#what is wrong with this guy someone take his internet away

[55sturn]

wedding date!chris

ib: anyone who has written this trope! pls reply w their users so i can tag!

he was desperate to see you after months of no contact. the two of you had been the best of friends. from the age of seven, the two of you were nearly impossible to separate. you did everything together, wherever one went, the other was right beside them. and chris was absolutely enamoured by you from day one, which is why no one in his family could fathom how easily he let you walk away.

when the two of you began experimenting with one another sexually, chris blatantly ignored the warning signs going off on his brain. he just wanted you so incredibly bad, that he’d take you in whatever way you gave yourself to him. he didn’t care that he was putting almost seventeen years of friendship on the line. he was in love with you, but there were so many thoughts, doubts, fears, and insecurities firing off deep inside his mind that prevented him for telling you how he felt.

you weren’t stupid, you saw the way chris looked at you like you were the only person in the room that mattered. you saw the way he treated you, he treated you like you were more important than everyone else, the same way he treats his momma. you were, and still are, everything to chris. you saw the way he felt, he didn’t need words to say it, and the only reason you noticed it, is because it mirrored your own feelings. but you were waiting for chris to say something, to do something that didn’t end with you laying between his sheets.

and you got tired of waiting. the ball was in his court, and you had expected him to make the next move after you used the idea of sleeping together causally as a potential gateway to something more. but he never did anything. and it killed you.

you were a big believer in “if they want to, they will.” and you so badly wanted to believe that chris wanted you in the same way you wanted him. you really thought that he was going to take it to a serious level with you, and when you realized that he was treating less like you were the only thing that mattered, and more like every girl he’s been with before, you took your leave. you knew you deserved more than to be stuck waiting for a guy, even if he was your best friend, to decide if he wanted you.

and when you received a text from chris, your heart dropped. you didn’t know how to respond. because let’s be honest, how the fuck were you supposed to respond to the guy you fell in love with at the age of thirteen asking you to be his date to a family friend’s wedding after six months of no contact whatsoever? how the fuck were you supposed to respond after going from being apart of every milestone, big and small, to watching his life through videos and pictures on the internet, only getting updates through the small snippets he shared with his fans? and that’s what hit you the hardest, you were no longer someone that got a closer look at the inner workings of his life, private and public, but rather, you were living the same life as his fans. and you weren’t a fan, you couldn’t, and would not, let yourself live like that anymore.

not when you knew what songs he preferred when he was sad and driving around to clear his head, not when you knew that he’d make and eat his mom’s homemade soup when he was homesick, or that he always sent pictures of your favourite things to his mom when you were busy, or how he looked and sounded during his most intimate and vulnerable moments.

so, you took the time to carefully craft your response. agreeing to be his date, but only if the two of you could meet up somewhere and actually talk about what went wrong before you showed up to the wedding as his plus one.

and chris’ head was spinning as he read the text, he agreed without even knowing if you were still living in the same slightly run-down apartment complex just a few blocks away, and if you were, he was going to kick his own ass. because how could he let things get so bad between the two of you, how could he let you go, and remained unbothered by him for six months while being a ten minute walk away from him half the time? and when he found out that you were only ten minutes away from him, he was quick to show up at your apartment the next night at a quarter to midnight.

you were in the middle of drying your hair and getting your work uniform ready when a hefty series of knocks rattled against your door, it startled you slightly but your nerves calmed when you figured it was just your neighbour asking you to watch her sick cat while she ran to the corner store again, but as you opened the door, your heart rate spiked as you met the eyes of the very man that haunted your thoughts and dreams every night.

“chris, why are you here?”

STAR’S CORNER i started texting vi abt this idea and i needed to get it out rq, so let me know if u want me to keep building on this lil blurb !! also chapter one of SHUT UP MY MOM’S CALLING is possibly dropping late saturday night <3

© 55STURN 2025 ! REBLOGS OF MY WORK ARE NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED !

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Hates the Internet

So basically, pictures of C.C. start circulating around the internet. Like one person, posts a side by side comparison of an old grainy news paper photo and people eat it up and start digging up more photos and comparing them to Billy. Even the grandson of one of C.C.’s archeology buddies gets online with a higher quality photo of Billy’s dad and their grandfather where C.C.’s face is actually way clearer. And they can’t really be proven wrong as C.C.’s body is still in that cave. So, now everybody is comparing the two, but they’re also wondering things about the other Marvels. Like Mary. Is she an aged down Marylin Batson, or an aged up Mary Batson? Because if she’s Marilyn Batson, whose body is in her grave, and why is she a teenager all of a sudden? And if it’s Mary Batson, she should only be around 11 to 12 years old right now, so again, why does she look like a teenager? Not only that but she was never found and went missing, was that Marvel taking her back? And Billy, is he Captain Marvel Jr.? They look similar but not enough. And if he isn’t Billy, is Billy dead? (In this AU, he ran away from CPS at around 10) People do more digging and find out he went missing too, so now that poses same question as the one for Mary, is he with Marvel? Is he gonna one day make his debut as another Marvel? So many questions and not enough answers, because if Junior isn’t Billy, who is he? Is he just someone else? What is his connection to C.C.? Is he just some random kid?

Podcaster 1: “Is Captain Marvel a deadbeat?”

Podcaster 2: “Dude, what?”

Podcaster 1: “Think about it. He doesn’t care for those kids, dude. I’ve seen him hurl Marvel Jr. at a monster in 4K when he got mad at the kid.”

Podcaster 2: “Wait really?”

Podcaster 1: “Yeah, bro, does not! Like dude, you do know there’s a video about him telling Mary, God, I wish breaking your legs was legal?”

Podcaster 2: “Damn… He really doesn’t care about those kids…”

Podcaster 1: “And like, according to some of C.C.’s old friends, he was like a super caring guy. So, like, dude, when Captain Marvel became Captain Marvel, do you think that like did something to him and made him stop caring or something?”

(Let this be connected to the Marvel being a terrible dad post and let’s say if one of the JL listened to this podcast, they got ten times more concerned Mary and Freddy.)

or

*Marvel is walking down the hallway and passes by Hal talking to John*

Hal: “Hey, C.C..” *waves to Billy*

Marvel: “Hey, Hal!” *continues walking and then stops. Looks back to Hal and John* “Wait, what did you just call me?”

Hal: “C.C.” *smug grin* “Dude, we finally know who you are!”

Marvel: *stares at him, computing before turning around and walking away.* Nope, nope, nope, he is not going to address that.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ix)

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

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair-- Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra-”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is-” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here-”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get-”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right- what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months-”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking-” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it-”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great- I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo-”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just- shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you-"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph-" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips-”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly- he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with- is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the-”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"-transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally- 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this-some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all--"

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm- oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all-"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You-"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I- I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead-"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through-- 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that--"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you-"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining-"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin’ role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being-"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like I don’t know-- trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don't post there at all except for fics </3

Next part

[dauhtrofsevnthshe]

(not 100% sure if my ask sent since my internet sucks… but once more just in case-)

young!arthur having his true first time w young!reader (arthur is around 22, reader is like 19. both are in the gang)

obv arthur has slept w prostitutes before this, but they had always done all the work. now, when arthur is actually about to have sex w someone, the guy has little to no clue what he’s doing 😭

TYSM IF YOU DO IT <3333

tags ͡˚̣̣̣𓎟𓎟　 mdni nsfw　 femreader　 arthur has no ides what he's doing 　 you don't either　 a.m ౨ৎ ⋆ ｡ ˚

arthur morgan. a young, rugged, and outlawish man merely in his early twenties. he was young, but he was so free, running away from lawmen as swift as an arrow, being too quick and witty to catch proper. although he may not have the silver tongue from his old mentor, dutch, but he has the wit to run away subtly, like his other mentor, hosea. despite his rough and callous appearance, he wasn't unknown to women and... working women. in fact, many of the girls wouldn't tease each other on who could get a certain cowboys attention.

they would all lead the intimacy, arthur would lie down on the cot and take it, since that's what working girls were paid to do, right? and he'd let them do their work, over and over. he'd pay well, and god, did they always make him feel good, no doubt about it. how he'd lay on the hotel bed as the women would unbutton his blue shirt in such a slow, teasing way─ then again, this was just again to take his mind off mary. damn that women...

that all changed once he met you. oh, how he was head over heels in love with you for days until he confessed that he was sweet on you, and even so, you've never seen a burly man get so flushed over you!

you were younger, nineteen, to be exact. knowing this, arthur was unsure of how to act around you, too nervy and in love. that journal of his was filled of pages with ur sktehced face. he was a little scared of physical contact until you initiated it first and now he's arm is never seen away from being around your waist. he was soo nervous to even kiss you incase you didnt want to:( he was just scared of making you uncomfortable since that's the last thing he wanted to do.

“'m sorry, honey... i never really done this before.”

“thank goodness, i haven't done this either. we'll just.. take it slow?”

despite the maany times you've told him that he's fine, that he's doing well, you can tell he was still a little anxious of doing something wrong, he wanted this to be right for you, he just wanted to make you feel... well, good. this might be this first time, but he wanted to impress you badly.

and oh.

oh.

this was like your own slice of heaven. he was so good despite that he no idea what he was doing. the way he held you with such delicacy. his hands weren't firm they were gentle, he didn't want to hurt you, he wouldn't know how to act if he did. his hands would trace up and down your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. his callous were rough and yet his touch was tenderly with you. he took his sweet time with you, arthur was determined to work his feelings within you even if he wasn't sure if he was doing well, he had to make sure.

“does that.. feel good, sweetheart?” “that okay, darlin'?” “hope i ain't too rough fir ya.” “yer so good to me, yer a good girl.”

“mhm─ oh, arthuurr.. feels so good, oh my god─”

and that's exactly what he wanted to hear.

[vicolette]

Clueless Genius !

– A/N : ugh that picture of him doing Iñigo's celebration is driving me crazy!!

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, not proofread

"Do y’all think he's dating someone?? Like that one marketing intern"

This mere comment broke the internet within just a day as many, many people (specifically culers) began to analyze every single video that the official FC Barcelona account had posted. The aspects were inspected down to a T and in just one sentence: Lamine was in love.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the teenager was trying to impress someone behind the scenes, showing off his muscles at any given opportunity or cracking a few jokes more often than not. The question only was, why it should be the new marketing intern, who had been working there for just two weeks now.

Well, that was a bit more complicated, yet it was no secret that whenever Lamine had a game, he would look at the stands and search where the staff were. During training session, his gaze would occasionally get drifted away and his attention was no longer on the ball, but on the intern – you.

And today was the day, when everybody could see what was happening behind closed doors.

'BOOM! Exploding Balloons Challenge With Lamine and Kounde!'

"Alright, are you guys ready?" The man behind the camera asked, namely Adam, who was going to film the video. While Jules was as determined to win yet relaxed as ever, Lamine had some struggles with his outfit, or rather his jersey.

"No, it looks weird." He muttered as he looked at the mirror that you were holding up, but Adam had already begun to film by accident. Before he could stop the camera from taking the scene into view, Lamine spoke up again. "Y/n, be my savior."

A sigh left from your mouth at his demand, nonetheless placing the mirror down and getting a bit too close for comfort. Kounde raised his eyebrows at the sight, taking in how nonchalant you were doing this.

In comparison, Lamine was a blushing mess with even the tip of his ears being red, a nervous smile on his face as he tried his hardest not to giggle at how observant you were. You have immediately spotted what the mistake was, whereas the other two didn’t even bat an eye.

"There you go." It was only the collar of his jersey that was somewhat worn confusingly weird (in Lamine’s style), even though nobody would look twice at it. Your eyes inspected whether or not anything else was wrong with him, firstly now noticing his awkward grin. "You good?"

"Mhm. Thanks, sweetheart." A dramatic gasp left from Adam's mouth before he excused himself, although Jules had the very same reaction – eyes wide, lips parted and his mind froze for a second.

"Oh, okay..?" Kounde looked at you up and down, taking in how you looked a bit flustered by the pet name, yet he couldn’t really blame Lamine. It was clear that he has had feelings for you now, but that you two were together, as in being a couple, was bizarre.

"You're crazy." You said after a while, stepping away from him to finally let the video be taken. Adam nodded in response, still in disbelief, yet he firstly then was reminded that he didn’t pause just yet and instantly turned of the camera.

And now, as the video was taken and the media saw the clip, since Adam had 'somehow' mysteriously forgotten to delete the scene, everyone went wild.

"Do you think it was a bad idea?" Lamine asked, his phone buzzing with notifications from his friends and teammates after it was uploaded, yet his attention was rather on your answer.

However, when instead of assuring him that it was a brilliant idea and that no one else could have come up with that, you nodded your head. His ego was already big enough for dating someone so smart and pretty and (whatever other compliment he'd give you daily) – Lamine didn’t need anymore confidence.

"Well, I think it was very important."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

– A/N : the physics exam was más or menos bien (so fluent in Spanish🤞🤞)

[jinnie-ret]

carry you

seungmin x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: just angsty, smile insecurity, mention of hate comments

word count: 1.3k

summary: at a low point, seungmin finds out how much reader has been supporting him, no matter what. it fills him with a warmth that is nearly searing him from the inside, but he would have it no other way.

requested: @skzoologist

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

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Being an idol, Seungmin knew that he was bound to get hate, he wasn't stupid. However, when a part of him that was so natural, so pure, began to be picked apart by malicious commenters on the internet, there was no way he could control the way his brain believed it was true.

Why was it so wrong for him to smile when something made him happy? Why was it met with disgust when he simply smiled at something that made him laugh? Joy came to Seungmin just as easy as it was filling his lungs with air. It didn't matter what it was, whether he was messing around with his members or spending time hanging out with his best friend, he felt the muscles in his face twitch and his lips quirk upwards. But now, it was just as easy for his hand to instinctively cover the bottom half of his face, and it was much harder to avoid that feeling of suffocating.

Tears slowly raced down Seungmin's cheeks, fighting their way to be the first one to land on his phone screen displaying a multitude of hateful comments. The guy couldn't help himself. He purposefully searched his name, the word 'smile' and the word 'ugly' to have his new insecurity reaffirmed to him. In a sick and twisted way, he now needed validation to himself that the development of what he saw as a fault, was still circulating the internet by accounts that claimed themselves to be a stay. A part of him wished that someone could take it all away. He felt as if he had been doing so well in growing his confidence over the years of being in Stray Kids, yet he fell hook, line and sinker to just one person pointing out something about his appearance. And now, he couldn't get enough of it.

He was sat alone, curled up in the lounge of his best friend's apartment whilst she went to change into comfy clothes, or do her nighttime routine, something like that. Seungmin couldn't remember. His mind was elsewhere. Different to how he usually acted, when he'd succumb to the plush grey cushions on the luxurious sofa and end up falling asleep, he was instead fixated on the blue light from his device.

"Hey Mong-Mong," his best friend grinned as she curled up on the other end of her sofa, mirroring him close enough but not fully.

"Hey loser," Seungmin joked as he pretended to yawn for an excuse to wipe his eyes and have his face a bit red.

"You alright?" she asked in concern, acting different from her usual feisty self of fighting back against his comments.

She was always there to support him. From when he was a trainee, experiencing his first win at Music Bank, to celebrating his achievements overseas too, like when he went to the Met Gala. His best friend was always there, whether it was physically, in spirit or through an uncharacteristically cute message through text. She was a hype woman at heart, really.

"Yeah, just tired. It's so hard being an idol," Seungmin fake chuckled, removing his hands from his face yet pulling at the toggles of his hoodie to scrunch the fabric around his face more.

There was certainly some truth in that statement.

"Did Chan tell you off for calling him old again?" she smirked at him, kicking his foot til he made a sound of annoyance.

"Yah! Who's side are you on?"

His side. She always was. With valiant effort she was sure she could pull him back to the brighter side of life, so he was able to shine again, and his smile too. She wasn't oblivious. As someone who was chronically online, she was very well versed in being a Stay, and had seen other true fans upset about what they heard about Seungmin from antis, and also from how they'd seen it affect him. So, gradually, she tried to boost his mood, easing in comments about his smile amongst many other compliments she'd give him.

"I'm so jealous, Puppy. Your skin is glowing, the hair is hairing and the teeth are shining. Tell me your secrets and Jeongin doesn't have to get hurt!"

Ok so maybe she did threaten to take a pair of scissors to her Jeongin photo card, but it got a laugh out of him, even if it caused her great pain to hold a precious item at ransom.

