#love how prominent the kiddos are in this

[wordswhisperinthedark]

GIN-CHAAAAAAN🥳🥳

[corroded-hellfire]

AYW req if you'd like: while Reader is pregnant with Eliza, she starts getting more prominent stretch marks on her stomach & boobs & stops letting Eddie see her naked. Eddie rectifies that situation hehehehe

This was honestly so fun to write! Love featuring the kiddos but these two also need some alone time hehe 💜 @munson-blurbs and I hope you like what we've come up with

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (she's already pregnant but you should still wrap it up), semi-public sex, pregnant!reader, oral, f!receiving, breeding kink, body image issues, older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 3.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The late June day is sweltering as you step out of the Harrington’s house and into their backyard. The placid blue water of the pool looks refreshing and calm—or it will, until the kids get in. Luke quickly jumps in alongside Theo and Danny, the three rowdy boys immediately splashing each other and then whining about being splashed. Ryan and Natalie are decidedly less hyperactive, taking care to watch baby Amelia where she kicks herself around in her purple mermaid floaties. 

Nancy makes herself comfortable on a lounge chair a few feet away from the one you’re making your way towards. Normally you can keep up with everyone else, still being in your second trimester, but this heat has you moving slower and feeling crankier than usual. 

You can’t help but notice the way Nancy looks in her bathing suit compared to how you feel in yours. Nancy’s had four children and looks stunning as always as she lays back in her black one piece. You feel shoved into your navy suit, like every little stretch mark that mars your skin is on full display for the world to see. 

Trying to shrug it off and enjoy the invitation from the Harrington’s to have a pool day, you make yourself comfortable on your lounge chair and adjust the pale pink coverup you have on. Eddie stands near the foot of your lounge chair, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out at the children in the water. Your eyes feel glued to his lithe frame as he strips his shirt off. The pale skin that’s left on display practically has your mouth watering. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen him naked countless times, your eyes still roam over his torso and the beautiful works of art he has inked on his skin. 

As Eddie rids himself of the Black Sabbath shirt, he notices the way you’re gawking at him. A smirk quirks up his handsome features and he playfully tosses his shirt at your face. Your hormones this second trimester have been no joke. The moment Eddie walks through the door after work you’re jumping on him. Your husband swore you were going to wear him out before this baby was born. Not the last week or so though, now that Eddie thinks about it. Maybe those particular horny hormones have been fading to make room for whatever new batch comes in for the third trimester. 

The sound of little feet kicking too hard beneath the water of the pool approaches you and Eddie, and you look up to see Luke swimming over towards the edge. He grins up at the pair of you, shaking the water from his curls like a dog just out of the bath. Bright blue eyes land on you and they’re doing a pretty damn good impersonation of the puppy dog look that Eddie gives you when he wants something. You know what Luke is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. 

“Wanna plaaaay with us? Please?”

Giving him a frown as you squint beneath the blazing sunlight, you shake your head. “I’m super tired, bud. Growing a baby is hard work,” you tease. You’re not technically lying—when you’re not jumping Eddie’s bones or concocting weird new food combinations, you’re sleeping— but no one needs to know that’s not the reason you don’t want to get in the pool. 

“I can play with you,” Eddie offers his son. He takes a step towards the pool and is ready to dive in when Luke wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

“Nah, I’m good,” the little Munson boy says. 

As you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover up your laughter at your son’s remark, Steve claps a hand on Eddie’s bare back.

“Gonna need some ice for that burn?” Steve whoops. 

“Shut up, Harrington,” your husband grumbles in response. Eddie takes a seat near your legs at the edge of the lounge chair. His hand finds your leg and he rubs up and down your calf, always needing to be touching you in some way. Physical comfort is something you both love to give and receive from one another, which calls for a lot of soft rubbing or absent-mindedly drawing patterns on one another’s skin. Now, Eddie’s touch is having a calming effect on you, though he didn’t even realize there was something you’re uneasy about. Your body language must change as he relaxes you though, because he tilts his head to the side as he gazes at your face.

“You feeling alright, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah, just tired.” 

If Eddie had any follow up for that, he doesn’t get the chance because Amelia kicks her way over towards Luke in the pool and hangs onto his shoulder when she’s close enough. Her hand almost slips from his wet skin, but Luke manages to catch the little girl before she can float too far away. 

“Uncla’ Eddie!” Amelia calls once she’s clinging to Luke again. 

“What’s up, Little Red?” he asks his favorite ginger niece. 

“Come in, come in!” Amelia cheers. 

“At least somebody wants me in the water,” Eddie says with a pointed look at Luke. “Anything for you, my darling Mia.”

A few minutes after Eddie’s joined the kids in the pool—who also convince Steve to come in—Nancy comes over to you, noticing how everyone else is in just their bathing suits and you’re seemingly putting on more articles of clothing. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly, nervously tucking your lips into your mouth. 

“Bullshit,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have four kids; I can smell a lie a mile away.”

“Seriously, Nance, I’m fine.” You muster up a small smile, but she sees right through it, and you know it. 

You have your nose buried in a book, unaware that Nancy is reaching over the side of the pool to give Eddie’s ear a tug. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” he yelps, rubbing the affected lobe. “What was that for?”

“Go talk to your wife,” Nancy says through gritted teeth, obviously irritated at having to spell it out for him. “Marco Polo can wait.”

As Eddie attempts to get out of the pool, Amelia grabs his leg and tugs. Your husband lets out a soft chuckle and picks the small girl up.

“I’ll be back, Mia.” He presses a few kisses to the top of her wet, red hair and sets her back in the water. 

Over the top of your book, you see Eddie sauntering towards you. You slip the book back into your bag and tug your cover up tighter across your body. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he asks with a smirk. “Besides that bun in the oven.”

“Just relaxing,” you say. 

“If you’re just relaxing, why did Lady Harrington threaten my life to come over here? And why aren’t you in the pool?”

The only answer you have you don’t want to tell him. And you’re not going to make up some lie to get him off your back. Eddie deserves better than that and you would never treat him with anything less than the utmost respect. That doesn’t mean you want to tell him the truth, though. You swallow embarrassment as you mutter, “I gotta pee.”

Eddie doesn’t let you get far without him though, he’s hot on your tail as you walk through the back door into the house.

“Can you please tell me what the problem is so I can at least try to fix it?” he asks once the screen door is securely closed behind him.

Silence is his only reply as you walk up the stairs to the second floor. You’re obviously upset, and your husband can’t relax until he knows what’s bothering you.

“Sweetheart, what’s the problem?” he asks again.

You stop short and spin on your heel to face him. As Eddie tries to read your face, he’s not sure if there’s more sadness or anger there. Either way, he wants to make it go away. He’d do anything. 

“This is the problem!” you say, gesturing towards your boobs and stomach. 

Eddie looks at you for a moment, brain trying to comprehend whatever it is you’re talking about. He shakes his head and gives you his response. “If I keep looking at them, this is gonna be a problem, too.” He motions to his crotch.

“I’m serious!” you yell in frustration. 

“I am, too!” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t forget how I got you pregnant in the first place.”

“Oh, so I can blame you for this mess?”

Eddie wrinkles his brows. “What mess?” He knows you would never refer to your baby that way, so he’s even more confused as to what you could mean.

“The stretch marks, Eds!” you lament, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “They look like an angry toddler drew lines all over my body.”

Understanding clicks inside Eddie’s brain. Why you’re so covered up. Why you didn’t want to go into the pool. But how could you ever think anything about your body wasn’t absolutely beautiful to him?

“That’s why you haven’t been all over me the past few days,” Eddie says as the realization hits him. “I thought maybe it was those horny hormones, or whatever they’re called, fading. But you…you think there’s something wrong with having stretch marks? Baby, no. It’s just your body making more room for our little sweet pea to grow. They’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

Believing him is easier said than done. You want to believe him, but battling the insecurities in your head is not something you’ve conquered yet. Now you just stand there and fiddle with the hem of your coverup, not knowing what else to say or do.

Eddie sighs and gently takes your hand into his. 

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.” 

Eddie leads you into the upstairs bathroom and shuts the door. He positions you directly in front of the mirror above the sink and stands behind you. Slowly, he moves your cover up out of the way to reveal your growing bump, stretch marks dotting the sides. 

“How on earth could you think anything about this is a problem?” he asks, his hands barely grazing your skin as he admires your tummy. “Look at you. Gorgeous bump. Cute little stretch marks from where our baby is making herself comfortable inside of you. It’s incredible, princess. Your body is literally growing a person and you’re mad at it because there are a few lines appearing on your skin?” He gives an incredulous laugh as he turns you around to face him. “Jesus, I mean, see what just talking about it does to me.” One large hand dwarfs your smaller one to press your palm to the hardening bulge in his swim trunks. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. The wind blows the wrong way and you get a boner,” you rebut. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a small groan. “Don’t say blows when I’m hard like this.”

“Can you be serious for two seconds?” Your temper is already short from the heat and the pregnancy, and his blasé attitude only makes it worse. 

Eddie cradles your cheeks in his hands. “I love you. And I love your body. I loved it before you were pregnant, and I’ll love it after, but watching you carrying our baby…fuckin’ does it for me.” He bites his lower lip as he drinks in the sight of you. “Goddamn, you look fuckin’ gorgeous like this.”

You think back to when the two of you first got together, when he’d made what you’d assumed was an offhand remark about knocking you up. Maybe it wasn’t as out of left field as you’d thought. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie’s lips press soft kisses down your neck as he murmurs, “always dreamed about getting you pregnant. Would’ve done it a lot sooner if I’d known you’d be this sexy.” He runs a finger along a stretch mark that curves down your stomach. 

“H-How much sooner?” Curiosity asks the question for you as your back arches slightly from his touch. 

“That night,” he confirms, knowing he doesn’t have to elaborate further on what night he means, “but your stupid birth control pills ruined all my fun,” he adds with a teasing smirk. 

“They were so stupid. Sh-Should’ve stopped taking them the second I saw you.” Your voice is still timid from the emotions coursing through you, but Eddie can tell you’re finally letting him in.

Eddie throws his head back. “Fuck, baby. You got me all worked up.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you tease, hands sliding up his wet chest and over the sparse hair. “What should we do about that?”

Eddie whines and leans in, nipping at your neck. 

“You know, I wasn’t a big fan of this bathing suit anyway,” you tell him. “The faster you get it on the floor, the faster you can be inside of me.”

Eddie gets your coverup and bathing suit off in record time. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on. His swim trunks go next and then Eddie is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter. There’s not much time to admire his fully naked body before he gets down on his knees in front of you. You wind your fingers through the hair on the top of his head and he looks up at you with wide, hungry eyes. That look alone has you practically dripping for him. 

Eddie keeps that eye contact with you as his hands force your legs further apart and he licks a broad stripe up your folds. You’re the one to end the staring contest when the pleasure overwhelms you and your eyes flutter closed, throwing your head back. It knocks against the mirror, but you’re too caught up to notice if it hurt or not. 

On the next swipe of Eddie’s tongue, he keeps going up so his tongue is trailing the swell of your belly as well. He presses hot kisses against your bump as he works his way back down again. He repeats the motion, next time taking time to either kiss or run his tongue along the stretch marks. The physical sensation feels amazing, but paired with the way Eddie is making you feel emotionally with his tender touch is making your heart thump even faster. 

Every little movement of his makes you feel more cared for, more cherished, and sexy. He’s built you up so high that you have to give a little tug on his curls so he pulls his mouth away from your pussy.

“Need you inside. Now.”

“Anything for the woman carrying my baby.”

You pull his mouth to yours and moan against his tongue as you feel his hands roam your body. His touch soothes over the areas of your breasts where you’ve memorized the stretch marks before moving down and caressing the ones on your stomach again. 

Eddie’s hands slide up to your hips and give a quick squeeze. He gently lifts you down from the counter and spins you around to face the mirror. You brace your hands on the counter as Eddie trails soft kisses up the side of your neck.

“Want you to see how fucking hot is when I fuck you like this,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout your body. 

You spread your legs, but Eddie wants them farther apart. He nudges them with his knee while he rubs a hand up and down your spine. He fists his cock a few times, making eye contact with you in the mirror as he does so. The way he’s looking at you has you whimpering and whining in anticipation.

Your noises make Eddie smirk, and he lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes in, one hand snakes around your body and rests firmly on your baby bump. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “I’ll never get over how fucking perfectly we fit together.” He punctuates his statement by tilting your chin slightly upwards so you have no choice but to see yourself in the mirror. You watch as he disappears inside you, your body obeying his every command. 

When you rock your hips back against his, Eddie slips his other hand around you to rub circles on your clit. His middle finger finds it easily, slipping through your soaked folds and pressing against the sensitive bud. The feeling is too much; you have to bite your lip to keep from screaming out—the last thing you need is the Harringtons hearing your pathetic whines. 

“God, I wanna fill you up so bad, baby,” Eddie hisses, snapping into you furiously as he takes in the view of your body; the view of you watching your body. “Shit, I’d make you pregnant twice over right now if I could.” 

“W-Would you always keep me pregnant if you could?” you manage to ask between gasps and whimpers—both yours and Eddie’s. 

“Fuck,” Eddie growls. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. “I’ll go buy a damn farm right now to raise all the babies I want to put in you.”

His words make you laugh, which has you squeezing around Eddie’s cock. He moans, drawing you impossibly close against his bare chest. 

“They’re babies, not sheep, Eddie.”

“Still need the space to run around,” he muses, making you laugh again.

“I love you so—-oh! So, so much, Eddie.”

 He’s ridiculously hard inside of you, fucking into you like his life depends on it. “Shit, I love you too, princess.” His middle finger makes more frantic circles around your clit, throwing you over the edge. “You’ve got a fuckin’ vice grip today, holy shit,” he breathes, willing himself not to finish too early while still being acutely aware of his surroundings. 

Your fingers dig into the countertop as each thrust brings you closer to your orgasm. “Right—right there,” you pant, fighting back a moan. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop.” You come, aided by his magic fingers and your raging hormones, with a soft whine of his name. 

“‘M right there, shit, you’re the best little fucktoy,” he grunts. The hint of degradation has you clenching around him again; of course, he immediately takes notice of it. “Y’like that? Y’like being my pregnant little fucktoy? Knocked up with my baby and still beggin’ for more?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stutter, smiling at the reaction your response brings. 

Eddie’s pistoning his hips into you, whispering directly in your ear, “So good, so fucking good f’me. Gonna come so deep in this little pussy, mkay? Gonna keep you pregnant, just like you want.” 

With a guttural groan, he spills into you. His breath is hot on your shoulder blade as he stays inside, not wanting to withdraw right away. You’re not complaining either, until—

“Are you two finished in there?” Steve’s irritated voice beckons from the other side of the door. Your already sweaty body heats up even more, realizing you’ve been found out. Something about it is also oddly hot, but it’s not the best time to think about that with Eddie still inside of you and Steve on the other side of the door. 

“Just a sec!” Eddie calls back, giving your earlobe a gentle nibble as he pulls out, scooping up the cum that’s dripping down your bare leg and stuffing it back into your pussy. “Had to clean you up,” he murmurs with a salacious grin. 

The two of you put your swimsuits back on and fix yourselves as best as you can before Eddie opens up the bathroom door. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, barreling past you as he mutters, “Dammit Munson; you already got her pregnant. Relax.”

[yandere-kokeshi]

Pregnant! Darling with kratos mhmhmh. The reassurance on both sides, and constant soft comments on how Kratos is better than he was before not only for their unborn child but Atreus mhmhmmm

— Yandere Kratos with a pregnant darling

Warnings: yandere behavior and pregnancy

A/N: I fucking love this, please send in more shit like this. I'm feral for this man <3. Enjoy!

Once he finds out, he’s quiet. Kratos is staring at you, then hovers down to your stomach. His body is stiff, hands clenching and unclenching before a hand reaches and touches your stomach, grasping at it as his fingers glide over your skin. It’s only a matter of seconds as he brings you into a tight embrace as he repeats his promises.

“Are you — sure? I promise. I promise to Atreus, and to you, I will take care of you two.”

Atreus loves to ask questions which only result in the baby. He’s just as excited as his father, and promises to protect you. 

It’s no surprise Kratos is paranoid. Even at the start of the few weeks, he’s constantly checking up on you; asking if everything is okay, or does all-nighters to ensure you and Atreus are safe. He knows it’s unhealthy, but he can’t stop the guilt — the obvious fear of losing you. He’s always ready, in a sense that danger is around, even though it’s been days from fights. 

This also comes with him being a severe mother hen. Any noises or sighs coming out of you, has him hovering and asking what’s wrong. If you say nothing, he seemingly doesn’t believe you; giving you an ‘are you sure?’ look before huffing and returning to whatever he was doing.  

He’s always been a gentle giant with you, touching you with such gentleness. But now, with you being pregnant? He’s extremely careful with you. Always treating you like a shell from the sea ready to shatter. He’s always guiding you with his hands on your hips and lower back, and yelling at ‘no’, when you try to help with house chores. 

On the topic of house chores, he doesn’t let you do anything. Not a single chore or hunt is done by you; he orders Atreus or goes by himself to do it. In his defense, he doesn’t want you wasting your energy, or pulling a muscle, especially if you’re far more down the months. 

Morning sickness is guaranteed and when it happens, Kratos takes it with a stroll. He’s there next to you, holding your hair back if you need, or rubbing your back. He brings you fresh-cold water to sip on and insists you stay hydrated. 

When the baby bump starts showing, Kratos spends most of his time just looking at them — admiring your body, and how gorgeous you are. He finds the pregnant body attractive, how your body grows accustomed to the baby: long and spreading stretch marks, the black line, and muscles that become more prominent. He enjoys tracing them, especially if it’s the time when you two can rest. 

When sleeping, he’s always had a habit of you having your head lay on his chest or directly on top of him. Now with you growing a kiddo, he’s constantly wanting you on top of him — your weight helps him sleep better and eases his mind while he overthinks. Plus, he gets to grasp and hold your tummy. 

From his experiences with pregnancy, he knows it’s difficult — especially for you, so he never gets mad or upset whenever you yell at him or suddenly cry. Surprisingly, he’s good at supporting you when your emotions are unregulated; always comforting you, and rubbing your back when everything becomes too overwhelming. His hugs tighten, and leaves you alone when needed.

Kratos is always following you, especially in the baths. He enjoys sitting behind you, washing your back or places you cannot reach. Towards the end, he just holds your stomach, rubbing large circles on your lower hips and kissing your sore muscles, whispering how much he adores your perfect body.

The best healers are assigned to you. He’s always with you, asking questions regarding your health and the baby. His demanding presence is enough to scare them, if not his rough voice that constantly shuffles to you and back to them. If he feels unsure, both of you are leaving and going to Freya’s — to which he tries to avoid, but if it needs to be done, then so be it. 

Even though he doesn’t want to say it, Kratos worries about the day of meeting the baby. He’s excited of course, wants to meet them and can’t wait for the day of their cries, he’s scared of hurting them– large hands filled with old tainted blood and guilt; what if’s playing in his head. 

At night, on the ones he can’t fall asleep, he loves to talk to your stomach — his low baritone asking questions and ensuring their safety, with his own blood, will be his top priority. 

