you.” He breathes out, “So much.”

You smile at him, and press a light kiss to the fingers resting on your lips, “I know, Scorch. You’ve never hid it from me.”

You squeak in surprise as the umbrella falls to the side, exposing you to the downpour of rain. But then, suddenly, you don’t care about the rain. Because his lips are pressed hotly against yours as he clutches you to his body.

And, really, what are you supposed to do other than wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with everything you are?

After all, he’s your everything, and even if you don’t have the right words to tell him how much he means to you, you can at least show him through physical affection.

#star wars #tcw #vodika vibes 500 followers celebration #clone commando scorch x reader #scorch x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #gn!reader fic #answered asks

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wonderful-magician · 1 year ago

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DAROACH HEAD CANNON RAMBLING???

More likely than you would think my friends.

Ok so I worked on the drawing above for maybe 10 hours and I'm very proud of it! And I felt like this post would be a good transition into elaborating MY VERY LONG LIST OF HEAD CANNONS for this rat.... Since he has very little backstory canonically similarly to most Kirby characters who have like a sentence of backstory. And unlike Meta knight or King DDD who have a general concept or idea. We know nothing about the silly rodents!! Nothing!!

( NOTICE THIS IS ONLY FOR MY GIJINKA VERSION OF HIM!! )

So I'm here to basically write a whole damn book for these guys. But specifically daroach because... I'm biased. Lmao. SO I decided to give him something! The life of a poor child from 1920!! ....woohoo?

I believe I've said this before, and I don't think it's that crazy- but I enjoy playing with the fact these characters are for the most part from different planets and have different cultures and experiences because of this. And I love to write little things about it. And just like many others. We have no idea where daroach is even from in the first place.

I like to think the original species of squeaks/squeakers originated from the forgotten land. But at some point they all moved to different planets and locations. You can find them on different planets, and they have a unique culture to each other. The only thing they all share is the bells! Which I shared on my post all about the bells!!

Anyway I figured I would have two bulletin lists about the fun head cannons of mine! But put both of them here for simplicity. And I hope this is coherent and doesn't come off too ... Wow! Tragedy! Daroach is really a chill, happy guy despite some of the things that happened to him in my personal canon...

Despite the events I list here, Daroach actually has a very positive attitude and outlook on life! Despite how his homworld has shitty living conditions and child labor.

Daroach lived with his father until he was ten, when his father was drunk and shot by an officer for being openly against the current mayor.

Daroach never met his mother. But he worries about it little. He cared about it more when he was younger. He also has no known extended family.

Daroach had to live in the streets for a while because of this. Working as a newspaper boy.

He met Storo during this time. The two quickly became good friends. As Daroach was fast and Storo was ... Big. Even as the two were only 10-12 year olds.

The boys became familiar with a lot of the adults in town. Knowing the baker or the locals well. Storo liked to speak to a specific man named doc, quite often.

One harsh winter. Daroach gets sick. And Storo starts to feel under the weather as well. Storo, worried for their well being. Begs doc for help one morning. Doc, after seeing the full conditions of the two boys. Let's them stay with him.

While this was originally temporary, doc ended up enjoying their company. And the three live together like a family. But none of them want to call it a family.

Daroach starts working at a factory and so does Storo. Doc trying to revive his career as a scientist. ( and failing.. miserably. ) around this time doc also takes in spinni. Who's only 7.

Daroach starts to become a more intense thief. While he was always good at it, he did live on the streets for two years after all. But he gets... Very good at theft. For he learns how to float and teleport.

As they all get older. They form a early version of the squeak squad. But it's more like a group formed against the current situations and political climate. As a civil war is occuring in the country and the city is very divided.

Daroach gets himself into a lot of fights. But is both loved and hated by the press. For his hatred to the government but attractive looks by squeak standard.

After daroach is wounded in a fight. They get money, and leave on their newly made airship. Never to return to this planet. As it's just miserable there.

Ok that was a basic outline of his story on my end! Time for more basic head cannons that can be applied much easier !!

Daroach has been smoking since he was like 13. This was normal for his planet. But nowadays he mostly understands his mistakes. But he still smokes, even if he's polite about it and smokes outside it matters little. Meta knight likes to absolutely mock him for this...

Daroach hates being hatless for an extended period of time. It's just ...weird...

Daroach is the only squeak/squeaker to stand on his tiptoes constantly.

Won the triple star in a bet with a certain wizard who plays star stacker.

Used to have a alcohol problem, as his father originally did. But he did actually recover from this.

Dated meta knight for a couple months before they broke up with no explanation.

Nobody but them and galaxia know why.

At the age of 11 he developed a limp and still to this day he doesn't even understand how he got this mysterious limp.

Owns like three of the same outfit and does his laundry often. Pure comfort

Hates not being formal. You won't find this man in public wearing slides and a T-shirt. Must be a poet shirt. Or something alike that.

Totally not weird that he dated meta knights reflection. When he broke up with the real thing.

Okay this better post correctly 🙂

#kirby #kirby gijinka #hoshi no kirby #hoshi no kaabii #daroach #implied metaroach #implied darkroach #cw alcohol

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blueberry-lemon · 2 years ago

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My 2022

I see a lot of people writing posts or threads about things they did in 2022. I don't usually do this sort of thing for a few reasons. One is that I'm aware that it can be a bit pretentious and a bit frustrating for others to read if they had a really bad year. For that reason, consider this a soft content warning for "yet another post reflecting on 2022." The other reason is that I don't think I've accomplished anything worth reflecting about, and am quite disappointed in myself and my 2022!

But...maybe that self-conscious feeling is exactly why I should force myself to write this.

A few things I accomplished in 2022:

I wrote some stuff

I put up the final chapter of my Sonic fanfic [although not the epilogue yet, sorry readers!] titled "Have You Heard From Sonic Lately?" Of all things I did this year, this is probably one of the things I'm most proud of? I think I'm decent at writing these characters and I like playing in this world in a mostly-canonical way, following guidelines painted by the games, the IDW comics, and ironically now Sonic Prime.

I put up Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 of Soul Symphony: Abandoned Encore. SS:AE is prose sequel story to my 2010-2015 webcomic Soul Symphony. These characters and this story mean a lot to me, but I left them behind as relics as 2015. I decided that the year of my 10-year high school reunion would be a fitting time to look back on these characters.

Side note: The comments I receive on Ao3 are so nice??? They're so heartwarming, they make my day. Something about someone enjoying my writing is 100x more satisfying than someone enjoying a drawing I did, and the way people express their feedback is really meaningful. I wanna cry every time. Thank you to everyone who has read my stuff.

I put out two meaty pieces: a review of Cam Marshall's comic "Matchmaker", and my year-end reflection titled "I Forgot How To Climb The Mountain."

I've wrote a few mini blog posts scattered across Cohost, Tumblr, and Patreon, which you can find in the #blogofkylelab tag.

Behind the scenes, I've continued my work as a Writer working on Rhythm Doctor as part of 7th Beat Games.

Art and Game Dev

I...barely drew anything, so that was kind of a disappointment. But the few things I did draw I mostly liked! The very little time/energy I have for drawing these past few years is always a tough pill to swallow, but I'm glad that when I DO make time for it, it is still pretty fun.

I've continued working on Rhythm Doctor and A Dance of Fire and Ice as a part of 7th Beat Games. We put out some cool collab levels.

I helped launch ADOFAI's paid DLC expansion, Neo Cosmos! Directed by TaroNuke, it's a really cool expansion with its own identity and I love the new mechanics and focus on character/narrative.

I worked on Squeak N' Seek, a short gamejam project we made as a birthday present for Giacomo, the Lead Programmer at 7th Beat Games.

Other Stuff

I've been running @IndieGamesOfCohost for a few months now! Shares of indie game posts on Cohost, posts spotlighting new releases of lesser-known titles, and a series of Indie Interviews with fellow gamedevs. This has been very satisfying for me, and I hope I can keep the momentum going in 2023.