It was later, instead of sooner, that Seungmin felt a change within himself. He felt lighter, warmer, happier. Although his bad habit had not completely stopped, he felt himself reaching out for his phone for a bedtime scroll less and less. That was all because she was there to help him not care. She really did carry him out of his hateful thoughts.

"You take care of yourself so well, look at how you've done your hair today, bright smile as always, and look at the fittttt!" she boasted about her best friend, to her best friend, standing up in front of his nonchalant form that was once again, right at home on her sofa.

She should give him a spare key at this rate.

"You want something," Seungmin rose and eyebrow in suspicion at her cheeky smile.

"Nope. No. No I don't. Why you lying Seungmin? I know you're lying," she nearly pressed her face up right against his as she theatrically and drastically changed her tone.

"Don't gaslight me," Seungmin groaned, shutting his eyes and pushing her away by her forehead.

"I would never do that," she smiled sweetly, dumping herself on the sofa.

"Stoppp! You want something, I swear," Seungmin smiled slightly, shaking his head at her antics.

"I just want my Seungminnie happy all the time," she pinched his cheeks, and just for fun she threw a little bit of aegyo in there to really harness a bigger reaction.

"First of all, never do that again. Like, seriously... that was gross. Second of all, you're asking a lot there," he leant his head back on the sofa, feeling exasperated yet humoured at the same time.

"I am. But I like seeing it. That cute smile-!" she moved quickly to pinch his cheeks again but he swatted her away.

"Noona!" Seungmin whined, still holding his arms out in front of him in pure defense.

"Aish, I'm literally a year older than you don't call me that," she shivered.

"You act just like my noona," Seungmin sighed through his nostrils.

"Hmm your noona seems smart. I miss her. I haven't seen her in ages. Maybe she'll be my new bestie," she teased him.

Seungmin laughed in disbelief, gaining a moment of peace when he saw her go quiet and just admire his face.

"Ahhh I knew it!!!" Seungmin lifted off of his seat, pointing at her in what she supposed was elation.

"Hmm? Oh you know something? That's really shocked me," she taunted him.

"Shut up, pabo. You've been trying to make me laugh this whole time!" Seungmin clapped his hands as he explained his thoughts out loud.

"Yes. And I won. Oh stays will love me so much," she started shimmying, a weird little celebration dance but Seungmin loved it nevertheless.

"Stays would think you're a nuisance," Seungmin kicked her leg lightly with a louder laugh, playfully raising his fists and pretending to try and box her.

She had been there the whole time lifting his spirits. He didn't have to bluntly say it then and there but there was a mutual understanding that she had done all she could to get him to smile and realise the beauty in such a simple thing. It was sad that people had stopped him but she had worked hard against that and was successful in the mean time.

And so the world saw the beauty in him again, that she had seen all along.

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

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @leonchansblog26 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @michelle4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly0789 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Series summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Series masterlist

Sunday morning, the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the busy city center. Noah walked beside you, a relaxed smile spreading across his face as he held Luna's hand while she looked around her at the vibrant streets filled with laughter and the aroma of street food, with curiosity.

The little girl had never liked strollers and had always refused to use one. She mostly wanted to walk or be held in her father's arms.

"Yes! I saw it! It was hiding behind the trees but I saw it!" She said.

"The unicorn was hiding behind the trees?"

"Yes! It was white and big and pretty but it was hiding. But I saw it anyway!"

"That's great! I'm happy you saw it!" You laughed.

As you walked along, you paused to admire a shop window displaying colorful toys. Luna squirmed excitedly. “Look, Daddy! Bunnies!” she exclaimed, pointing at a big, fluffy bunny in the window.

"Yeah, that one is really pretty." He agreed.

Just then, a group of people, obviously fans, caught sight of Noah.

They talked for a moment between them, poiting at him, and soon whispers turned into excited shouts, and within moments, several people had approached, their phones out.

“Noah! Can we get a picture?” one voice called, followed by others echoing the request.

Noah's demeanor shifted almost instantly. The polite smile faded, replaced by a look of concern as he straightened up. “I’m sorry guys, not when I’m with my daughter.” His voice was steady, but the tension was palpable as he shifted his focus back to Luna, who looked at him with confusion.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling just a little as he easily picked her up.

Noah lowered his tone, trying to reassure her, but his eyes darted nervously to the little crowd formed around you. It wasn't even exactly a crowd, maybe a dozen people at most, but that was enough for Noah to worry.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just some people who like dad's music.” But the enthusiasm from the fans was relentless.

“Please! Just one quick shot.” someone insisted, pushing closer. Noah’s face tightened, protective instincts flaring as panic flickered in his gaze.

His hand caressed the little girl's back, holding her close as if someone might suddenly jump in and snatch her from his arms.

You knew that if it had been any other time he would have gladly stopped for a few pictures, and if it had been any other time where he simply didn't feel like interacting with them, he would have explained how he felt and walked away. But he was with his daughter and this time it was different.

You knew how Noah had always wanted to protect her from the internet and fans, how he had never posted a photo of her on any social media before deleting them all, how he didn't want his daughter to end up in the spotlight. And he didn't want her to end up in any picture of video taken of them and posted online.

"Just a picture. Please!"

God, some people are really out of their minds. Is it really so easy to forget that people, even if public figures, have a life outside of their work and a minimum amount of privacy you have to respect?

“Come here, sweetie,” you said, stepping forward and gently taking Luna from Noah's arms.

He didn't hesitate for a second, letting you take her without putting up any kind of minimal resistance, showing that he trusted you completely.

As you cradled her close, you could feel her small heart racing against you, instinctively hiding her face in the crook of your neck.

Good. No pictures or videos of her face.

“Let’s go look at some toys,” you whispered softly, wanting to shield her from the chaos. Luna clung to you, comforted by your presence, her earlier excitement replaced by uncertainty.

“Okay.” she replied anyway, her trust in you evident. You turned to Noah, who stood frozen, a mix of gratitude and worry etched across his features.

“It's okay. I've got her.” you assured him.

Noah nodded, relief flooding his expression as he let you take her away. You hurried into the nearby toy store, leaving Noah with the fans, Luna giggling as you entered the vibrant space filled with colorful displays and soft music. You felt the atmosphere shift as the door closed behind you, the chaos outside fading away.

Once inside, Luna obviously wanted to explore and you put her down, kneeling to her level. “Look at all the bunnies!” you exclaimed, gesturing to a display filled with plush toys. Her eyes sparkled as she darted toward the shelf, her earlier apprehension forgotten.

“Can I get one, please?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement as she clutched a particularly fluffy bunny.

“Of course! That one’s perfect,” you replied, smiling at her. She hugged it tightly, Mr. Flop still in a hand.

Moments later, you glanced back toward the door, where Noah had just entered, his expression softening the moment he saw you and Luna together. He took a deep breath, and you could see the tension in his shoulders start to ease.

"You alright?" You asked.

“Yes. Thank you, for what you did,” he said quietly, approaching you both. His voice was sincere, a mix of relief and gratitude. “I was starting to panic. I hate that feeling of being unable to protect her, especially when I know how intrusive some fans can be.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of his concerns. “It’s important to keep her safe,” you said softly. “I wanted to make sure she was okay. You shouldn’t have to worry about that while you’re out with her.”

Noah smiled, his eyes reflecting appreciation as he knelt beside Luna. “That means a lot. The way you immediately stepped in, worrying about her. It means a lot to me.”

Luna, oblivious to the deeper conversation, held up her new bunny. “Look, Daddy! It’s so fluffy!”

“That’s the best bunny I’ve ever seen,” Noah said, his smile returning, the earlier panic dissolving into laughter.

"Yeah but... but I don't want Mr. Flop to feel sad because I have another bunny. I think I'll leave this one here."

As you all explored the toy store together, Noah took your hand, his grip warm and gentle as he interviewed his tattooed fingers with yours. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a soft smile.

You let your thumb run over his fingers for a moment as Luna dashed ahead, her laughter ringing through the aisles as she discovered new toys.

That afternoon, you lounged comfortably on the couch at Noah’s house, your head gently resting on his shoulder, the light streaming through the windows and casting a warm glow across the living room. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with the soft sound of crayons scratching against paper as Luna sat on the floor, completely engrossed in her drawings.

Suddenly, she looked up. “Daddy! Can we do a spa day? Like we did last time?”

Noah raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Right now?”

“Yeah! Please!” Luna insisted, bouncing on her knees.

“Okay, let’s do it.” Noah chuckled, clearly amused by the idea. Luna squealed with delight and dashed off to gather supplies. You exchanged an amused glance with Noah, who shook his head with a smile.

“What exactly does a spa day involve?” you asked, genuinely curious.

"I guess you are gonna find out soon."

Luna returned, triumphantly raising two tiny bottles of bright pink nail polish in her hands. “These!"

Noah let out a mock sigh but couldn’t hide his grin. “What can I do? It makes her happy.”

Luna turned her attention to you. “Will you help me, please?”

“Of course!” You moved closer to Noah, who extended his hands with a mix of amusement and reluctance, one to you and one to Luna.

As you took the nail polish, you carefully began applying it to Noah’s nails, trying not to burst out laughing. The warmth of his skin felt nice beneath your fingertips.

Luna watched intently, her face serious with concentration. “Make it pretty!” she said while working on the other hand.

You laughed softly as you painted his nails, the bright pink contrasting sharply with all the tattoos that sprawled across his skin. “You know, this really matches all your tattoos, you should definitely wear it more often,” you teased, unable to suppress a grin.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing down at his hand. “Pretty stylish, huh?”

“Definitely!” you said, finishing up the second nail.

Luna couldn’t contain her excitement. “Your nails look so nice daddy!”

Noah chuckled, shaking his head again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Luna leaned in closer, carefully holding Noah's to paint the next nail. You watched her concentrate, the way her little tongue poked out in concentration making you smile.

“Just wait until you have to explain this to the guys.”

“Joke's on you. Last time they told me I looked very pretty.” he laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

Luna looked up at her dad, her eyes shining with pride. “You are pretty, dad!” she exclaimed, her innocent honesty making both of you burst into laughter.

“Yeah, he is,” you chimed in, smiling at Noah, who looked slightly bashful under the compliment as a light shade of pink suddenly appeared on his cheeks.

“Alright,” he said, finally breaking into a full smile. “This is the best spa day ever.”

As Luna finished up the last nail, she stepped back to admire her work. “You look amazing!”

“Thanks to my talented nail artist and her not-so-bad assistant,” he replied, looking at both of you with genuine affection.

You watched as Luna returned to her drawings, sprawled out on the floor with her crayons, the colors filled the page as she drew what seemed like a little house.

Noah leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, before closing his eyes for a moment.

"You okay?"

“Yeah, its just... this morning really got to me,” he said quietly, opening his eyes and turning to you. “I hate how some people seems to think they have the right to invade our private lives.  Especially when it comes to Luna.”

You nodded, understanding what he was trying to explain.

“I want her to have a normal childhood," he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "I don’t want her to grow up in front of a camera or have to deal with people dissecting her life just because I’m in the spotlight sometimes. I mean, look at what happened this morning. It’s like people forget that we’re just trying to live our lives. I'm not even famous enough for that.”

He paused, his gaze drifting back to Luna, who was completely absorbed in her art. “She deserves to be just a kid, to explore and create without anyone watching. I think about the fact that people can post pictures online—pictures of us together, and it drives me crazy knowing that anyone can comment on them, say whatever they want. It’s not just about me anymore; it’s about her, too. I don’t want to see her face plastered online for people to judge.”

You kept nodding, without interrupting him.

“What bothers me the most is how little respect there is for privacy. I don’t want her growing up with that kind of exposure. I want to control what parts of our lives get shared and what stays private. I want to be the one to decide when she’s ready for the world to see her, not some random person with a phone. And these are the same fucking people that go online saying that I can't be a good father because of my lifestyle and based on the few things they know about me. Or think to know.”

He took a deep breath, “And it’s not just about her now. I want to protect you too. Some people can be so cruel, and I don’t want you to be a target for their opinions. You’re part of our life now, and I want to make sure you’re safe."

He took a deep breath.

“Let it all out?” you asked gently after a moment of silence.

He chuckled softly, a hint of relief in his tone. “Kind of. It just builds up, you know?”

“Thank you for worrying about me, but I can handle it,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “You’re a good father, Noah. Don’t forget that. You’re doing everything you can to raise her well, and it shows. Luna is happy, and that’s what matters most.”

His expression softened. “I just want to protect her and give her a life where she can be herself, without all that noise. I want to make sure she grows up knowing she’s loved.”

“You’re already doing that,” you reassured him. “You’re present, you listen, and you create these moments for her. That’s what makes you a great dad.”

Noah smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked back at Luna, still lost in her drawings. “Thanks. I guess sometimes I just need a reminder.”

“Come here,” you said, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a gentle hug. As you held him close, you pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I love you." He whispered reasting his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you.

"I love you too."

In that moment, Luna looked up from her drawing. “Daddy! Look at my drawing!” She held it up proudly, revealing a house, some birds and trees.

“That’s so good!” Noah exclaimed, his earlier tension melting away as he talked to her. "We will add that to the others on the fridge."

She giggled, basking in his praise.

As Luna returned to her art, you and Noah exchanged a knowing glance.

"Everything's gonna be okay. It already is."

He just gave you a little smile.

Some hours later, you stepped out of Noah’s house, walking across the yard. You gave Noah one last kiss and waved at Luna as she clung to his leg on the porch. The soft hum of their voices faded behind you as you made your way to the car parked just outside his gate.

Just as you reached the driver’s side door and your hand was about to grip the handle, a voice called out, soft but firm, from across the street.

“Are you Noah’s girlfriend?”

You turned toward the sound of the voice, spotting an elderly woman standing in the garden of a modest house next door to Noah’s. She had delicate features—her skin a soft, pale olive tone, and her dark eyes were almond-shaped, sharp, and full of warmth. A few strands of silver hair escaped from the bun at the back of her head, and her cane, dark wood with a polished sheen, tapped lightly on the ground as she took a step forward. She wore a simple but cheerful floral dress, obviously faded with time, like she wore it often, but still vibrant.

"Yeah, I am," you replied with a polite smile, pausing for a moment.

The woman’s face brightened, and she took a few careful steps toward the sidewalk, her cane tapping gently against the pavement. Her voice was soft but full of affection. “Oh, I’m glad to finally see you. I don’t get out much anymore, but I’ve heard good things about you.” She paused, her gaze softening with a look of quiet pride. “Noah is such a good man. He deserves someone like you.”

You smiled warmly at her as she reached out a hand.

“I’m Mrs. Lin,” she introduced herself, her grip firm despite her age. You shook her hand.

“I’m his neighbor," Mrs. Lin continued, her voice gentle but steady. "Noah’s helped me a few times with things around the house—things I can’t quite manage anymore.” Her eyes glistened with affection as she looked toward Noah’s house. “He’s always been such a good boy. Always so kind to me. His friends too.”

You nodded, "Oh, I know."

There was a pause, and Mrs. Lin’s expression softened as she glanced back toward her own home. “Last time I saw little Luna, she was only two years old. I doubt she even remembers me. I’d love to see her again, if that’s possible.”

“Maybe one day we can stop by to say hi, I can ask Noah. I'm sure Luna would love to meet you again.”

Mrs. Lin’s face lit up at your words. “Oh, that would make my day! I’d really like that.”

“We’ll make it happen, then.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Lin said, her smile still wide. “Take care, and tell Noah I said thank you again for all his help.”

“I will,” you said with a nod, turning toward your car, looking at the lady disappearing behind the door of her house.

The next morning you were at the café again. A small sign reading “The Breakfast Nook turns three today” hung on the door.

You and Noah had spent the last hour decorating it with soft fairy lights draped from the ceiling, while fresh flowers in delicate mason jars were scattered across the tables. The scent of fresh-baked cookies wafted through the ai, free samples to entice customers and bring a little joy to their morning.

"Is this okay?" Noah asked, adjusting a vase of daisies on the counter, a proud smile on his face as he stepped back to admire the setup.

"It’s perfect," you replied, grinning as you took in the sight of the shop. The little details—a few candles flickering softly, the cheerful splash of flowers, and the freshly printed sign promising free cookies—had turned the space into something special. "I think we’re ready."

He flashed you a quick smile before leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. "You did an amazing job," he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere.

Before you could thank him, the bell above the door chimed, and in walked your coworker Grace, her posture as rigid as ever. You knew she’d be a little skeptical about your morning plan, and you braced yourself for her usual comments.

"Well, well, well, look who’s gone all Pinterest on us," Grace remarked "You sure you’re not planning on opening a flower shop instead? ‘Cause I don’t see much ‘coffee’ going on here." She raised an eyebrow, a smug smile creeping onto her face.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, Noah leaned against the counter, cool and collected as usual but with a little smirk on his lips. "Good morning to you too, Grace."