Kratos loves seeing Atreus engaging with you. 

The boy always reassures you of bending over on an object that he’s already reaching for, and treating you like glass; just like how his father does. He hunts, brings you food, spends time with you and sometimes asks if he can feel the baby. He’s just as attached as his father, and already views you as his other parent.

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[bunnyrafe]

https://www.tumblr.com/bunnyrafe/757371295158730752/sigh-sigh-sigh-i-need-rafe-so-baddd-anywaysss-i

throat training + breath play

I just know everyone’s tired of me but I have so many thoughts I need to get them out before I explode. anywhoooo throat training. I have been summoned. Imagine maybe you’ve never sucked cock before (or maybe you have but they just weren’t as big as rafey) so you being the absolute perfect little angel that you are you wanted to show rafey just how much you loved him & decided to watch some videos of girls giving blowjobs and deepthroating to get the hang of it (bc who doesn’t love that).

You’re on your knees looking up at him with the biggest eyes trying so hard not to be flustered at the sight of his thick cock. You’re honestly amazed at the size and a little timid. It’s super hard with a very prominent vein, pink tip that looks like it’s about to explode and it’s just dripping precum. Rafe chuckles and it snaps you out of your thoughts. “Never sucked cock before kid. Don’t worry I’ll teach you.” It starts of slow. Rafey letting you get the hang of it. Letting you adjust to the size of it in your mouth. “Try to touch your nose to my stomach sweetie.” & you do on the first try and both of you are shocked. “That’s a good fucking girl now look up at daddy.” Maybe you try to pull away bc you can’t breathe. “Uh uh hold that pretty little mouth around my cock baby. Your throat feels so good. M’ gonna see how long you can hold your breath, okay?” You nod around it making him go weak at the sight of you struggling. He reaches his hand down to pinch your nose, trying so hard not to pull away bc all you want to do is please rafey and make him happy. “Oh my god kiddo look at you. My cock makes a bulge in your throat.” He reaches down to rub it. “You’re such a dirty little angel taking my cock so well.” It’s all messy when you pull away with spit coating his cock and hanging down your chin. You look up at him and give him the biggest smile. “I love your cock so much daddy! Can we try it again?” & ofc he lets you. Soon you become his favorite girl. His little plaything.

WHEN IS IT MY TURN TO BE HAPPY ???

also no one could ever be tired of you. i’m literally in love with everything you drop in my inbox— for example, this one right here quite literally has me brainless and drooling. mwah mwah

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

the fruits, rotten 一 malleus draconia 一 twisted wonderland | 18+

Summary. Malleus should've been more careful in handling the details of his relationship to his grandmother. A shame, really. Mayne he would have to go around hiding his love for you like a coward then, but that's how life pans out, a series of mistakes we wish we could have redone.

Warnings. 18+ Content Ahead. Mentions of Smut.

Edit Status. Not proofread, we die with beta

Word Count. 1.9k

Song. the fruits, paris paloma

A.N. I'm back here's some shit lol. Ended up joining this weird cult but it's all good now :D be careful online kiddos

My love, are you the devil?

I would worship you instead of him

The sound of a brush scrubbing softly against keratin filled the Ramshackle Prefects room, The low hum of the fae prince cuts through gently, his large body hunched over on your bed, hands holding his head while you kneel before him. A small laugh leaves you as you watch his eyes slowly close, his breathing evening out, as he continues to lean forward until his forehead makes contact with your chest, and his hands slip from their place against his jaw.

You do your best to finish his horns, cleaning each ridge with precision and a gentleness to not wake up the sleeping prince, his hair still dripped with water from the shower you shared, which greatly helped in keeping all the grime soft enough to be removed easily enough. 

A deep breath makes you stop for a second, your eyes on Malleus, watching as he slightly readjusts before settling into your chest once again. You can’t help but worry for his neck and back, even while your thighs ache and your knees throb in pain. No matter how soft the bedding Crewel had given you was, staying in this position for nearly half an hour was beginning to take its toll on your body.

Finishing as quickly as you could, you readjust the prince to relax in your bed, pushing him to his full length slowly as you held his head and neck, before removing yourself from his side as he shifted once again to find comfort in the plush covers and pillows.

For I'm too busy committing sins

I have no time for confession

God, you think to yourself, he really was such a beautiful creature.

“And where are you off to, child?” An amused voice finds your ears, and you can't help but jump as a chill runs down your spine, the chilly air not helping you in settling quicker. You grip the band of the duffle as your teeth grind against each other, thinking quickly, you sigh and turn around, deciding to stall him before coming up with something… believable.

“And where are you off to so late? Doesn’t Bat-Daddy have you under house arrest?” You muse, raising your eyebrows and you watch him- he's still stand-offish, tense, but the mention of his guardian makes him relax, before a realization comes to him.

“How do you know that?” He grits, teeth on display as his most prominent feature, his fangs, have you faltering for a second. Pointed ears move downwards in an unspoken sadness.

“Sebek isn’t all that quiet when you’re upset, especially when you’ve been reprimanded by both Lilia and your grandmother, Mal.” You start shifting your weight between each leg, anxiety eating at your core.

He shouldn’t be here. He isn’t allowed to be here.

The knowledge of that leaves your heart breaking, but you didn’t want to leave Malleus in trouble over some silly human who doesn't belong to this world, especially when the topic of love and relationships with him comes to mind.

He isn’t allowed to be with me.

“I see. I don't think I have the heart to reprimand him, though.” He chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood, hopeful eyes and his ears twitching up and down, before remaining in a downwards position as your sad smile reaches his eyes.

“Go. I don't want you in trouble for being here.” You point with your nose to his direction.

Go back, please.

“Can I at least know where you’re off to? I’d like you to be safe.” He’s nearly begging.

My love, you're something special

“Crewel. Late night job with one of his oldies. Nothing too bad.” You smiled, catching your eye, and he seemed satisfied with that answer.

You never seem to leave the fae prince's mind.

Your smile, your laugh, the way you get excited when you’ve learned new things about this world, the way you yawn, how your shirt seems to always expose just the right amount of skin when you stretch-

You don’t like how easily you can lie to him now.

I've never met someone like you

He cannot get enough of you. He’s a man possessed, and not even a real man to begin with in technicality, both in his race and his age amongst the fae. He wants to hold you, to mold into you, have you in his unwavering grasp and never let go. 

His skin yearns for even the slightest of your touches, his lips mourn for yours once again, his eyes wish to the souls beyond to fall deep into yours- his heart can only survive with you by his side, happy, and healthy.

But he cannot give you that.

How could you make him feel this way? To love and lose, to yearn and obtain, to lust and hate. He wants to be angry, to hold his wrath to a standard of equivocated fear and respect like it usually is, but he can’t, not with you.

You'd make me fall from heaven

If only he was human. If only you were a fae. If he was a commoner or if you were of noble blood. If he was your lover and you were his.

How could a magicless human make him feel so much?

His whispers echo in a room filled with desperate pleas and calls demanding to be answered, his back hunched and cracking as scales start to make their way from under his skin, his body moving forward even more to accommodate the tail that manifests itself, Lighting crashes during the storm that rages on, and Malleus is grateful for the weather of the past week, able to hide his tantrum within the will of nature.

The room fills with smoke as he breathes heavily, unable to stop the small flames that leave him, and he gets his hips into an empty space- leaving him whimpering and choking up, before a low and deep growl follows.

But I know just what I do

Long black nails rake across the faes face as he grips at himself hard enough to draw blood, the wounds healing as quickly as they arrive, his breathing is shaky, uneven, as a low laughter leaves his throat. His eyes blow a brilliant green, nearly lighting up the room with their light alone, his horns crack and split open at the ridges slightly, exposing the game green that lights the prince's eyes. 

Your name leaves his voice in desperate whispers, clawed hands dipped in ink rush down his blistering flesh, lust consuming him as he reaches down to grasp at himself, imagining your own hands being the ones to do so.

"Angel, " he calls me 

It wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

Does he know that I'm falling

His lips clumsily drag themselves from your sternum, up your neck, and take your own greedily- nearly biting your lips in the process. It's sloppy, needy, and his grip is unrelenting as he tightens himself around your hips. He starts to huff with small amounts of smoke leaving his open mouth, tail and scales manifesting, his horns and eyes carrying their warm glow.

“Malleus- calm down.” You manage to get out before he's on top of you again, whining and growling, pulling at your pajamas while he nearly tears off his own clothing as well. The wind whips against the window, a sharp crack scaring you into a jump, and the small amount of bare skin that meets his own leaves him weak and fumbling.

From a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Malleus.” Your voice is strained, a harsh whisper, as your head is leaning back against the plush of the window seat as you desperately grip at the cushions and stone wall. He’s hunched over again, but this time, he's able to associate himself with you.

“N-no. Please just- just-” He’s stuttering and cutting himself off, unable to properly think now that he has you in his grasp. Nearly three months now. Three months of you running off and leaving him alone. Abandoning him. All because he let his affections for you slip. All because his grandmother's court didn’t approve of your relationship.

For three months.

"You're so pure, " he says

He was starving.

Does he know, I'm forsaken?

The voice of your guardian and adoptive father seems to fade into the distance as you stare out of the window, looking down upon the campus, thoughts running wild as a new soreness leaves your body aching and throbbing.

Malleus was starved. 

You think to yourself, if you could keep ignoring him for this long, and go back to avoiding him at all costs, and your heart breaks at the thought. You loved him, and your relationship was small, budding, but still strong and fulfilling.

Until the bud was found and cut by his grandmother and her court, leaving you heartbroken, and you in fear for your life as you were left with a simple warning.

But now he's had his fill of you.

Stay. Away.

And you did, ignoring him best you can, occupying your time with others, dodging him at every turn. That was, until he came to you in the middle of the night, opening the window of your little reading nook in Ramshackle, and begging you to have him.

“Puppy! Are you paying attention? This is important to how we're going to handle this little… situation,” Crewel doesn’t know about last night.

No one does.

The original sinner

Maybe there's hope for the two of you to let go.

Your neck throbs as you feel his teeth sinking into you once again.

But soon you'll know

For if I'm going down

Naked in that garden

His arm remains under your pillow, the other around your waist and keeps you close to him, while both of your legs remain intertwined with one another. Marks and bites litter your body, as Malleus also bares his own from you, though you can say you were more careful of your claims on his own body.

You fear the consequences of being found, but you can’t help but indulge your lover any time he comes to you, needy and whiny for attention. You push your fears to the side, enjoying your simple and short time with the fae, slowly turning and moving to embrace him.

I guess I'll take you with me

You slowly bring yourself into waking up, eyes heavy with sleep and body sore once again, naked and warm. The cover of the duvet encases you in warmth from your own body, Malleus’ own body, cool and slowly warmed by your own, wrapped around you tightly.

You breathe in his scent, a natural smell with his usual soap and cologne, a mix that leaves you addicted and needing more of him. Your nails slowly rake up and down his back, the pale skin going pink and rising slightly, going to his back and hips, upper thigh and the bit of his shoulders you can reach.

Slowly, Malleus wakes, and simply enjoys your presence and attention.

He could only think that this is how he wants to wake up everyday.

But for now, he lives with your love in secret, until he has the power to keep you by his side as he sees fit.

Whether you still remain by choice, or not.

[kaleldobrev]

Lookin’ at the Stars

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Mom!Reader

Summary: Beau takes you and your daughter out on a special family date to look at the night sky

Original Prompt: Requested by @deansbbyx | I don’t think Beau Arlen gets a lot of love so I was thinkin som fluffy family fic with him and reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: A whole lot of fluff

Authors Note: So this is my first time writing for Beau and I hope I was able to do his character justice! | Thanks to my lovely friend @thatonewriter15 for beta reading this for me | I hope this came out just as fluffy as you were hoping my friend! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You woke up groaning to the sound of your alarm. 6am on the dot. For as long as you could remember you’ve never been a morning person; but that quickly changed once you had Amelia — your daughter who, despite being a pain in your side sometimes and thinks she’s attached to your hip, is honestly one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

Once you had her, you had to become a morning person much to your dismay. In the beginning it was hard as prior to having her you never got up before 9am as you worked afternoon shifts — there was simply no reason to get up at 6 or 7am. But once the two of you developed a routine it became easier; the two of you working as teammates.

But today, for some reason, it felt even harder for you to get up. You felt drained, your eyes were still heavy, all you wanted more than anything was to get back to sleep. Your alarm went off again and you tried your hardest not to throw your phone across the room. With another groan, you shut off your alarm and got out of bed slowly, the hardwood flooring of your apartment felt cold against your feet. As soon as your feet touched the wood there was a knock on the door. Another groan left your lips; Amelia jumped out of bed and started running down the hall.

“Don’t worry mommy I got the door!” She beamed, her little feet smacking against the wood.

“Mel, let mom get the door okay?” You said, rushing out your bedroom door.

“But what if it’s —”

“It’s not him Sweetheart. He doesn’t come over this early you know that.” You said, and her face dropped. “Don’t be sad Sweetie. I know you want to see him, I want to too. But we’re probably not going to see him until later when he’s done with work.”

“At the Sheriffs office!” Amelia said, happy with herself that she remembered.

“Yes, at the Sheriffs office.” You smiled, slightly praising her.

Another knock came at the door and there was a part of you that was getting a little mad at the persistentness. It was 6 in the morning — who could possibly be coming at this hour? “Special delivery!” You knew that voice from anywhere, and it a matter of seconds that annoyance you had melted away.

Amelia looked at you, hands on her hips. “Told you it was your boyfriend!” She said, sticking her tongue out at you. You stuck your tongue out at her back, and she couldn’t help but giggle. Once opening the door you didn’t even have a chance to greet your boyfriend before Amelia was running past you to get to him. “Beau!” She called, and without warning jumped into his arms.

Not fully prepared for her to do that, the bag of what you assumed to be food almost fell out of his hands as he wrapped his arms around her, making sure she didn’t fall out of his arms. “Hey Kiddo,” he said, his voice in a similar joyful tone as hers was in. “How we doin’ this mornin’?” He asked, his accent a little bit more prominent than usual.

Amelia looked at him, her arms around his neck. “Good now that you’re here!” She beamed — you couldn’t help but agree with her answer.

Beau looked at you and smiled, and you couldn’t help but look at the two of them; happy that he had taken an instant liking to Amelia (and vice versa). “How about you darlin’?”

“You know I’m always happy to see you.” You grinned.

“You better be. Because I come bearing gifts.” He stated holding up a white paper bag.

“If that gift is food you are more than welcome to come inside.” You teased. “Let me take that since you’re too busy with your favorite.” You said, gently tickling your daughter in her side as she wriggled.

“Mom! Stop!” She laughed.

“Okay, okay.” You said kissing her on the cheek. “And one for you,” you said as you gave him a quick peck.

“Gross!” Amelia said.

“So, what brings you here so early? You never come this early.” You said, taking a sip of your orange juice.

“I uh, I took the day off actually.” He said, and you couldn’t help but look at him with disbelief.

“You? You took the day off?” You asked. “You never do that.”

“Yeah well, first time for everything.” He said. “Jenny insisted.”

“Ah.” Was all you said before taking a giant bite out of your breakfast wrap.

“I like her. She’s always so nice to me. And her hair is really pretty.” Amelia chimed in, mouth full of waffles. “Mommy when are you going to hang out with her again?”

“Probably this weekend Sweetheart. But we have to see, you know how busy she can be.” You stated; Amelia’s face dropped. “But I’m sure as soon as I mention you she’ll try and rush over.” You winked, causing her to smile. “You know how much she adores you.”

“Oh she sure does.” Beau let out a small chuckle. “I was thinking, you two don’t have any plans today right? Well, besides school for this one.”

“Not that I can think of. Why? What did you have in mind?” You asked curious.

“I was thinking, if you two are up for it, we could find a nice empty field somewhere, take some chairs, make some food, make a fire, watch the night sky.” He said, his voice sounding a tad nervous. It almost sounded more nervous than it did when he initially asked you out on your first date a few months ago.

“So camping without the camping?” You clarified.

“Essentially yes.” He said. “Think of it as a…family date night.”

“Family date night?” You smiled, loving the sound of that.

“That sounds like fun!” Amelia almost yelled. The only reason it didn’t come out as a yell was because her mouth was still full of waffles.

“What she said.” You said pointing to Amelia.

“Okay mommy how do I look?” Your daughter asked as she did a small spin to showcase her outfit. Like usual, she decided that she wanted to wear something sparkly for the occasion as she believed wearing something with sparkles was the epitome of fashion — reasons why she somehow convinced you to wear something sparkly on your first date with Beau, thankfully he found it cute.

“As cute as always Sweetie.” You said. “How about me?” You too did a similar type of spin as her as you showcased your outfit. It wasn’t sparkling (much to your daughters dismay), but you thought it matched her outfit well.

“You look beautiful mommy!” She said, side hugging you.

“Thanks Bean.” You said kissing her on the top of the head. “Now, I need you to make me a promise tonight okay?” You began as you kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in yours.

“No promises but I can try.” She grinned — she was becoming more and more like you each day.

You let out a small laugh. “I appreciate the honesty.” You smiled. “But, it’s gonna be a little chilly tonight so I need you to keep the jacket on okay?”

“But won’t the fire keep us warm?” She asked.

“Yes, but, we still need to keep our jackets on. You know why? Because it’ll keep us even extra warm.” You smiled.

“Okay.” Amelia said, a little disappointed.

“Can we shake on it?” You asked, now holding out your hand for her to shake.

“It’s a promise.” The two of you said in unison as you shook hands.

The drive to the field went like a blur but it was filled with song after song of you and Amelia singing to the radio as Beau chimed in during random verses. And like Amelia fashion, she found it the funniest thing whenever Beau would chime in, as he wouldn’t be as serious about getting the lyrics right like you and her tried to do.

As soon as Beau parked, Amelia went straight to the door handle trying to open the door. “Open the door! Open the door!” Her patience running thin.

“Alright alright. Don’t worry it’s not a race.” Beau said, his voice calm.

“Sorry sorry. I’m just excited.” Amelia said as she removed her hand from the door handle.

As you were about to speak to reassure her that she didn’t need to apologize Beau did it for you. “No need to apologize Bean. I’m glad you’re excited.” He leaned in. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yes.” She leaned in too, whispering.

“I’m excited too.” He smiled, whispering back. “Alright, I’ll open the door in five. Want to give me a countdown?”

Amelia kicked her feet with excitement. “Yes! One…two…three…four…five!” As soon as your daughter said five, Beau unlocked the doors and Amelia — without hesitation, opened the door and jumped out of the car.

As you watched her get out of the car and run into the empty field you pulled into, you couldn’t help but watch her as she ran around in circles occupying herself. Turning to Beau you smiled. “Thanks for this.” You said, placing your hand on his cheek.

“No need to thank me. I wanted to do this.” He reassured you, placing his hand on your thigh.

“I know but…I really do mean it. I really appreciate you doing this for Amelia…for me.”

“I’d do anything for both of you. You know that.” He gave your thigh a squeeze.

“I love you.” You said, slightly whispering.

“Love you too.” He said, leaning in and kissing you. “Come on, let’s go get her before she burns the field down.”