I'm forcing myself to write these things down to convince myself that I accomplished something, because for the past few years I haven't been able to shake the feeling that "I haven't accomplished anything." I miss the days where I drew quite often, especially between 2015 and 2018, and I made illustrations that I still cherish to this day. I feel like a "shell" of my younger self still, which is a ridiculous thing to say. Someday, I'll find my way back to a place where I'm satisfied with my output.

I hope your 2022 was bearable! Let's all work together in the new year.

#blogofkylelab #2022 reflections

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blue-jester · 11 months ago

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I have three cats, Iris, Fern, and Willow

Iris and Fern are littermates and black cats, they're about 3 years older then Willow who's a little tabby cat some farmer found outside somewhere in 2022 and gave to us for free because no one else wanted her

Iris is a typical halloween kitty, but she has a little white crescent moon on her belly. You'd think she's super mysterious and graceful but actually she is so soggy and odd. She loves opening all of the doors to my dresser and wants to be a lap cat so badly . She likes being pwt behind the ears and will see you using your laptop of drawing tablet and go "Naptime!" and sit on your legs and you can't move anymore. Also she is fucking tiny but that doesn't stop her from taking up the entire bedspace whenever she sleeps with me. She doesn't get along well with the other cats and is kind of a bully, she likes Willow only sometimes, when they're not fighting for dominance via grooming. She loves to frame her stupid idiot brother for crimes that SHE commited, but also he commits plenty of his own crimes so she probably got away with it a few times. She is also pest control, i used to hold her up to windows so she could catch flies in our old house

Fern is like if an orange cat was black. He's so stupid. Not a single thought has ever formulated in that little brain of is. He's super big and super fluffy but for some reason can't grow ANY fur on his ears and instead grows it in-between his toes. His belly feels like petting a sheep and is a completely different texture from the rest of him. He's very talkative and the biggest attention whore I've ever seen. Giving Iris and Willow attention? Not anymore you aren't. He's yelling at you and rubbing up against your legs now. You have to shift your attention to HIM now or ELSE. He doesn't mind being picked up or held, you can hold him pretty much any way you want and he just won't care. His hobbies include stealing my dads keys, stealing my socks, sitting in every box he can find, and falling off of tables. One time when he was a kitten he fell asleep face first in his food bowl

Willow is a little baby girl, a little sweet baby thing. A tiny small. She's very fast she's very playful she ALSO loves stealing my fucking socks. And my plushies. She thinks my hair is fine dining and decided that god must die so that she may take his throne. She despises being held with every fiber of her being and clipping her nails is virtually impossible despite the fact that she really needs it because she keeps cutting herself with them. She got the cone for that one. She is a heat seeking being who will sleep directly in front of heaters, on top of electronic devices, and one time it was super cold and I was the only one in the house so she snuggled up next to me for warmth and I could feel her shaking because of how cold it was and babaababy,,,,,,,,,,,,,,. She also LOVES smacking the dogs. She's a little hunter. Also she doesn't meow she squeaks

pet owners of tumblr i have a Request of you. reblog/reply to this post and tell me about your pet. Please. I want to hear about them.

#hope this was sufficient

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generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years ago

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Stressed: Marcus and Honey decide to buy a house

Title: Stressed: Marcus and Honey decide to buy a house

Rating: T (mentions of sex, nothing explicit)

A/N: thank you to all the wonderful friends who gave me time, and who encouraged me, and let me know I could take my time returning to Marcus and Honey.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!eader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Honey catches Marcus looking at houses, and their relationship gets more serious.

Warnings: zero, this is 100% fluff

"Whatcha looking at? Porn?"

Marcus grabs the laptop screen and almost slams it, but catches himself at the last second. He’s a grown man for God’s sake.

"No!" He squeaks. Then clears his throat and tries again, "No."

You pause in the living room doorway in his townhome, and toe your shoes off. You'd just gotten back from work, and are aching to ditch your bra and tote full of files, and papers, and Tupperware. When you'd walked in you hadn't announced yourself, because you were practically living there. You hated to admit it, but you two were on the brink of cohabitation. In fact your roommates had asked about subletting your room. Since...you weren't using it. It was a task you had quietly ignored for the last week, and you knew you needed to tell Marcus.

You planted your hands on the waistband of your blue trousers - Marcus's favorite - and put a little pout on.

"You know I don't care if you watch it without me."

He puts both hands up, letting the computer rest on his thighs, secure in his grey sweatpants. He'd had a day off from the office and thoroughly enjoyed it. So it seemed.

"I promise it wasn't porn."

"Baby, it's really okay-"

"It's not porn!"

"Okay, then what is it?" His defensiveness is almost comical. It's a good thing Marcus chose to be a cop because he would make a terrible criminal for being a bad liar. Sweet man.

He sighs.

"Zillow."

"House porn is still porn," you say without missing a beat.

"Just sit down here, please. I've missed your butt all day," he says, extending his arm and inviting you into his lap. You untuck your shirt as you go, then settle on his thigh, leaning back into his sturdy chest as his hand lands on your thigh top. The chair lets out a protesting squeak. With the other hand he settles the laptop on your knee and you help him reorient the screen.

"I was looking at houses in the area. Nothing fancy, just the essentials: backyard, solid kitchen appliances."

"I've always dreamed of doing a fixer upper," you admit, leaning further into him.

"With these prices that might be all the down payment I can make. I'm told the market is not a buyers market right now. Whatever that means."

You look down at him, and think about how much you love him.

"This one is okay. I'd need to gut a lot of it, but some paint, some new counters and it would be nice. Original floors too."

You look at the listing, reading about the old creation. It has plenty of character, from the outdated chandelier to the baseboards which are covered in dust, even in the pictures. You shift a little in Marcus’ lap. You don’t buy a major fixer upper just to flip.

"Why are you looking at houses right now? What brought this on?"

He closes the laptop and draws your arm back to wrap around his neck so he can hold you and look at you.

"I feel like I've outgrown this space. It was fine while I was a bachelor but-" he shrugs and looks at the couch and bookshelf in the cramped little room too "-I'd like something permanent. Or at least big enough for a dog."

"You want a dog?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Do you want a dog?"

"Uh, yeah I want a dog."

"Then let's get a house."

You play with his hair, and he shows you some of the houses he has bookmarked. None of it seems real, and you suddenly feel very young.

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

As Marcus gathers all his financial information so he can start talking to a real estate agent, you start to have small, little second thoughts. The idea is nice, and you want to move in with him. But you are not anywhere financially ready to make that kind of commitment. Emotionally, yes. Mentally, absolutely. You practically live with Marcus as it is.

But a house has the potential to become a home, and that is nerve wracking.

And you still haven’t decided what to do about your apartment. Your roommate texts you just one long row of question marks one day, and you can’t put it off any longer.

“Marcus?” you ask from the kitchen doorway. He looks up and his reading glasses slide down his nose a little. You smile fondly.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

Your feet pat against the floor until he can wrap an arm fully around your waist. “My roommates want to sublet my room. I’m here so often, but my lease is good for another year, so, they think it's time to…” push me out of the nest.

Marcus looks at you with his forehead scrunched in the middle. You hope he can connect the dots. “Is this house stuff making you nervous?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Honey,” he says, and closes the file with all his finance information for the realtor. “I want to buy a house because it’s time for me to live in a house. I love you, and I want to take you with me. I know this is a big step.” You pluck at his fingers pressing into your waist. “Are you feelings anxious about it?”

You are. Your face heats up. You say every word slowly so it comes out right. “I am anxious that if you buy a house I’ll have nowhere to go if we break up, and I am anxious because I want to help buy it and I don’t make very much money.”

You glance at the manila folder on the table. It’s full of a lifetime of money making. A lifetime of jobs and investments and Christmas bonuses. You were so proud when you negotiated your salary up at your part-time job, but the income is barely enough for a mortgage. You doubt you would qualify.