Grace shot him a side-eye but said nothing, her lips quirking into a smirk as well. She wasn’t exactly fond of Noah, and it wasn’t a secret. Ever since you’d started spending more time with him, Grace had made it clear that she wasn’t a fan of your "rockstar boyfriend". But Noah didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seemed to enjoy the playful back-and-forth.

"You two are like a walking rom-com," she said with a dramatic sigh, throwing her apron over her shoulder.

"Thanks, Grace," you said.

Just as you finished saying that, a young mom entered, two kids in tow, their eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of the cookies.

"Free cookies?" The little boy’s face broke into a wide grin, and his sister tugged on their mom’s sleeve.

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing them each a cookie from the counter. The kids eagerly tore into them, eyes wide with excitement.

Noah chuckled softly as he watched the kids, clearly amused by their enthusiasm as their mother asked for a coffee with double cream. "Guess the cookies are doing their job."

And then more customers filtered in, all taking advantage of the free treats, the shop’s atmosphere becoming warmer and busier by the minute. Behind the counter, you and Grace fell into a comfortable rhythm, as you kept chatting with Noah in front of you. The gentle hum of the café was the perfect backdrop to the easy conversation between the two of you.

Noah was eating one of your cookies when you grabbed a few of them off a tray and slid them into a small paper bag.

"Hey," you said, catching his attention as you held up the bag. "I made sure to save a few extras for Luna. I think she'll like these."

He glanced at it, his expression softening.

"I'm sure she will, thank you."

"No problem."

"I’ll make sure she gets them later. She’s been asking me when we can come by the café to see you again."

"Tell her to come soon then. I’ll save some fresh ones just for her."

Noah chuckled. "She'll love that for sure."

As the door kept chiming, the steady flow of people seemed to spill into the shop, drawn in by the combination of free cookies and the cozy charm of the space. You caught glimpses of families, couples, and people with books or laptops, all taking a seat and enjoying the welcoming ambiance.

It was simple but you loved it.

You were putting a glass on a shelf behind the counter when you glanced out of the front window, and everything stopped.

Outside, several trucks were pulling up, unloading large boxes and equipment. Workers scurried around, setting things up.

You stared at the scene, your chest tightening.

They were putting up a sign.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, the realization setting in. You didn't know what to expect, but seeing that name in the world again? It felt like the ground shifted under your feet.

Your ex was back.

The sign went up, clear as day.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

And as you stood there, the noise of the café faded around you, replaced by the pounding beat of your own heart in your ears.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @aubrey-melinoe @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @alwaysfighforwhoyouare @clickmedead @missduffsblog

[impval]

crawlin' back to you

Cate Dunlap x fem!reader Warnings: internalized homophobia, implication of abuse, loss of arm, stalker behaviour, obsessive thoughts.

In all her life, in all the memories she’s taken, from strangers and classmates and friends, she only has ever taken one kiss.

A moment that was never meant to be more than just a fun night out, but the thought of it always found a way to creep back into her head. The way you tasted was something she’d never forget, the memory so embedded into her mind that it burned.

The way you smiled at her had made her feel on top of the world. It’s something she knows she’ll never get back, and it makes her feel a sense of anguish that makes her throat feel tight.

It’s been a year, but it still hurts.

Straight.

Her parents loved her once, no doubt, but they had certain expectations. A handsome young man, a wedding, children — a boy and a girl. For Cate, there was no other path.

Trapped in that isolated room, her only escape was the internet. Yet, even there, she found herself confronted with a reflection of her parent's dreams. It took her a while to realize that her world had been curated, her exposure to alternative perspectives carefully controlled by her mother.

Luke seemed perfect, embodying her parent's ideals, the guy she thought she'd been dreaming of. He was charming and sweet, but so fucking boring. His scent, his warmth, his smile — it all felt dull to her, leaving her feeling numb instead.

She remembers the way Luke used to try to impress her, taking her to restaurants and watching movies she had no interest in, sharing playlists that didn’t match her taste, bringing her flowers, red roses, because that’s what he thought she liked.

But it was all wrong.

He never really knew her, he never bothered to ask what she preferred. He just assumed and it made her feel unseen.

But being with him meant gaining Indira's approval. It was a perfect scenario.

You were simply a classmate of hers, a year older, and you’d helped her out so much in her first year. She wasn’t as smart as you or as confident as you, but you made her better.

You dressed the way you wanted, said what you want, and laughed as loudly as you please.

She’d look at you and think, “That is what I’ve gotta be like.”

Because god, even when you weren’t at your best, you were still so perfect. You were everything she wanted to be. You were fearless, something Cate always admired about you. Never once had you flinched away from her touch or made her feel like an abomination.

And then there was that kiss.

You’d been so bold that night and it made her weak. She had been so used to kissing someone who didn’t really want her, but with you?

You wanted her and it horrified Cate.

Her mom doesn’t love her.

Indira would be disappointed in her.

Luke is perfect.

Why can't she just be normal?

So Cate did what she does best. The next day, you didn't remember anything. The next day Andre smiled at Cate and she forced herself to smile back.

Because maybe if she threw herself into something new, she could stop missing you. She could push her feelings aside and go back to her old ways, back to getting high and making a fool of herself.

But that didn’t make her feel better.

It just made her feel lonely.

Cate was relieved that you had graduated from Godolkin before the truth about the Woods came out. She wondered what your reaction would have been. Would you have been there for her after Luke's death, offering comfort? You did messaged and called her, but she never responded.

Would you have labelled her a monster, like Andre did? Or would you have hugged her?

Those same questions have been replaying in her head nonstop since everything happened.

So many what if’s and maybe’s.

Cate wishes she could see you at least once, to ask you what you would’ve thought of the monster she’d become.

The perfect little American sweetheart on the front pages of every magazine. Cate forces herself to smile and go along with it, all while the cameras flash and take her picture. She’s not a person to Vought, she’s a project. The good girl, the perfect, pretty face that always brings in money.

It was all part of the job, she knew that.

Still, it made her feel nauseous every time she had to force out a smile and sit there in her pretty little dress with Sam sitting next to her, his hand holding hers. She tried to avoid looking at Sam as much as possible. Every time she laid eyes on him, all she could see is the look of betrayal on Luke’s face.

It hurt to think about how he’d looked at her the moment he realized she’d taken his memories away again. The anger in his eyes and the disbelief that his girlfriend was doing this to him.

The nightmares were the worst — they always were.

Cate just can’t get the sight of blood and screams out of her head, and then she’s left gasping for air at three in the morning, tears staining her face.

Even with that prosthetic, it never feels the same. She never feels the same.

The empty space where her arm should be is a constant reminder of what she’s lost. It’s a constant reminder of what she could have been — of who she was supposed to be.

She hates that she’s alone and she hates the nightmares and she hates that her body is permanently changed.

She hates it all, so much.

So it was inevitable that Cate's thoughts would turn to you.

You had reached out to Cate after the massacre at Godolkin. Your messages consumed her mind. She could never bring herself to actually text you back, because what would she even say? But she read them time and time again nonetheless.

She found herself scrolling through your social media, trying to take in every little detail she could see. It had become almost like a compulsion — a need to know you were okay, to know what you were up to.

The idea that she could finally find you again was enough to drive her insane. And using Vought’s resources just made it that much easier.

She felt a little bit like a stalker, but she just needed to know. The things you liked, the things you loved, what your favorite food was, what you liked to do in your free time, how you took your coffee. Where you go, who you talk to, if there was someone else.

Every single day she wondered if you still thought about her, if you still thought about that kiss. Cate often found herself wondering if the memory still existed in your mind — despite having erased it herself.

Maybe it could still be there, buried deep in your unconscious. Maybe, just maybe you still remembered. And the mere thought of it made her desperate. Cate knows she should’ve felt guilty. But she couldn’t help herself. She needed you.

She knew it was a good time to be ringing your doorbell. It was a calculated plan, one that she’d practiced in her head over and over again. Cate knows you’d be home and that you’d probably answer, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

God, she hasn’t seen you in a year.

She dressed herself up as nicely as possible, knowing that she had to make a good impression. She wanted — no, needed you to see that she was still the girl you remembered.

The girl you kissed.

The new prosthetic arm was hard to adjust to, but she managed to make it look somewhat normal. It always drove her insane how she couldn’t fully fix this damn arm, but she tried her best with what she has.

The moment you open the door, it’s like time just stops.

Cate stands there in shock, her breath catching in her throat as she takes in the sight of you. You haven’t changed a bit, you look exactly the same.

So beautiful.

And the way you’re looking at her — god, it makes her knees weak. The mixture of surprise and disbelief in your eyes is enough to make her heart stutter.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Um… can I- Can I come in?”

“Cate.” you whisper and her breath hitches as you speak, the sound of her name from your lips enough to make her melt.

And then you’re hugging her.

Cate’s surprise only lasts a brief moment before she clings to you, wrapping both arms (sort of) around your body. Relief floods through her — you do want to see her. She buries her face in your shoulder and breathes you in.

You smell like pizza and popcorn and a hint of your perfume, it’s all so you that it makes Cate’s heart hurt. She can’t believe this is real. She’s in your arms, holding you tight, and god it feels good.

She follows you inside. Cate’s eyes take in every detail, every little thing she can see. The apartment is cozy, just like you. She notices the drawings on the fridge, the food on the coffee table, the way your stuff is everywhere but in a way that it feels organized and you.

The little snippets of your life here and there that make her ache to be part of it.

As you busy yourself in the kitchen, preparing tea for her, Cate can’t help but watch you. Her eyes never leave you as she notices every move you make and every little expression on your face.

She’d tried to envision this before, having a home life with you. Of being with you, but she’d pushed those thoughts aside. Now, seeing you like this, those thoughts come flooding back.

Cate compares the way Luke made her feel to the way you’re making her feel in this moment. With you, there’s no annoyance, no irritability, no fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

It’s easy being with you. It’s always been easy.

You’re careful with your questions, skirting around the topic of her prosthetic, but Cate doesn’t mind. She answers your questions to the best of her ability, but she doesn’t have much to offer you.

She doesn’t mention her insomnia, the nights where the pain has been too much and her mind simply won’t shut off. How her days are spent in near isolation and the only thing that seems to get her through is taking painkillers.

Your life sounds fulfilling, like you have everything she wants - a regular job, friends who care about you, hobbies to keep you busy. You look so alive and seem happy, and Cate can’t help but feel a sense of envy.

She had to hold her tongue every time you mentioned something she already knew about. She’d spent far too much time stalking you to keep count of the number of times she’s seen the same things you mention now.

Cate knew where you worked, your routines, your hobbies and interests. She knew just about everything. But hearing it from you felt different. It made it all feel…. More real.

With each meeting, she grew bolder, testing the waters with every touch. She’d reach for your hand, gently intertwining her fingers with yours. You never shied away, never pulled back in fear.

Cate would lean in close, the softest smile playing on her lips as her mind raced. You had no idea, it was written all over your face. You were completely unaware of what she’d done to you.

And so, the cycle continued.

She would knock on your door, her heart pounding in her chest as you welcomed her inside. Every meeting was a test, a game she played to see just how far she could get without you finding out.

She'd seen people resist her power before.

Luke.

No matter how many times she erased his memory, no matter how many times she messed with his head, he’d come so close to breaking her control.

It made her wonder…

Was some part of you fighting back too?

There are moments where she can tell something’s off.

You pause for a moment too long, your expression thoughtful, as if struggling to remember something.

But then you smile at her again, and the moment passes. And she finds herself stuck in this cycle.

[hey-itsdollie]

Hi, I love your blog!

Could I please request head-canons for Kaiser, Rin, Sae, Nagi, Bachria, (and whoever else if you feel like, if it’s not too much) of how they’d feel about having a goth gf? 💀 🖤 ⚽️

I ♡ Goth Girls

yesss I've never seen something like this I hope I do it well!

‧₊˚ ┊ Blue Lock boys with a goth gf!

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » kaiser. rin. sae. nagi. bachira.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ fluff, female reader, semi-crack fic, use of pet names, goth reader!

── .✦ Michael Kaiser

Kaiser would be estatic about having a goth girlfriend. Considering he's more eccentric and enjoys eccentric things. He'd enjoy showing you off, always having you send fit checks to him, and even letting you decorate his things like his car, room, and even phone aesthetic.

He adores your aesthetic, giving anyone death glares who choose to look at you the wrong way.

Even a small glance Kaiser is already memorizing the person's face, body structure, and clothes. You don't normally care much but whatever you're laid back about he is more high strung for.

"Michael enough, I know that look."

You would stare at him unamused as he sends death glares at a small child who was just mindlessly staring up at you. Sighing relieved once the kid walked away with their parents.

Back to decorating his room, it was simple Kaiser wasn't one to decorate much considering he often travelled due to matches. So whenever you were over you'd leave something in his room. He had many plushies ranging from gloomy bears, gothic looking bunnies, and even light pastel cats.

Polaroids of the two of you hung from his walls, considering you preferred to take material photos than just keep them tucked away in your phone.

During his birthday you never knew what to get him, you also knew very well he didn't like recieving gifts so you decided to make him things instead of buy him knick-knacks.

Adding to his new decor, crocheted blankets and small plushies were now on his bed.

Kaiser became some what of a softy after getting with you. Sure he threw his tantrums from time to time and had an attitude. But you noticed a change in him, you calmed him down even though he wouldn't verbally admit it.

"Don't move." You ordered one hand gripping his chin as the other applied his eyeliner almost perfectly onto his skin. This had become part of your routine whenever you stayed over at his place, which was often.

"Liebling, how does it look?"

"It'd be better if you didn't move so much."

"I can't help it, I love having my eyes on you~"

Kaiser gave you the attention you never thought you'd want. And sure enough, he grew on you quite quickly.

── .✦ Rin Itoshi

Rin didn't think much about having a goth girlfriend, to be fair he never thought much about relationships in general. He's lowkey the type of guy who doesn't care about how people look or dress. Will he give weird stares? Hell yeah. But it's not like he's going to fully hate someone for it.

When he got into a relationship with you everything was chill. Sure you didn't watch much football, you only knew of the blue lock program due to theory videos on the internet.

So during one of his breaks, you ran into him at an arcade the guys had dragged him to. He was hella nervous. You wore large platform boots, a ton of makeup, and had piercings. Rin wasn't really expecting someone like you to come up to him, the aesthetics clashed- plus he had no idea who you were.

"You're part of blue lock right?"

Rin thought it was a hassle but decided to answer your questions. He just wasn't expecting for you to ask him about brain washing and if there were tunnels under blue lock.

To put it simply he thought you were crazy.

Few months into the relationship and he still thinks you're crazy. Doesn't mean he doesn't love you.

"Please Rin let me do your eyeliner! Just this once!"

You often begged him to try out some things you enjoyed doing. He always said no after you asked to give him piercings. That one hurt you bad when he said no.

"Fine, if it'll make you stop whining."

You squealed and began doing some rubbed out eyeliner on his waterline, grinning from ear to ear as your smiley piercing was on display.

"He loved seeing your smile, the tension in his body melting away as he patiently let you do his make up.

You and Rin were the definition of loser bf and goth gf; while you collected small random figures of skeletons wearing animal costumes he was collecting action figures and football cards.

Just like with Kaiser Rin was heavily over protective with you. Whenever Otoya or Shidou commented on him having a "goth baddie" for a girlfriend he was always 0.2 seconds away from knocking their lights out.

He would do it even if they didn't say anything, knowing you always cheered him on no matter what.

── .✦ Sae Itoshi

Sae had known you for a while, way before you chose your aesthetic and way before he left for spain. Childhood friends you would say whenever someone asked how you knew the red headed football player.

To say he was shocked that you were goth would be an understatement but it didn't necessarily bother him. He found it quite unique, he loved it.

He enjoyed going on shopping sprees with you, not minding that he had to quite close to thrity minutes to an hour for you to get ready. You were laid back and he was aswell, you never rushed to be anywhere.

"You're beautiful Blossom."

Sae would say smoothly watching you get ready using your light up mirror that had bats carved into the wood. You would be painting on your eyebrows, one halfway done as you turned and blew him a kiss.

The press was quite shocked to hear Sae had a unique girlfriend, but he loved showing you off. Your sense of fashion always blew the press away.

Even on dates you often took him to thrift stores, he was used to the idea that he'd need to spend a fortune on his significant other, but instead you made your own clothes and jewerly, and preferred to thrift.