You grinned. “You know she would if she could.”

“Well, I don’t plan on making any arrests tonight. Well…not until later tonight.” He winked. “And with…permission of course ma’am.”

“Permission granted.” You winked back, the two of you kissing again.

“Okay so I brought your second favorite thing besides waffles.” Beau began as he started reaching into a bag next to him. As he grabbed the bag he pointed at Amelia. “No peaking.”

“No peaking!” She repeated back shutting her eyes and placing her hands over them.

“Are you peaking?” He asked her and then looked over at you.

“She keeps her word.” You said rubbing your hands together over the fire.

“Alright. I trust you.” He said. “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” He asked, not even putting any of his fingers up.

“Beau!” Amelia couldn’t help but let out the biggest giggle. It was the type of giggle you hadn’t heard her have in such a long time — and that was something that genuinely made you smile.

“Alright alright.” He said. “Open your eyes.” As her eyes opened he held the bag of marshmallows in his hand and her eyes light up like Christmas tree lights.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” She exclaimed getting up from her chair and running toward Beau with her hands out. Before she asked her next question she looked over at you, slight puppy dog eyes. “Mommy can I have one now?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Ask Beau Sweetheart.”

She turned to him, her hands still out. “May I have a marshmallow please?”

“Well, you did say please.” He said opening the bag. “Just one, because we’re going to make s’mores in a few.” He placed a marshmallow in her hand, her face continued to beam with joy.

“Thank you!” She said placing the entire marshmallow in her mouth.

“You want one?” He asked, a marshmallow between his pointer finger and thumb looking at you.

“Sure. What will it cost me?” You asked, getting up from your own chair and walking toward him.

“Hmmm,” he was deep in thought. “Kiss me?”

“I can do that.” You leaned down, your hands on either side of his face as you kissed him.

“Ewwww.” You heard Amelia say from a few feet away. “Adults are gross.” She said, scrunching her face in disgust.

The two of you pulled away and you took the marshmallow from his hands. “Sorry Mel, we’ll be more careful.” Beau said, giving you a look of amusement.

As the night went on, things started to wind down and it was finally getting to one of your favorite parts of the night: looking up at the night sky. Although it was something the three of you were doing a majority of the night between the laughing, story telling, and food eating, this was the first time the three of you weren’t doing anything but looking up at the sky.

“You know, I’ve lived here all my life and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at the sky.” You said, Beau’s arm around you now as Amelia made herself comfortable lying on a combination of not only your lap but Beau’s.

“It really is beautiful,” he agreed. “You know, as much as I love Texas, I’ll give Montana this, it does have some beautiful views.” He said looking at you as he said it.

You felt yourself blush at his compliment. “The views have definitely gotten better since you came to town.”

“Are you two going to kiss now?” Amelia said, looking up at the both of you.

“We could but, you do think it’s gross.” Beau commented.

“I’ll allow it.” Amelia said.

Beau and you exchanged looks. “You sure Bean?” You asked.

“I’m sure mommy. I’ll even close my eyes.” She said covering her eyes with her hands. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You and Beau let out small laughs. “With the permission of Amelia, can I kiss you darlin’?” He asked slightly leaning in.

“Yes you may.” You said, leaning in as well.

“Are you two kissing?” Amelia asked her eyes still closed. “Cause it doesn’t sound like it.”

Beau and you looked at Amelia, both of you holding back a laugh. “Come ‘ere.” You said, fully leaning in now and kissing him.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @deansbbyx @justletmereadfanfic If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[jbucb]

Chapter one: Cygnus

A/n: I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know how you felt about this chapter.

(Small update this was slightly revised without a writing aid.)

Chapter warning: self-deprecation, talks of virginity, some angst. Mentions of divorce, marriage, and military

Series masterlist // Main masterlist

 

I just couldn't believe it... My best friend just got married, and here I was sitting in this fold-out chair around the fire pit at a get-together, holding a glass of Moscato d'Asti. I should be happy for Samantha and Eli. I'd known them my whole life, and of course, I loved the updates that she sent her dad and others. But here I am, just a post-grad living with my parents while Samantha and Eli are in Italy on their honeymoon.

I watch the flames flicker and crackle. Chuck, the German shepherd, knudges my foot. That is all it takes to get me out of my thoughts. Chuck holds a ball in his mouth, his tail wagging slightly as he tilts his head. Chuck's eyes are the epitome of expressiveness, as if he holds all his feelings in the hues of his puppy dog's eyes, just like his owner's eyes.

I look up and around to see what the others are doing.

Sam, Bucky, and my father Steve are talking. My mother and Sam's wife share a conversation separately.

 

I decided to place my wine down and sneak off out of the fenced yard, with Chuck the shepherd following me up into a large field up behind the limewashed house. The hills roll for miles, some tree lines scattered across the valley, patches off it darkened by the banks of creeks, but it wasn't the view that took my breath away as I threw the ball for Chuck.

It was the stars; they were beautiful. The only light that wasn't from the moon came from the house at the bottom of the hill. Eventually, I sat down in the grass, and Chuck lay beside me.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind me, and only out of my peripheral view did I see him sit down beside me, but I still didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on the stars.

"That star right there is Vega." He starts his voice, gruff but not harsh; he sounds calm. "Below it is Deneb, it uh makes. " There's a slight pause—no more than a nanosecond—but I picked it up. "Cygn-the Swan," he cuts off the original name he was going to say. I move my head in his direction, but my eyes linger on Cygnus for a moment before my eyes meet his.

As I look at him, all I can think about is how beautiful he is. I shouldn't be thinking of him this way. He's my dad's best friend. I've known him for the better part of my life.

But how does the moonlight refract off his blue orbs so beautifully? The way it highlights the pale skin while keeping his faint freckles that faintly dust the bridge of his nose, fading into the apple of his cheeks, is so prominent, unlike how the sun fades out the star-like marks. But soon, my thoughts yet again fade into how I'm falling behind all of my friends. Everyone I've ever known is falling in love, and I'm falling behind—behind on a relationship, behind on my life, behind on losing my virginity. God, I would have been behind on my first kiss if it wasn't for that game of spin the bottle in my senior year of high school.

The bad part is that he can read me like a book, whether I like it or not. "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

God, why does his voice have to be that caring and his eyes that gentle? "You've been quiet all night. That's not like you, sneaking off, especially before finding a way to tell Sam and I your newest joke." Again, in a way, I find myself asking why Bucky Barnes has to be so perceptive.

"It's nothing, Buck," I say, but I just could tell that my tone wasn't cutting it.

"No, it's not." He doesn't sugarcoat his words. "Somethings bothering you, Dol-Kiddo; you can talk to me. You can always talk to me." He cuts himself off again. I knew what he was going to call me, and I couldn't help but wish he'd call me Doll and not just Kiddo.

We sit in static silence for a while before I say anything.

"I just feel as if I'm falling behind." I'm messing with my fingers as I speak.

"You're taking it all in," he pauses. "I wish I had taken it all in.".

I take in his words before responding, "You do?" I know about his marriage to Dotty, the military, and then some of the divorce. "Yeah, looking back, I wish I would've," he replied to my question before I could even take in what I asked. "I think if I took my time with all the big things, I would've been way happier than I was. That's in the past. I rushed and regretted it, but there's nothing that I can do about it now."

When I glance over to him, he is looking up at the stars and resting back on his elbows. He starts to speak again as I face him. "I don't know what's on your mind, and I sure as hell can't tell you that I do, but whatever it is, take your time."

"If I take my time, I'm sure I'll die a virgin."

I wish I could've stopped the stupid words that spilled out of my mouth, but it happened so quickly that I didn't even register what I had said until I saw the expression on his face.

"I'm so sorry." Oh, um," "I didn't mean it." "No, it's ok." We went back and forth for a few brief moments.

 

"We should probably head back before they notice we're gone." I start to say, It's almost like I didn't hear what I'd said, but as I start to stand,

"I could fix that." That stopped me dead in my tracks. "Y/n.. shit," he breathes in. "I didn't mean to say that," he says, starting to ramble as he stands. "God, Y/N, I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to."

"You really mean that." I didn't even hear him start to ramble. All I could hear was I could fix that, repeating in my head��my thoughts.

"Yes, Y/N, yes, I really apologize for saying that." He touched my arm briefly, and that snapped me out of my thoughts.

I look up at him, confused as to why he is apologizing. I arch an eyebrow. "So you're saying you'd take my virginity? I'd let you." I crane my neck back but then briefly look at the group's near the firepit, making sure nobody has glanced over.

It seems Bucky has the same idea, but he looks back at me, his eyes blown wide and his eyebrows raised. "What?" He sounds skeptical, but also like he's playing off the fact that he didn't hear what I said.

I match his tone and parrot his "What?" We stared at each other for a few moments.

"Y/n, if you're just pulling my leg, tell me, but don't joke about that shit," Bucky breathes out.

"I'm not joking." My tone is much quieter. "Before you say anything," I pointedly say, "I'm not a kid anymore. Buck, I can't stand being treated like one" or called one, but I'd never say that to his face, "especially because I'm not experienced." I use the palm of my hand to rub my eye.

"Believe me, sweetheart, I know, I know," he says, his tone gentle as his eyes try to catch mine as he speaks. "We can talk about this later. It's getting late, and I'm sure your folks want to go home."

"You promise we'll talk?" My tone clearly holding disbelief.

"I promise." 

[kiankiwi]

Jacob comforting pregnant reader who’s been at home all day stressed bc she has to watch the kiddos while daddy is on set <3

OHHH

We easily get overwhelmed so Jacob knows to bring home flowers, chocolates, a bath bomb... something to cheer us up and gives us time to ourselves to decompress from the day while he handles bath time and bedtime.

We hate to use the "wait till your daddy gets home" line but they know not to misbehave for daddy if they've been rowdy all day.

He makes a point to bring the kiddos outside to play some while we get time to ourselves to take a bath or shower, read a bit, watch a bit of an actual adult show or do whatever we need to do to relax which usually includes having a big hormonal cry.

Jake usually comes to bed by the time we're just finished crying or at least calmed down to hiccups instead of gross sobbing. "Oh baby, hey hey hey, you're alright. You can cry. Everything's okay though, both the munchkins are sound asleep in bed and it's you and me now okay? Are you hurtin'?" Whenever he finds us crying, he always makes sure to ask if we're uncomfortable or in pain at all.

We shake our head and silently snuggle into his midsection, needing a hug. "Just need a cuddle? Okay babe." He cups our prominent bump with one hand and rubs his other hand up and down our back comfortingly. "Sorry, it's just a- a lot." You hiccup. "I can only imagine bubba. I try my hardest to do everything I can to help but you still feel bad?"

You nod, "Stupid hormones!" You chuckle as Jacob cups our face in his large hands and rubs our tears astray with his thumbs.

"It's okay baby, you're okay. How can I help?" You sigh. "Ummm," You eye the bathroom door. "C'mon you, I know you got an idea. Let me hear it." He says as he smiles and affectionately pinches our cheek.

"Can you read to me while I take a bath? You haven't read to me in a while?" Jacob nods. Jacob nods you won't care what he reads, you just want to hear him speak for a long time. His thick Australian accent is extremely comforting especially now that you're pregnant.

Jacob nods and steps away to grab his current read off of his nightstand. "You got it bub, you start the bath and I'll grab the fluffiest towel I can find!" You squeal in delight as you go and turn on the bath faucet.

***

I LOVE these mini fics! @mooodyblue

[creations-by-chaosfay]

OMG SO, I might get a little emotional and ramble with this but it's all good things to say about @creations-by-chaosfay

So this piece is in my home now. This picture is by chaosfay, mostly since she has better lighting than I do aaaaaaand I moved and this piece is with the precious decorations in a box that I won't risk in this shorter term for my life rental unit.

I knew I wanted to honor with pieces by fellow crafter/artist/artisans when my big parrot, Boris, reached the end of his life with me. He was a goofy football sized bird, bigger than most jardines (the owner of the local bird store where I voluniand adopted this old boy from and I theorized he was of the "greater jardine" subtype of the three jar subtypes, less often seen in the pet trade around here, the other two subtypes being smaller, the "lesser Jardine" and the "blackwing Jardine" but that's just me being bird nerdy XD) and very much my big boy feather kiddo.

Chaosfay did such an amazing job working with his image, his colors, his energy in general! And I adore this piece and am keeping it safe till I settle into a longer term home for myself. Then this piece will be a prominent part of his shrine area along with his dropped feather jar, the jar of his ashes, a custom hand spun, hand crocheted piece I made in his colors and rotating offerings of what were his favorite types in life. Chaosfay was utterly wonderful to work with and her work is stellar as always. She has such an eye for color and detail that I, as a fellow artist/crafter suuuuuper appreciate seeing! Especially since my sewing and quilting skills are nowhere near as precise as hers, I'm just starting my quilting journey and honestly I wouldn't have undertaken my current quilt project without her words of advice and what information I've learned by following her work over the years I've known her. This is not the only piece I have from her but it is the biggest and what my amazed eyes see as the furthest from my own technical skills and abilities so I'm always amazed. I've also gotten some adorable mug rugs in a few different sizes and the cutest quilted magnets. One of the mug rugs even got a corner chewed up by a certain mischief filled pup I used to live with and as soon as I sewed the little hole that the dog made closed again? It still works great as a mug rug and I never stopped using it XD

Even when I can't purchase anything from her, chaosfay's Tumblr blog and everything she posts are beautiful to behold. I've always loved and been impressed by her eye for color and color pairing and how to make the gorgeous fabrics and delightful prints she finds work beautifully together. Myself? I'm a chaos gremlin when it comes to fabric pairing and matching, which is why my quilt coming along is VERY scrappy and pieced with utter chaos. If you want something quilted that is polished and beautiful or purposefully whimsical and fun you should definitely go to chaosfay. Her skill in all areas of quilting is unlike anything I've seen elsewhere and her art is a joy to own.

[samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires]

Challenge (the remake LOL): Name as many Lackadaisy OCs that aren't your own, and the most prominent detail of each of those OCS!

Halina Dabrowska - Her eyes, hairstyle, and even her voice claim and thoughtful development of her. (I also love her kiddos Edgar and Rosemarie, ESPECIALLY Edgar, lil guy <3)

Lola De Luca - Her fur color and her hair, as well as that pretty blue dress. Seeing her is always so pleasant to my eyes <3 (also hER HAVING ROWAN AAAAAAAA)

Rebecca Wright - Her hair and her eyes! Plus the art style she's drawn in, which is absolutely to DIE FOR.

River Young - His eyes, and I just noticed him floating around here on Tumblr. The art is so goddamn GOOD.

Marly Divata - I love her colorful clothing! :D and the fact she's a cellist. Her tail is another prominent detail for me.

Marianne Villanueva - It has got to be her fur pattern, glasses and hair. Anytime I see those three I can instantly spot that it's her.

Lucio - oh lawd his eyes and HAIR, dude, OUGH. Also the way he's drawn, WAHHHHHH

Mohandes - I love how he's Scottish <3 warms my heart very much. Also like the pairing of him and Mordecai.

hhhhhh that's all I remember for now!! Here's the order of creators below, hope y'all don't mind the ping!!:

@wpk12art @blogplutopools @starbittzzy @lackassera @scrunkalicious @ahhhh-118 @mivant03 @themissingrainfallkingdom love y'alls OC sm rahhhhh, mwah /plat

[book--wyrm]

Pengu Ep 7 liveblog time!!

Oh boy.

Oh we are starting strong with a flashback huh

Oh no we are starting strong with some brotherly jealousy. Two minutes in and I am already leaning towards Oz killing his siblings to monopolize his mom's attention

"Is [Rex's car] made of real gold?" "It's just paint"

Not Jack smarter at 15 than Oz is at 50

NOT THE "PARENT NOT BEING PAID ENOUGH" COMING BACK

Also I was wrong Oz is the middle child it seems.

Oz such a lil cheater lol

Oh my god.

Ohhhh my god. That's almost worse than anything I could have expected.

I should have realized. I should have realized. A single moment of stupid, thoughtless, selfish cruelty is all it takes. And an unwillingness to ever face the reality of what he did.

And this makes his snapping at Vic for the Jack thing so much worse. Jack was the son who got shit done. And Oz killed him.

THE TAPPING AND THE BANGING AND THE TAPPING AND THE BANGING AND I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS FUCKIGN SHOW OH MY GOD I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS FUCKING SHOW HOW IS IT SUCH A BANGER EVEN WHEN IT MAKES ME WANNA DIE

Oh shit Vic's here lmao.

Why is there a gap between Sofia nabbing Francis and Sal showing up. Did sofia go it alone. I bet she did.

Fuck the guilt get me results

Love Sofia sending one of her boys to make sure Sal doesn't kill Oz. Sofia doesn't trust Sal, and Sal refutes the idea of Sofia leashing him. In any other show this would telegraph a late episode betrayal between them but with this show i really don't know

Love the scraping noise coming in before the visual

do you feel better ahhhhh

i need more sal and sofia

Sofia why cant you bring me breakfast too. i'll eat a singular toast for u

I love Francis ngl. She's so caustic even in the face of danger.

They didnt' have their umbrellas

Hahaha ngl sofia deserved that

oh my god i legit thought she was gonna brain julian with the kettle lmaoooo i love the way they do diegetic sound design

I kinda hope francis gets to kill julian ngl. i love julian but i just think its what francis deserves

"The Gigante and the Maroni families" not sal putting sofia's name first. this feels too prominent. i am scared

Oh boy oh boy oh boy if this wasn't a penguin show this would feel like a perfect place for Sal to twoface his opponent

Wow is sal dying of a heart attack. Right now? Bro. Timing.

Huh. I see what they're doing, with the stolen valor and the robbed victory. But I wish they'd set up the heart condition earlier.

Oh boy is this where Sofia breaks bad and kills a kiddo. Oh my god wait Gia is in a kid's psychiatric hospital Sofia literally reenacting her own trauma on this preteen she is so full of problems

SOFIA TURNING INTO HER DAD AND ALSO JULIAN HAHAHAHA

THIS IS A GIFT SOFIA BABY YOU NUTCASE

god i am glad she confessed though. like it was in the worst way possible to say that to a child but.

this is the only time we have seen sofia cry. not even when she found alberto.

DR SUBDROP DOING RAVE SHIT

sofia speedrunning self awareness in the penultimate episode

i am slightly afraid again that julian is gonna lobotomize sofia

sofia you were so close baby. you could have just walked away with your boy toy and a bag of cash and gone to metropolis

she should have gotten free wahhhhhhhhhh

we all know it's not gonna happen

we all know its not gonna happen

my heart is fucking palpatating rn

i need to pause my fucking blood pressure

IS SOFIA RUNNING FOR MAYOR. I WANT SOFIA TO RUN FOR MAYOR

AHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

OH MY GOD BOMB SHELTERING IN HIS BROTHERS GRAVES

HAHHAHAAH my prediction of Oz blowing it all to block sofia + sal was the wrong way around oh my god i love her so much

Oh wow. Wooowwwwww. Young Oz really breaking his mother and making her into the woman who makes him a monster.

is it bad i want him to find his brothers skulls down here. is that bad.

boo it didnt happen.