Marcus somehow hears every word. “Okay, I have three, maybe four thoughts. Ready?” You nod and smile.

“One, keep your lease, sublet the apartment, and raise the rent a little bit. Thought number two: you will always have somewhere to go if somehow this doesn’t work.” Marcus swallows. He wants it to work so bad. “Three, I am buying a house. Don’t touch your savings.”

“But-”

“Nuh uh. I’m fiscally prepared to do this,” he leans in to press his nose against your cheek. “You give me the best company, and are so good at puzzles, and make the best pasta sauce. Let me give you a house. If we decide to stay together long term, we can talk about putting your name on the title and mortgage. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Wordlessly you lean into Marcus and bury your face in his neck. He wraps around you fully, arms criss-crossing against your back. You’re not sure you deserve this man.

“You don’t have to be the man of my dreams everyday, y’know?” you say, your voice thick with waiting tears. “What was your fourth thought?”

“I want a home with you. You deserve more than my bachelor pad.” You nod, unbelieving how this man wormed into your life and made it so much better.

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

“I like the beveled ceilings,” you say, stepping over a pile of broken plywood. Something crunches underfoot.

“They were an addition by the last owner. I think it gives the place a lot of character!” The upbeat real estate agent - Cindy something - gestures with her pen like she’s Vanna White. Marcus looks skeptical. The ceilings are a little low, and the beveling does not help. This is the fifth house you’d seen today and the prospects were not what you were expecting. Even Marcus, ever hopeful, began to have doubts around house three. You had watched him scrub his hand over his beard, the tell tale sign of frustration.

“This room has great southern exposure. And an extra storage feature,” Cindy explains. She pries open a cupboard built up high, the doors of which have been painted over. The paint snaps apart when Cindy gets them open. “Perfect for swapping things out in an ever changing room. Could be a guest room, or a craft room. Could be a nursery!”

Marcus quickly steps in. “It would make a nice guest room.” He is just as done with Cindy’s nursery comments as you were. You knew Marcus wanted kids, and you do too. But one step at a time.

You toe off your shoes in the foyer of Marcus’ townhouse. He’s behind you sorting out his keys, phone, work phone, wallet, shoes. You know you’re both thinking about Cindy’s comments.

“I don’t think any of those were the ones,” you say quietly. You sound defeated.

“Me neither,” he says, and kisses your cheek while walking past you to the kitchen. “I was thinking something older.”

A baby. A family. A house. So many options for the future swirl in front of you. It’s terrifying, but you can feel a kernel of truth in all of it. It is a tiny voice but it says you should try.

“Marcus?” you ask, standing in the door of the bathroom. He’s sitting in bed, hands folded. You look at each other. Without hesitating you crawl on the bed and sit next to him. You take his hand.

“Marcus, I love you.” You say it confidently. You’ve said it a hundred times before but you need him to know that you aren’t scared. “I want to do this with you.” You’re not sure what ‘this’ is yet, but you thread your fingers with his. “I think we should get a dog first, though.”

“Cindy’s comment made me nervous too.”

You huff and squeeze his hand. “Why are you so good at that?”

“Hours of interrogating criminals.”

“Ugh, bringing work to bed again,” you say, and dramatically throw yourself back on the duvet. Marcus follows, spooning you against his chest.

“You liked the handcuffs,” he murmurs in your ear and you squirm at the reminder. He rises up to lean over your face. “You ready to do this?”

You cup his jaw and feel the soft hair you’ve grown to love. “I’m ready to build a home with you.”

He kisses your palm. “That’s very sweet, honey, but I meant the sex we’re about to have as practice for when we christen the new house.”

“Marcus!”

Taglist: @leias-rebelion @sarahjkl82-blog @honestly-shite @danniburgh @missredherring @whistlingbirdie @captainjaspenor @simsiddy

Taglist note* I have been gone a while so I used old urls from my old list, so if something has changed or you don't want to be included please DM me and I will fix it

#Marcus Pike #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #Marcus Pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike x Reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #Marcus and Honey #stressed #Stressed series

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ynisamenace · 4 years ago

Note

Yo yo yo I've had this idea for a while but like bokuto with nipple piercings and like they just healed so you finally get to play with them and like he was already super sensitive before now the smallest touch makes him whine dikwowowjdbb

wow wow wow my favourite himbo with nipple piercings 🤩🤩🤩 he definitely got them done on purpose just so he could be even more sensitive to your touch akdkxhfuk

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: sub!Bokuto, dom!reader, nipple play, biting, himbo top bokuto, masochism, use of pet names (babyboy, sweetheart, good boy), overstimulation

Bokuto was excited. Very excited. He had been planning to get them done for a while now and coming home to see your surprised face as he raised up his shirt revealing his piercings was worth the pain.

“Well?” he enquiers still smiling at your stunned face.

“It’s um wow remind me never to doubt your impulsiveness again”, you answer, but Bokuto was too busy chattering about how much they didn’t hurt, he failed to realize how dilated your pupils had become. You would definitely have fun with him once they were healed.

It was practically torture having to see your boyfriend walk around your shared apartement, nipples out and peircings just begging to be played with. There were a lot of close calls, but you decided to wait for them to fully heal even though by the eight month, Bokuto was almost begging you to finally have your fun with them. You decided to make him wait a bit longer, partly because you didn’t want to hurt him and partly because you just loved when he begged.

Although your patience was running thin as well and you finally snapped when you came back from work and saw him lounging on the couch, torso bare and piercings glinting in the light. He turns to you with a cherish grin as he hears the front door close.

“Babyyyyy I’ve missed you,” he whined pouting as he got up to lunge at you, “how was your day? I’ll tell you about mine! Akaashi called and we were talking about thi-”

He suddenly gets cut off when you grab him by his waistband practically dragging him to your shared bedroom. Throwing him on the bed, he let out a little whimper as he finally sees the look on your face.

“You really know how to rile me up don’t you babyboy?” you question him, only receiving a blush and low whimper as a response from him. Climbing onto the bed, you settle yourself on his lap and finally squeeze one nipple between your fingers, both of you moaning at the same time from the relief. Your other hand goes to work on the other nipple as you place your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent before biting into his neck making him release another moan from all the stimulation.

“F-fuck y/n plea-ase harder”, he moans and you give into his request pinching both his nippled tight between your fingers and biting harder into his neck as you feel the growing tent in his sweatpants. You knew your boyfriend was a masochist and how you’ve missed his begging for you to rough him up. You pull away, releasing his nipples from your grip and he’s about to complain until he looks up at you signaling for him to strip.

Gently placing you on the bed, he climbs off taking off his sweats hazardlessly and climbs back between your thighs, his eyes darkened with lust and a light blush covering his face. You place a hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him into a searing kiss which he reciprocates with much enthusiasm, putting all his lust and love for you into it. Finally breaking away, you look him in the eye and say

“Go ahead sweetheart”

And that’s enough for Bokuto to thrust into you, moaning at the feeling of absolute fullness and Bokuto’s face one of pure bliss as he pushes shallow thrusts into you, trying his hardest not to cum before you.

“A-ah y/n-n fuck you feel so good so uh fucking tight”, he praises you as he hooks your leg up onto his shoulder before ramming into you like there’s no tomorrow. Your brain practically turns to mush but you still remember to keep rolling his nipples between your thumb and index finger.

“S-so good for me Bo, you’re such a good boy for me making me feel so good a-ah right there.”

Thrusting more vigorously from your praise, you don’t even get a chance to speak before your first orgasm comes rushing out of you, stars in your eyes as Bokuto just keeps going, his hips stuttering as he nears his own orgasm.

“Baby I’m so close fuck you don’t know what you do to me so fucking tight shit thank you thank you thank you I’m cumming I-i I’m cummi-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his lips from an ‘o’ shape, his orgasm washing over him as you keep twisting his nipples, tears forming in his eyes as he keeps shallowly thrusting into you, overstimulating himself from the pleasure. You push yourself up onto your elbows smashing your lips onto his, tasting the tear running down the side of his face into your mouths as he keeps thrusting, making the bed squeak after every thrust, both of you too blissed out to care.