The most he normally spent was on concert tickets. Which he didn't mind considering he got to watch you get all dolled up.

Sae got used to your antics quite quickly. For example, he normally expected to be sent a playlist at 3am from you. The message saying "This playlists reminds me of us" or just a playlist full of song recommendations.

He loved how passionate you were about things even small things that most wouldn't glance at. It made him want to become passionate over football again, it was just the effect you had on him.

And even though you didn't force it on him you tried subtly to bring him and his young brother together again. You spoke to Rin often as he went to you for most things whether it was him asking about Sae or just being agitated about anything and everything.

Of course Sae was aware of this, even hesitantly asking to see any pictures Rin would send you or ask about his brother.

It started with Sae sending check up messages to Rin—he would either get left on delivered or left on seen—but now he has short conversations with Rin.

It's slow but it's something. And he had you to thank for that.

── .✦ Seishiro Nagi

Nagi would not care about how his significant other would look or dress. He'd be quite indifferent about it, considering he probably looks for whoever wouldn't be a hassle.

Reo on the other hand was probably shocked to see his white-haired friend with you. Questioning how exactly Nagi got a girl like you considering how lazy and laid back he was. Was it the height? The looks? Dare he say personality??

You had met Nagi at a costume store, looking for new decorations for your apartment as Nagi was dragged to go shopping with Reo—who was in a completely different store—he just wanted to come in for air conditioning...

He ended up walking out with a scheduled date.

You found Nagi immensely attractive, though others might say otherwise. He seemed like he didn't care about his looks. His hair was messy as if he just got out of bed, his clothes kind of thrown on yet still looked relatively presentable. Not to mention his height and lazy sleepy eyes.

He was just your type.

On the other hand, Nagi wasn't expecting some goth chick who barely met his height with her platform shoes on to walk up to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you worked at the shop.

In his eyes he thought you looked like a video game character. Specifically, from a horror game.

Being the blunt man he was he voiced his thoughts. To anyone's surprise you took it as a compliment and asked him out.

The two of you often lazed around together and played video games. Mid way through walks you would remember tiktok trends and decide to do them.

"Nagi just stand there." You would direct before walking up to him and stepping on his dirty converse before kissing him with your hands cupping his face.

Nagi also seemed to enjoy staying at your place more than his own saying "It's cozier" whilst having his head buried into your cleavage. With your black out shades and dark lighting in your bedroom, it was the perfect nap atmosphere.

── .✦ Meguru Bachira

To say Bachira loved having you as his girlfriend would be an understatement.

Showing up to your date with a white shirt saying "I ♡ My Goth Gf" was not that shockingly for you. He seemed to brag to everybody about you, proving to others that he was far scarier than you when they made nasty comments.

Effectively threatening to unleash his monster on them.

You two were like Beast boy and Raven, even dressing up like them for Halloween per Bachira's begging.

Your profiles on anything always matched with icons of Beast boy and Raven. He loved it. To him you were as pretty- if not more beautiful than Raven.

He was sure to take millions of pictures of you in your costume. Saving them and making one his phone's wallpaper.

Bachira was adorable to you, both of you being outcasts in certain situations made your bond tighter. He was the more energetic one in the relationship but it never clashed with any activities or dates.

He often didn't dress up either wearing pajamas or shorts with random graphic tees while you always went out with your outfits and if you decided to wear pajamas your make up made up for your laziness.

Often times your boyfriend would plead with you to do his make up like you would your own. And in the end, he would always act like he was at some hard-core concert.

His goofiness never failed to make you smile. Not to mention his mother loved you. She loved your creative aesthetic, using you as a model for some paintings.

Before going to see you Bachira always bragged about you to his mom saying "Oh isn't Birdie perfect mom!" in response the older woman would just laugh and agree. Happy her beloved son found someone who loves him as much as he loves them.

Bachira was open with his feelings almost immediately, he ran up to you after one of his matches and asked you out. Out of luck you agreed, which led to now.

Your boyfriend laying in your bed practically buried under all your plushies and blankets, refusing each time to put the plushies on the ground saying "Those are our kids! I can't kick them off the bed!"

Soft snores left him as his chest raised up and down comfortably. You smiled taking a picture before crawling into bed with him.

Sorry if anyone is a bit ooc, I enjoyed writing this :P

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[thechaoticcherub]

Thoroughfare Chapter Two-Old Man

Thoroughfare Chapter Two Old Man

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x Reader

Fic Summary: Cross country road trip turns into way more, opening up questions about who you’re traveling with, what his intentions are and if he’ll actually let you go.

Chapter Summary: After discovering something about Joel that you hadn't expected, you plan your escape but things go wrong

Rated: Explicit-This chapter has no sex

Warnings: AU-No Cordyceps, Big Age Gap, Reader is not described, no use of y/n, DARK Joel, Eventually: daddy kink, rough sex, violence, blood, dubcon, kidnapping elements, murder, sexual assault, dom/sub dynamics, intoxication, non-con elements, More Warnings will come with each chapter.

Notes: AHH! Finally got the second chapter done. I'm hoping to get ahead now so I don't think I'll post chapter three until I get a few more chapters at least written. Thanks to my best friend for editing and beta reading. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

Tags: @shivispunk @codenamekitten (cannot remember if there was anyone else)

Fic Masterlist

You didn’t sleep for the rest of that night, you were too focused on what you were going to do. You wondered if you’d be able to get far enough away from Joel fast enough that he wouldn’t grab you and stop you. You wondered if there was a way you could steal his keys and drive the truck away. When the sun started to come up, you had finally settled on either slipping out quietly while he was in the bathroom or telling him you changed your mind and wanted to stay in Texas. 

When Joel finally started to stir in the bed next to yours you feigned sleep, trying to make your breathing deep and even while he slowly woke up. You listened to him roll over in bed, sit up, take his phone off the nightstand and look at it for a minute. Finally you heard him stand up, bedsprings creaking, and go into the bathroom. This was the opportunity to rush out, grab your bag and just start running. Maybe you’d call the cops. You tried to remember where you had left your backpack the night before and figure how long it would take you to grab your phone and charger before running out. Fuck! Your sneakers. When you sat up, you found them discarded near the door. No time to put them on, you’d just have to grab them and put them on later. You were about to jump up when the bathroom door opened and Joel stepped out,

“Oh, mornin’,” he said, shooting you a smile. The memory of him standing in the doorway of that same bathroom, covered in blood was at the forefront of your mind as you tried to act normal. You smiled back. 

“Morning,” You replied, rubbing at your eyes, trying to pretend you had just been fast asleep. You opened your mouth to start making excuses and say you had decided you wanted to stay in Texas, 

“Hey I-”

“Look-” You both spoke at the same time and he chuckled,

“Go ahead,” He nodded to you and you immediately lost your nerve,

“No, no, you,” You said, trying to smile at him like you weren’t terrified just to be looking into his eyes. 

Joel cleared his throat, “Well, I know we were hopin’ to head out west today but I think I gotta stay jus’ one more day here in Fort Worth,” he said, “I gotta finish up this job or I aint goin’ to get paid what I’m owed.”

Was he a fucking hitman? Maybe his job wasn’t actually construction but was just…murdering people. You swallowed. Would him being a hitman be better than just a straight up cold blooded murderer? At least he wouldn’t be murdering for fun…

“Oh,” you said, but then the realization that that meant he would be leaving for the day again hit you. The perfect opportunity to get away from him and get far away from him. You could use some of your money to get a taxi or something, have it take you somewhere to meet the guy from the internet you had originally planned on finding in Dallas. At least then you’d be far away and with someone else. “That’s okay!” You said quickly, “I’m not in some huge hurry,” You shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about it. You glanced at the clock, it was 10 AM, you had thought it was much earlier than that but clearly Joel had been exhausted from everything he had done the night before.

“Okay, well…what do you say to a little breakfast across the street and then I’ll be headin’ to the work site after that,” He suggested. If you were being honest you would scream, no, no, no! Over and over again and run from the room but you knew that wasn’t exactly an option. He could catch you easily if you ran right now so you just nodded. 

“Sure, sounds good.” You said, and you wondered if your fear was evident in your voice or your face because Joel was just looking at you. The crinkles around his eyes deepened as he seemed to examine you. 

“You okay?” he asked. The image from the night before flashed in front of your eyes again and you swallowed, hitching a smile back up, reminding yourself you needed to at least try to act normal…just through breakfast. You could do that.

“Y-yeah I’m good.” You said, nodding. 

“Alright, well, get dressed so we can go get some food, I’m starvin’” he put his hand on his belly, rubbing it. You got up and grabbed your backpack, heading into the bathroom and trying your hardest not to think about what he had been washing off in this sink only hours before. 

Barely fifteen minutes later Joel was opening the door to the diner and stepping back to let you through first. It was a cheerful little place with a counter and a few tables. It felt almost identical to the diner you had eaten burgers at just yesterday. This place felt a little cleaner, a little more tourist-y, they even sold t-shirts from behind the counter. The one waitress working that morning smiled when she saw you, 

“Go ahead and sit anywhere, hon!” She said, you glanced around, there were a few old men sitting at the counter sipping coffee and eating eggs, then a young couple across the restaurant at a table. You made for a table in front of a window and sat down, Joel settling down across from you. You pulled your phone out and shot a text message to the guy you had been chatting with previously, it was simple and straightforward: 

I’m in Fort Worth, I’d love to see you.

When you looked up, Joel was just looking at you. Your cheeks flushed, as if he had caught you doing something wrong. 

“Sorry,” You said, realizing he probably thought you were rude for texting while at the table with him. He was practically geriatric, he had different ideas of manners than you. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just never understood your generation bein’ on your phone so much.” He shook his head, “It’ll rot your brain.” You snorted with laughter but before you could answer the waitress had come over with a pot of coffee and two menus. 

“Cup a’ coffee for either of ya?” She asked cheerfully. 

“Yes, Ma’am, thanks so much.” Joel said, pushing his cup towards her. She filled it and turned to you, Joel was looking at you expectantly, his eyes lingered on you as you answered her. 

“Yes, thank you.” You said, she filled your cup and said she’d be back in a couple minutes before turning to leave. You immediately reached for the bowl of little creamer packs and the jar of sugar, while Joel sipped his black coffee. 

“I don’t think a phone will rot my brain,” you said. It irritated you that this…this murderer would judge you for something as ridiculous as being on your phone too much. Joel smiled around his coffee mug and nodded as if he didn’t agree but wanted to placate you. 

“Have you ever tried just living in the real world? No phone, nothin’?” he asked as he set his mug down and looked at the menu in front of him. Your brow knit and you had to stop yourself from fully rolling your eyes. You focused on pulling open the plastic top of one of the tiny creamers and dumping it into your coffee. 

“Have you ever tried being less of an old man cliche?” You asked without even really thinking about it. Joel barked out a laugh that made you jump as you worked on opening another creamer. 

“You got me there, sweetheart. Nothin’ but an old man cliche, and proud of it.” He said.  You hated to admit how charming he was. The way he smiled so politely, called you sweetheart and you melted at it sent a chill down your spine. He shouldn’t charm you and yet here he was.  You dumped that creamer into your coffee, automatically reaching for another one. 

“Okay, Old Timer, maybe you should go sit with those guys up there.” You nodded towards the counter where the youngest man sitting there had to be pushing 78 and one of them had dripped ketchup onto his shirt. 

“Y’know, I remember when kids respected their elders.” Joel teased, he was smiling. You dumped your third creamer into your coffee and then upended the sugar shaker into your coffee and watched the sugar run out into the mug. 

“I bet you also remember the Louisiana Purchase,” You countered immediately. Joel’s lips pursed, he was trying his hardest not to start grinning, and you had to admit it was fun to banter with him. But every time you started to relax, your heart would squeeze with anxiety, the memory of the night before flooding in. This Old Man was a murderer. He had come back to the hotel room you were sharing and washed blood off of him while humming for God’s sake. 

“You want some coffee with that cream and sugar, kid?” Joel asked, eyeing the way you were still pouring sugar into your coffee. 

“Not really,” You responded, giving the sugar shaker another shake for emphasis before setting it down and picking up your spoon, stirring your light beige coffee. “Just because your elderly body can’t process sugar and dairy like it used to, doesn’t mean all of us can’t enjoy life,” You reached out and patted his hand in a silly little comforting gesture as soon as your skin touched his your throat constricted and Joel’s eyes caught yours in their stare. It had been such a casual touch but with this level of eye contact, it felt like maybe you shouldn’t have touched him. You tugged your hand back from him and shot him a nervous smile before sipping your coffee. 

The waitress came back then and asked for your orders. You hadn’t even opened the menu yet, so you hurriedly glanced down at it before ordering pancakes and bacon. Joel got something called the “Rancher’s breakfast” and said he wanted over-easy eggs,  bacon and whole wheat toast. She took your menus and left you alone again. 

“Y’know for someone so interested in cowboys and the wild west, you sure do like mockin’ the type of people who’d be able to tell you real stories of cowboyin,” Joel said. 

“You mean old people?” You asked. Joel just raised his eyebrows so you shrugged, “Nah, I just like mocking you.”The cowboy thing made you think though. All your heroes growing up had killed people. All the cowboy movies and westerns you loved had bunches of murder and you never had a problem with the idea of running off with one of them. Was this so different? Joel shook his head and laughed, 

“I think this is karma,” he said. 

“Oh?” You asked and something inside you jumped. What, getting picked on by some eighteen year old girl was karma for his murder? No. Clearly that wasn’t what he meant. 

Joel leaned forward putting his forearm on the table as he did, “I was just like you when I was your age, a little shit.” He teased. You let out a relieved laugh and shrugged, 

“Old Man, I’m a lot like you were,” You spoke the lyrics absentmindedly, not looking at him. Your fingers ran over your coffee mug as you thought. About what you were on your way to becoming, about murderers, diners, the spots on Joel’s hands, cowboys, and the promise of Jackson, Wyoming. When you looked up again, Joel was staring at you, his expression hard but indiscernible. You looked at him for as long as you could before you got uncomfortable and had to look away again, you could still feel his eyes on you. Was it completely horrible of you to half wish you could stay with Joel? Maybe deep down that was what Joel sensed in you, that made him feel like you were like him when he was young…a horribleness that could only come from a murderer and someone who…who what? Forgave murderers? Fear squeezed inside of you and you stared into your coffee, Hoping you weren’t about to start crying. Maybe you had finally found the Wild West and it wasn’t what you wanted in reality. How fucking disappointing. Your thoughts were interrupted by your food arriving. There wasn’t need for conversation anymore, just the sounds of eating and asking each other to pass the salt, pepper or napkins. 

*

Back in the hotel room, Joel was getting ready to head off to his “job site” whatever that meant to him, and you were texting that  boy from the internet you had been talking to all along, planning to meet up with in Dallas. Now it was imperative that you did meet up with him. His name was Travis, and he had asked how long you were in Fort Worth for or if you were coming to Dallas. You told him you had no way to get to Dallas so he’d have to come and get you if he wanted you. It was easy to flirt with him over texts, it was easy to work on getting what you needed from him. Male presence as protection. A place to sleep. Someone to drive you to Dallas. Plus, he seemed nice and easy going.

So do you want to meet me at Rusty’s Tavern, it’s across from the hotel I’m at now, so that’s easiest for me. 

…

Yeah, I get off work at 5, so does 6 work?

…

You looked at the time, it was 12. Joel had implied that he still had quite a bit to do and wouldn’t be back until after dinnertime so hopefully 6 wouldn’t be pushing it. 

6 works, see ya then! 

You didn’t want Joel to know you were still talking to this guy, you didn’t want him to have any idea that you were planning on leaving so when he came out of the bathroom, you quickly shoved your phone under the pillow next to you. 

“Are you done in the bathroom? Can I shower quick?” you asked, standing up and taking a few steps to the bathroom. Joel was looking at you in a strange way, you wondered if he had caught the movement of you putting your phone under the pillow in a hurry. Maybe it would have been less weird to not try and hide it. 

“Yeah, I’m about to head out anyway,” He said after a moment. 

“Okay!” you said breezily, trying to convey a sense of nonchalance, like it didn’t matter, like you weren’t planning on getting as far away from him as possible while he was gone. “I’ll see you later,” You ducked into the bathroom and locked the door. You started the shower but decided to wait until you heard the door shut before you got undressed.