Wow mr cop actually came back huh.

well i was totally off base on everything!!! i am so happy

[purplelupins]

Happy Together

Part I Part II Part III

|The Black Phone|

The Grabber/Albert Shaw x reader

Summery: Nothing like a new city. You just wanted a fresh start, and something comfortable, but what happens when you start to see the exact same patterns in Denver as you did before?

Warnings: the following warning are for the full fic, and not just this first chapter. PLEASE READ THEM. This is a DARK fic.

Dub-con (note that this is a link so it is actually wanted), Daddy kink, size kink, pet names (princess, kiddo, sweetheart, honey and more) mentions of death (including murder, torture etc), cumming in pants, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f and m) begging, breeding kink, innocence kink, biting, adultery, infidelity, stalking, mentions of kidnapping, home break-in, fighting (verbal and physical)…more will be added.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IF YOURE A MINOR DO NOT READ DO NOT LOOK AT THIS DO NOT BREATHE NEAR THIS!! THIS IS NOT FOR YOU

Note: yes we know I’m bad at summaries. This is an extended fic request for my dear friend @mandowifey

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Some say it’s pointless to believe in love.

Soulmates.

Devotion.

They say these concepts are fruits grown from fairytales told to children to ease the horrors of the world. Figments of our imagination. What we might dream of love as, is simply lust paired with blind complacency; soulmates are really just two people settling for the comfort of having another person there for them; devotion is more of a domestic weakness.

And how right they are; perhaps not all right, but closer to the truth than most. There are, however, a select few who chose -or perhaps are cursed- to see life through those fairytale expectations.

True love and a happy ending.

Perfection in all its glory.

And they will stop at nothing to replicate exactly that.

Absolutely nothing.

There was something almost comical about the days following New Years; the odd party hat rolling in the frozen streets, colourful streamers handing haphazardly from bar signs, and a few used condoms barely concealed by an alleyway.

Almost everywhere you went it was the same.

The bitter winter breeze whipping down from the mountains burned a blush onto your cheeks. The bus driver on the Greyhound worriedly asked you again if you were sure you’d be alright in a new city. With no one to give you a warm welcome like he thought you deserved, there was a prominent inkling of worry in his weathered face.

“A pretty little lady like yourself ought to keep ‘er wits about her.” He said, tugging your suitcase out from the bottom of the bus for you.

It was refreshing to have someone offer such concern to a stranger like you, but the distress you saw from him made your heart ache. It wasn’t your place to make an old man worry; especially not so early in the New Year. So to ease his tight shoulders, you just smiled and patted his arm, pulling your large jacket closer around yourself.

“Well I can’t quite stash you in my pocket to keep me safe can I, Simon?” You teased him, taking grip of the handle of your bag, “I’ll be just fine. I’m tough.” You flexed your arm as if you had anything to show- even if you did they were hidden under your many layers.

The aging man cracked a smile at your antics, and fiddled with the gold ring on his finger. You knew the chill from the precious metal was affecting the arthritis he had told you about halfway through the journey across the state. It hadn’t taken long before you realised he was a very talkative man, and while you enjoyed the watching the scenery in quiet as much as the next person, having his babble to distract you was also very welcomed. There was something about learning the story of another person that never ceased to fascinate you- where they placed importance, what they took pride in…what brought them sadness and joy. Simon was just another face you would meet briefly, but just like the other passing acquaintances moving through your life, he gave you a small reprieve from the harsh world.

You eyes caught the movement of his hand on the good band, and your smile faltered slightly.

“Don’t work too hard. You’ll be home soon.” You tried to reassure him, which evidently worked as he nodded and gave you a quick smile that told you if he stood there any longer he would have given you ten phone numbers and half his day’s wages to help you out.

He was a kind man.

Too kind.

One of the few.

Simon clapped his hands once, ensuring that the other three passengers offloading were done. He called out to you to have a happy new year, and you replied in kind with a wave before the bus pulled away.

Now with the full weight of your new home resting on your shoulders, you let your smile fall and your eyes glaze over as you took in your surroundings.

Denver.

A frozen park.

A grocer down the street.

A coffee shop with what looked like a hungover barista.

A pub that made you itchy looking at it.

A deep breath filled your lungs just as a couple of well liquored men stumbled out of said pub- clearly enjoying their last day off before the first Monday of 1978 hit them like a brick. One of them eyed you as they walked past like a couple of huge toddlers, and you offered a friendly grin and a nod in return.

It wasn’t as if you were looking to be eyed-up -what with your several layers, aching back and itchy eyes- but this was a celebrated time of year. Everyone was a little…loose. Besides, you never knew who would turn out to be in your personal circle as you established yourself in your new home. That man might be your new boss for all you knew.

The more sober man of the two continued to almost pull the other to a car, and you noted -albeit a little uncomfortably- how the other’s drunken stare contributed to flicker over your frame. Once he finally looked away, you would hear them bickering in slurred voices.

Best not to pry.

So you found yourself dragging yourself and your suitcase over to what you assumed was a communal bulletin board, and inspected it for any rooms available in the vicinity. But even still, you could hear the two men arguing, growing louder and louder.

Something about how the staring man needed to get his shit together.

Quit it.

Knock it off.

About how he told Nancy that he would stop with that shit.

That he’d do better.

They finally drove off when one of them slammed their car door, which prompted the other to follow suit. Your stomach had started to tighten the longer you listened to them, and you sighed into your scarf once the street fell quiet again.

Home sweet home.

Home was always a strange concept. You were more inclined to believe that home ought to revolve around a person you loved or where you felt happiest, instead of a specific place or house.

And look where that got you.

Falling into a routine after your arrival to the mountain city was as easy as the pie you served at the local diner.

Sure the stiff, and starched blue and white uniform you had to wear wasn’t luxury nor was the smell of cooked food you had to wash out of your hair. But it felt domestic and easy. Being a waitress wasn’t exactly what you dreamed of, but you didn’t mind. After two months, you had regulars who made paying for groceries easier, and made you laugh with their horrid jokes.

Of course there were those who stared too much and tried to get a handful of your dress and what lay beneath it, but again, you didn’t want to make any bad impressions, so you pretended to be alright, and moved on; you swatted playfully and reprimanded when needed- always being sure to never snap- the last thing you wanted was to have to move again.

But for now, it was comfortable. Exactly what you needed.

The sun began to disappear behind the buildings outside the diner window, and you could feel your eyelids dripping with it. It was only when you heard your name being called that a smile eased back onto your face. The boisterous form of your manager, Anett, leaned onto the counter next to you; she was a nice lady with a stern sense of justice and wore a liberal amount of hairspray. Needless to say, you rarely had to worry about any customers heckling you, though you did worry about her hair catching fire.

“Time to go home, honey.” She said with a sigh as her hand found her hip. It was a slow day, like many, but somehow there had been more messes to clean and teenagers to remove than usual. Slow, but long.

“Tired of having me here?” You teased her, slipping off your white apron that was usually fastened over your blue dress.

A tired grin stretched over her red lipstick, and she shook her head, “I’d keep you here all day if I could, you Angel. You know that.”

Her words made you breathe out a laugh, “Well if I could stand these uniforms a second longer you know I would stay happily.” You replied, and she barked out a cackle that only made you smile wider. Anett was frightening to most, but somehow you had managed to worm your way into her soft side.

Once she recovered, she tapped her hand on the counter and said, “Get yourself home safe, alright?”, and took her leave as you folded your apron and stored it away.

Safe.

You pondered that word as you pulled on your sweater and coat to brave the cool walk home.

You weren’t sure you could remember what safe felt like. Not that you particularly felt unsafe…it was simply the way the world felt. Everyone lies, cheats, holds more importance over themselves than those around them like they shat gold. There was little chivalry, and everyone seemed to have ulterior motives…you wondered if perhaps you had ever felt something akin to safety, or if perhaps that feeling had just been the innocence of being a child.

Now that you had been in Denver for a few months, you had to admit it was a dull place. There wasn’t a great deal to do in your new city unless you wanted to go for a hike in the mountains or attend a baseball game. And it seemed that neither was an option thanks to the cool air.

Then speaking of childhood innocence, there were the disappearances of those two boys right there in your new home. You could still remember the exact moment you heard about the first one. It wasn’t a week after you’d moved to that mountain city that you heard the whispers. Then a month later you had had to clean up a shattered coffee cup at the diner after a man had read the morning paper; another one had been taken.

It twisted a sharp pain in your heart. What would possess someone to take those boys? You’d heard about so many other similar cases and trials over the years, and it was almost always the same profile for each psychopath.

Outcast.

Pathological liar.

Exposure to extreme pornography.

And a lack of consciousness.

…and somehow always something to do with the torture of animals.

From what you had seen in Denver, everyone you met were the loveliest, simplest people. They all had their little routines, and dramas that swallowed up their lives, and their favourite kind of cake to eat in Sundays.

Just people.

They were all like you, and you like them.

It made you wonder who you could trust, knowing you were all the same.

By the time you reached your front yard, your cheeks were flushed and your bones had a chill in them. The sheer sight of your little house warmed your heart. Just as your work- your home was comfortable.

Your safe place.

Blue sky greeted you the following day when you drew your cream curtains back. Birds chirped, and you had to admit you almost pinched yourself by how idelic it was. Outside your kitchen window, you could watch the cars go by as people made their way to work, and the children walking past to get to their bus stop.

You thanked your lucky stars that the heat hadn’t begun yet, and nestled into your sweaters and jacket before turning the key in your front door to start your day. While you didn’t have to work, you made a deal with yourself that you wouldn’t hide away there and alienate yourself. You went to a new city for a new start, and you couldn’t do that very well if you just watched your neighbours. While that in itself was good fun, most of your neighborhood was made up of seniors and a few families down the street…and while you loved them and their kind welcomes, they weren’t the most fun to dissect; though it did mean that you had a fantastic stock of baked goods and food in those heavy glass containers you never bought for yourself.

The air was cold, but smelled so good that you didn’t care about how it burned your nostrils when your breathed in.

“Morning Harriet!” You called to the house next to you. The familiar grey hair in their mint rollers were visible between the rose bushes as the elderly -but lively- woman checked her mail. She made the best brownies- you always felt so relaxed after.

Harriet looked up from her mail, and cast you a smile and wave, “Good morning, dear.”

Old or not, you liked your neighbours. Certainly they were a touch too nosy and watched everyone’s every move, but it made it almost a game. Who would catch who in a lie, would would get someone flustered by acknowledging them staring…you loved waving at the old biddies who thought you were odd then watch them pretend like they weren’t gossiping over their white-picket fences.

But Harriet was nice.

Most of them were nice to your face, just as you were to theirs.

Even so, the welcome you had been given when you moved into that little house had been a warm one. Maybe not all the visits to say hello were sincere, but the gesture was still nice. And the food was good.

“Where’s that cheeky husband of yours? Shouldn’t he be getting the papers?” You asked as you walked to your gate. She rolled her eyes and you had to laugh a little at her response, “Let me guess, he threw his back out again?”

Her exasperated nod was all you needed, “The man forgets that he’s not a spry chicken anymore…” she gasped out, crossing her arms as a breeze whipped by.

“Not like you!” You grinned, enjoying the bashful look on the woman’s face.

Harriet waved you off, tucking her papers and mail under her arm, “Oh hush you…off with you now. Go find a nice young man and wait 40 years, you’ll see what I mean.” She began walking back into the house with another roll of her eyes.

Your smile dropped ever so slightly, but you paid it no mind, “Doing my best!” You called to her.

The old woman smiled at you as she closed the door, and you had already begun to turn away when your face fell completely. The dull twinge behind your ribs pinched as you walked, and your shoulders slumped slightly.

You had been called a hopeless romantic for years, and you couldn’t help but envy those with gold bands on their fingers; they had something so precious. Someone to depend on. Someone to love. To hold.

The walk into the city was a fairly calm one. With most people sitting behind their desks or waiting for a customer to enter their shop, there were few people to navigate around. You admittedly did not feel in the mood to converse too much that day.

Before long, the small coffee shop you had begun to frequent came into view, and you quickened your pace as another gust of wind snuck down your back. You looked both ways to cross the street just like your momma had told you, and walked briskly to the door; a smile landed on your face as soon as you stepped inside and the smell of coffee, and butter wrapped you in a hug.

To your good fortune, there was only yourself, the waitress, and a man you had seen in that same shop a few times, and he was very nice. You truly couldn’t have orchestrated a more perfect day.

With your order placed, you took a seat at one of the tables by the window. It was fun to watch the people passing by go about their days. Families, women, men, wives, mothers, fathers, husbands…

It only took a moment before your coffee and muffin were being placed on your table- which you accepted with a smile and a polite smile. One that turned a little more genuine when you caught eyes with the man sitting a table away from you.

“Good morning.” He said briskly. Evidently, he had consumed far more caffeine than you had.

“Morning. How’s the crossword?” You asked, taking your first sip of your much needed coffee. On more than one occasion you had seen him working away at the morning paper, pen or pencil in hand, and had helped him a few times with the odd word.

“It’s going. I’m stuck on an 10 letter word for “cut”…any ideas?” He asked with a certain charm that made your heart beat a little faster.

You scrunched your face up in thought, and hummed to yourself. You had a fairly good idea what the answer was, but didn’t want to give it to him too quickly lest he think himself stupid.

“Um…what about laceration?” You offered with a little smile.

The man’s brows shot up, and he looked down at the page to scan the other boxes to ensure it would fit and sure enough, he looked very appreciative. “I’ll be damned…” he murmured, and quickly scribbled in the word before looking back up at you, surprised.

“Thanks a lot. Quick little thing aren’t you? You got a whole thesaurus up there?” He asked, turning his body towards you. As he did, the light caught the gold of his ring, but you kept your smile.

“I wish…just luck I suppose.” You shrugged it off like it was nothing. Seemed like he needed to read a thesaurus. You went to turn back to your coffee, but your heart jumped a little when he spoke again, eager to talk to you.

“H-Hiding from the cold too?” He said, nodding to the outside.

You let out a gentle laugh and nodded as you leaned in to talk, “Yes I-“

Your words, however, were cut off rudely by the sudden opening of the door. A gust of cold air rushed inside following the person who had carelessly stumbled into the quiet shop. Your shoulders tensed and you body temperature quickly descended, and out of the corner of your eye you saw the man you had been speaking to do the same. You both looked at the newcomer with an air of distain for having been interrupted. Said newcomer was another man, looking to be around the same age as the man you had been talking to, and he shot you both an apologetic look but the damage had been done- you were now freezing cold, and you could have throttled him for his inconsiderateness.

But to end the awkward interruption, you turned back to the man who still seemed interested in speaking with you.

“As I was saying, yes I am hiding from the cold…though it seems it still found me.” You added with a little wink and raised brow, and to your joy the man laughed, but hid it with a cough, “I- I’m still new to town…I wanted to explore the city a bit today but I don’t think I’ll be able to without some warm liquid courage!” you lifted your now lukewarm coffee.

The man breathed out a laugh, and his brown eyes crinkled at the sides, “You picked a hell of a time to move to Denver- I hope someone showed you how to dress warm. Where’d you come from?” He asked, giving you his undivided attention.

You laughed softly and shook your head, “I’ve seen worse actually- I just moved fro-“

“Hey I know you!”

A voice from the service counter called out, and you deduced it was the same made who had already interrupted your pleasant conversation once. Your eye twitched in time with your fists clenching and stomach dropping. Why couldn’t you just be left in peace? Who was this-

Then it clicked.

You looked up at the other man who was now standing over your table with a smile on his face like he’d solved a mystery. You knew exactly where you knew him from.

Thick moustache, always a bright button up, and a fur lined jacket. Yes you knew him.

“Yeah, yeah you’re my neighbour! 7739 Irving st, right? The little house with the bush on the side?” The man snapped his fingers and sat himself down across from you like you were old friends catching up. You watched helplessly and your conversation was hijacked, and your eyes flicked between the two men- hoping that maybe the one you had been in conversation with would help you out. But it seemed neither of you could get a word in as this new man slipped off his coat and had started a conversation of his own. You couldn’t even confirm your identity to him; for all he knew you could be a complete stranger he had mistaken for one of his neighbours.

Then, to your upmost disappointment, you watched as your previous conversation partner awkwardly picked up his things and gave you a nod before leaving the shop. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, and opened them on the notably animated man who was now going on about something without a care in the world. You hoped the other man had a nice day…though you were certain you were a better conversationalist than his wife Nancy.

“-lived there our whole lives you know? Well I’m off sometimes, but I always come back- work not going how I thought and what not. But Al’s always there for me, you know? I hate to be a bother to him but he’s rarely home anyways…worka…what are they called? Workaholic! Yeah. Swear he’s more like my dad than our dad was…but anyways you said you weren’t from here right?” He looked at you expectantly, and you schooled a pleasant look on your face.

Don’t be rude. Just breathe.

“I…yes I was. I just moved here. Bit of a transient myself.” You said, and took a sip from your coffee that somehow tasted a little more sour now and was fully cold.

The end of his sentence caught your interest, and you were trying to wrack your brain to recall what he had been babbling on about. His brother being like a father? You almost laughed to yourself- this man definitely needed someone like that in his life. Now that you thought of it, the house across from yours was very quiet save for the times someone left for work at 8:30am every morning of the week, and when you saw the man across from you…though he was usually with a female partner.

“Where from? Maybe we’ve actually been following eachother.” He joked with a smile and a wink.

Unlikely.

But you laughed, “Came from Salt Lake city. Even harsher winters than here.”

The man whistled, and leaned back as he crossed his arms, “Don’t blame you for leaving there…hope you weren’t there a few years ago…nasty stuff going on if you ask me.” He looked at you expectantly and you could feel a cold sweat break under your sweater and your stomach tie in knots. You hoped he just meant what went on in 1975…who was this guy? A cop? A crime enthusiast?

You shook your head apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I think I missed your name?”

His brows shot up in surprise.

“Oh, shit I didn’t even tell you! I’m Max.” He extended his hand to shake yours and you smiled, “Max Shaw.”

“Well Max, can you tell me what you mean about…the nasty stuff going on in Colorado? I was only there a couple years.” You asked, stomach twisting tighter.

This seemed to spark Max’s interest, and he leaned over the table as if he was about to relay a deep secret. Thankfully, you saw no nosiness in his face. The last thing you wanted was to think about…well…to think about less than good times.

“Well you know…those bodies found in the mountains and whatnot? Bundy or whatever his name was sure liked that city…they got him down in Florida now.” He said in a hushed tone like anyone could be listening.

Ah. A conspiracy theorist.

You sighed and nodded, “Oh yes I heard…That happened right before I got there…have to admit I locked my doors religiously when I lived there.” You laughed off your nerves.

“You’d better do that here too, you know.” Max said suddenly.

At this, you gaze jumped to his, “Why?…do you mean the-“

“Grabber.” He nodded and it was like his eyes lit up at the subject.

While you were still a little bitter towards him for being interruptive, you had to admit that your interest was peaked. This man might be a little nuts but it was true you were intrigued by the strange disappearances, no matter how horrible.