His thrusts start turning erratic and hips shaky after a few minutes of you making hickeys on his neck and pulling his piercings and you can tell his second orgasm is approaching. You can feel yours as well, biting your lip as you guide his hand to your clit, him getting the memo and drawing tight little circles on your bundle of nerves. You keep spewing praises into his ear and soon feel him shake, a load moan rips through his body as he convulses, feeling thick ropes of cum shoot into you and that along with the clit stimulation has your second orgasm washing over you as your boyfriend basically collapses on top of you, still shalowly thrusting into you the overstimulation making him sob.

He keeps thrusting, you caged in his arms and orgasms again, his sobbing mixing with his moaning of your name as his tears drip on your face. You wipe them off your face and his as slurred and jumbled thank yous and sorrys fall from his lips. You shush him with a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips as you roll him on his side and giving him a bottle of water from the side of the bed. He accepts it graciously as he chugs it down, giving you a small smile before he shakily gets up to get a wet rag to clean both of you up.

Finally clean, he gets back into bed pulling the covers on top both of you as he spoons you, kissing the side of your neck spewing praises into your ear before you both succumb to sleep.

#haikyuuxblackreader!#haikyuu x black reader #haikyuu smut #bokuto #bokuto x reader #yn #black!reader #blackreader!#dom!reader #sub!character #sub!bokut #ceowrites #fem! reader #gn!reader

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intheticklecloset · 3 years ago

Text

Dare You To (SK8 the Infinity)

Summary: During a game of Uno Dare, Reki is challenged first not to smile and then - failing that - not to stop Langa from tickling him for a minute. When he fails the second time, the others decide a little playful punishment is in order.

A/N: YES!! I LOVE lee Reki! I love writing for him, that cute little ticklish redhead!! *ahem* Anyway, I've never heard of Dodge or Dare, and I honestly didn't feel like watching a clip of whatever show it's from to learn how it works, so I modified things just a tad, but I think I got the general idea of what you wanted in there. Enjoy! ^^