You heard the door shut from the other room so you decided you could shower. You took your time in the shower, washing away some of the stress of the last couple days. You let your mind wander to your plan to get away from Joel, to Joel himself and why you felt like you had to leave. Leaving was the smart idea. Clearly, Joel was not a safe person. But when you had run off from your home, had you been looking for safe? You had decided to hitchhike to Dallas to meet up with someone from the internet you had never met before and the only thing that had stopped you was the man who picked you up from the side of the road and the promise of him taking you out west. No, none of this had been safe. Joel had had plenty of opportunities to hurt you, but  he hadn’t. But what were you supposed to do? Forget the sight of him covered in blood? The water was hot and it did a lot to ease the tension in the back of your neck but it wasn’t soothing the unease in your belly. 

You were trying to talk yourself into staying with Joel and that scared you. You shouldn’t want to stay with him at all. You should have already run screaming and yet you hadn’t. You had gone to breakfast with the man, you had laughed with him, joked with him. What did that say about you? Deep down you had always known you were trash, but okay with murder? 

I try to bring you up good but you’re bound and determined to act just like the no goods you came from. 

You had brushed off those words when your aunt had flung them at you. But now, maybe it was just true. Maybe your parents had been trash. They had died like trash, and had left a daughter who was bound and determined to end up just like them. So maybe Joel was what you deserved. You were sad to leave him and so maybe you should lean into it and just…stay. 

By the time you were getting out of the shower, the water had gone from boiling hot to tepid and your skin was raw from the heat and how you had scrubbed it. You left the bathroom in a towel, leaving your clothes from that morning on the floor for you to grab later. You went to your bed to get your backpack from where you had left it but it wasn’t there. Your brow furrowed and you looked on the opposite side of your bed, not there either. Your heart squeezed in fear. No. This was silly, you had just seen it. You turned and went into the bathroom, had you grabbed it before your shower? It wasn’t there, just your clothes, abandoned on the ground. You turned back and opened the closet door, no backpack. You looked over at Joel’s bed, nothing. Your heart hammered so hard you felt it in your throat, pounding out your fear. You hurried over to your bed again, practically tripping over your own feet in your haste.  You ripped the pillow you had shoved your phone under off of the bed. Nothing but empty white bed sheets. Panic really settled in now, you tore all the blankets, pillows and sheets off the bed. Your phone was gone. Your backpack was gone. You hadn’t left them in the car, you knew that. You had them both right before Joel left. 

That settled something inside of you. You had to get away from him. Thank God you had set up your plans with Travis before your shower. Thank God your phone was locked and Joel wouldn’t be able to look at the messages…but who knew, maybe he had some criminal way of  breaking into your phone. 

Despair washed over you. No phone. No backpack. Only the cash you had shoved into the pocket of your pants the day before and nothing else. You let yourself sink onto the floor, sitting in just your towel, you pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face into your hands. Your breathing was ragged, your hands shook against your face. Every choice you had made since you had left your house the morning before felt like a mistake. Stupid mistake after stupid mistake. 

Fuck up. Fuck up. Fuck up. 

You looked up after a long time. You couldn’t just give in and wait for Joel to come back. What would you even say to him? No. You were going to meet Travis and you were going to beg a ride to Dallas and then…you didn’t know, but there had to be something, right? Anything was better than your home in Austin. Anything was better than staying with a murderer who stole your shit so you couldn’t leave. You finally got up and put your clothes from that morning back on, doing your hair as best you could. You had another moment of clarity and thought to check and make sure Joel’s truck wasn’t in the parking lot. It wasn’t. So maybe he wasn’t lying about everything. You tried to kill time in the hotel room, but you mostly ended up pacing, counting and recounting the money you had shoved in your pockets the day before. Five ones, two fives and a handful of coins you had grabbed from the counter as you left your house in Austin, maybe as a final ‘fuck you’ to your aunt. When the clock next to the bed finally said 5:30 you decided to take the quick walk across the street and be at Rusty’s Tavern early, in case Joel ended up getting back. 

You could feel eyes on you when you walked in. It was clearly not normal for young women from out of town to come in here on their own, but no one questioned you when you sat down at the bar and looked over the drink menu. You wondered if they’d serve you without an ID, or if it was better to just get a lemonade while you waited for Travis. You played it safe and got a lemonade while you waited. You didn’t have a phone to kill time with so you anxiously waited for this person you didn’t know at all to show up and hopefully save you from the murderer you only kind of knew. 

When he walked in you tried not to be shocked at how different he looked from what had been on his tinder profile, clearly the photo had been a few years and quite a lot of hair ago. He wore a baseball cap but you could see the receding hairline of a guy who was refusing to acknowledge it. 

“Travis!” you flagged him down, he waved and walked over to you. 

“Hey! It’s good to finally meet you.” He said, you stood up to give him an awkward hug. You had been talking for a while so he didn’t feel completely unfamiliar but it was still odd to be there with him as he settled into the barstool next to you. 

“You too,” You said, nodding. “Thanks for meeting me here, honestly, the guy who I got a lift from Austin with is giving me the creeps,” You said, laying the groundwork for needing an out. 

“Oh yea?” Travis asked as he flagged down the bartender to order a drink. You weren’t sure how much to tell him, but you knew you’d have to explain the no-phone thing at some point so you decided to just go for it. 

“Yeah I think he took off with my backpack and phone to make sure I couldn’t like…leave him, and yeah it’s weird,” You said, hoping not to sound as freaked out as you were. Travis’ eyebrows raised,

“Jesus,” he said. He ordered a Titos and Redbull when the bartender came over and then looked at you expectantly, “I got you, darlin’, just order what ya want.” He shot you a wink so you decided to try your luck. You ordered a gin and tonic because it was the first thing you thought of. The bartender looked you up and down, he didn’t believe you were of age for a second but he nodded anyway and turned to make the drinks. When he set the drinks down in front of you, it was a relief to have something that might numb you a little to how weird these last couple days had been. You sipped it. You talked a little about Joel with Travis, telling him he never made a pass at you but he just gave you the creeps and now he had stolen your shit you wanted to get away from him and fast. You moved on briefly to stuff about Travis’ job, his roommates and how they were all out tonight anyway. It felt like he was dropping hints. You worked your way through your drink and he leaned into you to talk more and more as the bar got louder with more people coming in. 

“You still lookin’ for a way to Dallas?” Travis asked as he flagged down the bartender again and indicated he wanted another round for both of you. 

“Yeah, I mean…” you trailed off, trying to think of how to play this. You didn’t want to seem desperate enough to sleep with him for a place to stay…but maybe you were. That thought sent your heart hammering in your throat again. You didn’t want that. “I don’t have any plans up in Dallas but staying with this guy seems like a bad idea,” You mumbled. “I don’t got many options though,” you added. The bartender set down your second round and you stirred it with the little black straw that was in it. 

“I mean, we could work somethin’ out for ya, I think,” he said. Your stomach dropped. No. You weren’t going to sleep with him, you didn’t want it to be like this. You couldn’t stomach that thought. You smiled, it was coy, practiced and came to you easily. 

“Well maybe we could,” you said, you tilted your head to the side, “but I’m a lady and I don’t sleep around just for a room to stay in,” you said, keeping your voice light and teasing. For the briefest moment you watched disappointment register on Travis’ face. It was clear that was what he had been expecting from tonight and now you had pulled a bait and switch on him, at least that was probably how he saw it. Then he smiled, 

“Of course, I’m a proper southern gentleman, darlin’ if you need a place to say, I’ve got an extra bed and no expectations.” He said. What a load of shit. But at least he wasn’t pushing it. Maybe he was a  nice guy, just adjusting what he thought he’d get tonight. 

“I’d appreciate it,” you said. “I’ll make sure to cook you breakfast in the morning,” You said, giggling. He smiled again, you watched him shift closer to you. So he was going to adjust his expectations, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to pull out all the stops to try and get you to change your mind. 

“Oh you better,” he teased. You sat back, feeling anxious about how close he was, how much you could smell his breath and cologne. 

“I’ll be right back, gotta run to the bathroom,” You said. You got up and went back into the small, dingy ladies room of Rusty’s Tavern. You took a second away from him to consider everything. Joel was a known evil. Travis was…well, was he unknown? You had talked for a while. You had met him now. He seemed fine. He had taken your refusal for sex pretty well even if he was still hitting on you, wasn’t that just in boys’ nature? 

You felt itchy. This was the type of “no good” shit your aunt would accuse you of. Using your charms to get what you wanted. In this case, a way out of a bad situation, a place to stay. But was forgiving and forgetting a murder worse? Yes. Of course. You splashed water on your face, washed your hands and returned to the bar. Travis had gotten you another drink while you were gone. You drank it, trying to make sure you would have the nerve to get in his car without your phone and head off to Dallas. You had gotten the nerve to leave home, to hitchhike, to accept a ride from a complete stranger. This was no different. This was just as easy, and getting easier every second. Talking to Travis was a lot easier now, you told him about leaving home, about how your Aunt had raised you. You talked about Joel again, maybe too much. He kept looking away when you brought him up. So you stopped bringing him up and let Travis guide the conversation. Favorite music. Favorite movies. If you had been on any good dates recently. How many boyfriends you’d had, what your body count was, what his was. His hand found its way to your thigh and it was easy to let him keep it there. You tried your hardest to giggle and brush off his comments and questions like they weren’t invasive, like they weren’t clearly trying to push this somewhere that you had said wasn’t going to happen. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to allow him to think there was a chance something could happen. 

You hadn’t realized how much you were drinking until the room started to tilt as you sat up on your stool, glancing around. Wait…no, you hadn’t had this much? The room shouldn’t be blackening around the edges, you shouldn’t be slipping in and out of focus just as you sat there. Not after…what…three drinks? That you hadn’t even finished? You rubbed your eyes. 

“You okay?” Travis asked, his hand had been firmly on your thigh this whole time, now it started to rub up your jeans, higher and higher on your thigh, fingers pressing in. You felt suffocated by his hand, heat rising in your cheeks, and the world tilting around your vision. 

“Y-yeah,” You heard yourself mumble and you unsteadily pushed yourself off of your stool. You stumbled and had to grab the bar to steady yourself. Your body felt heavy. You had been drunk before. You knew what drunk felt like, but this wasn’t it…or was it? Were the drinks just strong? No…you felt hot and itchy all over. Something was wrong but you couldn’t form thoughts to try and put it to words. Bathroom. You needed cold water on your face. “I…bath…gotta” You shook your head and tried to take a stumbling step forward. Travis caught your arm, 

“Whoa there, honey,” he laughed. “You’ve had a lot to drink, I guess.” He said with another chuckle that didn’t sound right, it sounded far away. 

“N-No,  I…dint…jus” You heard yourself slurring but there was nothing you could do to stop it. Travis put his arm around your waist, tugging you into his side and holding you up right. His fingers dug into your ribs, his breath was against your neck as you felt your toes drag across the floor of the bar. You could see the flickering lights in the windows as you got to the door, the cool air from outside wafted on your face, a blessing and a curse. You were going to get in his car, go all the way to Dallas, stay in his home and you couldn’t even form a sentence. Joel sprung into your mind and you half wished you had never left that hotel room. 

“Come on, let’s get ya out of here, honey,” Travis grunted, you could hear his breathing sort of begin to labor as he supported you down the steps right outside the front door. 

“Can weuh wait..minute…hol’ on,” you struggled with words and with his hot hand on your ribcage, you wanted to shove it off of you because you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, and everything was wrong. You were supposed to have it together. You were not supposed to lose yourself like this. Travis was walking you around the side of the bar, towards the back parking lot. It was dimly lit here, illuminated by the neon signs from the front and one lone light over a side door. Between your blurred vision and the darkness, you couldn’t make out much. 

“Aw, would you quit lettin’ yourself fall all over the place?” Travis asked, it sounded like a joke but there was an edge there, irritation. He redoubled his grip on your waist and grabbed your arm. 

“Leggo,” you moaned, trying to push away, you managed to pull from his grasp but you stumbled back and hit the brick wall of the building. 

“Jesus Christ,” Travis grunted. “Makin’ this too much fuckin’ work for me,” Travis grabbed your arm again and bent as if he was about to haul you over his shoulder. You knew if he got you onto his shoulder you’d have no autonomy, No decision, and that made you feel sicker than you already were. You tried to stumble away from him. 

“No, no…” your back hit the wall, the skin of your arms and shoulders scraping along the rough brick. Travis  hands found your hips and he pushed you back against the wall, 

“Fine, you don’t wanna go easy? We can do this here,” he growled and you felt your muscles tighten as you tried to reel away from him but there was nowhere to go. Your head smacked against the wall and your vision dimmed more. You could hear movement, feel his hands on you, pulling at you, it felt like he was going to pull your skin off, tear at your guts. Hot tears added to the heat on your cheeks and you tried your best to catch your breath but you were completely addled. Nothing made sense, your hands wouldn’t move where you told them to and his hands were everywhere. 

You were about to pass out, to be gone from reality entirely and it partially felt like a death sentence, partially it felt like a blessing. No memories of it. No awareness. It was overwhelming heat in your face, in your chest, a heaviness in your body that was so consuming that the only thing that kept you tethered to reality was sudden space between you and Travis’ hot breath. The hands ripping at you were torn away and you slid down the wall. 

“What the fuck?” Travis asked of an unknown, unseen force that had made it so you didn’t succumb to an unknown burn. Maybe you heard another yell, maybe you dreamt it, maybe you heard a choked cry or the sickly thump of fist connecting with face but maybe that had just been something you made up later because after those moments. There was nothing. 

*

I've been first and last

Look at how the time goes past

The music that was streaming into your consciousness was a song you had heard thousands of times before, the lyrics familiar, the strum of the guitars stitched into you from childhood. 

Give me things that don't get lost

You still couldn’t open your eyes, everything hurt. Your head. Your shoulders. Your neck. After the music and the pain, the next thing you noticed was the movement. You were in a car, a truck, rumbling down a road, fast. Your throat was dry and you were slumped to the side in your seat, probably why your neck was hurting so much. You turned your head. 

But I'm all alone at last

Rolling home to you

You blinked, trying to open your eyes, squinting in the daylight. Joel. Joel was sitting to your left, driving his truck. For one second you were relieved. Joel. Known Evil. An old man who bought you pancakes and burgers and laughed when you called him an old man. Who hadn’t drugged you or shoved you into the wall of a dingy bar. The shining second of relief was glorious and you reveled in it  but then you tried to pull your right hand up to rub your eyes and something jangled against your wrist, catching your arm and stopping it from moving any further. 

Old man take a look at my life

I'm a lot like you

You tugged your wrist again as you looked down at it. The silvery bangle glinted in the sunlight. Your heart felt like it stopped as you realized what was going on. You were handcuffed to the door of the truck. 

I need someone to love me

The whole day through

Ah, one look in my eyes

And you can tell that's true

You tugged your arm again, as if that would detach the handcuff in some way. Nothing gave way.You turned your head slowly, taking in the man in the driver’s seat. Joel Miller caught your movement out of the corner of his eye and quirked his head towards you, 

“Hey kiddo, glad to see you’re awake,” He said as you heard blood rushing through your ears, cold sweat beading on the back of your neck. 

Old man look at my life

I'm a lot like you were…

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Spring Bean

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies 2

People just don't call their tall and skinny friends "String Bean" anymore, like they used to. I have never witnessed that happen, but I think they used to. Similarly, people just don't call their green and coiled friends "Spring Bean" yet, like they're going to. We all have that friend!

I never thought much about Spring Bean. Then recently, I decided to think about Spring Bean. Hmm... heh. Yeah. Spring Bean is funny! I like this bean. And Spring Bean is cute! Chili Bean is funny because it farts, Sun Bean is funny because its face is weird, and Laser Bean is not funny OR cute and I really dislike looking at it, especially its teeth and gums. I like to look at Spring Bean! Nothing wrong with this bean.

Spring Bean usually looks like he has no idea what's going on, but then once in a while he gets a bit Cheeky! If a zombie is near, he will flatten all funny-like, and then SPROING them away. This is very useful in some levels of Pirate Seas, where the pesky Swashbuckler Zombies can be launched into the ocean as quickly as they enter the playing field! An insta-kill plant, specializing in a particularly annoying zombie that skips over most of the lawn? Sounds quite useful indeed! And it's REUSABLE? I love recycling! What's the catch?

Well, not to sound like a meanie beanie, but Spring Bean is not actually very good whatsoever most of the time. I gassed him up back there- any self-respecting bean needs a fart joke- but Spring Bean kind of sucks! If he was a quirky thematic level element in a vegetable-based platformer, he would be perfect. But alas!