“Max, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you know a thing or two about the town terror. Should I be worried?” You raised your brow in faux accusation.

His eyes widened comically, “No! No I just…I don’t know I feel like there’s something more to it all, you know? Someone has to be doing this for a reason…”

You leaned forward a little and nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”

While Max had indeed ruined your morning and subsequently the rest of your day, you had to admit that the man made up for it with wild theories that had you pondering the world around you even further. He had begun with zeroing in on the mass amounts of disappearances over the past decade and a half that had never been linked to any event or person- how he was certain there were some kind of underground tunnel system that people used to get around or hide in. Which then led to the possibility of an underground city or country under your feet; operating just like the one around you.

Then from there he leapt into a tangent regarding the untrustworthiness of the government and how he was certain President Carter was a Rockefeller Republican and not much of a democrat at all.

Somewhere along the way, the morning had turned into afternoon and Max insisted on buying you lunch, though it had turned out that he was -very apologetically- short on cash. Not that you had a problem covering it; this man seemed to be in need of a human sound-board.

Now you knew why those lady-friends you always observed him with would leave after an hour of being at his house. You wondered if his brother was even aware of the female traffic…if he was a hard worker like he seemed to be -what with being out all day nearly every day- then you could only feel a pang of pity for him. Poor man probably just wanted to come home and relax but instead he likely came home to his brother with his tongue down a new woman’s throat or knee deep in a new theory.

At some point the two of you slowly meandered back to the direction of your respective homes. Along the way, however, you began to question if Max even fully lived with his brother or if he just stayed there; he insisted on taking blatantly wrong turns, and you had to gently point in the correct direction.

Eventually, however, you did see your little home, and the one across from it that you knew now at Max’s- questionably. While you knew you should have just said that it had been nice to meet him properly - true or not- he somehow managed to coerce you into coming over. It wasn’t as if you had anything to do after your day had been eaten up…but perhaps he would have something good for dinner or you could get a look into another neighbour’s life to see if they were worth befriending.

The Shaw household was comfortable. It was definitely more lived-in than yours, but you noted that there was only a light smell of smoke in the air -rather than seeped into the wallpaper- and a simplicity to everything that you found quite inviting. You gathered the smoke smell was from Max, rather than his brother…and you presumed the half-cleaned line of cocaine on the coffee table was the same.

Your observation was cut short when you heard the low growl of a large dog; sure enough, there were two huge black eyes peering from the hallway into what you imagined were the bedrooms that caught the light of the living room.

Just as you were about to ask who the beautiful beast was, Max came to your side and handed you a beer- one that you accepted politely but knew you wouldn’t drink from.

“Down Samson…sorry about him. He’s a real softy under it all- just a good guard dog.” Max said as he flopped onto the couch.

You took a seat in one of the armchairs, and cast a smile at the black hound. “Aren’t you a handsome boy?” You cooed to him as he took a few steps out of the dim hall. Though his growling calmed, you kept your eyes on him, and your smile widened as he came closer. The beer in your hand went onto the table so you could beckon the dog over, which it did slowly. “Hello!” You gushed and as soon as Samson was within reach, your hands slipped into his fur. Within a minute he was a puddle in your hands and placed his head in your lap once you sat in your seat.

“You some kinda dog whisperer or somethin’?” Max asked, wiping his nose once you turned to him.

“Nah…I think we’re just two animals who recognize something in each other.” You grinned, and Max’s brows rose up.

“Lucky he didn’t bite your hand off…he’s not usually one for cuddles.” He eased back into the sofa and took a drink from his own beer.

You nodded, “I’m pretty good at getting along with just about anyone. I like the challenge of a hard nut…not everyone is all gruff.” You smiled fondly down at Samson, but looked back up when Max snorted and laughed.

“You’ll just love Al then!” He said, and sat up to run a hand through his hair.

“Oh?” You asked.

“Good guy but uh…let’s just say him and his pup there are pretty much the same.”

Noted.

“Y/n I’m telling you there’s got to be something in the water or food that’s making all these killers!”

You perched your head in your hands and nodded along as Max continued on his third tangent that evening, “Yes, yes…and can you tell me why?” You asked, though you didn’t think you would get a real answer this time- just like the other times you asked him for clarification.

Max thought for a moment, and rubbed his nose- you were certain he was going to get a nosebleed. Then he snapped his fingers and stood up, “Population control. Like a…like a secret mustard gas.” He nodded to himself, eyes getting wider.

You nodded and hummed patiently, so thankful for your furry companion that still sat by you, “Right. But if they kill everyone off…doesn’t that go against their favourite scheme of all?”

“What’s that?” Max’s eyes darted around.

“Capitalism.” You said dead serious.

You both stared at one another, then after a moment you both broke out into laughter. He was nuts, but Max was good fun and made for good entertainment when he fell down a rabbit hole.

The laugher between you died down when you were both brought back to reality as the door swung open and you were greeted with a new face all together. You didn’t know what happened then, but something in you froze. You were utterly fixed to the spot.

Greying hair that brushed his broad shoulders, nice build, sharp jaw, weathered face with crows feet and a deep line between his brows that you assumed was there even when he wasn’t glaring like he was then; and then his eyes. Damn well the bluest fucking eyes you had ever seen.

He was certainly older than Max, just as he had insinuated, and you could almost feel the frustration permeating the air around him. The air from your lungs felt sharp all of a sudden like you couldn’t breathe. A butterfly with a metal pin through it waiting for his dissection and approval. Cut you open and see what makes you tick.

Was it the guilt of being in his home without consent? Was it his direct irritation? The second-hand exhaustion? Or the extra beat your heart seemed to take when you saw him. You felt fuzzy, but you tried to stay calm.

Albert was tense. It was very obvious.

You had hoped he might have been a little easy going with maybe an exasperated sigh at his brother’s antics, but it seemed you might have been the last straw. Not that you blamed him…hell you found yourself feeling like a real ass right then.

He cast Max -who had frozen on the spot- an incredulous look.

“Max?”

You hadn’t realised your hearing had become muffled until he spoke. His voice alone made a slow blush rise to your cheekbones. The one word was rasped out in a tired tone, and you wondered if that was how he always sounded or if it was just from talking a great deal at work mixed with tiredness. It was a ragged rumble in his chest, and while you were feeling quite guilty for doing to him what Max did to you, you wished he would say more.

Max had started talking, likely explaining who you were, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. He babbled and babbled, following his brother into the kitchen like a son trying to justify something to his father.

Your heart beat even faster.

“-she’s actually your neighbour! We just ran into eachother-“

You watched his elder brother, and took him in.

“-you know and I just thought it would be nice to-“

He must have had a good 10 years on Max, and you found yourself transfixed by the deep line between his brows that framed his cornflower blue eyes so beautifully. You also noticed that while the smile he gave Max was bitter and sarcastic, you could see what startlingly sharp teeth he had; each tooth had a distinct tip to it that looked like it could leave a blatantly and equally distinct bite mark on your skin.

Now you had a much better appreciation for Max’s comparison between him and his dog.

“-I know I said I’d be out of your hair but it’s just a couple more days, Al-“

But there was something in his gaze that made you stare a little longer. Something that shouldn’t be there. Something that you had seen before…but not there. Something you had hoped you’d never see again. A shiver ran down your spine and you could half feel goosebumps springing up as realization creeped into your mind.

To break your deep trance, you blinked a few times and dug your nails into your palm before standing in up and crossing the living room with your head tilted in an apologetic manor. The two of them continued to bicker under the fluorescent lights, but as soon as you had taken a step towards them, Al’s eyes shot to you. Your body told you to freeze, but your mind was far more powerful and made your legs move.

You gave him an impish smile and couldn’t help but wave a little uncomfortably, “Hi!” You started, and the elder of the two stared you down hard.

Get it together.

You swallowed and shifted on your feet, “I’m real sorry about all this…I should have just gone home. It’s Al, right? I’m y/n…” you extended your hand to his that was braced on the counter as he told his brother off.

Albert could see how uncertain you seemed to be on your feet- he almost laughed at it. Looked like you might damn well bold out of there if he breathed wrong. His gaze flicked to your hand then to Max before he took it slowly.

“Albert.” He said shortly, wrapping his long fingers around your much smaller ones. He looked you up and down with his brows pinched and a firm mouth.

Something felt…off to Albert. There was a look of recognition in your eyes as they trained themselves on him. Like you could…see him. But not the him Max saw- not Albert.

Him.

You smiled a little more to try and set him -and yourself- at ease, “Right. I’m so glad to meet you, though it’s not the best circumstances…” one of his brows rose slowly as if to say “Bet your fucking ass it’s not” but you tried to continue, “I know I’m not a welcomed guest…but I am your neighbour and I’d like to make it up to you if you’d let me? I can put these groceries away for you so you can-“

“I can put groceries away just fine.” He rasped, fixing to you with the same hard stare he gave to Max, and you felt very small. Al turned away but not before casting a pointed look at Max who was sulking slightly.

This man certainly was indeed a hard nut. But you were persistent. You were not about to leave that house without fixing that mess or you wouldn’t sleep.

“I’m sure you can, but nothing bad came from being nice.” You said, taking another step up to the older man and held his unwavering stare though his stare made you squirm, “Right?” You hoped against hope that you weren’t being too pushy, and make the situation even worse. If you pegged him correctly, he probably appreciated a woman taking charge of the kitchen; likely seeing his mother do exactly that. And if appealing to that aspect of him would make things blow over, then you’d do that and bark like a dog if he wanted.

After a very tense moment, Al finally sighed, and pointed to the fridge, “You can just put things in there…I’ll fix it later.”

With that, he walked past both you and Max and gave the Samson a pat on the head as he disappeared into what you assumed was his bedroom.

“Sorry about all that…”

You turned your attention to Max fleetingly before making quick work of the groceries.

He sure likes eggs…

“Oh don’t apologise…this is his home after all. You’re his brother but I’m an unfamiliar face…I can’t blame him for being a little grumpy…” you gave him a small smile and hoped your hands weren’t shaking too bad, “You said he works a lot?”

Max nodded.

“I swear he doesn’t have a day off…even when he’s not working he’s doing something, especially lately…”

You turned slowly, and looked at Max sitting now at the small table, your calm face slipping into a far more serious one. “What do you mean he-“

“So you’re the one who moved into 7739?”

Your heartbeat moved into your ears, and suddenly you couldn’t remember how to move. But you forced yourself to look to where Al was now standing just outside the kitchen; now out of his uniform.

“Yep!” You chirped, putting the coffee in the cupboard.

He reached into the fridge and pulled out a soda before leaning against the counter- sufficiently in your space. It was obvious that he was trying to intimidate you, but you were having none of that- he might be a man and much older than you but he didn’t know who he was dealing with. You might have been squirming under his gaze, but you weren’t weak.

“You know…that house had the same old couple living there for as long as I can remember…you remember them, Max?” Albert began, nodding to his brother. You watched Max nod, “Yeah…you know it’s just so funny how they just up and left town right in time for you to move in.” He took a long drink from the soda, staring you down.

That certainly was a surprise.

“Is that so?” You asked, “Well I guess it was destiny!” You added with a laugh.

Albert breathed out a laugh that neither made his eyes sparkle nor made him smile, “Right. So it’s just you?” He asked, nodding in the direction of your home.

“It sure is.” You confirmed.

“You know you should be extra careful these days…weird stuff happening.” He said.

You just smiled and shook your head, “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

He nodded again.

“Well I know why Max is still alone but what about you? How come no one’s scooped a little thing like you up?” Albert asked, with a tilt of his head.

He was pushing.

He wanted to see what was going on inside your head…how far you’d let him go.

Don’t be rude, y/n.

But your smile didn’t falter, “Still waiting for the right guy to come along. You start to get tired of them letting you down…and it gets messier and messier to cut them out of your life once the fun is over.” You said, tilting your head to the side, “Harder to make up stories about what happened too.”

Albert lowered his drink, and felt every one of his facial muscles go lax.

You watched his eyes- the windows to his soul. Or lack there of.

“I think I know exactly what you mean.” He murmured.

Both of you completely forgot about the other person in the room who seemed completely oblivious to your interaction. It’s not like he would understand, since he didn’t know what was so off about his own brother’s eyes.

Max didn’t see those eyes every day when he looked in the mirror- he wouldn’t know what the eyes of a killer looked like.

But you did.

And Albert did too.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dogmatic255 @wayward-persephone @ethanhoewke @fuckerofevilmen @honeycovered-bandaids @dancingisdangerouss @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @theroadreader @lxdyred @eth1calcannibal @al-shaw @ebiemidnightlibrarian @katehawke @littleredmuneca @blep--bloop @astroo-babe @Ixdyred @ethanhawkestan @ratpackash @doc-blu @possessedjoker @destiel394 @darkvoidz @belladonnaaura @ang311te @pecter-specter

[rosepetalsinwinter]

Meant to Be — Bucky Barnes (5)

Chapter 5 — Fie Ce-o Fi

Pairing: mafia!bucky x innocent!reader

Word count: 10,335

Summary: Preparations for the wedding have begun. How is the girl dealing with everything, and just what is James Barnes up to?

Warnings: depressive thoughts, language, brief violence and torture.

Note: Buckle in for a long one. Excuse any mistakes, I will fix them as I find them. Barely edited, because I wanted it out!

Welp. Let me know what you guys think. 💜💜

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Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6

I saw grief drinking a cup of sorrow and called out, "It tastes sweet, does it not?" "You've caught me," grief answered, "and you've ruined my business. How can I sell sorrow when you know it's a blessing?"

— Jalaluddin Rumi

April 27th, 2018

A week. Was that enough time to plan a wedding? The girl didn't think so; neither did her wedding planner, who swore up a storm when she learned as much.

"Seven days?" the petite Japanese woman exclaimed when Fleur broke the news. "Seven days to plan a wedding? Seven days to plan the wedding of the century?"

For some reason, Leah Ishikawa, the wedding planner, kept getting stuck on the seven days. The girl was unfazed, however, having had the time to undergo a similar attack in the morning.

"Mr. Burgundy told me to encourage you to work closely with Mrs. Winnifred Barnes and Miss Rebecca," said Fleur in her thick accent, opting to take charge of the conversation since it was clear the girl was unable to. "I understand they have already done a lot of the work. Mr. Burgundy wants you to make sure all of the bride's expectations are met."

The girl was curled up on the couch in her room, listening idly to the conversation while she stared out the window. She briefly heard Leah mention a photoshoot of some sort but was promptly distracted by the guards making their rotations on the grounds.

Security had tightened immensely since her talk with her father that morning. He placed guards at all the entrances, and their job was to keep an eye on her. The one outside her room was particularly annoying, calling her "kiddo" and making jokes that all seemed to land short. He introduced himself as "Clint Barton, skilled marksman and your babysitter for the week." Clint was to follow the girl with two men of his choosing if she ever felt the need to make an appearance in public.

She did not. However, it was not up to her because, right away, Leah loudly declared that they were "going shopping."

They arrived at an exclusive Italian fashion house, whose name she couldn't pronounce, and the girl tried on multiple dresses of varying colours and lengths. She sat in the backseat of an escalade, with the child lock on, while Clint used her father's card to pay.

Back at the house, she stared numbly at the wall while light flashed in her peripheral, and a photographer asked her to smile.

She wanted to cry.

"For the invitations," Leah said. "I heard a rumour the Patriarch of All Romania was specifically asked to attend, so you better smile."

The girl mustered all the energy she could and did as asked. The artificial smile stayed on her face for the next few days. She made small talk with the esthetician lasering the hair off her body, and joked with the ladies at the spa who were giving her a manicure. The girl even spoke personally with the baker decorating her cake, telling him she wanted "something sweet and romantic, to symbolize the love she shared with her fiancé."

Her father's warning loomed a constant shadow over her. "Don't give me any reason to remind you."

The threat to her best friend's life kept the girl from showing her real emotions. A crippling fear coursed through her veins, and the pit in her gut that never seemed to go away became as prominent as ever. She spent her days smiling through several appointments with various professionals—florists, caterers, and musicians. She spent her nights curled up on the bean bag in the tree house, dreaming of her brother, waking up drenched in sweat in the aftermath.

Despite the girl's bleak reality, the full force of her situation did not hit her until a few days before the wedding, during her first dress fitting.

"Deep breath in."

The girl didn't know how she could possibly breathe in more. Her lungs were already at max capacity.

Maria Rambeau was a big name in the wedding business. She was a majestic sight to behold, with grey streaks in her stylishly short hair. In her prime, Maria dressed celebrities such as Amal Clooney and Elizabeth Taylor. The girl was supposed to be appreciative—excited, even, by her presence, but she could only manage a tight-lipped smile and muted enthusiasm, which she blamed on nerves before the big day. Maria Rambeau's team took over her entire room, hauling out long racks of white dresses of all styles and shapes.

The girl gave them free rein to put her in whatever they deemed fit. She had no energy left to be picky. Her mood immediately shifted when they put her in the first dress. She stiffened in front of the mirror, one foot on the raised podium and the other curling around the soft carpet.

She was wearing white. Unsure why that detail stuck out, it was all she could focus on. She tried on a second dress, indifferent to the heated discussion around her. More lace, less lace. A-line, satin, ball gown, taffeta. It all became a blur.

Fleur placed a gentle hand on the girl's elbow, which she barely felt, and helped her down the podium. They measured her once more, cinching her waist, asking her to stand straighter. Fleur caught the girl's blank look and offered a smile that went unreturned.

She walked up to the podium after trying on what felt like the thousandth dress of the day. The entire room fell silent, so she turned toward the mirror to see what was wrong.

She looked pretty. But, of course, she did. The girl had lost weight in the last couple of days due to all the stress, making her look frail. She was done up like a barbie doll, all prim and proper. With all signs of sleep concealed, an unnatural blush on her cheek, and elongated lashes, she no longer looked like herself. Money was prone to do that to a person.

Gone were the lines around her mouth whenever she smiled. Gone was the spark in her eyes that came with the feeling of being alive and free. She wasn't free, and she certainly did not feel alive.

The dress was pretty too. Long, flowy, tight, and big. It stuck to the girl like a second skin, letting her leg peek out, just barely teasing the apex of her thigh. She grabbed the strapless neckline and pulled. It was tight, with no chance of falling, though she could not help but fear it anyway.

Melancholy struck out of nowhere—Dove, with her infectious smile and bold ideas. She would laugh at the girl if she could see her now.

Maybe it was the wishful thinking of two young girls—two naïve girls—to want a wedding together. Dove was supposed to marry first—an impromptu wedding off the coast of an island city, on a stolen (read: borrowed) yacht. During the bouquet toss, Dove planned to hurl the flowers straight at her friend's face, and as a bridesmaid, the girl would have no choice but to honour the tradition; and marry.

A year later, the girl would marry somewhere "romantic" and "old" (like her soul, according to Dove). Their kids would grow to become friends, and the two would live as neighbours with their respective husbands by their sides.

Wishful thinking, as she mentioned before, of two naïve girls. It all seemed so impossible now. So unreal. Like a dream or a fleeting mirage.

When she was a little girl, her brother walked her down an imaginary aisle to marry her imaginary husband. She had long since grown out of that childish phase, yet still, even years later, the girl could not help the thread of longing that pulled at her heart from the idea.