Word Count: 1,758

~~~

“Ha! No way he’ll be able to do that,” Miya laughed, enjoying the way Reki’s face went red in response to both his challenge and the dare that had been put before him.

They were playing Uno Dare – a new take on the card game they were already familiar with – and so far, Reki wasn’t doing too great. He’d already failed to balance a single card on his head, stand on one foot until his next turn, and do ten push-ups in ten seconds. (Actually, he couldn’t even do ten, period.) And now Langa – who was seated on his right – had the audacity to play a dare card and dare him not to smile until his next turn.

“I can do it!” he insisted, pouting, shooting Miya and Langa a glare each. “It won’t be hard with you guys picking on me.”

Joe smirked at him, attempting to share a glance with Cherry, who promptly ignored him.

“Well? Take your turn,” the pink-haired skater said, gesturing to the pile.

Reki frowned, determined to win this dare so he wouldn’t have to draw another two cards. He already had more than anyone else in the circle. He glanced at his hand briefly, played a card, and stared at the discard pile. He didn’t want to see anyone’s faces. He didn’t want to accidentally slip up again. He would win this dare if it was the last thing he did.

Langa pinched his side.

“He-eey?!” Reki screeched, jolting to the side. Thankfully he was able to keep himself from smiling, but when he made eye contact with his friend it was difficult to keep a straight face. He saw the devious smirk and suddenly grew flustered. “D-Don’t…I know what you’re thinking, but don’t! That’s cheating!”

Cherry took his turn, which passed the flow of the game to Miya. But the evil little skater just sat there, smirking, watching Reki intently.

Langa reached for him again. Reki’s hand shot down to grab Langa’s wrist, the anticipation nearly forcing him to smile already, but he held firm.

“No tickling!” he cried when Langa’s other hand reached for him. Reki thought it was going for his side, but suddenly his friend shot down to his knee and squeezed, making him squeak. He broke into a wide smile in the split second before he could push Langa away and regain composure, but it was too late. With Miya watching him like a hawk, there was no hiding that he’d lost the dare.

“Told you!” Miya laughed again, taking the liberty of drawing two cards for Reki and handing them over. “Here, slime, take your punishment.”

“No way!” Reki exclaimed, looking around the circle at the two adults with them. “Langa cheated!”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says other players can’t try to mess with you,” Joe said, chuckling. “So technically, he didn’t cheat.”

Reki glared at Langa, who smiled calmly back at him, winking. The redhead demanded, “I want a do-over! Give me another dare, or let me try that one again without you cheating.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Langa replied. “I thought that had been established. Take your cards, Reki.”

“No!”

Cherry sighed, but Miya quickly piped in again before any of them could get scolded. “Fine, you big baby. How about this – if you can take Langa tickling you for one minute without fighting back or saying ‘stop,’ you don’t have to draw your two cards. That’s your new dare.”

Reki’s eyes widened. “What?!”

Langa laughed. “Oh, come now. You can take a minute, can’t you?”

“Of…of course I can!” Reki swallowed, setting his cards face-down in front of him and clenching his fists in his lap. “Bring it on!”

Miya pulled out his phone and got the timer set up, then counted down from three, and the challenge was on. Langa – sneaky, sneaky Langa – immediately slipped his hands under Reki’s shirt to scribble at his bare skin, skittering over his sides and lower ribs, and Reki burst into giggles, gripping his knees so he wouldn’t fight back on instinct. Langa was not going to make him lose two challenges in a row!

“You’ve always been super ticklish, Reki,” Langa purred into his ear, making him squeal and arch his back.

“Don’t – dohohohohn’t tehehehease me! Thahahat’s cheating, too!”

“Everything is cheating to you when you’re losing.” Langa smirked, moving gradually around to his belly, which they both knew was his worst spot. “Do you really think you can handle a whole minute of your tummy being tickled?”

Reki whined, starting to bring his arms in protectively but stopping himself just in time, squirming in place as Langa finally reached his weakest spot. “Hohohohohow muhuhuhuch lohohohonger?!”

Miya smirked. “You still have forty seconds.”

“Whahahahat? No wahahahahay!” Reki cried. Langa began to circle around his belly button, and his giggles grew into frantic cackles, his whole body shaking from the effort not to protect himself. “Plehehehehease, not thehehehehere, Langa!”

“Where? Here?” Langa dipped his finger into his friend’s navel, and Reki screamed, bringing his arms in at the same time he fell back onto the floor, pushing and kicking at his blue-haired friend.

Miya stopped the timer. “Dude, you lost again! How are you so ticklish?!”

“Shut up!” Reki snapped, blushing as he sat back up. “Fine, whatever, I’ll take the stupid cards. Let’s just move on.”

“No way!” Miya declared, putting his cards down as well and nearly lunging across the circle to tackle him back onto the floor, reaching up into his underarms in a flash. “As punishment, now you have to have two people tickle you!”

“Wha—?! Nohohohohohoho, Miyahahahaha!” Reki squealed, laughing all over again. He was just beginning to muster up the energy to push the little skater away when he suddenly felt fingers digging into his open belly once more, making him shriek and start thrashing more violently. “GOD, NOHOHOHOHOHO!! NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!! NOT BOHOHOHOHOTH OF YOU!!”

“Tickle, tickle!” Miya taunted, grinning. He kept digging and scribbling in the redhead’s underarms while Langa got back to work scribbling over his belly and eventually digging into his navel again.

Reki bucked and thrashed and kicked, laughing up a storm but unable to get away. He was in the midst of pleading for mercy when he suddenly felt another weight on him – this one sitting on his legs, pinning them to the floor so he couldn’t kick.

“Jeez, kid, you’re gonna hurt somebody if you keep that up,” Joe’s teasing voice came from somewhere by his feet. Seconds later there were fingers scribbling over his soles.

“NONONO PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, NOHOHOHOHOHO!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Reki begged, laughter coming out in shrieky, uncontrolled bursts. He flailed his arms wildly, unable to do anything else at this point. “WHY?! I SAHAHAHAHAHAID I’D TAHAHAHAHAKE THE CARDS, YOU JEHEHEHEHEHERKS!!”

“Because it’s fun,” Langa replied, leaning down to blow a raspberry over his belly button. “Plus, if you let us tickle you a little more, we might even let you off the hook so you don’t have to draw any more cards.”

“LEHEHEHEHEHEHET YOU?!” Reki screamed. “I CAHAHAHAHAN’T STOP YOU!!”

“Oh! Well then, this should be a pretty easy win for you.” Langa blew another raspberry. “It’s unbelievable how ticklish your tummy is, Reki.”

“STOHOHOHOHOHOHOP CAHAHAHAHAHALLING IT THAHAHAHAHAHAT!!” Reki’s voice was pleading now, mirthful tears springing to his eyes for how hard he was laughing, having three spots tickled at once. “AND NO RAHAHAHAHAHASPBERRIES!!”

“You’re so picky,” Miya muttered, sliding down slightly to squeeze at his upper ribs.

Reki started to push him off, finally able to muster up some strength once his underarms were left alone, but that was the exact moment that Cherry decided to join in, grabbing his arms and pulling them above his head, pinning them down, doing nothing more than making him more helpless and watching his companions draw laugh after screaming laugh from his core, now that he couldn’t move almost at all.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Reki tossed his head back and screeched loudly, hysterically, unable to hold back or protest or anything anymore. All he could do was lie there and take it and hope desperately that they’d get bored soon and leave him alone. It was true – he was incredibly ticklish, but especially on the three spots that were being assaulted right now, and Reki wasn’t sure he’d be able to take much more of this impromptu tickle torture. “G-GUYS, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Miya smirked. “Tickle, tickle, slime~”

Langa blew another raspberry. “You’ve got such a cute, ticklish little tummy, Reki~”

“Your laugh is pretty great, dude, not gonna lie,” Joe added, still scribbling over his feet, his touch lighter than the other two’s. “Don’t know if I’ve ever heard you this happy before.”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Reki cackled, a tear sliding down his cheek as he laughed helplessly. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! I GIVE!! I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHAKE THE CAHAHAHAHAHARDS!! GUYS!!!”

After another few seconds, the three of them silently agreed that they’d had their fun, and all four of them let Reki go, climbing off of him and releasing his limbs so he could curl into a ball, still giggling into the carpet.

“Aw, man!” Miya whined, drawing the redhead’s attention to him. “Look! All of his kicking ruined the game!”

It was true. There were Uno Dare cards splayed everywhere. No one could tell where one person’s cards ended and another’s began, and the draw and discard piles were intermixed as well.

“S-So you…you t-tortured me for…for nothing?” Reki gasped incredulously, pushing himself into a seated position, staring at the failure of a game before them. “What was the point, then?!”

“For fun,” Langa replied, gently nudging his shoulder with a smile. “Come on, you didn’t really hate that, did you?

Reki’s blush quickly spread all the way to his ears and neck. He hunched his shoulders and looked away. “Shut up, dude.”

“Cheer up, dude.” Langa pulled him into a hug, poking his sides sporadically to get him smiling and giggling again. “Tell you what, the next time we play you get a free pass on any dare, and you don’t have to draw any cards in place of it. I think you’ve earned that much, don’t you, Miya?”

Miya scoffed, but he was smiling. “Yeah, whatever. You get a free pass, slime.”

Reki giggled, squirming in Langa’s soft, tickly hug. “Okay, okahahahay, I’ll take it!”

The others smiled at him, Langa let him go, and they got to work gathering up the cards so they could shuffle and play again.

Miya handed him the deck. “Your turn to deal, loser.”

“What?!” Reki exclaimed.

Everyone laughed.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #sk8 the infinity #reki #langa #renga #miya #joe #cherry #sk8 squad #dare #game night #playful #teasing #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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sciapod · 4 years ago

Text