Everything I have said about Spring Bean is true! He is the perfect counter for Swashbuckler Zombies, instantly kills them, and can perform his ability multiple times. He can even launch regular zombies into nearby water! But the thing is, that's basically it. Spring Bean has One use in One world, and not even the entirety of that world. When Imp Cannons get introduced shortly after, Spring Bean is quickly overwhelmed, only able to launch one zombie at a time. After each launch, the darn guy goes to sleep, and is easily eaten by any other zombies that appear in the meantime! I like to Take A Break too, but if some bad guys were trying to eat my flesh, I don't think I would be able to feel very restful! To be honest!

In this game about plants fighting zombies, Spring Bean is not a plant that is good at fighting zombies, but here I am writing a post about him, so it should come as no surprise that I like Spring Bean. He does what he does. He does it well Sometimes. I would like it if he was more useful overall, of course- I can use my friend Kernel-pult as a primary attacker in any level I please- but a sort of pathetic little thing like this is so endearing to me! Some people on the internet get attached to pathetic middle-aged men, I get attached to a pathetic Bean. This is genuinely really cool of me!

I am not just going to provide my own opinion on this post, though. That would be biased. Let's hear the thoughts of someone who knows Spring Bean very closely... his older brother, Sun Bean! Sun Bean dearly loves his bean brothers, even though the almanac indicates that he thinks Spring Bean is "just plain lazy" and finds him "exasperating". I think that's fair. I've not once seen any other bean snooze, after all!

I quite like this Spring Bean plush. It's so cute! Spring Bean is already cute, but this off-model one is even cuter, looking so inquisitive about something up and to the right. Some kind of butterfly it's never seen before, but it's not that into entomology, so it's not EXTREMELY impressed, just rapt with mild-to-adequate curiosity. Be more like this bean in your everyday life, taking in the joys of the world! If you take this advice to heart, you will genuinely be able to say that Spring Bean from Plants Vs. Zombies 2 changed your life.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vii)

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

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: hello. i am late again. i almost gave up but we are here. for better or for worse. i will most likely go back ad edit the second half again ok love u guys mwahmwah

Previous part || Series masterlist

Only after hours, nay, a full day of hunching over his desk, eyes red-rimmed and burning, four crushed cans of energy drinks next to him lending to him the nervous energy of a chihuahua, Bucky realises that there’s no beating it.

He absentmindedly takes another sip of the RedBull, flinching when the taste registers. Either he’d reached his threshold or the medicine flavour had begun morphing into something else entirely. The caffeine didn’t even work on him, so really, he was just placebo-ing himself into having energy. 

Every site he’s visited has had a vastly different interpretation; ones that don't match what he thinks has been happening, or the context past his past provides. Others are simply blatantly wrong based on the additional research he, in his infinite wisdom and totally accurate self-assessment tendencies, has been gathering in the last 3 days. 

The Star. Six of Cups. The Hanged Man.

Bucky knows he could ask someone in real life about this, someone who possibly had more experience than a simple website whose code broke every time he tried to scroll to the bottom. However, that would mean that he had to tell them his dead sister was probably haunting him out of her spite and hatred for the very fibres of his being.

Also, Bucky may be haunted by his dead relatives, but he’s not haunted enough to actually leave his room over it. 

Video consultations were also an option, but he’s convinced that if word got out that Bucky Barnes was half-convinced ghosts were following him around, it would make headlines for a mighty long week. 

Therefore, he resorts to shady, online websites that demand he pay up before giving him the results of the readings they’ve done for him. 

The “lady” that he paid to talk to using Steve’s credit card on mistytarot.com types for a very long time before a message comes through.

The thought bubble disappears for another half an hour, and Bucky thinks hat either she is a complete scam, or it’s run by someone who is about as technologically proficient as Steve was. 

But a message does in fact come through, and it’s enough to have him be covninced that the 20 bucks he blew on Steve’s card was worth it. 

Lady Lilia 

Considering that you think you’re being haunted, The Star could represent the absence of hope. Do you feel like you’re being trapped in darkness? As if you are being abandoned by the universe and with no room for healing?

B. Barneswell i forgot about it until now

Lady Lilia If your sister passed away a long time ago, the reason The Six of Cups may have presented itself is because you may be feeling like you're ensnared in the past, constantly reliving moments that hurt or confuse you, rather than finding peace. 

A frown grows on his face. 

Lady Lilia If you’re haunted by a person who used to be in your life and it is reminding you of past mistakes, The Hanged Man could be because feel like you're stuck in a cycle of stagnation, unable to move forward, as if these spirits are keeping you suspended in a state of emotional paralysis. 

However, if the cards were upright–

Bucky slams the laptop shut, inhaling and exhaling sharply through his nose.

From the corner of his eye, his phone lights up with the fifth missed call in the last ten minutes, but considering that he keeps that thing on silent, he never even noticed.

Shoving aside whatever he may be thinking for the moment, he checks the caller ID, only for feelings of confusion and despair to be immediately replaced with annoyance, or disgust even. 

He calls back anyway, preparing for the worst. 

“Did you drink all my RedBull?” Clint booms the second he picks up.

“No,” Bucky lies smoothly.

“Fucker, I know it was you. Pay me back. With interest.”

“No.”

Clint switches to whining. “You know I need that shit to stay awake at night. Some of us don’t have superhero cocaine in our system.”

“I don’t care, go to sleep at a normal hour.”

“Say, did you drink every last one?” Clint instantly switches to a curious tone for a second. “Because one of them’s not like the others.”

Bucky looks at the cans that littered his bedroom floor. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you what it is over the phone.”  

“Why?” 

“Let’s just say it’s not exactly allowed in the country, but–”

Bucky cuts the call and tosses it onto the bed. 

He runs a hand through his hair, softly exhaling while contemplating whether or not to continue the chat. Steve wouldn’t miss another 20 dollars, he had the wealth of a small prince with all that army back pay bullshit. In fact, Steve should ideally be funding more of Bucky’s endeavours. 

There comes a knock at his door.

Bucky immediately leaps off the bed, sprinting to the door, because he fuckin knows that knock, goddamn it–

He throws open the door before you get the chance to full body slam against it.

“Oh.” You blink, relaxing away from your stance. “Hey. How’d you know–”

“You do this every week,” he breaks in. “You do this multiple times a day.” 

“Don’t you dare say I’m predictable,” you warn, raising a finger. “I’ll start crying right here, then you’ll have to deal with that. You wanna see snot running down my–”

Bucky slams the door shut again, waiting to turn around. 

“Can you take me to the doctor?” Your voice is muffled through the solid wood.

It’s enough to make him hesitate, hand on the doorknob.

“What’s wrong with you?” he inquires.. 

“Nothing, I’m perfect,” you reply instinctively, before course correcting, “Wait, no, I’m sick.”  

He lets his head drop against the door. “Go to the fucking infirmary.”

“The infirmary told me to go to the hospital. Can you just take me?” you bug. “They won’t discharge me unless I have someone with me to drive me back.”

“You have a head injury?” Bucky asks, before following it with, “Actually, that tracks.”

“Rude.” 

“Ask Nat.”

“Nat’s in Lagos.”

“Ask Sam.” 

“Yoga.”

“Clint.”

“Really.”

“Glad to know I’m your first choice,” he mumbles, opening up the door. 

You send him a blistering smile. “You’re my favourite choice.” 

______

“You gotta take this turn,” you instruct, too close to the actual crossing. 

“The nearest hospital’s five minutes away, what the hell are you talking about?“ he points out, eyes on the road. 

“We’re going to the one on King’s Road,” you read off of Google maps. “Take that lef-– well, you missed that. Now you gotta make a u-turn.”

“What’s the problem with Chastain Park?” he demands. “King’s Road is half an hour away.”

“This one’s got all my files,” you insist. “Otherwise I gotta start over and it's so much effort.”

“Aren’t you in a database?”

“Yeah, but not a medical one.”

Bucky lets out something akin to a growl and a groan. “What's the time?”

“Like eight thirty?”

“What’s the time,” he emphasises, because he most definitely had another email due from another lady on the internet who he had sent his cards to a few hours ago. 

“Fine, it’s eight twenty two,” you shoot back.  “Did that make a big difference?”

“Yeah, it did actually,” he fires indignantly, “My life is radically different. You have no way of knowing.”

“Liar. You’re a lying liar, who lies.” You scoff. “And details are for losers.”

“Losers can drive all the way back to drop you off at the infirmary and let them deal with you.”

You relent, flashing him a grin. “This won’t take long.”

“You say this every fuckin’ time,” he groans, before complying and taking a u-turn anyway.

“You’re fucking joking,” he states. 

“No, it’s actually called lying,” you correct casually.  

“Is this an abandoned hospital? What the fuck?” Bucky asks, staring up at the huge decaying building.  

The outside looks run-down, with cracked, weathered brick walls and broken windows. The entrance is blocked off with rusted gates, some sections of which have fallen over. As the car rolls up, the air is thick with a musty, damp smell, mixed with a faint odor of decay.

“Yes,” you say simply, opening the trunk of the car and pulling out all the supplies you had from last time. “Video time. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” Bucky mumbles. “I’d have showed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “You famously never do.”

That’s fair, but also, that was the old Bucky. The new Bucky circa this week is a bit more… invested. He feels the need to gather some more information, and unfortunately, the only opportunity to do that is here.

So for the time being, he decides he will hang on. For purely selfish reasons. 

“Just tell me next time,” he grunts. 

You observe him for a second like you're about to call him out on something, but instead you simply say, “Okay.”

Bucky grabs his usual stuff– the spirit box, a lapel mic, while you levitate the camera. 

“Hello?”

You both look beyond the camera at the same time to someone stalking up to you.

“Who’s there?” demands a middle aged woman with straw blonde hair, wrinkles decorating sunburnt skin, and a navy blue jacket. 

“Uh–”

“Who are you?” she asks, cautiously stopping a few feet away.  

“We’re here on a video shoot,” you inform. “Just wanted to check the place out.”

“Oh, you’re one of them camera folk,” she says, ponting her flashlight at you. “Those ghost hutner types.”

“That’s us,” you agree, flinching from the bright light. “We're from The Graveyard Shift.”

“Who are you?” Bucky cuts in, because why should only the both of you explain. 

“I’ve been working security here for the last thirty years.” She shines her flashlight at the musty place. “Name’s Brenda.”

“Why does an abandoned hospital need a security guard?” Bucky inquires. 

“Management just underwent a shift. White collars are setting up a mall here, so they bought up the whole place, fired everyone and now they’re gonna build an all year ski world or something in there.” There’s a tick in her jaw as she draws it out. “Whole damn place is cursed. They better hope it only burns down.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving Bucky a sideways glance. “Anyway, we’re gonna go check out the place. See if we can find some ghosts.”

“Oh, you’ll see ‘em, alright. Everyone who was collateral damage in the buyout is still in there.” Her voice is distant, arm coming to rest on her hip.  “You’ll have to hit up specific rooms. Y’all got a floorplan?”

“No, figured we’d just wing it.” You pause. “Hospital wing it.”

“Shut up,” Bucky replies on instinct. 

“You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in there if y’all dont know where youre’ heading. It’s a maze,” she continues, ignoring your brilliant joke. “I can show you the rooms, but I can’t guarantee that it has ghosts in there.”  

“Uhhh—” you begin. 

“It’ll cut down your time in half.”

“Deal,” Bucky says immediately, sticking out his hand for a shake.

Brenda sticks out her hand too, only to wince immediately, following it up with a curse.

“What’s wrong?” you interject.

“Damn back’s killing me,” she mutters. “You’d think death would stop the pain, but it’s not let up yet. Come on then.”

Both of your eyebrows knit together at her statement, but she leaves no room for a reply as she marches inward, one hand on the small of her spine. 

Bucky elects to use his phone flashlight, as if he keeps that shit charged above 40% at any given point of time. If anything is not going to make it out of the night alive, it was that thing. 

The air inside is stale and heavy, filled with the scent of mildew and old, rusted metal. All three of your footsteps echo in the silence, reverberating through empty halls with each cautious step. The moonlight  in conjunction with the flashlight casts long, unsettling shadows. The faint taste of dust lingers in the back of Bucky’s throat that he cannot get rid of. 

“Y’all gonna sleep in here tonight?” Brenda pipes up, swinging her flashlight around.

You look at Bucky with a grin that’s alarming.

His face immediately pulls into one of “What the fuck”

“No, we aren’t,” you announce instead. “But do people do that often?”

“You’d be surprised,” she comments. “You’re not the first folks we’ve had here with those fancy shmancy gadgets.”

“That explains how you have a tour all planned.” 

“We get a bunch of you every couple of months.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Bucky cuts in.

She pays him no need. “Y’all run a podcast?”

Bucky looks personally affronted. “No, we do not.”

“We run a YouTube channel,” you offer instead. “It’s for ghosts and stuff.”

“I see,” she considers, tone thoughtful. “So, this will go up online?” 

“Unfortunately,” Bucky murmurs.

“Have you caught ghosts before?”

“Not even one–”

“Several,” you chirp. “And we have a witch cat. Her name’s Alpine.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. “Since when is her name Alpine?”

“I gave her a bunch of options and she told me she liked that best.”

“The cat can’t talk.”

“To you. She and I chat shit everyday,” you dish back. “She hates that stupid fern in your room, she says it smells.”

That fucking fern was not even his idea. But Sam got it for him when he moved in, so there was a zero percent chance it would be leaving any time soon. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“Y’all got a large following?” Brenda interrupts.

“Building towards it.” You look at her before looking at Bucky. “Once we hit a sizable amount and Bucky becomes an official internet boyfriend, we’ll stop the series.”

He sends you a withering look. “We’ll be doing this till I die.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves you,” you dismiss. “You’re a pretty boy and extremely irritable. They think you’re hilarious.”

 His nose twitches, and he feels the need to clear his throat. 

“Your camera records ghosts?” Brenda asks again. 

“We’ve got a bunch of devices. We’ll catch it,” you sound confident. 

“Great, because here’s the first stop,” she says, pressing her shoulder onto a double door.

The door groans as she pushes, its hinges protesting with a long, rusty screech, the cold metal heavy under her hand. A stale gust of air hits your face, carrying the faint smell of rot as the door finally gives way.

She steps back with a small huff, stretching her back with a small, “Shit.”

The pale blue walls had turned greenish, wallpaper peeling away. Counters were covered with a thin layer of dust. Old tools laid unused on the surgical table, once stainless steel but now rusted. 

“A lotta deaths happened in this operating theatre,” she imparts after a bout of stretching. “They thought this place was cursed for a while.” 

The sterile, tiled walls are cracked and chipped, and the old surgical lights hang dim, their bulbs long burned out. The air still lingers with antiseptic that’s long since turned sour.

Bucky feels a little too acquainted with this setting. 

He doesn’t even realise his silence is palpable until you nudge his side, drawing his attention sharply back to you. 

“You doin’ okay?” you whisper.  

“Fine,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the tools and towards you.

It only twists his stomach a little. It makes him think of how different his reactions used to be even a few years go. 

“Old, dingy hospitals may not have been the best idea,” you admit to him, using the flashlight to shine a light in the corner. 

It occurs to him a second later once he forces himself to compartmentalise. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low. 

“Yeah,” you reply, slowly looking around. “Just looks like my nursery.”

A small crease forms between his eyebrows. 

“Not gonna lie, mine was way prettier. Lot more mould on the walls,” you continue, tone light. “You know, timeless decor.”

His nose lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh. “Leviathan not into blood stain wallpaper?”

“Couldn’t afford it. Fuckin’ place kept referring to itself as Hydra’s sister org but had none of the budget,” you say, swiping a finger across the dust. “You’d think that at least some of the people that left would give alumni donations, but no.”

Bucky snickers at jokes literally no one else would laugh at. It feels good for once, not to feel the need to censor himself to make others less uncomfortable. 

You take a step forward, camera following behind you. 

You shine the flashlight around the room, noting all the surgical trays piled together. 

But something flashes on the ceiling. 

You swing your flashlight toward it immediately, only for the table beside you a few inches away to start rolling, making a loud whining noise as it did, snapping your attention towards it.  

By the time you finally bring the light back up towards the ceiling, it’s gone. 

“What the–” you mumble. 

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up from where he was scrolling through his phone. 

“Could’a sworn I saw–” you frown at the empty space now, only an old defunct looking camera staring back at you. 

“Red eyes?” Brenda inquires, looking at you. “Yeah, that happens.”

Bucky glances up at you, and then the wall. “Probably just the lens glare.”

You scrunch up your face at her. “How’d you know it was red eyes?” 

“That’d be the spirit of ol’ Doctor Damon, chief of neuro,” she says. “You’ll find him here or his cabin, but that’s a few floors away. He never liked climbing the stairs.” 

“Right,” Bucky acknowledges monotonously. 