She was in no hurry to admit to anyone that she had planned her wedding in between daydreams. Just her and her betrothed, under the night sky, mimicking the palace of mirrors that emperor Shah Jahan built for his beloved.

How foolish.

The crowd mistook the girl's quiet sniffles as a positive reaction, when in reality, she was dangerously teetering the edge of dissociation, half stuck in her dreams and half in her nightmares.

Rambeau, teetering the edge of seventy-six, took slow steps towards the girl and placed a veil over her head.

"Oh, goodness! You look gorgeous!" Maria exclaimed, clapping her hands like a child. The future Mrs. Barnes made the most beautiful bride.

The girl sniffed again and wiped a tear from under her eye. So, naturally, the entire room erupted in cheers of approval because what else could she be crying about, if not in happiness over her upcoming nuptials?

She was tired, achy, and sad, barely able to breathe in the dress. She wanted nothing more than to get out of the constricting fabric.

"This one," she demanded desperately, yearning for the torment to end. "I want this one!"

And as anticipated, no one complained. How could they? It was the perfect dress in their eyes, and she was the perfect bride.

"Oh!" exclaimed one of the designers. "It's a perfect fit too! We won't need to do much altering."

The girl couldn't breathe right, but she decided against saying anything. She just wanted the day to be over.

A knock sounded at the door, and Fleur, who had been a quiet and passive observer till then, ran to open it. She had her eyes trained on the floor throughout the entire ordeal, choosing to keep her opinions to herself. Perhaps it was because they weren't favourable to the majority of the room. No one wanted to hear that the fitting was a waste of time, that the bride didn't care much to walk down the aisle in a white dress, if at all.

"Mr. Burgundy? Come in," said Fleur. "Your daughter was just finishing up."

Danial Burgundy's presence filled the entire space, making it feel much smaller than it was. He nodded to the people occupying the room, then extended his hands towards Rambeau.

"I take it the fitting went well," Danial observed.

"Beautifully," replied Maria. "Don't know where you've been hiding her."

Danial shrugged. "Can never be too careful." His demeanour was casual, but the implication was anything but.

Maria seemed a smart woman and easily took the hint. "That is true. I always thought your wife was the most beautiful bride I ever dressed, but your daughter easily surpassed her."

The mention of her mother's wedding surprised the girl.

Danial nodded in acknowledgement. "Speaking of, I'd like a moment alone with her."

This was ridiculous. The room was starting to spin now, and it was becoming harder to breathe. The girl wanted out.

The room cleared as quickly as lightning. Maria's entire team was gone in seconds, leaving behind all their supplies. Fleur gave the girl a warning look before making her way out as well, shutting the door behind her.

"You look..." Danial began, unable to adequately put into words all that he was feeling.

"Different?" supplied the girl.

"Yes. But it's not your—"

"—My style," she finished for him. I know."

Danial nodded nervously. "Yes, well, you look good. Pretty. Beautiful."

The girl did not bother giving him a reply. Her mind was still stuck on her former life. Like a broken record, she found herself going back in time when things were different. And how cruel, wishing for something she could no longer have.

Four years of her life wasted, gone down the drain. What did her school think happened to her? She had a life in Vancouver, a job, friends, a routine—now she had nothing. Did anyone notice she was gone? Did Dove believe whatever lie she was fed about the girl's whereabouts? She would never find out. Just like she would never get to walk down the stage and receive her degree.

Though, the girl would be doing a similar thing tomorrow. She would walk down the aisle instead of a stage, would stand in front of a priest and her fiancé instead of the chancellor and the entirety of her graduating class. Instead of a degree and a new job, she would receive a kiss and a lifelong prison sentence.

"Your mother would have loved to see you like this. She always wanted you to get married," said Danial.

The girl blinked, briefly taken by surprise. "I assumed differently. I thought she'd be too busy having the time of her life in the Bahamas to even think about me."

Hurt flashed through her father's face so quickly she was sure she imagined it. "She'd still want to be there for the big day," he insisted.

"Okay," the girl said simply, not believing her father but wanting to end the conversation. She turned away, mindlessly eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

"I haven't given you a wedding present yet," Danial told her.

The girl scoffed. He was joking, surely. "I don't need a present," she replied blandly.

"There must be something," he teased, "that you want."

"I don't want to marry a monster," her heart screamed. "I want to be free." But those were unrealistic things to ask. Then a thought hit her. "I spent the past five years working toward my degree."

Her father stood behind her, towering over her frame in the reflection. "What are you asking?" he demanded sternly. Perhaps he knew her train of thought. They were, after all, much to her dismay, of the same blood.

"I'm asking for one day. To walk the stage, say goodbye to my old life." She straightened her shoulders, unwilling to back down this time. "I want to graduate. That is what I want for the wedding present."

"No." Not the most surprising response, but irritating nonetheless.

"It's only a day," she countered. "Twenty-four hours. That's all I'm asking."

Danial clenched his jaw and flexed his hands. "No," he declared.

His second refusal felt like a slap. Tears of resentment gathered in her eyes. "You're not being fair. I've done everything you asked."

"Life isn't fair," he retorted.

"Papa, please." The girl didn't mean to call him that. It just slipped out in her most vulnerable state.

The ice around Danial's heart began to melt. She had not called him that in almost ten years—since the decline of their relationship. To hear it after so long was like a punch to his gut. In his surprised state, Danial let his daughter's plea seep through his defences—he deserved it—and let himself soak in her pain and grief. White, hot guilt clawed up his spine, but he stomped it before it could take root.

"No," Danial said again, more decided in his answer than before. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room before the first tear could leave her eye and drop to the floor. Danial bid farewell to his old friend and sent her back in. Why couldn't she have asked for diamonds instead? He decided he needed a drink.

Back in the room, a crowd gathered once more. "Now," said one of the assistants, oblivious to the torment the girl was going through, "let's see what we can do about getting you some matching lingerie."

The girl smiled through the tears threatening to fall down her face. She supposed she would always be one of those who dream. And her dreams would have to be enough because whoever said that "dreams always come true" was a goddamn liar.

May 3rd, 2018

He woke with a shout. Cold seeped through his clothes and into his skin, making him shiver violently.

"Fuck!" he shouted, pulling the covers away from his body. He ran a hand over his eyes, wiping the water from his face. "What the fuck?"

Bucky glared up at Steve, who stood next to Bucky with a shit-eating grin. "Rise and shine, beautiful."

"Fuck you, Rogers," Bucky grumbled in defeat, letting himself fall back onto the mattress. "Was the ice water necessary?" he asked, annoyed.

"I called your name five times," Steve defended. "You shouldn't have gotten piss drunk if waking up in the morning was going to be a problem."

Bucky rolled his eyes, then rolled out of bed, discarding his wet shirt for a dry one. He immediately stumbled to the kitchen and dry swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, groaning when his head pounded in response. "Shit. My head."

"I did warn you. If you remember." Steve handed Bucky a glass of cold water, which he promptly gulped down. "Sometime before your ninth or tenth shot."

"Can a man not enjoy his bachelor party without getting shit in return?!" Bucky snapped irritably. Images from last night bombarded him, flashes of light and colour, sweaty skin against his own, and wandering hands over his muscles—A flash of blonde hair and red lips. His head pounded to the beat of the bass, mimicking whatever sound must have been playing at the club.

"Geez. You need to get laid." Steve laughed when Bucky shot him a glare. A lesser man would have cowered under that look, but Steve knew his friend would never hurt him. They shared a bond stronger than family.

"I would never," Bucky sternly reminded his friend. Despite all his flaws and shortcomings, the mafia man was proud to say he was a faithful lover. He would never disrespect his fiancé by cheating on her, even if he had yet to meet the girl.

"How long has it been since you..." Steve let his words trail off, but the question was obvious.

Bucky started a pot of coffee, taking out two mugs. "Too long," he scoffed, leaning back against the counter. He crossed his arms and glared at the ceiling. "Since that thing with Rollins a month ago."

Tensions had been high among the men since that day, and Bucky started spending more time in his office than in his bed. There was no time between all the chaos for Bucky to take a girl to bed. There was always someone that needed to be dealt with, always a problem that needed solving. Then, news of his engagement made local headlines. Bucky definitely couldn't take a girl to bed after that.

"Yeah," Steve murmured, "that whole thing was a shit show."

Bucky rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Can't wait till that bastard is rotting six feet under." He reached behind him and poured the finished coffee for himself and Steve.

Steve grabbed the small jar of sugar from the counter, then reached for a spoon. Bucky was quick. He slammed the half-open drawer shut and plucked a clean spoon from the sink. Steve almost saw the device he hid there. Bucky would need to be more careful.

"Take this instead," he offered. Bucky didn't bother with an explanation. Nothing he could say would convince Steve.

Steve paused a beat before relenting. He knew his friend was hiding something; he also knew he would find out sooner than later what it was.

"Milk?" Bucky asked though he knew the answer.

"Just a little." Steve made his coffee just how he liked it and set it on the table. "Hey, at least you'll be getting some tonight." And they had moved on.

"Tonight?" Bucky questioned, taking a sip of his Italian Roast. Black, just the way he liked it. Then it hit him. Yeah, he was definitely getting some. He chuckled and shook his head. "Doubt she'll let me try anything the second we meet. I'll probably have to wait for the honeymoon."

"Yeah?" Steve smirked. "When's that?"

"The sixth. It's a Sunday. Three days after the reception." Yes, it was quick and hasty, but Danial Burgundy insisted, and his own father was no help. "Just hurry up and pop out a couple of children, why don't you?" Danial Burgundy and the older Barnes had laughed, but Bucky didn't find the idea as amusing. While he respected Danial, he was in no position to tell Bucky what to do.

Bucky ran a hand over his face and scoffed. "The fucking reception. Don't know how I'll survive it." The last thing he wanted was to be paraded around his father's friends like some zoo animal.

You only get married once, Buck. "You could try to look forward to it," Steve reprimanded. Between the two friends, he was mostly the more level-headed one.

"I am looking forward to it," Bucky smirked, wiggling his brows for effect. "A lot."

Steve frowned as if Bucky had personally offended him. "I'm not talking about the honeymoon, punk. Have some respect for the missus."

Bucky only smiled wider. "You haven't seen her yet, have you?"

"No, but you haven't either," Steve pointed out.

Bucky just shrugged with a smug grin as if he knew something Steve didn't.

"No." Steve's eyes widened. "You fucker. When?"

Bucky mimicked zipping his lips shut. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Fuck that. I thought your dad forbade you."

Bucky shrugged again.

"When?" Steve demanded.

"Exactly a week ago. I had some business with Danial, and I just happened to see little Burgundy walk out of his office in a tiny two-piece."

"Well, shit!"

Bucky smirked wider. He pushed off the wall he was leaning against and went to his room to grab the black manilla folder containing his fiancé's information.

He returned to find Steve sitting in the breakfast nook, polishing an apple against his shirt. "Here." Bucky tossed the manilla toward his friend, who promptly flicked through it.

"Woah!" Steve's eyes grew wide. "She's pretty."

"She's fucking gorgeous," Bucky smugly agreed.

"Can't believe she's a Burgundy," Steve expressed, eyes flicking over the girl's picture.

Bucky hummed in agreement. There she was, Bucky's fiancé, his wife-to-be, wearing a sensible pair of pants with a loosely fitted henley. Nothing special. It was her smile, all soft and inviting, that made her irresistible. He desperately wanted the girl's attention directed at him instead of the nondescript book in her hand. Bucky wanted to see her smile in the sunlight instead of through a thin piece of paper; he wanted a taste to see if she was as sweet as she looked. He wanted her swollen lips wrapped around his—

"She's got nice eyes."

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. He really needed to get laid. "Uh, yeah, she does. By the way, what would Sharon say about you admiring my girl?" Bucky teased.

Steve went deathly still before the corners of his mouth lifted in an arrogant smirk. "You wouldn't fucking dare, asshole. I'd cut your tongue out."

Bucky burst into a fit of laughter. "You get real fucking scary when it comes to your wife."

Steve merely smiled.

The shrill ringing of Bucky's phone interrupted the candid moment between the two friends. Bucky only briefly glanced at the caller ID before his smile dropped and his expression hardened.

"This is Barnes," he answered gruffly.

Even Steve Rogers straightened his shoulders at Bucky's tone. It was bewildering how quickly Bucky could go from a carefree young man to a hardened crime boss.

"Who?" Bucky seethed in response to the person on the other line. "Motherfucker!" He slammed the table with his palm and swallowed thickly, attempting to control his reaction. "When?"

Bucky swore again at the answer. "If you let him out of your fucking sight for even a second, Razor, I'll gut you and feed you to the fish. Understood?" he snapped, ending the call once Razor voiced agreement.

"What happened?" Steve broke the silence after a brief moment of pause. He knew the call meant nothing good but wanted to hear it himself.

"I have to go," Bucky offered as a response. He took long strides towards his room, hastily changing out of his nightclothes and into a clean suit. Bucky didn't bother with a tie. He would have to take it off anyway.

He retrieved his Colt 1911 from his dresser, along with his rings. The Colt belonged to his father, who gave it to Bucky on his eighteenth birthday. And the ring...? There was something to be said about the surprise on his enemy's face when a mediocre punch opened their skin, letting blood flow everywhere—Not that Bucky ever threw mediocre punches. After all, he was trained in martial arts from a young age.

Steve walked in when Bucky was tucking his gun in the waistband of his trousers. "What happened?" he asked once more.

"Rollins happened."

"Good or bad?"

"Both," Bucky replied. "Three of my men are dead."

"Okay," Steve raised an eyebrow. "That's bad."

"We have the guy who did it," Bucky finished.

"Rollins?"

Bucky shook his head. "One of his rat bastards."

"That's still good, right?" Steve asked, confused why Bucky was so upset about the win.

Bucky's voice lowered in a mix of empathy and regret. "Phil's gone."

Steve plopped himself down onto Bucky's bed. "How?"

"Knife through the chest."

Steve clutched his hair with white knuckles and groaned lowly. "Those fuckers."

Ever since the two mobsters met Phil four years ago, he became a brother to them. And while he worked for the Barnes Mafia, he was also loyal to the Rogers'.

Steve composed himself and stood on shaky legs. "I'm coming with you," he announced, determined in his efforts.

"No, you're not," Bucky scoffed, putting on a pair of loafers.

"You can't stop me," Steve warned. "I won't let those bastards get away with this!"

"And you think I will?" Bucky suddenly exploded, losing the last of his temper. He was just as upset as Steve over their friend's death. Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pulled him close. "I'll make every last one of them pay. I swear to you, Stevie, those motherfuckers will get what they deserve. But I need you here."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky interrupted him.

"Someone needs to plan the funeral. Phil deserves a proper goodbye."

Steve let his shoulders slump in defeat. He knew Bucky was right, yet he tried to convince him again. "You've got a wedding to attend in a few hours."

Bucky playfully shoved his friend away. "And who can guarantee the groom is punctual, if not the best man?"

"Yeah," Steve finally relaxed, though Phil's death was still fresh on his mind. An unfortunate consequence of their lifestyle. "You know I've got your back, punk."

"Asshole," Bucky returned without hesitation.

"Pussy."

"Bitch."

"Son of a bitch."

"Hey!" Bucky exploded, wagging an accusatory finger. "Don't bring my ma into this."

"Speaking of your ma," Steve continued smoothly, "she is going to be pissed as fuck if you get blood in your nails."

Bucky shrugged, grabbing his keys from the dresser. "I won't. I promise. I've got men for that."

There was blood everywhere, not that he could be bothered by it. One look at the man tied to the chair in front of him made Bucky forget his promise to Steve. His hands were bloodied in seconds.

Razor left a while ago, opting to give his boss some privacy. Since then, the dark basement had been filled with small whimpers and muffled screams. Bucky was unsatisfied. He swung his arm in a swift right hook and laughed when he received only a minuscule groan as a reaction. "You're no fun," Bucky teased. He reached for his gun, smiling as the man struggled against his restraints. "Scared?" Bucky mocked. "You shouldn't be."

Bucky placed his gun on the small table to his left, waiting for the man to relax before bending down and retrieving a knife from his ankle. It was long and slender—sturdy in his hands, and perfect for carving.

"I hear you like knives." Bucky smirked at the look of horror that crossed the man's face. "I don't see the appeal, personally. There're guns, swift and clean—kind of loud, but they don't leave a huge mess. You want to be discreet? Poison works wonders. You don't know you're dying until you're dead. But knives? They just seem excessively messy."

The man in the chair stiffened.

"I wonder what all the fuss is about," Bucky mused, running a finger along the sharp blade. He sucked his bottom lip in contemplation, releasing it with a pop. "Why don't I find out?" And Bucky brought the weapon down on the man's leg, smiling when the scream he was looking for finally reached his ears.

He quickly retrieved the blade, slamming it into its new home in the man's other leg. There was nothing to be done about the blood. Bucky would no doubt receive a swift tongue lashing from his mother about it, but he could still fulfill his other promise to Steve.

Bucky would make every last one of them pay, starting with the rat bastard in front of him.

May 3rd, 2018

She woke to the sweet smell of maple. A smile immediately graced her sleepy face, and she stretched her arms above her head, contorting her body to eliminate any aches or soreness from the night before. A joint cracked, maybe two, and she sighed in relief.

The girl could smell maple and... cinnamon, was it? The aroma permeated the room, making her sink deeper into the soft mattress. Indistinctly, a soft melodic voice reached her ears.

"What language is that?" she wondered.

Fleur almost dropped the tray of food she was holding. Her wide eyes narrowed in a faux glare. "You scared me."

"It's not french," the girl observed. She tried to remember the words in her dazed state. "Sounds slavic.ˈDrage wo t͡sto ˈmisliɫəm? Sokovian, maybe."

Fleur placed the tray on the edge of the bed with unnecessary force. "It was nothing. Here."

The girl let out a small yawn and raised herself on her elbows. "It sounded beautiful." She gave Fleur her version of what she hoped was a genuine smile. "I had a Sokovian friend in school."

"You talk too much," Fleur chastised. "Eat."

"Wait!" The girl urgently grabbed Fleur to stop her from leaving. "Eat with me."

"No." Fleur pulled her arm away. "I have a lot to do. I have to pack a bag for you, and—"

"Please? I don't want anything to go to waste." Her eyes were wild with need, and Fleur must have seen the despair swirling behind the girl's bright irises because she relented.

The two sat side by side and drank from the same cup of hot chocolate. The girl ate a piece of fruit and soaked some of the bread in the hot chocolate, at which Fleur raised a perfectly arched brow.

"Your hair looks almost red in the sun."

Fleur touched her head. "No, it doesn't," she replied fiercely. "It's blonde. Have you ever seen a red-haired french person before?"

"Izgleda da ne." I guess not, the girl murmured in Sokovian.

"You have an affinity for languages or something?" Fleur asked casually.

"Or something," the girl answered. "I mentioned my friend. I learned french from him, some Sokovian too. Also, I wanted to travel the world for Investigative Journalism. It made sense to learn more languages." She shrugged a shoulder. "What a waste."

"Not completely. You could continue after your marriage."