Bathtub Photoshoot 💦

Pairing: Henry Cavill x First Person-POV (Female, or at least X wears a bra and has breasts)

Summary: Little private photosesh' with Henners and then some.

Warnings: Dry humping but let's just call it grinding. Edging. 18+ to be safe!! Contains smut. You might be able to find the tiniest bit of angst. And bit of fluff.

Word count: 2.5K

Not beta’ed! I take full responsibility for this fuckup.

Inspired/prompted by this post by @cavillfics

Masterlist

I obviously don't own Henry Cavill, nor do I know him IRL, so it goes without saying that this is a figment of my imagination.

(I took the liberty to edit the photo just a bit and don’t know who to credit for the original edit. Let me know if you know, so I can give credit where it's due.)

Happy reading 💦

---

“Babe, I've got an idea! Can you do something for me, please?”

When I heard you coming through the front door, I rushed to meet you there. You were finally home again and was hanging your jacket on the coat rack when I found you.

“Oh, well,” you reply, “I really want to just lean back, maybe take a shower or something. It’s been a long week, babe. And hello, by the way.”

You step over to me, reach around my waist and pull me against your firm body.

“Mhm, you smell lovely,” you whisper in my hair. I sigh, then wiggle myself free of your embrace.

“Henry, listen,” I look up at you with my best attempt at puppy eyes. You breathe deeply and turn your face, scratching mine with your stubble. It sends shivers through my body.

“Okay,” you hum as your hands roam my body, finding their way to my bare thighs then sneaking up beneath my robe, “tell me.”

I grab your hips and press my core against your thigh as I lean backwards, looking up at you, “I want to take some pictures … of you.”

Your face goes through a range of emotions; surprised, suspicious, smirking, friendly and finally incredibly charismatic: Front-page-style smile.

“That’s the one!” I say with excitement.

“Which one?” you tease, furrowing your brow and looking all suspicious again.

“You know perfectly well, you buffoon!” I say, as I slap your chest playfully.

My entire body lifts when you laugh. You kiss my forehead and twirl some of my hair between a few fingers. Your eyes shift, gazing at various areas of my face. I sigh, then reach for your hands, the one playing with my hair and the other, which I find gently caressing the lace of my panties.

I hold your hands between us and look up at my man.

“You do realize, of course, that you are basically a Greek god carved out of stone.”

“I have been told so, yes.”

“And you do realize that every artist needs a muse, a model, to create from.”

“I have a faint idea of that, yes,” you say, smirking down at me.

“And I happen to be short of a project, and subject, for my portfolio.”

“I see,” your smile broadens, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Henry!”

My declining patience must have been obvious somewhere in my face or perhaps my exclamation, because you burst out laughing, throwing your head back as you do so. I can’t help but melt a little.

“Tell me what you need me to do, darling,” you say, stroking my hands with your thumbs. I feel warmth spread through my chest. Your face softens and I feel the warmth spread further down.

“Fuck,” I breathe, casting my eyes to the floor. I’m suddenly filled with all kinds of insecurities, imposter syndrome and such, but there’s a reason why you’re my man. You sense it immediately and lift my hands to your lips, kissing them sincerely.

“You’ve got this, babe.”

I sigh, “I know, sweetheart. It's just… Urgh.”

You kiss my forehead.

“Tell me your idea.”

“I…” My voice breaks. You lift my chin up with a single finger, as if it were suddenly light as a feather, forcing me to look into your striking blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” I finally exclaim. “I didn’t have a concrete idea. I just knew that I wanted you to be in the photos.”

You smile, almost apologetically, “Okay, look. I really want to help. But I’m so damn tired. I’ve got an idea, though, of how we may be able to hit two birds with one stone.”

“Okaay?” I say, a slight tinge of hope seeping into my core again.

“I need a bath–”

“–I can’t take a nude picture of you!”

You laugh again, but shake your head, “No, silly. Let me finish.”

My cheeks flush scarlet.

“I need a bath, but instead of taking a shower, I’ll jump in the tub. Once in there, you can have me do whatever you want.”

I squint my eyes, then see a lightbulb flash on.

“YES!” I almost yell, running my hands up your torso and leaning in for a kiss.

“Yes,” I repeat, then press my lips against your sculpted ones. It is as if your lips curl to a smile amidst the kiss.

“Yes,” I say one last time, meeting your eyes, “If you get the water running, I’ll collect my gear.”

Your hands go wandering about on my hips again, dragging my robe up and making my hairs stand on end. You look down at me with a confident smile, saying, “great minds think alike.”

I fight off the urge to kiss you again and instead draw away from you. You catch the waistband of my robe and it slides off as I step away, revealing the new set of lingerie I’m wearing underneath. I stand, looking at you with what I imagine is the expression of a suspicious feline. You, on the other hand, make a low whistle and shake your head in slow motion, clearly surprised and pleased to see what I was hiding beneath. Then you nod toward the living room, signalling I get on with finding my camera.

It takes me a few minutes to find the right lens. When I enter the bathroom, you’re in the process of unbuckling your belt. The tap is running and there’s already a bit of water in the tub.

“Wait,” I say, stopping you just as you’re about to pull your jeans down, “I think I want you in the water dressed.”

You stare for a moment, shrug, say “sure,” then proceed to tug your jeans over your perky bum again.

“Right, erm,” I think for a moment, “No, you know what? Lose the pants, but keep the t-shirt on.”

“Lose the pants,” you repeat and let your jeans fall to the floor. As you stand back up, I realize something.

“We might have a problem,” I say, eyeing the hefty bulge in your boxers.

You follow my gaze, noticing the same problem, then nod in agreement.

“But then again,” you say, “what did you expect, looking like that?” you hint at my open robe and lingerie.

We both shrug, then burst laughing.

“I guess we’ll just have to make it work!” I say, “Now, in the tub with you, buddy.”

You feel the temperature of the water and deciding that it’s decent, turn off the tap, step in and lie down. There’s not a lot of water in there, but I’m assuming it will do. You look up at me with anticipation, “Now what?”

I squint at you, finding the bulge slightly distracting, basically towering above the waterline like another Burj Khalifa. Obviously, you notice my lack of response.

“Hey, babe!” you say, snapping me out of it. I feel my nether region clench.

“Okay, okay!” I shake my head to wake up. You shake yours too, smirking at me.

“We need to do something about that,” I say.

“I can try to hide it?” you suggest.

“How?” I squint. It’s a mastodon of a package you has stored down there, I think to myself.

“Anyway, I need to find a position to photograph you from.”

I begin taking random photos of you from various angles and perspectives, simultaneously adjusting the settings on the camera as I do so. Meanwhile, you roll around to one side, then the other, then back again. The squeaking sounds of your body rubbing against the sides of the tub while you change poses makes the whole situation rather comedic, and I'm convinced you're doing it even worse on purpose. Determined to be somewhat professional, I try to ignore your distractions.

“It’s a good thing we have such good lighting in here,” I say, gazing around the small room, pretending to be focused and ignorant of your attempts at sabotage.

“How do you want me, babe? I feel like… I don’t even know? A fish out of water,” you say, doubting your own wording, “or something like that.”

I sigh, “I know, I get it. I need to think. We’ve also still got that… situation… going on.” I gesture at the, no less apparent, tent between your legs.

“Okay,” you say calmly, “I’ll just lie back and relax, while you think of something.”

“Good.”

As you settle into a comfortable position, I mentally run through the various “golden rules” of photography that I can remember.

Then it’s as if I notice the obvious. The absolute god-like adonis carved in marble in front of me: My initial inspiration. Your white t-shirt, soaked from all the turning and splashing around you did, is sticking to your chest and abs, enhancing the lines of your muscular torso, yet still in a perfectly suggestive fashion; somewhat similar to the drapery you see on these same sculptures. In a fit of impulse, I crawl up to stand on the edges of the tub.

You open your eyes –awoken by my scramblings– fear in your eyes as you reach for me, “be careful, babe!”

“No no, darling! Stay put!” I say, “I’m perfectly safe. It’s dry. My feet are dry. I’m stable, but thank you.” I smile, reassuringly. Suspicious yet accepting, you lower your arms and lie back down. I notice your eyes trail down my exposed body. Lust now clear as daylight in your gaze.

“I think I’ve got the photo soon, babe, then we’re done,” I explain. “Just close your eyes for me.”

You shake your head and smile, then do as I said.

Your head rests on the back of the tub, but your fingers begin fidgeting … around your nether region.

“Are you uncomfortable?” I ask between photos.

“No…” you smirk, eyes still closed, but you shift and rest your hands awkwardly on your stomach instead.

“We can’t have that,” I say, “you’re covering the main part of the photo,” I tease.

You open your eyes, still smirking but not saying a word.

“And you’re revealing, exposing, what we need to hide,” I try to hold back my laugh.

“Okay,” I continue, “what about… what if you hold your t-shirt at the hem and stretch it down to cover your crotch. Place your other hand casually beside it. Yeah, like that! Exactly, babe. Beautiful.”

I take a couple of photos and look at them on the tiny screen.

“Right, hold that pose, but just… kinda relax, if you can. I’ll take a few shots more and then you’re done!”

You close your eyes again and begin taking deep breaths, lessening the tension that must have been building in your shoulders over the last few days. As peace falls upon your face and body, I take the last photos. After quickly reviewing them on the tiny screen, I decide that I’m done. I turn off my camera and place it on the shelf above the tub before crawling down to sit on the edge of the tub, my feet in the water between your legs.

“Okay, it’s a wrap!”

Your eyes flash open and you let go of your t-shirt. The fabric bounces back, revealing your hairy tummy, teasing me. You look up at me with mischief, then give your member a squeeze.