“When he worked here, he spent so long in surgery that his eyes were always bloodshot. One day he just dropped dead from exhaustion,” Brenda explains. “So his spirit walks around here, red eyes, wheeling surgery tables waiting for the next patient.”

“What’s he doing on the ceiling?” Bucky questions, going back to his phone. “He did his surgeries suspended midair?” 

“Are you trying to gatekeep the ceiling?” you scoff. “Have you never seen Spiderman hanging upside down for fun?” 

Bucky finally lifts his sight from the phone. “The doctor is not an insect superhero, he would have no reason to be hanging upside down–”

“How would you know if he’s a superhero or not? What if he was bitten by a bat?” you challenge. “Like a bat…guy. Batman.”

He jeers. “Then he’s got a stupid codename.”

“Oh, and Captain America is poetic genius.”

“At least Sam has a codename, where’s yours?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe you should have paid attention when your mother was screaming it las-”

“Shall we move on?” Brenda asks calmly. 

“Yes,” the both of you reply simultaneously. 

She doesn’t even bother looking at you, almost as if she’d seen it all in her lifetime. 

“Besides, sometimes you can see him sitting on one of the operating tables. He doesn’t just hang out on the ceiling like… bat…man,” she explains, leading the way back out. 

“See?” 

“See what?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he replies. “There’s nothing to see. That’s the fuckin’ point.”

You shove him lightly. 

Bucky bites back a grin.

_____

The morgue is silent. 

The ceiling is low and chipped, streaked with stains of old water damage, the paint fallen away in patches. 

Against one wall, old, disused morgue drawers stand open and half-broken, the once-sleek stainless steel now speckled with rust. Some of the drawers are bent out of shape, while others are stuck, sealed tight from years of neglect. Inside some of the open drawers, tattered, yellowed tags hang loosely from the handles, swaying gently as the chill air moves through the room.

“This room’s self explanatory,” she says. “Sometimes, you can hear spirits still trying to claw their way out of the drawers but they never open.”

“Skill issue,” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“Shut up, oh my God,” you whisper-yell, still mouth pulling into a thin line to stop from laughing. 

“What?” Brenda asks, suddenly from near the drawers. 

You had no idea when she even went there. 

“Nothing,” you reply, before thoughtfully asking, “Bucky, truth or dare?”

“No.”

“Dare it is.” You shine a flashlight at one of the closed drawers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get in one of them for a few seconds. Let’s see if the ghosts come at you.”

“You're deranged,” he replies, incredulous. 

“It’s for science,” you insist. “How else will you know for sure?”

“I’m sure it’ll be comfortable,” Brenda quips. “Like a coffin.”

The both of you look at her together in silence.

She shrugs. “It’s what I’ve heard from them.” 

You look at her for a second more, before turning to Bucky. “Anyway, if you want I’ll come lie in there with you.”

“How does that make it better?” he exclaims. “I am not lying in the morgue.”

“Even if I’m in there with you?”

“That’s even worse–”

There’s a loud knock from one of the drawers on Brenda’s side. She looks down at it, almost like she was expecting it. Soon, there are further loud thuds that come from inside the remaining drawers. 

“Hey, Magda,” she calls, before more knocks come from inside. “You’ve got visitors. Say hello.”

You grab the spirit box from behind Bucky’s ear and hold it in the direction of the wall. Nothing registers.

“Animals,” he answers the question hanging in the air calmly. 

“The spirits?” Brenda replies. “They’re not gonna like that.”

Sure enough, a few of the drawers start rattling on their own accord.

You look at Bucky with an eyebrow raised.

“What?” he carps. “I’m not gonna go lie down in there, if that’s what you want.”

“Come on, take one for the team,” you whine. 

“You take one for the team.” 

“I’m literally the one pulling all the weight around here. You do it.”

Bucky doesn’t agree with you on the last part, but the first one is undisputably right. He makes a mental note to start contributing a fuckton more if he plans on continuing on in the series. 

The rattling around comes to a halt eventually. 

“If none of you want to get in there, should we move to the next one?” Brenda points to the door. 

“Yes, please,” you confirm, sending Bucky a glare.

She leads the way up the stairs while you both follow, bickering and shoving lightly.

Once upstairs, Bucky glances down the hall, only to  see a large double door that is noticeably different from the rest you’ve seen so far. There’s a fading rainbow drawn on the front, little footsteps painted onto the floor leading towards it.

Bucky hesitates, steps faltering. “Is that the children’s ward?”

“Yes,” Brenda looks over her shoulder briefly. 

For a second, he wonders. Whether it was worth a shot. He hadn’t heard from her since the incident at the house, and the tarot cards have been suggesting nothing but reasons to believe she may actually be there.  

“Are we going to check that out?” he asks. 

“No, there’s nothing there,” she shrugs it off. “No spirits. I’ve asked the others too.” 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “Are you sure?”

You shoot him an odd look that he refuses to meet. 

“Yep. Next stop’s the other way.”

Bucky spares the doors another long look, before traversing down the hallway with you. 

“Why do you wanna go to the children’s ward?” you query, voice low. 

“Just thought it was worth checking out,” he replies, voice steady.  

“We can always make a run for it and go check.”

“No,” he says, giving you a curt shake of his head, “it’s alright.”

“We’re right down this way,” Brenda calls, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Coming!” you call back before spinning to Bucky. “Hey.”

“What?” he responds, moving at his own brisk pace. 

You tug him back with you with force. 

“What are you doing–’ he hisses.

You link your arm with Bucky’s, pulling him along with you as you walk, shutting him up. He eyes your elbow looped with his and the proximity with which you walked beside him and all of a sudden, the back of his neck feels quite warm, extending down to his chest.

“I think Brenda’s a ghost,” you tell him casually.

Bucky stops in his path, drawn very much back to reality. 

“Keep walking,” you grit through a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead. Why else is she totally chill with the ghosts here-”

“Because there aren’t any. It’s animals.”

“Why is she saying coffins are comfortable? Why is she talking to the ghosts and knowing exactly where they are and aren’t?”

“I can make shit up too, look,” Bucky comments enthusiastically. “Oh, down the hall is the isolation room. You’ll hear heavy breathing because that’s where the tuberculosis patients were–”

“That’s one of the isolation rooms,” Brenda’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s next up.”

You yank your arm away from Bucky when he blinks, a bit surprised himself. 

“Are you dead?” you whisper-yell.

“Only ‘cause the government declared it,” he sighs. “Do you know what a fuckin’ pain it is to get undead.” 

“Come on.” Brenda beckons to the both of you with her flashlight. 

With a slight shove, the door to the room swings open easily, but the smell of old paper and mildew floods your senses. 

The bed is now a rusted, sagging frame, the thin mattress long since torn and discolored with age. The once-clean sheets have yellowed and frayed, with remnants of old stains. Thin, brittle blankets lie in a heap on the floor.

The walls are bare, save for a few faded medical charts and broken instruments that were left behind in haste. The small window that once offered a faint glimpse of the outside is now cracked and filthy. The weak, filtered light that struggles through the dust-covered glass barely illuminates the room. 

“Patients who were highly contagious were quarantined here. Some of them died without family by their side, so you can still hear their cries. Some of them have problems breathing, so sometimes you’ll hear it through the vents,” Brenda explains. 

“I bet,” Bucky drags out, sending you a “I fuckin’ told you so” look.. 

Down the hall, something makes a loud sound, almost like something had crashed into the floor. 

All three of you turn towards it. 

Brenda’s face flickers for a moment before turning back to its regular calm. 

“I think someone’s angry,” she decides. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” you offer.

“I’ll be okay, I’ve known these people all my life. We’re friends,” she comforts. “Oh, sometimes if you look out the door, you’ll see shadows of people in the waiting room down the hall. They’re just old families lingering around, hoping for better results but they always leave upset.”

“Is there no way to get them out of here?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Unless you find a way to fix their disappointment, I doubt they'll leave. They’ll stick around until something improves or changes.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the implication. If that were truly the case, and not just something he concocted in the deep, self hating crevices of his mind, then he had to figure out which part of the fucked up mess that he was had pissed his sister off enough to come back to let him know she was disappointed. 

You nod at her and she nods, spinning on her heel to exit the room, but not before she stops for a second, hand on the doorframe as she catches her breath, and one hand on her spine.

“Are you okay?” you sound genuinely concerned.

She flashes you a thumbs up, leaving without so much as another word. 

“She’s gonna come back with some bullshit about the hospital canteen staff dropping their pans or some shit,” Bucky remarks.

“Yeah no, that was me. I just wanted her out of the room so we could discuss something,” you wave it off quickly. 

Bucky stares at you.

“What? I dropped a cart. It’s not a big deal. Anyway, listen–”

“She’s not a ghost,” he states resolutely.  

“But what if she is,” you insist, a wicked grin on your face. “Imagine saying we got a ghost tour. By a ghost.”

“I can imagine saying that, yes. I have a very wide and limitless imagination.” 

“Ugh, what if we’re meant to help her find her way back?” You peer over his shoulder to see if she’s walking back. 

In the distance another crash sounds through the empty hallways. Bucky stares at you.

“I’m just making sure, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone” you insist, dismissing it. 

“You could've just closed the door,” he says, extending one hand behind him to slide it closed.

“Don’t do that,” you blurt out.

He stops, eyebrow raised.  

“I don't like when doors are closed,” you shrug it off. “Anyway, back to the point. We should totally figure out how to help her exit this realm.”

He slides the door back open slowly, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“EVen if she were a ghost, which she’s not– she seems happy here. Maybe,” Bucky comments, taking a seat on the worn out bed. “I can’t really tell.”

“She can’t be. Imagine being forced to roam the same hallways over and over again till the end of time.” you shudder. “Sounds miserable.”

Bucky shrugs, poking at the pillow, watching a cloud of dust fly up from it. “Routine sounds fine to me.”

“I’d hate it,” you counter immediately. “I hate routines. Fucking inescapable once you get stuck in one.”

Bucky watches you curiously as you shift up and down the small room. “How do you get anything done?” 

“I can get things done without a routine.” The camera follows your command, checking outside the window or the door occasionally facing Bucky. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he replies, checking the time on his phone. It’d been a while since Brenda had gone to investigate.

“And having a routine totally makes you an easy target. Haven’t you watched any assassination movies?”

“No. I didn’t like bringing work home.”

You look at him in surprise before your face splits into a smile. 

Something makes a noise from the wall adjacent to the door. 

You both look at each other, and he gets off the bed to go see what the deal is. The door is adjacent to the wall, giving him a clear look into the hallway that was still empty. 

A faint wail sounds through the vent above his head. You take quick steps towards where he was, and the camera follows suit, pointing at the grill on the wall.

You stand underneath it, spirit box raised as close as you could get it, but the damn thing picks up nothing. 

Another noise comes through, almost like someone was wheezing, before the vent rattles, stopping altogether.

You stare at it, before taking a gigantic inhale and exhaling obnoxiously, forcing all the air out of your lungs with a wheeze. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky stares at you like you're insane. 

“Well, you can’t just back down,” you argue. “I’m gonna breathe louder than that thing.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

You give another gigantic inhale and exhale, rattling all the bones in your body, and the faint noise from the vent stops too. 

“We win,” you beam 

 “You’ve completely lost it.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. I totally won.”

“That’s not what I–” Bucky starts but stops himself when you grin at him devilishly. 

He sighs, asking instead, “Should we go looking for her?” 

“I guess so,” you shrug. “We’re not exactly cut to be her saviours right now. I’m pretty sure she knows the layout of the hospital better than we do if she’s been haunting it for fifteen years.”

“Where did you get that number?” he demands. 

“Does it matter?” you urge. “Didn’t realise you’re a valid ghost only if you have a certain number of years in haunting.”

Bucky ignores you, taking off down the hall. 

“If you had to haunt a hospital or a ship, what would you choose?” you quip, matching his pace. 

“Hospital,” he answers without thinking much.

“Why?”

“I spent a lot of time in them,” he tells you, voice clear. “Steve’s mom was a nurse. We’d meet her there a lot when he got his ribs broken or his nose busted.”

The memory, though faint, is enough to pull a smile from him. 

“He also used to be sick a lot, so I used to come pick up his medicine for him,” he adds. “They used to know us by name because we’d be there nearly every second day.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Every hospital in the state of New York has a chart for Steve even now.”

“Fuckin’ guy just dosn’t learn.” Bucky shakes his head with affection-laced irritation. 

The hallways stretch out endlessly, dim and wide. A few doors line the walls, some ajar, revealing only darkness inside. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the soft sound of you and your footsteps.

Bucky looks over at you. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you hum, small smile still on your face. 

“What would you haunt?

“Ship, I guess,” you reply. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”

“Should be your next job.”

“You gonna come with? We’ll turn it into a vlog.

“Fuck no.”

“Well, thanks for taking the time to really consider it,” you sing, not really offended. “Way to let me down gently, Barnes.”  

“What? It’s got nothin’ to do with you.” Bucky clarifies still, pausing before letting out, “I get seasick. Can’t be on water for more than five minutes before I’m throwing up all over the place. You want that in your vlog?”

It’s enough to elicit a laugh from you, that in turn makes the corner of his lip curl.

“We could always–

Right in front of him, something moves darts across the wall at the end of the hall.

It cuts you off mid-sentence too, the both of you glancing at each other before turning towards it again.

Against the glare of your flashlight, another shadow darts across the wall. 

“That’s what she was talking about,” you whisper, slightly in disbelief that she wasn't wrong. “Shadow people. Do you think they got to her?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, continuing to walk on ahead. 

“Um, hello?” you scramble to catch up with him. “Where is your self preservation?”

“Against what?” he asks stoically. 

“That,” you say pointedly at the wall, when another figure darts across the wall and disappears out of sight. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a shadow, the fuck’s it gonna do?”

“Haven’t you heard of shadow demons? Succumbing to darkness?” you chastise. 

Bucky stops walking, standing solidly in the middle of the hallway.

“Okay,” he says, refusing to budge. 

The hall goes silent, no movement other than the steady rise and falls of your chest. 

You stare at him. “Now what.”

“I'm waiting for them to do something,” he says. “I’m waiting to succumb to the darkness.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you bite, dragging him along with you. “And I’m tired, we’ve been walking for like, eight hundred hours. Let’s go.”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” he reminds you, taking a turn into the corner that the shadows disappeared into. “You did this to yourself.”

“Fine, next time I’ll bring an electric scooter with me.” You huff. “And I won’t even let you use it.”

“Where’d Brenda fuckin’ go?” Bucky mumbles, eyes squinting into the darkness to see if there are any clues.

“Where are you guys going?” Someone pipes up from behind you, sending the hairs on his neck up. 

The both of you spin around instantly, arms clenched in a fighting stance. 

“Sorry, it's a habit to take the scenic route back.” She chuckles, unfazed. “Not a lot to do when you’ve been here so long.”

The both of you lower your hands slowly, letting out an exhale.

“Y’all ready to head out?” she inquires, coolly. “I think it’s time we all get some rest.” 

The walk back is relatively quicker, ater she leads you down a path she calls a shortcut. 

The only thing that slowls you down are the occasional stops you had to make for her back ache.

Right by the entrance of the hospital, she holds onto the door frame again in the midst of explaining who was haunting the basements. 

After a particularly hard exhale and a clamour to stand back up, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat to ask, “Have you tried this stretch?”

“What?” Brenda asks, eyes curious. 

“Learnt it in physio. Doesn’t cure it, but it helps,” he explains, craning his neck to the sides, before taking a step ahead towards her.  

You watch him in thinly veiled delight as he shows her exactly what joint to bend and in which angle, and the degree to which she had to pivot.

He even uncomfortably guides her shoulders in the strangest yoga session you’d ever witnessed. 

“Should help,” Bucky mumbles, taking a step away. 

She raises her shoulders and drops it, lips pursuing and bows raising in a look that seems impressed. The small hunch she carried wit her seems to have disappeared too. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky doesn’t wait for a thanks or anything, taking a step away from her and towards the exit. 

“Now that you’ve fixed her back ache, how do we fix her haunting the place?” you ask lowly. 

“She’s not a fuckin’ ghost, she’s fine,” he whispers back. 

“Nothing about what she’s said tonight is normal,” you argue.

The night is clear and cool when you step out, the musty scent of the building dissipating almost immediately.

“Just say bye, we’re fuckin’ leaving,” Bucky shoots. 

You sigh loudly, giving him a glare at his lack of helpfulness before plastering a smile on your face and turning around. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Brenda,” you say, turning around to stick your hand out. “We sure couldn’t have–”

But she’s gone.