"Not likely."

The two ate in relative silence, taking much longer than needed to finish a simple meal, and bartered meaninglessly until the last crumb was wiped clean. And even then did not move, satisfied for a time with being in each other's company.

May 3rd, 2018

She thought she knew privilege—had seen the dirty reality of it beneath the many layers—but she was merely ignorant of its candidness. The wealth she found herself surrounded by was incomparable to the previous advantages granted to her for being a Burgundy.

The girl stumbled upon exiting the private elevator, surprised to find herself in a foyer. Then she noticed the view, and her legs almost gave out. She should have expected this would be no ordinary hotel—but perhaps her expectations were askew if she presumed to find herself in a small one-bedroom, much like what she lived in when she left home.

The girl looked down and saw her reflection staring back at her in the marble. The place was so big she was worried she would get lost. The attendant's voice went through one ear and out the other. The girl only managed to catch a few details. Two floors, five-bed, six-bath, a lounge and a private terrace, among other things. She wondered how much it cost.

She must have voiced her previous thought because the attendant smiled brightly. "Seventy-five per night."

She gasped in surprise. "Seventy-five hundred?" She couldn't imagine anyone spending that much money on a single hotel room.

The attendant frowned, clearly offended. "No. It's seventy-five thousand per night. Your fiancé booked the penthouse for three nights; the entire hotel for two."

The girl choked on air. She knew James Barnes was wealthy, but she never imagined this. "The entire hotel?" Exactly how many people were coming to the wedding?

"Yes, ma'am. Your entire wedding party is staying with us. And your bridesmaids will stay at the penthouse while you are on your honeymoon."

The girl felt sick. Positively and irrevocably. First, the shock of finding out how wealthy her fiancé was, then to hear him referred to as hers. Her fiancé. Her wedding. Her bridesmaids. Her honeymoon.

"I assumed Mr. Barnes would have told you," the attendant continued, mildly concealed suspicion lacing her voice.

Vaguely, the girl was aware a question had been asked and that she should answer said question, but a sudden dizziness overtook her. She stared at a small smudge on the mirror to her left—a lone imperfection amongst an otherwise spotless surface—and focused on breathing through her nose and out of her mouth.

Fleur placed a cold hand on the girl's back when she remained unresponsive. "Miss Burgundy?"

The girl blinked and refocused her attention. "I'm alright," she said. "Just a bit dizzy. I think I should sit down."

The attendant's eyes instinctively trailed down the girl's abdomen. "Would you like some water... or some champagne, perhaps?"

"Neither," the girl replied with a forced smile. "Thank you for the tour, but I'll rest for a bit.." The tour was nowhere near finished; it had hardly begun, but the dismissal was palpable.

"Of course," the attendant said with a polite nod. "I hope you enjoy your stay and feel better before your wedding." She stared at the girl's stomach as she left the room, almost bumping into the two guards at the door.

"Is that the bride?"

A large group of girls immediately bombarded her when she entered the main lounge. They wore identical robes, with the hotel logo embroidered on the sleeves, and sipped on flutes of champagne; her bridesmaids.

It quickly became clear there were two kinds of girls in the room. The first kind surrounded her with overly fake smiles and gave her compliments they didn't mean.

"Oh! Where did you get those shoes? They're so cute," said a tall redhead. They were second-hand from a thrift shop and were not cute.

The second kind, scattered varyingly across the space, visually sized her up. Their judgemental eyes scanned the girl head to toe, taking in her frayed jeans and scuffed shoes. Her messy hair, dry lips, and red eyes. Their stares lingered on her chest and bottom—on her waist—as if she were merely an object for them to criticize. It was clear they saw nothing of interest when they quickly dismissed her and continued their hushed conversations.

Two blondes of the second kind made their way over to the girl, pulling her down to sit with them. She shook their offered hands, hoping they couldn't feel the sweat lining her palms.

"You are one lucky bitch to be marrying James Barnes," said a bottle blonde with overly filled lips painted a bright pink. She stunk of Chanel. "I didn't know he had a girlfriend until I got the wedding invite."

Heat rose to the girl's face. She gave the two a rehearsed answer. "Oh. We didn't want the relationship to be public. James likes his privacy."

The taller blonde thrust a flute of champagne into the girl's hand before sipping on her own. She was perfectly tall, with legs that went on for days. Green eyes framed with long lashes. She lightly ran the pad of her thumb along a bright red lip. "Bucky does like his privacy, doesn't he?" she mused. "I would know," she shrugged a delicate shoulder, "from experience."

"Bucky?" the girl questioned.

"James. His close friends call him Bucky."

"Oh..." That felt like something she should have known. "Right. Of course," she laughed nervously. "Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night."

The blonde hummed in consideration. "Yes, I can see that."

The girl blinked. Someone behind her snickered.

"Oh, what was your name?" the blonde continued. "It completely slipped my mind."

The girl took a large sip of her drink before answering.

"How cute. My name's Dorothy." She reached over to bop the girl's nose. "You can call me Dot. Everyone does. This is Chanel."

The girl gave Dot a shaky smile. "It's nice to meet you, Dot." It wasn't. It really wasn't. She then turned to Chanel, praying she could keep a straight face. "And you."

"I'm surprised you didn't have a bachelor party," said Chanel. "Bucky sure went all out."

"Yes," Dot agreed. "Why didn't you?"

The girl stuttered around a response. "James—I don't—I didn't feel like it."

"Well, he missed you."

"Who did?" The girl asked incredulously.

"Bucky, who else?" Dot raised a brow. "I had to stay with him all night to make sure he wouldn't call or try to see you." She twirled a strand of hair with her finger. "It's bad luck to see each other before the wedding."

The girl didn't know what to say, so she settled for something generic. "Oh. I missed him too." It seemed her betrothed held no similar qualms about the marriage if he felt happy enough to party.

"Show us the ring!" Chanel suddenly demanded.

The bride-to-be presented her left hand to the room, prompting the ladies to huddle closer. "How cute." Dot turned to Chanel. "Isn't it just like the one James gave me on my birthday?"

Chanel nodded eagerly. "Except yours is bigger, I think."

Dot hummed in agreement. "Heavier too. Oh, but yours is so much cuter! Suits your personality perfectly."

What would this stranger know about her personality? The girl wondered if this was how mundane people made friends—sizing the competition with backhanded compliments to see who broke first. She glanced around the room. No one here was normal, least of all her.

"Thank you." She wanted to cry.

"So, Mrs. Barnes, do tell us. How did you and James meet?" someone asked.

"She's not Mrs. Barnes yet, dear," Dot quickly corrected, managing to sound both sarcastic and snobbish.

The girl laughed uncomfortably, plastering the biggest smile she could muster. "No, I still have a few hours before that happens.

Dot hummed. "Regardless, I would love to know the story. Bucky has been so uncharacteristically tight-lipped about you. He usually tells me everything."

Panic took over, and the girl looked at Fleur for guidance—They hadn't practiced this—only to find Fleur glaring somewhat discreetly at Dot. "We, uh—Our families knew each other!" the girl hastily answered. "There was a dinner. One thing led to another, and here we are—"

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

Confused, the girl froze at Dot's jarring question, only to find the blonde's attention on her maid.

Fleur schooled her expression into a passive one. "I doubt it, miss." Her accent was more pronounced than ever, surprising the girl who thought Fleur was improving.

Dot narrowed her eyes, briefly dropping her jolly and quick-witted persona. "No, I've definitely seen you before."

"Fleur's been working for my father for a while," the girl supplied. "Maybe you—"

"Have you visited the Burgundy estate lately, Miss Dorothy? I believe Mr. Burgundy invited your father for a friendly game of blackjack last month. Perhaps you tagged along?"

"I don't recall," Dot sneered.

The girl watched in confusion as the atmosphere changed.

"Oh!" Fleur covered her gasp with both hands. "How thoughtless of me. Mr. Allen couldn't have possibly visited when he was in prison for—"

"Stop right there!" Dot hissed, and though her voice was soft, the warning was sharp. However, the damage was done, and the room exploded with gasps of shock.

Even the girl couldn't hide her surprise at Fleur's abrupt change in behaviour, then at the company.

"When did your father go to jail, Dorothy? Why am I just hearing about this?"

Fleur quietly excused herself during the chaos.

"It was a misunderstanding," Dot explained, swiftly slipping into a calm disposition. "The matter resolved itself in a day." She turned her sharp eyes toward the girl, who straightened at the attention. Dot sighed, letting her shoulders droop. "Your mother was a great help to mine. How sad she couldn't be here today."

The room fell silent. The girl wasn't aware their mothers knew each other. What excuse was she supposed to give? She decided to go for the truth. "Yes, it is," she agreed with a sad smile.

Dot narrowed her eyes. She seemed displeased. "You're a strong person. I would burst into tears if I were in your position, God forbid."

"Yes, well, what can we do? Life goes on." The ladies began to chat among themselves as the previous tension slowly dissipated.

Dot's concealed scoff did not miss the girl's ears. "How optimistic of you."

The girl jumped at the lull in conversation after a moment. "I think I should change," she announced, stretching her legs. "And maybe take a shower." No one seemed to pay her any attention. "Right. I guess I'll be going then."

The girl turned to leave, but Dot stopped her with her arm. "Before you go, I just wanted to tell you how nice it is to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too." It wasn't. It really wasn't, but the girl could help but be polite.

"We'll be seeing a lot of each other now," Dot said in a honeyed voice. "I can't wait for you to be part of the family."

Part of the family? What? "I'm sorry, but how do you know James?"

Dot put a hand over her chest. "How do I know him? You mean he hasn't told you about me?"

"No, he hasn't." The girl swallowed nervously. "Are you his sister?"

Dot threw her head back and laughed. "Am I his—Oh! I'm going to have a word with him after this. I can't believe he hasn't told you."

The girl couldn't help but feel like the butt end of a joke, with no choice but to play along. "Hasn't told me what?"

Dot stepped towards the girl and bit her lip as she leaned forward. "Me and James... well, let's just say we're very good friends."

"Oh." Dot's underlying meaning was clear.

What else could she say? Everyone held an advantage over her. They grew up surrounded by the mafia while she left. They knew all the particular goings-on of the organization, and she didn't. And now this gorgeous blonde was passive-aggressively staking some type of claim over James Barnes. Who she affectionately called Bucky.

"Okay."

Dot curled her lips into a smile as if to say, "checkmate," and took the girl's hand in a tight grip. "Again, welcome to the family, dear. You have no idea how excited I am."

It started slowly, a tingle in her spine, crawling up her shoulders and towards her neck. The feeling of someone watching her. She surveyed her surroundings, once, then twice, then seemingly happy with the absence of another soul, turned back towards the pool.

It had taken just one look at the girl's tear-ridden face for Fleur to deduce what was wrong.

"They're jealous." Fleur was wearing a neat braid. Her roots were a reddish blonde.

"Jealous?" the girl had scoffed, forgetting about her friend's unusual hair colour.

"Your husband is quite popular, especially among the younger ladies."

"He's not my husband," she snapped in frustration.

"Apologies." Though Fleur did not sound apologetic at all. "They're not happy you're marrying him."

"Least of all me! How am I supposed to convince everyone of this marriage, Fleur? I know nothing about him. I don't even know what he looks like!"

"Mr. Burgundy didn't let you two meet?"

"James Barnes is a busy man. He has an entire city to run." The girl repeated what her father told her, then aggressively shook her head. "I refused a picture. I don't think I could have survived the week if my nightmares had a face."

"All that from a single photograph? I hear he's a handsome man."

"The eyes are the windows to the soul, aren't they? After my brother died, my father changed and became cruel. His eyes used to be full of life, but they turned dull." The girl looked down at the floor, remembering how strict and uncaring her father became after losing his child.

Fleur thought for a moment. "I know you don't feel it, chérie, but you hold a lot of power."

The girl wanted to cry. "I don't feel powerful." She felt weak and helpless.

Fleur grabbed her hand. "Behind every successful man is a woman. Remember this. I helped my husband expand his practice. Without me, he never would've gotten to where he is."

The girl couldn't help the pity she felt. "And yet he still—"

"Yes, I got too comfortable. Never let your guard down, or the next thing you know—"

God, was that what would happen to her? Would she be swept away under all the lies and betrayals that seemed to follow the mafia everywhere?

Fleur seemed to be able to read the girl's mind. "I will not let that happen to you!" she promised passionately. "You are lucky the wedding is so public. Your husband will not risk losing you." She paused. "Or hurting you."

The girl deeply exhaled. The severity of her situation was voiced for the first time, leaving a weight on her shoulders.

"How can I help?" Fleur asked softly.

"I want to swim." The girl didn't bother correcting herself. "Alone."

It hadn't taken Fleur long to orchestrate the entire thing. A thinly veiled threat to the guards posted outside—something along the lines of castration—and the girl found herself in an empty natatorium.

The girl didn't know how to swim, though she didn't need to. She only needed to submerge herself long enough to forget what she had to do in a few hours.

Vow her life away to a monster. James Barnes.

She took the steps one at a time, becoming comfortable as the cool water slowly obscured her bikini-clad body. The pool was not too deep where she stood, only reaching her elbows, so she walked farther until it reached her chin.

The girl closed her eyes. A deep breath in, out, and another in before she bent her legs and lowered her body.

The effect was immediate. The world quieted down to silence, took all the girl's worries and anxieties, all past, present, and future troubles and dispersed them across the water's surface to be collected once she emerged.

The girl didn't want them back. She didn't want to live in constant fear, always wondering when the next shoe would drop. If she straightened her knees and took her head out of the water to breathe, she would need to wear her wedding dress, walk down the aisle, and marry a monster. However, if she stayed, with her legs bent and floating aimlessly—with her breath stuck in her lungs and her body pliant in the water, she would be free of all her troubles.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. She saw the ceiling above her through a distorted lens, her hands and legs floating aimlessly around her. Air bubbles left her nose and breached the surface, which seemed to move farther and farther away as time passed. Her hair created a beautiful halo around her head, and she sighed, expelling the last of air from her lungs.

As she let herself float away, deeper and deeper into the calm abyss, she thought, with sudden clarity, that she would love to spend the rest of her days here. No thoughts or feelings, only a calm that she could not reach any other way. A place where she was everything and nothing, all at the same time.

The girl shut her eyes, letting the comforting pressure of water surround her from all sides. Yes, she would love to spend the rest of her days here.

The effect was immediate. The world boomed with noise, took all the girl's worries and anxieties, all past, present, and future troubles and accumulated them across the water, which was then promptly collected the second she emerged.

The girl gasped, sputtered, and choked. It felt as if the arm around her abdomen had picked her up and slammed her onto concrete. The loss made her cry. She sobbed as she attempted to loosen the arms around her, to dive back into the serene calmness she was just feeling mere moments ago.

"No!" she cried out. "Let me go!"

The arm tightened painfully. "What the hell?"

The girl froze. She recognized that voice. She turned so abruptly her hair whipped the man across his face, making him flinch.

"Peter?"

"You were gonna drown!" Peter berated her. "Do you want to die?" He wore a dress shirt and dark grey slacks, the fanciest the girl had seen him in.

"No. I don't want to die. I just..." The girl moved a strand of wet hair from his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Peter ignored her question and carried her out of the pool, setting her carefully on a lounge chair nearby. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he asked forcefully.

The girl suddenly felt very exposed to the cool air. She grabbed a nearby towel to cover her nakedness. "I wasn't," she replied. "I wasn't thinking."

"That doesn't sound like you," he observed, sitting beside her.

"Why are you here?" she asked once more.

Peter sighed and ran his hands over his face, wiping the excess water. He would have to change his clothes and find new shoes. The leather was sure to be damaged beyond repair.

"I heard some guys in the lobby talking about how the bride was taking a swim. I came in to say hi, and almost witnessed you kill yourself."

The girl wasn't trying to kill herself, though she decided not to correct him. "What are you doing in New York?" she clarified. "In this hotel?"

Peter scoffed, leaning forward to grab his dry suit jacket. "Did you hit your stupid head while you were down there?" He shoved a thick envelope toward her. "You invited me."

In her hands was a wedding invite. Gold and pink lines on matte black card stock. "The Barnes and Burgundy family cordially invite you to witness the holy matrimony of James Buchanan Barnes and—" In her hands was her wedding invite.

Dread settled low in the girl's stomach. The last she'd seen Peter, Campus security was escorting him out of the DKE party. That was also the last time she saw Dove. The girl wanted to ask about her friend. Was she okay? Was she eating well? How upset was she when the girl left without a goodbye?

"You need to leave," she declared.

"Oh, uh, okay." Peter rose to grab his discarded jacket and the wedding invite. "I'm in room 315. I'll see you at the church, yeah?"

"No. You need to leave the city." The girl rose to her feet as panic began to take over. "Now!" she exploded when he didn't move fast enough for her liking.

"Jesus!" Peter did not let the girl push him toward the exit. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "What are you talking about?"

She was hysterical, trying her best to keep her tears at bay, a complete one-eighty compared to a moment ago. "It's dangerous for you to be here. Catch the first flight back to Vancouver and go home!"

But Peter wouldn't listen. He wrapped the slipping towel tighter around the girl's shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Is this those wedding jitters I've heard about? because you're not making any sense. My life isn't in danger."

His calm and placating voice annoyed her. As always, Peter thought he knew better when he didn't. Her father obviously invited him here as a power move to show her his control over her life. One wrong move and Peter would suffer the consequences, along with Dove.

She pushed his hand away and grabbed his wet shirt. "You don't understand. You need to go to Dove. How was she when you left her? Is she hurt?"

Peter frowned. "Dove's alright. She misses you 'cause you left out of nowhere, but she's actually he—Wait. Why would she be hurt?"

The girl let out the breath she had been holding. "So, she's fine?"

Peter grabbed her wrists to loosen her hold on him, which was becoming tighter. "Yeah, What the hell? What aren't you telling me, Kitty? Why would Dove be hurt?"

The girl's face contorted in sorrow. She contemplated coming clean to her friend, telling him everything that had transpired since that fateful night in Vancouver. "Peter," she sighed, slowly losing her resolve. Perhaps he would listen if he knew what was at stake. "My father is—"

"I must say," a loud voice interrupted the two, "when my men told me my daughter went for a swim, I was surprised. Especially considering I didn't know you could swim."

Both of them froze. Peter tensed his shoulders and sighed deeply, letting his eyes close. "Kitty."

"Run," she whispered pleadingly. "There's still time."

"I'm sorry." Guilt swirled in Peter's eyes when opened them. He looked dejected.

The girl snatched her wrists from his hold. "It's okay. Just let me do the talking."

Peter shook his head. "Not about that." And he took a step toward her father.

What? she wanted to ask, but the question answered itself.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on her, Pietro. She clearly can't be left alone." Danial let his gaze wander all over Peter's wet clothes.

"Pietro?" the girl found herself wondering aloud.

Her father looked confused for a moment before bursting into laughter. He wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulder as if they were friends. "I forgot. You might know him as Peter, your schoolmate."

The girl turned to her friend, waiting for him to deny it.

Peter bowed his head, unwilling to meet her gaze. "Pietro Maximoff, Miss. At your service."

"No," the girl denied. "There must be some misunderstanding."