“Get down here,” you say, almost ferocious in your voice.

I feel myself get all giddy with sudden anticipation as you rise like Poseidon from the water. Before I can do anything other than yelp, you pull me down onto you and with a splash and a thud I land against your rock-hard body. I'm instantly soaked.

“Finally,” you mutter, drenching my face and neck with hungry kisses. Your hands tease the collar of my robe before sliding it over my shoulders. Your eyes explore the curves of my upper body, then you adjust me so that I sit straddled upon you. You don’t speak a word, but your eyes and body say everything I need to know.

I feel your girth throbbing against me. You slide my robe all the way off and without taking your eyes off me, you cast it aside. Then your hands slide up my body. You cup my breasts tenderly, admiring the lace and how the new style of bra suits my breasts. You lick your lips as your thumbs begin stroking my hardening nipples. I sigh and begin grinding against the tip of your member.

You sit up and proceed to kiss and bite the flesh of my breasts. Gently holding the lace aside with your fingers, you capture my nipples between your teeth, ever so gently, before circling your tongue around them with exquisite attention. While squeezing my breasts together, you kiss them one after the other, back and forth, before venturing up to my collarbone and neck. All I can do is whimper and moan.

Then you grasp my hair, pulling my head back. Between kisses and bites on my exposed neck, you breathe damp, sultry words onto my skin. Expressions of how I’ve been a tease, how patient you’ve been and how much you want me now. I want to answer, but I can’t do anything but mutter incoherencies; your throbbing cock eagerly pressing against my core and thus stealing all of my vocabulary.

My breath quickens as I grind harder, cursing the fabrics that keep our cores from meeting, merging. Then you push me towards you, allowing our lips to meet in hungry kisses. My bra loosens. You must have managed to open and take it off me with your other hand, before also casting it aside. You grab at my liberated breasts, then sit up and pull your drenched t-shirt over your head. It lands on the bathroom floor with a splash. My hands instinctively seek the wet fur of your stomach and chest, momentarily squeezing your pecs, then wander south again.

Your eyes read pure hunger and you buck your hips. As I fall back down from the jump, my core meets the powerful strength of your pelvis, bucking yet again. I gasp, overcome by a mixture of arousal and humor. You buck again, a laugh escapes me and somehow, after a few times of this, you’ve managed to free your erection from your boxers. I didn’t notice, but at some point you must have turned on the tap again, because I see you turn it back off. I guess this increased level of water also explains the more slow-motion-like sensation I experience as I land back down on your pelvis; a somewhat softer landing than before. In my own defence, I was entranced and my mind was not functioning at 100%, hence the questionable description. Anyway, both our hips are now submerged under water and I simply shake my head at your mischievous ways. You smirk and pull me down to a deep kiss, slapping my ass through the water, making more water splash all over the place. Everything in the room is certainly wet by now.

I grind against your exposed and infinitely hard cock as your fingers slider under the lace. Your hands grab my cheeks with determination, enhancing the force and enabling you to better thrust against my grinding motion. The friction is causing short-circuits in my brain, making me see colours that aren’t there. My first climax is staggeringly near, but just before I get to release, you buck your hips again, making me scoot off your cock. A devious grin is smeared across your chiseled face.

“You had me waiting, sweetheart. Now it’s my turn to tease.”

---

Thanks for reading my shitpost! Please leave a comment of your thoughts, however nonsensical they may be 💜🙏

Tags in the reblog 🖤Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

#henry cavill #henry daddy #henry cavill is daddy #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill smut #henry #henry cavill x first person pov #henry cavill x poc reader #henry cavill x any colour reader #real person fic #real person fiction #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill bathtub scene #sciapod writes smut

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earliebirb · 4 years ago

Note

A prompt idea for you... There’s this post I've seen floating around tumblr of two rabbits and it's titled "how to surreptitiously stretch within reach of kisses". I have this image in my head of Steve sitting on the couch reading and Tony coming in the room and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He thinks, "If I gradually inch closer to Steve he will give me kisses." Steve is oblivious (not really, he knows what Tony's up to), but kisses are given.

Thank you for the adorable prompt! The rabbit video made my heart melt. I hope you like it! 🤍

peripheral

steve/tony, fluff, established relationship, 950 words

(inspired by this post)

Snugly nestled in the corner of a long leather sofa, Steve is enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. One of his elbows is planted on the sofa’s padded arm and his hand holds his novel of the week open in front of him.

As he flips to another page, he feels the sofa dip down with extra weight. He sees movement in his peripheral vision, but doesn’t bother turning his head to take a look. Someone has plopped down on the other end of the couch.

He continues reading quietly. Although he feels a pair of eyes staring at him intently, he resists the urge to acknowledge the company.

After a while, he finally reaches the end of two pages and proceeds to flip to a new page.

From beside him, Steve hears the person let out a heavy sigh. He tamps down on the urge to smile, maintaining a poker face and making sure his eyes never leave the book.

The person then proceeds to kneel on the couch, now fully facing Steve. In his attempt to bite back laughter, Steve reads the exact same sentence five times. He can practically feel the disapproval radiating from the far end of the couch, but otherwise his intruder continues to stay quiet.

Just to give his hands something to do, Steve flips to yet another page even though he hasn’t been able to follow the story. He struggles to regain his focus, too busy tracking his companion’s every move.

In a bizarre twist of events, the person leans down to touch his forehead to the couch, still in a kneeling position. The arms are slowly stretched forward until he achieves the child’s pose in yoga, fingertips a foot away from Steve’s thigh.

From the corner of his eye, Steve notices the way the person looks up, presumably trying to gauge Steve’s reaction while still maintaining the ridiculous position.

Steve gives him none.

With another disappointed sigh, the man decides to crawl towards Steve. The leather sofa squeaks as he approaches, inching closer and closer.

He finally stops with his nose a few inches away from Steve’s face, breath tickling his cheek. With the close proximity, the intensity of his gaze feels like a brand on Steve’s skin.

Steve clenches his jaw so tight he feels a little lightheaded, but he is not going to back down when triumph is now so close within reach.

After what seems like forever, the man finally plops his head down miserably on Steve’s lap, mashing his own face into Steve’s thighs with a grunt.

Steve has a few seconds to enjoy his victory—the ends of his lips lifting up into a smug smile—before his intruder lets out a muffled whine.

“Steveeeeen.”

Breaking into a chuckle, Steve sets his book down on the end table beside the sofa and buries his fingers in Tony’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he croons sweetly, bending down to nuzzle the back of Tony’s neck in greeting.

“You ignored me.” The words are mumbled into Steve’s sweatpants, bitter and accusatory, Tony’s breath warm through the fabric.

“How dare you ignore me. Your beloved husband. Who is much more interesting than your stupid book,” Tony continues to grumble into Steve’s thighs, punctuating each phrase with a jab of his finger into Steve’s calf.

Steve chuckles again. His hand combs through Tony’s hair slowly, trapping soft curls in the spaces between his fingers and drawing them out. “I wanted to see how long you’d hold out. Not very long, it turns out.”

“Evil.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wanted kisses,” Tony complains, not unlike a child who has been denied access to the cookie jar.

Steve has trouble holding back a fond smile.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” He takes Tony’s earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, pulling on it gently. “Turn around so I can give you kisses?”

Tony huffs. “No.”

“No?” Steve mock gasps. “But I want kisses.”

“Tough luck. You had your chance.”

Steve grins, stroking Tony’s back appeasingly. Up and down, up and down.

“Sweetheart, please forgive me? I’m sorry. I’m truly the worst.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am so, so sorry, my love.” Steve laughs softly. He covers Tony’s nape with his hand, thumb caressing the side of his neck. “Turn around? Please?”

Silence. Then Tony finally turns around to face Steve, mouth set in a deep frown.

“There he is. My handsome husband.”

Tony glares up at him, unimpressed. Steve smiles down at him, pressing his thumb down on the lines between his downturned brows.

“So handsome, even when he’s angry.” He leans down and manages to give Tony a few open-mouthed kisses, even with the odd angle. One kiss, two kisses, three kisses. A fourth one, for good measure.

“Am I forgiven?” he asks, lips brushing against Tony’s. He doesn’t give Tony the chance to answer, immediately going in for a fifth kiss.

This time, he lingers, taking his time to savor the feeling of Tony’s upper lip caught between his.

Kissing Tony is truly one of his favorite things in the world.

When Steve pulls back, he finds his husband staring up at him in a daze.

Tony’s pretty brown eyes are slightly out of focus. He pants lightly as he tries to catch his breath, slick lips parted.

Steve gives him a few moments to gather his bearings. He is considerate like that.

He catches the moment Tony realizes Steve is still waiting for an answer, staring down at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Tony clears his throat. His eyes dart around to stare at anything but Steve, color high on his cheeks.

“Give me some cuddles and I’ll think about it.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #earl answers #user: mkes

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #bucky imagine #mcu fic #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe fic #marvel cinematic universe #Persephone's Symphony