"There isn't," Peter—no, Pietro answered. "It's nice to meet you formally."

Her father seemed pleased. "Good job, Pietro. You can go. I'll call you if I need anything."

Pietro left without sparing her a glance.

It was like the entire world slowed. Voices muted, and a ringing overtook all her senses.

"You best be on your way," her father said.

"Why?"

He felt far away when he spoke. "You have a wedding to attend. That's why."

He misunderstood. "Why him?"

In the past week, the girl's world had flipped so many times she couldn't tell up from down anymore. Fear and anxiety were her best friend during this troubling time, and she thought nothing could surprise her. She was wrong.

She remembered meeting Peter—Pietro—for the first time. He was adamant about being her friend, waiting outside her classes with a coffee one day and iced tea another. The girl always figured he was friendly because she was Dove's best friend. She never suspected any foul play.

A horrible thought struck her. How would Dove react once she knew the man she loved deceived her? Another thought. Did she already know? A double deception was sure to kill the girl.

Did the girl's father control everything in her life? Had he known this entire time what she was doing? He must have. Pietro would have told him everything. He would have indulged her father with her most intimate thoughts and feelings. That betrayal somehow felt much worse than Pietro lying about who he was.

That is when the numbness started. The girl was tired. Tired of feeling, hoping for a reprieve, and constantly being let down. Tired of fearing for her friend's life.

When her father gestured for two of his men to grab the girl, she did not react or fight back. She only tightened the small towel around her shoulders. They dragged her out with ease, following her father, stopping when he stopped, moving when he moved.

When she passed the concierge, the staff averted their eyes, unwilling to even risk looking in her direction. Still, the girl felt a pair of eyes follow her. She turned her head only to find a man staring at her.

There was a prominent frown on his face as he ran his gaze over her exposed legs and up her torso. While the girl usually felt repulsed while being leered at by random men, the stranger's eyes did not make her uncomfortable. Something about him felt oddly familiar. He was beautiful, with soft hair cut short on the sides, and was wearing a dress shirt with slacks, similar to Pietro's. His eyes were a startling azure.

Try as she might, the girl couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen the man before. Despite the distance between them, she noticed a muscle in his jaw tick in annoyance upon seeing her face.

He parted his pink lips then, to say something, though she didn't hear what. Her father frustratedly rubbed his eyes and replied to the man, walking over to greet him. The two shook hands, and Danial gestured for the guards to take her away.

The girl stayed passive the entire time, only pulling the towel over her chest to try and erase the stranger's stare from her body. They dragged her across the lobby and towards the elevators. There was no stopping it now. A wedding awaited her.

Her bridesmaids' chatter quieted to a dull throb, deadening completely the longer the girl ignored them. They were snacking on fruit and sipping champagne while a photographer captured the exaggerated moment. Smiles too big and poses too disingenuous.

In comparison, the girl sat blank-faced. No smile. No disingenuous pose. No falsities or pretenses. One couldn't tell her dress was a few sizes too small, preventing her from breathing. Or that underneath the layers of concealer, her eyes were dark enough to be mistaken for bruises, and her elaborately made hair housed the beginning of what was turning out to be a massive headache.

Yes, it was odd that the bride-to-be was not trembling with excitement, but that could be a consequence of nerves. Her lack of response, however, was starting to become concerning.

"What do you think?" the hairdresser asked for the third time. He finished the final touches. A brooch here, a sprinkle of glitter there.

The girl barely glanced at her reflection. "It's nice," she murmured, then tuned out the rest of the conversation.

A young woman refreshed the colour on her lips with a small brush before blotting it with a tissue. "I've never had such an obedient bride before," she laughed. "You're as still as a mannequin."

The girl gave no reaction. She briefly heard the pair acknowledge her inattentiveness, speculating in hushed whispers why she wasn't happier. She felt disinclined to indulge them.

She was tired.

She didn't know when, but the room cleared out, and still, she was sitting in front of the vanity, staring at a fixed spot in the mirror.

From her peripheral, the girl saw her father enter behind her. Danial was dressed in his most expensive suit and held a folder in his right hand, which he placed on the vanity. Still, she sat unmoving.

"Everyone is already on their way to the church," he told her. "I sent Fleur with your bridesmaids." He paused, waiting for his daughter to say something, but she didn't. Danial cleared his throat. "I wanted to give you your wedding present right now. I know there's time set apart for later, but I thought you'd appreciate doing this privately."

At this, the girl did react. She found her father's eyes in the mirror and looked down at the folder in question.

"Open it," Danial urged. And so she did.

The girl took in the contents of the folder passively, emotionlessly. I, Danial Burgundy, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare the following—

"I suppose congratulations are in order." Danial placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You will become the new and sole owner of the Burgundy estate once the marriage is finalized."

Now, this did get a reaction from the girl. She shot up from her seat, making Danial's hand fall to his side. "You're trying to buy my silence? You think this will erase what you're making me do?" The girl made her way to the door, holding the will in a white-knuckled grip. She couldn't sit there and be reminded of how badly she lost.

"I told you before," Danial's voice reverberated through the room, "and I'll tell you again. This will all make sense soon, then you'll thank me. There's a reason I'm doing this. A good reason."

The girl looked at her father, at his determined face and stiff posture. No, she decided, there can be no justifiable reason for what he is doing. Nothing she could ever understand or forgive.

"We're late, Father," the girl said; and with that, she turned around and left. There was a wedding to attend.

Note: Thoughts? How are we feeling so far?

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[stardustandmeteors]

heart eyes | carmilla carmine x fem! oc

note: Magik was nineteen when she died in 2009 and now she's biologically fourty-three (I'm just assuming Hazbin Hotel is set in 2024), and Carmilla is in her mid 40s-50s. (Her wiki said that anyways).  Magik is Abroromantic and Asexual. The only people she doesn't mind touching her are Alastor, Rosie, Angel, and sometimes Charlie (possibly Carmilla as well in the future).

This one shot is from my book on Wattpad, and it's an Alastor & oc (plus other characters, mostly Alastor tho), and I had really wanted to write something for Magik (oc ) and Carmilla, cause Carmilla is so cool and I love her design T-T Alastor and Magik have a brother-sister relationship, they're strictly platonic.

pairing: carmilla carmine & magik garcia (romantic)

Shit. was the first thought going through Magik's head as she gripped her hair in despair. Shit, shit, shit. Her ears flattened against her head as she groaned in displeasure. Angel and Husk both looked at her, the spider demon leaning over to talk to his friend. "Is she all right? She's been like that for the whole day." He asked the cat demon. He opened his mouth to reply, but Magik beat him to it.

"No, Angie, everything is not okay. Oh, this is so bad, why must it be me?" Magik cried in confusion, trying to understand how she even did this to herself. The two looked at her confused.

"What does that mean?" Husk questioned, raising his eyebrows, trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"I mean this," she turned to look at them, her golden pupils were shaped into pulsing hearts, "every time i look or even think about that woman, my eyes automatically do this." She spoke, her ears flicking in irritation as the small tail she had wagged furiously.

"Oh! Awe, you have heart eyes," Angel awed at his friend, his hand going over to pat her gently on the head, being mindful of her little antlers. She snapped at his hand.

"Do not "awe" at me. This is terrible! I don't know how this even happened, I'm never attracted to anyone," she said, turning to look back at the counter with her thumb in her mouth, trying to not have a mental breakdown.

"You know, it's not a bad thing to like someone, kid." Husk said, leaning over the counter next to Angel.

"Yeah, and who is this lucky person that's got you all worked up anyways?" Angel asked. Magik sighed, scratching her cheek.

"You promise you won't laugh at me, right?" She asked.

"No." The two said. Magik mumbled the name of the person she was crushing on, "sorry, you'll have to speak up kiddo."

"Carmilla Carmine." She huffed, hugging her middle as she turned her head away from her friends.

"Wait, seriously?" Angel spoke first, a light airy laugh leaving his lips.

"You said you wouldn't laugh..." Magik mumbled. Husk nudged the younger male, which had Angel look at him and be met with a glare.

"We're not laughing Magik, just surprised is all. She doesn't seem your type, her being an overlord and all." He shrugged, taking a swig of his cheap booze. Magik looked at both of them, her heart pupils still prominent and bright.

"I actually didn't think you could like anyone, with the way you always act. No offense, doll, but you're not that approachable. Especially when Al's around you." He admitted, taking the drink Husk had made him and took a small sip of the pink alcohol.

"Neither did I! I didn't even know I liked women! Oh no, what if people find out!" She gripped her hair again, worried that if people found out, she'd definitely be the laughing stock of hell. No one as high ranked as Carmilla would go for a low ranked sinner. And Magik wasn't even that much of a sinner. She still has a grudge against heaven for that one.

"Jeez, calm down toots. It's not the end of the world." Angel rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," Husk nodded. She looked at them and then banged her head against the counter and groaned again. Shit! she totally forgot the meeting she was supposed to go to with Alastor, yes, she wasn't an Overlord, but Alastor loved having her tag along with them. He always thought it was fun. With the new revelation of her pupils dilating into hearts, she wasn't very thrilled in tagging along with her brother figure.

"Magik, my dear, oh I missed you. How are you?" Rosie spoke as Magik came into the meeting room with Alastor next to her. The cannibal walked over to the jack rabbit demoness who wore sunglasses (very Crowley of you Magik) and gave the short adult a hug, bending down a little to reach her height.

"Hi Auntie Rosie," Magik said, using the title Rosie insisted on her saying. Rosie only grinned, letting her go and leading her to sit in between Alastor and herself. "And I'm all right, I'm a bit tired today. Eye bags are dreadful." She sighed, lying as she pointed at the glasses that hid her pupils. Alastor raised a brow at that, but didn't say anything.

The meeting started as she stared at all of the Overlords, most of them she didn't even remember their names. Then, her gaze went to Carmilla and her eyes instantly softened as she inwardly sighed. Oh, I hate my life. She thought, trying to fight the giddy smile that threatened to spread across her thin lips. Why did it have to be you? She was not happy right now. She knew her pupils had grown in size and knew the hearts would be a lot better to see if she had the glasses off.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Magik? You've been staring at me for quite a while?" Carmilla's voice brought her out of her head as she looked around, confused.

"What?" She asked, her ears flicking, the smile she didn't realize passed her lips quickly turned to a frown, though her pupils were still the same. "No?" She was confused. Why was everyone looking at her?

"You've been staring off into space, my dear." Alastor told her, his static filled voice catching her ears. She looked up at him.

"No I wasn't," she denied.

"Whatever you were doing, stop it." Carmilla glared at her. This demoness wasn't an Overlord, so she couldn't understand why Alastor insisted on having her in some of these meetings. Magik looked dumbfounded until she understood what she had done and her face turned red in embarrassment. Why me? smoke sizzled out of her ears which surprised quite a few of the Overlords as she silently groaned. "And why are you wearing sunglasses inside?" She asked.

"I uh... Have a black eye?" Magik lied in uncertainty. Rosie gave a tilt of her head.

"I thought you had eye bags?" The hellborn was clueless sometimes, and it usually made Magik's life a nightmare. Magik gave an unconvincing smile.

"That too... I'm a poor sleeper... Hehe..." Oh, kill me now. She felt like crying. All this because her pupils are hearts. Carmilla rolled her eyes and then they finally went back to the meeting, everyone momentarily forgetting Magik and her embarrassed state. Rosie however, had an idea what had happened, and her grin seemed to widen. She may be clueless sometimes, but she would know a little crush when she saw one.

[pinkprimrose05]

Can you do the whole favorite thing about them, least favorite thing about them, favorite line, brOTP, OTP, nOTP, etc. for Yuya?

Warning: Long post, contains slight spoilers.

I am so very sorry for long this stayed in the box- but thanks a lot for the ask!

Favorite thing about them: Why must you make me choose. I can't. I can't do that. There's genuinely too many things to choose from.

...fine, I can do honorable mentions. One thing that piqued my interest in the tomato son all those years ago was how layered his persona can be... if you squint. Or if you're like me and relate to him on a spiritual level. You see, at the surface of his character, Yuuya's your average protag boy: fun-loving, good-natured and full of innocent hopes and dreams-

Except, that's not all there is to it. Not even at the very start of the story. We see from the get-go how he struggles with the weight of past events and his own doubts and insecurities -which only gets more and more prominent as the show goes on- all while holding onto his smiles in defiance against adversity, and trying to help others do the same as well. Personally, I still think that this is a deceptively simple yet very powerful message.

Least favorite thing about them: Ah, that's a question I can't quite answer. You see, there isn't anything specific I dislike about him, as much as there's stuff I dislike that happen to him- as in, to his character. Like the last stretch of the Xyz and Fusion arcs. Those parts did irreversible damage Yuuya's portrayal- so much so that even I, known for being more forgiving of the story's flaws than most, was shaking my head in denial through the first, second, and third watch. Lord help me when I reach them in the fourth.

Favorite line: Quoting myself from the Yuugo version of this post: would it be cheating the question if I said there's too many to count? Because it's still true. I know for a fact that I'll mention a line here and then find another one I prefer not a day later- that's how it is with the faves, I suppose. For the sake of not leaving this empty, though, here's one quote that stuck with me longer than most:

"The dueling I've had up until now isn't something I made alone. Because everyone was there, I was able to make it this far!"

brOTP: Yuugo!

...Saw that coming? Yes? No? Look, Yuuya's the protagonist so he naturally has a lot of interesting friendships, some established, some made over the course of the show... and a few entirely hypothetical, like this one. What can I say? I just think they'd go great together. Picture this: two idiots with half a braincell between them, who meet each other proper and instantly click. And get on like a house on fire from there. Seriously, they're so different yet similar in so many ways, and I think that'd lend itself to a great mutual underdtanding between the two- almost as if they have some kind of telepathetic link (hmmm). Putting them in one room for extended periods of time will either result in the most fun sort of chaos or in talks so deep they both end up bawling their eyes out in each other's arms.

They're friends. Besties. Brothers even.

OTP: Look, I'm a bonafide vanilla when it comes to romantic ships. Fruitshipping is my first and main OTP in all media of interest, and the threatre kiddos get a badge of honor for being one of a scant few pairs that got me extremely close to crying on more than 1 occasion. That's more than can be said for... *checks notes* ...99.8% of the characters I know!

nOTP: Hmm... there's none that come to mind, honestly. I don't mind seeing Yuuya paired with anyone, as long as the ship is not inherently inappropriate and/or isn't portrayed in any weird ways.

Random headcanon: Thanks to certain happenings towards the end of the plot, Yuuya ends up developing the unconscious habit of hoarding things precious to him. He'll go to sleep curled up in the middle of a nest of blankets and pillows, surrounded by all his favorite plushies, random trinkets and gifts from friends, and of course, his pendulum and card partners (thank god in-universe cards are stupidly sturdy). The first time Youko chances upon him in this state, deep in the peaceful bliss of slumber, she stealthily snaps a photo and- huh? No, you didn't hear a thing. "Cuteness overload can be heard from over a mile away?" Pfft, nonsense.

Unpopular opinion: No idea how unpopular this may be, but... I don't get the claims that Yuuya's not a good duelist?

Several people point out that he relies on Action cards to stall out a duel until he can turn it around, and conclude that as such, he's less skillful than most of his opponents. That take confuses me more than anything; after all, isn't it in the nature of the Action duel rule that one must make use of the card scattered around them? They're not just there for show, nor are they solely used for their effects. And besides, it's clear that Yuuya's particular brand of entertainment dueling places heavy emphasis on the dynamic aspect, which is why he's always running around the field and trying to make a spectacle out of every move. That doesn't diminish his skill in any way I can see- he's just more inclined to using resources outside those in his deck, thanks in part to needing more combo pieces than survivability cards by virtue of using Pendulums.

Song I associate with them: Assuming any song qualifies, I'd say it's Future Fighter; because it's literally Yuuya's (and Reiji's) very own personal song. It highlights core aspects of their personalities through the lyrics- and what do you know, our boy has a very nice singing voice too! It was one among many highlights from the back half of ARC-V S1 to me.

Favorite picture of them: Look, I just want to see him happy. I think he deserves to display genuine joy more often. And the more sparkles the episode budget allows, the better! So with that in mind, here's a few of my favorite pics of the boyo.

....oh, you thought I could pick only one?

Bonus:

[punk-trapper-at-all]

Info post! (this is a work in progress)

This will be colour coded like my other posts!

Unknown to most people/everyone

Only known by medical staff

Known by some people

Known by everyone

Name: Axel “Axe” Bouchard(Sugarplum and medical can use his name)

Nickames: Hatchet, Big man, Dragon tamer, boots, Orc, Jackrabbit, Flutters/Fluttershy

Specific nicknames: Conejito, Kiddo, Bucko,Kieran)

Age: 22

Birthplace: Yukon, Canada

Gender/ Pronouns: Transgender male, Gay. He/It/Bite/Bun/Tooth

Personality

Axel is a more closed off and reserved member of ALL. Bun isn’t the most talkative member either. It enjoys doing tooths own thing, in the company of others though.

He is quite socially awkward and struggles with talking to people, especially people bun views as more important.

Appearance

Axel Is 6’5, and has a muscular build(think a sleeper build). It has modified bites body to have longer, pointy ears and fangs on his bottom set of teeth. Bun calls itself a “real life half orc” bites fangs are very prominent when bun smiles or eats food.

His hair is shaved at both sides, and usually left fluffy. It sometimes puts it in a mohawk or in a bun when working.

it is usually wearing a surgical mask and hat.

bun has a stretched septum and ear gauges, snake bites, dahlias, industrials and helixes. tooth also has its nipples pierced.

His usual clothes consist of fishnet shirts with baggy ripped sweaters over it, patch covered trousers(his favourite are rainbow themed).

In the warmer weather bun wears patched denim vests, patched cargo shorts and various accessories.

Hobbies/ info

Stim list: flapping its hands, wiggling his whole body, cracking joints, fidgeting with jewellery, stomping feet,

vocal stim list: imitating a camera clicking, repetition of words and sounds it hears, humming,

Axel has a service animal komodo dragon, who was born without teeth, named toothless(he is fully trained)

Axel uses crutches sometimes due to an injury years ago that caused his left leg to become weaker and painful a lot of the time.

Tooth really enjoys playing DnD.

He attends a lot of renn faires as its half orc paldin oc.

Bun has a slight stutter.

It often dyes the gray part of his hair.

Bite has a few pet snakes, his favourite is a two headed hognose named hydra.

Tooth really likes my little pony.

Bite refers to people as Bucko, Buddy, sir/Ma’am or any nickname if he is asked to.

bun does wood carving and ice sculpting as entertainment. he makes tiny wooden dolls and sculptures for its friends.

He likes to carve soap often and uses t to practice before carving wood.

bite works with his reptiles for entertainment too.

it does photography in his spare time, for inspiration for buns sculpting.

tooth used to be in a death metal band, and still knows how to do the vocals.

It collects tiny spoons, especially unique ones.

Tooth does a lot of weightlifting and natural body strength exercises.

It would be a hardcore gamer in modern times.

Bite loves scary movies and nerdy stuff.

Tooth’s favourite candy is gummy sharks