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kagedbird · 3 years ago

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I can't wait to move to my new home. I can't wait to endlessly draw. I have so much work to do!! Need to make so many references, need to get new furniture, set up my room, ugh!! I need like, 10 of me so it will all go faster.

I just ordered a new sit stand desk for work, I plan on giving away my recliner in hopes for a better one (or maybe a chair that reclines, idk, it's just that my current recliner is too short), and maybe a second desk that's just a desk? I really liked having an L shaped desk despite the absolute annoyance that was the squeaking whenever it moved.

There just so much to do now that Art Fight is next week, and I want to do art projects for DND, and I want to become a Vtuber so I need to work on stuff for That, and I have to catch up on so many games since I've been gone!!

I have to do NPC art for my Wednesday campaign, I need to decide on a character design for my future Sunday campaign, and I'll be going back to my Saturday campaign hopefully soon.

Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh this isn't even acknowledging the need for a part time job. I wonder if I could get something remote for a little while? Just until everything calms down. I did wanna eventually work at a Hot Topic, I love their atmosphere so much.

So much to do, so much to see (xinfinity)

#Pos vent #kb rambles #My brain is FULL #Brain go brrrrrrrrrr

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kanonsarchivedblog · 3 years ago

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I Want To Be You

Characters: Cirrus/Era IV Air Ghoulette, Papa Nihil Emeritus, Gale/Era II Air Ghoul Warnings: Mentions of forced medical procedures Word Count: 1,494 Author's Notes: This is part of a whole 'verse I've got going on. I'll post other parts of this as I rework them from almost three years ago, and rewrite them- as well as the pieces I've posted on here. But anyways- have a very angry, very vengeful Cirrus and a hint at how awful Nihil really is.

*Takes place pre-Papa IV reveal*. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ I've been watching him for my entire life. I hate the air he breathes- his foolish decrees, his words so contrived. And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside; they hang on every breath, cling to his chest, home to his heart full of pride. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Abbey was silent as the Ghoulette made her way through the empty halls, her footfalls echoing softly against the walls, ricocheting back to her. The hour was late- late enough that the Siblings of Sin would be safely tucked into their beds (alone or not, that would be up to the Siblings to decide); the members of the Unholy Clergy would be sound asleep. The only ones who roved the halls of the Unholy Church of Saint Lucifer were those who were not of this mortal plane. Occasionally, a chitter or a growl would echo through the halls, followed by the sound of a squeak or soft coo from another Ghoul or Ghoulette.

Slowly, one by one, the Ghoulette wound her way through the halls and down the stairs, slipping from the wing she and her fellow Ghouls shared- to keep the Siblings safe, of course. The stairwell’s natural acoustics did well with amplifying each step she took.

Her heart beat out a 4/4 rhythm; strong, steady. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, head tilting, eyes narrowing as she listened for any sign of life. The timing was almost right; a few minutes of lingering should create the opening she sought. Her steps were slow, measured as she made her way towards the Clergy’s wing of the Abbey, where he would be sound asleep, foolishly unguarded save for the terrifying Ghoulette who lingered outside of his door- his personal minion, the Ghoulette he had broken and become a ghost of herself. Too comfortable he had grown in this position of power; too comfortable he had grown to believe that no one would dare attempt to put an end to his unholy reign.

Idiot.

She bore no uniform declaring her to belong to the Fourth Era of Ghouls. Nothing to tie her back to them, not with the Glamour that cloaked her skin, hiding the blueish grey parlor, replacing it with a lovely, sun-kissed tan and short, dark curls. Instead, she wore a nightgown of white- much like what she’d been wearing the night they’d swept in and stolen everything from her. A hand reached out, dragging sharpened claws along the stone hallway, causing sparks to flicker, trailing behind her. The wind answered her unspoken call, drawing her scent downwind from the phantom guard they’d butchered and stitched back together into a macabre puppet.

Her gaze tracker her movements as she walked away- time to circle around before returning to her post in five minutes.

Too long of a time to leave Papa Nihil alone.

The door was unlocked when she reached out, grasping it and turning it slowly, listening for the latch to give. What a stupid, senile old man he was. She wasted no further time, pulling it open just wide enough for her form to slip in before closing it behind her with the softest of clicks. The room before her was dark, lit by the dull lights coming from the medical machinery that surrounds his bed. His oxygen machine sat closest, the mask settled upon his unpainted face; how frail he’d become in the past century, his health rapidly declining and failing. Even now, she could see the way his chest struggled to rise with each draw of breath.

Yes, it wouldn’t be long now. The Cardinal’s plan would work.

But not before she had her fun.

She slipped off the heels she wore and crept forward on bare feet, making not a sound as she climbed atop the plush bed Nihil rested so peacefully upon. He did not wake as she settled atop him, rising to her knees to stare down at him. The dagger she’d carried gleamed in the strip of silvery moonlight that slipped through the curtains. Carefully, she leaned down, clawed fingers removing his mask.

Milky gaze snapped open, revealing those odd optics. She slapped a hand over his mouth and growled lowly, her tail raising behind her as a silent threat. “Your guard is not here, Papa,” she murmured, thumb stroking the frail, thinning skin on his cheek. Her claw caught in the flesh, tearing it like a hot knife through butter. Oops. “Your guard left her post to wander like the phantom she is. You’re alone in here with me, now,” the Ghoulette purred, leaning further down to press her bust against his chest even as the cold metal of the dagger settled against the delicate skin of his throat. “I could end it right now, you know? I won’t- no, no. You don’t get to slip away with an easy death like that- the same way you refused to let me die when I craved death.”

Confusion was evident in his features until the Glamour dropped, revealing straight dark locks, stormy grey hues, and skin the color of the sky as storms rolled in. “Yes, you made me into this monster. You took what I wanted the most in the world- you ripped it out of me with bare hands and left me there. You could have simply ended my contract and sent me on my merry way, but instead you chose to drug me and drag me under the knife.” Nihil whimpered beneath her, eyes wide in fear.

She felt the sheet beneath her grow warm. Wet.

“Did you piss yourself, old man?” She sat up, staring down at him, the dagger held aloft- poised over his heart. “Disgusting, losing your bladder like that. You’ve grown senile and weak. I could cut you from neck,” she tapped the tip of the blade against the hollow of his throat, just above where the oxygen mask sat, “to navel. Gut you like a fish- but I will not.”

Driving the dagger down, he lets out a squeal akin to a pig; she stills it inches away from his skin. He shakes, trembles like a leaf in the wicked autumn wind beneath her. She’d never felt more powerful in her life. Was this what Dahlia meant, when she’d mentioned the joy she’d felt working as an Agent for the Church? “Your death will not be this night. But when I come for you- and I will come for you- I will wear my high heels so that you may hear my approach on the stones of the cathedral’s floor and have to repent. Say three Hail Mary’s, and maybe you won’t be tormented as harshly by His Unholy Majesty,” raising the dagger, she trailed the tip along his cheek delicately. “Because I have heard what you have done to countless Sisters and Ghoulettes alike- the same you did to me- and I know what He thinks. And I promise you, you will not receive eternal Glory, Nihil Emeritus.” Leaning down, she pressed her forehead to his, removing her hand from his mouth. “What motivates me more- is it hatred or love? Maybe my name could also be known- no longer just a Nameless Ghoulette.

“I, too, have a destiny- and this death shall be yours. The Clergy will speak of this day, spreading word from near and afar. This even will be history! I don’t want what you have, Nihil,” she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth in a mockery of a kiss before leaning up to murmur in his ear, “I wanna be you.”

With that, she reached down to grasp his mask, gently placing it back over his nose and mouth, smearing blood with the placement. “Do not try to come after me- for I am not the only one within these halls who awaits your untimely death and demise.” Slowly, she drew the blade down, down, down until she held the tip where they nearly joined and pressed down, the threat of the dagger breaking through the sheets to dig into his flaccid penis. Nihil wheezed, the scent of urine and fear mingling, thick in the air of the bedroom. “Enjoy the remainder of your days- for they are numbered.”

Two minutes left. She was not graceful as she clambered off of him, though she no longer needed to be. She turned, raising the dagger to her mouth as Nihil watched, her forked tongue slipping out to lick away the blood from the blade. Reaching down, she plucked her shoes from the floor and slipped from the bedroom, rounding the corner moments before the Ghoulette returned to her post.

At the end of the hall stood an imposing figure; Papa Emeritus the Second’s air demon, Gale. “You did not kill him.” It was a statement, an observation, as he fell in step beside Cirrus. “Why?”

“Not yet,” Cirrus replied as she reached up, slipping her arm through the high demon’s. “I’ve a few more things I need to accomplish first- a few more pawns to move into place on the board.”

“Like the Cardinal?” He murmured, head tilting to gaze down at the air Ghoulette.

“Like the Cardinal,” Cirrus agreed, lips curling into a wicked smile.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #ghost imagines #cirrus #air ghoulette #era iv ghouls #air ghoul #papa nihil #tw: forced medical procedures #it's mentioned in past tense #m's scribbles

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