“Holy shit,” you say. 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the disturbance, before turning around fully. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I told you she was a ghost,” you gush. “You fixed her back ache and now she has crossed over to the other side.”

“Shut up,” he replies, looking all over the place for a sign of where she could have disappeared to. 

“You did it, Bucky, you helped a lonely spirit,” you cheer. 

“I did not.”

“Hey!” Someone shouts from afar, commanding your attention to the gate again. 

“Not again,” Bucky mumbles, eyes snapping shut. 

“More ghosts,” you point out excitedly. “Come on, Charon, ferry those spirits–”

“You ferry your own spirits, I’m going to sleep,” he interjects, fully intending on ignoring the person at the gate and simply getting in the car.

“What are you guys doing here?” A man pants, jogging up to the both of you before Bucky had the time to leave. 

“We were just taking a look around,” you say, sticking your hand out, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “We heard the place was haunted.”

“Ah, I see,” he replies, taking in your appearance. “Podcasters?”

“No,” Bucky replies instantly. 

“We were just leaving,” you cut in. “We already got a tour by this ghost, and Bucky totally sent her to the afterlife.”

“I did not,” he seethes. 

“She disappeared after saying ominous shit this entire evening, what do you call that?” you challenge. 

“Going home,” Bucky responds, frustrated that he was clearly not afforded the same privilege.  

“Uh–” the guy holds up his finger. “--not to intrude, but you got a tour by a ghost?”

“Yes,” you bubble over with excitement. 

“And this ghost… did they have a backache?”

Bucky’s interest piques, the irritation giving way to intrigue . 

“You know her?” you puzzle.

“Uh yeah, that’s Brenda,” he admits sheepishly. “She’s very much alive.”

Bucky would have sworn he had never been this elated in his life, but unfortunately he realises very quickly that he simply does not care.  

 “She said she was a security guard here– wait, who are you?”  you tilt your head at him, seemingly not upset at all. It reduces Bucky’s non-existent triumph even more. 

“Travis Dowell, Labyrinth Inc. representative,” he says, shaking your hand. “We’re–”

“--the company that bought the place,” you complete, eyebrow raised.  

“Yeah.” He nods. “Brenda was a security guard here for nearly thirty years. We had to let go of her when we bought the hospital. We’ve been trying to turn it into an apartment for years, but there’s a lot of red tape that we have to get past because of healthcare reasons.”

“Yeah, she told us that it got bought,” you follow along. 

“Hospital was in the worst financial situation possible. There was just no way out.” He shrugs. “But she was super attached to this place. She didn’t take the redevelopment plans well, so she’s taken it upon herself to make sure it never happens, I guess? I don’t know, she spends a lot of time here convincing people that it’s haunted so that people don’t build anything here. She’s got an apartment close by so she knows when someone’s around. You’ll probably find her there, if you want.”

“You guys know about her?” Bucky questions, crease between his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah, we do,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We sorta ignore her. Her schtick’s annoying, but it’s not the reason we haven’t demolished this place yet. Once all the zoning issues get cleared up, the building’s coming down. And besides, all the PR’s just gonna have people pay a shit ton to stay here. You know, novelty of it being haunted, and all that.” 

“How’d you know we were here?” you ask pointedly. 

“We’ve set up motion sensors in the place?” he replies. “You may have seen them. The red lights in the operation rooms. We know she takes people there.”

“Oh, that’s what that was,” you turn to Bucky who simply shakes his head lightly. 

“Yeah, she really goes the extra mile.” Travis shifts from one leg to the other. “There’s raccoons in the morgue that start running around if she hits the door. What else… oh yeah, she’s made a hole in one of the isolation rooms to make noises through the wall.”

Bucky wonders what will happen of all the footage now that none of it was essentially real. It made sense why she kept trying to find out where the video was going to be posted and how many people were going to view it now, as if a large number of views were going to save her beloved building. 

“So you’ll just let her do whatever until the demolition happens?” you question. 

“If it gets her to stop vandalising our office downtown.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t make a difference to us either way.”

“Right. So the real horror…” you say. “...is capitalism.”

Travis stares at you, before raising and dropping his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Alright.” You blow out an exhale. “Well, was anything about tonight real?”

“I mean, she really does have back pain,” he adds helpfully.

You turn to Bucky. “Net positive, then.”

Sure. Why the fuck not.

“Okay, Travis, thanks for this. You’ve been an immense help,” you say aloud, hoisting the camera onto your shoulders. “You can watch us on The Graveyard Shift, if we can figure out what to do with all these videos now.”

“Sorry about that,” he replies, shoving his fists into his pocket. “Good night.”

You watch as he turns and jogs away to his car that was parked a bit closer to the gate than yours was. 

Bucky plucks the camera off your shoulder and places it under his arm, even though he’s well aware you can carry fifteen of them at once.

“That was fun,” you tell him, seemingly over it already. 

“I’m fuckin’ starving,” he replies. 

Bucky should be glad then, that he didn’t bother with the children’s ward, if nothing about tonight was real–

“Travis, wait,” you shout all of a sudden. “What about the shadows?” 

“What shadows?” he calls back, confused. 

“The shadow people moving across the hall from the isolation room?”

He raises his eyebrows. “We haven't heard reports of that.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hell yeah,” you reply, knocking into his shoulder. “Haunted hospital, baby.”

When you walk into the dining room, you don’t really expect anyone to be there that late at night.

But fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail and an oversized t-shirt perched at the kitchen counter catches you off guard, dulling the arguing between you and Bucky as you argue the logistics of Brenda having a hand in the shadow demons. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Nat keeps her mug down on the counter before hopping off the chair. You note that it’s the same one you got her a few weeks ago from the flea market, the blue ceramic one.

“Oh, hi!” you smile wide, when she pulls you into a hug. “I thought you were in Lagos.”

“I was,” she replies, pulling away. “Got done early.”

“Of course you did. Overachiever.”

In the end of the common room, Bucky can hear the faint sounds of late night infomercials play through the TV. Clint’s legs hung off the couch as he lay snoring in front of it, blanket dropped on the floor in a heap. 

“Hot chocolate?” she offers. 

“I’m good, we went to the drive-through before coming back.” You beckon with your shoulder towards Bucky. 

She finally turns to him. “Hey.”

Bucky gives her a curt nod, glad that she’s back safe. 

“Why were you out so late?” She gives him a onceover, before raising an eyebrow. “Together.”

“Hospital date.”

“Video shoot,” he says at the same time, glaring at you. You shrug. 

Nat’s lip trails up into a smirk. “Put on your big boy pants and finally admit your crush?”

Bucky drags a palm down his face. “I do not have a crush.”

“If you say so,” she concedes innocently, eyeing him over the rim of her hot chocolate.  

“Are you all in on this? Do you have a quota to reach?” he groans. “Why’s everyone asking me this?”

“Who is ‘everyone’?” you sound delighted. 

“If you don’t want people to call you out on our shit, maybe don’t walk around with heart eyes,” Nat comments.  

Buck’s look is ice cold, but Nat just gives him a wink when you laugh. 

“Hey, I needed to talk to you about something.” She turns to you. “You free for a second?”

“Always,” you reply in earnest. 

Nat leads you a few steps away, hand on your shoulder.  

Bucky takes his seat at the counter, stealing a sip from Nat’s mug. Of course, it was fantastic. Overachiever.

He tunes out intentionally, focusing on the fact that Clint was splayed out on the couch with the TV on a low volume. He knows for a fact the blonde was asleep, and probably would wake up with the worst neck pain in his life, but this was the life he chose.

After watching Clint nearly fall off the couch twice, he looks away, not intending on prying on your conversation but vaguely watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye.

He frowns at what he sees. Nat’s face has turned solemn while she talks to you in hushed tones. Your eyebrows were pulled together, arms crossed over your chest. 

Bucky feels a shift in the air, but he’s not sure what exactly has gone down. 

Nat finally tells you something surely, and you nod. She cups the side of your face and you force out a smile at her, before her hand drops.

The both of you make your way back to him. He turns his gaze back to the counter. 

“You owe me a hot chocolate,” Nat tells him, before giving him a quick kiss on the temple and stealing her cup right back. 

“I barely drank any,” he retorts, eyes still trained on you.

The TV clicks off and she drags a half asleep Clint back down the hall to his bedroom while the man rubbed at his shoulders, trailing behind her obediently. 

Meanwhile, you grab a glass of water from the tap, drinking it slowly as you head towards the elevator.

“G’night, Buck,” you tell him, passing by him.

“Hold on,” he says, voice less gruff than before as he watches you, face tight, “What’s going on?

You observe him for a few long seconds, but he gets the sense you aren’t exactly looking at him. Your eyes are slightly glazed over, and your mind is… elsewhere. 

“What do you do when people refuse to let go of something you’ve already escaped?” you ask finally.  

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together tighter.  

“Do you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you?” you say, voice strange. “Like there’s nowhere to go?”

“Where is this coming from? What’d Nat tell you?”

It seems to snap you out of whatever funk you were in, at least partially. “It’s probably nothing.”

His frown only deepens. “Is someone threatening you?”

“No, nothing like that.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Bucky stares after you as you press the button to the elevator. He isn’t really sure what to make of the what you just shared. He isn’t even sure he should ask Nat about it later on considering that she didn’t want him listening in now. 

He watches the light above the elevator light up before a ding sounds through. 

“Just so you know–”  

Bucky’s eyes snap back to you, one step in the elevator. 

“I had a codename, too,” you tell him. “I just never liked it.”

Bucky is only left staring as you disappear into the elevator, leaving him in silence. 

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Next part

[notbojack]

I love your hcs for the linkuei trio, very funny :3

Can I request hcs of annoying things they do? Like they're messy and stuff like that. I don't think I've ever seen anyone exploring a part of them like that and I'm curious what it would be like 😅

I'll do as best as I can pookie :D

the Lin kuei bros and annoying things they do

Bi han

Dang. Here we go again

The first annoying thing about him that's very noticeable is that he has a resting bitch face

No matter if he's actually annoyed, indifferent etc, he WILL have that same frown. He def had some misunderstandings because of it

"Stop giving me attitude young man" "I'm not doing anything"

Actual conversation between an elder of the clan and him btw

He's judgmental. That we know ofc

If you do something that he deems is not the "right" way to do it, he will try to correct you. That is SO annoying when trying to get something done and someone beside you is like "that's not how you do it"

Anyway-

It's hard to make him laugh honestly. If you make a bad joke he'd just slowly turn to stare at you

When he jokes, it's probably a smart quip said in a deadpan tone that most people have to actually think about it for a few seconds to get it

Yk when teachers randomly come up to your desk to stare at your work in a tense silence while you stress out? Yeah that's bi han

He'd just come randomly to you at training to see if you're getting better. Does he know it stresses out most students to get stared at when training? It's a mystery, but he doesn't look like he cares much

Sigh. People, I'm sorry to say it, but he probably wouldn't like shy people

He just doesn't understand how someone can be shy. For him it's a sign of weakness

He won't mind if someone is mostly silent and efficient, but he will mind if someone is too shy to get job done

He mostly cares about competence after all

Oh, last thing, he's a sore loser

He's not allowed to play board games in this household anymore

Kuai liang

Why is Tomas being a pretty princess behind kuai liang-

Anyway

He's similar to bi han. He honestly copies him without noticing. At least he did that when he was a kid

It can come off as annoying if you're trying to joke around and he does bi han's slow turn

You have to explain the joke for him to crack a smile most of the time

He's stubborn. Yk the type of stubborn to actually write up a Wikipedia text to confirm his opinion even when he's wrong. Ik they're not familiar with the internet, but he'd be the type to do that if he was so

He gossips

Ik it sounds odd said like that, like "how can a trained ninja gossip like a schoolgirl!". Well, he does, just more discreetly

If someone starts talking shit about someone he dislikes (example bi han after his betrayal COUGH COUGH) he WILL get in the conversation

Though he tries to be subtle, he's obviously liking tea time from time to time

Guys.. he forgets anniversaries

Don't take it personal though. It could be valentine, anyone's birthday, new year, it doesn't change the result

I can see him randomly ask for the date after people act weird and then hearing what date it is (again, any special event) and he'd be like "really?" LIKE BRO DIDN'T KNOW

I think it's because he doesn't care much about what date it is, having other things to worry about

He's ridiculously charming

Ik people when hearing that would be "how is that annoying?" Well, it is if you're his partner and see other women flirt with him. He'd probably be polite but refuse the advances

Still annoying af though

That and because he can get away with many things because of it. Countless of times when they were kids, one of his brothers would get scolded instead of him because their father believed more in kuai liang and thought he could never do such thing

He did

He just has a way with words. He understands social cues and use it to his advantage

Yes, it is pretty manipulative, but most people just see him as a cool dude anyway so he gets a free pass

Tomas vrbada

Bbg (war criminal)

He's a prankster. That can be annoying when he does it to you instead of his brothers

He will always pretend to have done no wrong with a smirk that CLEARLY tells you he's the one you did it, but you have no proof of it

As I said, he's a little shit-

He will tease about quite literally anything, just to annoy

Why? Why not

Yes, he is a kind and noble man. No, that does not keep him away from being mischievous

If you have some typpa crush on him, he WILL know. No matter how much you try to hide it, he's unfortunately very observant

Example, he will flex his muscles while training if he notices you looking, though subtly and making it look accidental of course. He might even wink at you if he's feeling particularly bold that day

He's one of those that "doesn't want to take sides" when a conflict comes up, though he ends up taking a side anyway because he's forced to

Is a nerd about animals. He's the type that's like "Well actually-" if you get a fact wrong about an animal

He knows, he's been a hunter before

It is irritating if you talk about your favorite animal and he corrects you. like bro let me enjoy stuff

"I like raccoons, they're funny-" said anyone (or you) before Tomas corrects them by saying weird ass facts about raccoons

He's a "no, you pick" in a relationship most of the time. And most of the time, it's chill, but sometimes it is kinda hard if you both say that. It just won't end

Yk that annoying couple that's giggling and all "no, you pick!" Until it actually turns into an argument? It reminded me of that

He's insanely lucky at board games. Like BRO wdym you just picked a card that said you own the bank now?!

He'd taunt about it too

As I said, he's very perceptive. Don't try hiding stuff, he will know if you're hiding stuff or if something is wrong and etc

"Did you eat my dessert in the fridge?" "No" "I know you're lying"

Actual conversation between one of his brother and him

He'd pester until he gets the truth, too

Well that's all bbg, I hope it's alright!

Gifs not from me. I got inspired by some mk fanfics and environment lol

[soxcietyy]

Star 18+

Gojo x reader

A trouble maker pop star who was planning on meeting an influencer gets caught by her annoyingly smart bodyguard.

You walk off the stage panting from the Philippines heat wave. You were currently going on tour in Asia having back to back dates in different cities. You thought it was going to be hard but thankfully you had your trusty crew touring with you.

Handing your microphone to a staff member you walk to your changing room to take off all the makeup and clothes you were wearing. As much as you loved it and looked great in it you couldn’t help but want to feel free from them. If someone had warned you about how hot it got here you would have probably had better costumes and clothes suited for the weather.

You began by taking your jewelry off, that being rings, bracelets and necklaces. It wasn’t a bad process but on exhausting days you would dread it. It had happened too many times but once you fell asleep in the corner after a show and everyone had been looking for you frantically. They thought you had gotten kidnapped or worst. After a few hours you were found and scolded for it. That is why you had a bodyguard keeping an eye out for you now.

"Gojo, you don’t have to stay in here, you can wait outside." You say as you look in the mirror to see him standing right behind you. It was hard to notice his presence at first but now you could tell when he was there or not.

"No can do siren I have to keep a hard eye on you. Don’t you remember what happened last time?"

"Would you quit with that nickname?"

Last time you tried to go to a club after a show by climbing through a window. Unfortunately he had caught you when half of your body was out. He’d grabbed you by the leg and yanked you back inside. You weren’t allowed to go to such places because of the risk of getting seen and dragged into a scandal. Your PR team would hate if that happened again. So there was a rule of only being allowed to go to the hotel and stadium.

That was fine though, the rule was that you had to only be at those two locations . Nothing about when and with who. Recently you’ve been sneaking guys into the back so you could hook up with them. Nothing wrong with a bit of after relaxation.

"No can do Siren, hurry up so I can go home." He said.

You roll you eyes and make him turn around as you dress into a skirt, baby tee, and some chunky sneakers. You made sure to put a hat on before leaving the room with Gojo.

"Alright I’ll be on my way, see you tomorrow night." You glance at him before walking down the hall. You watched from the corner of your eye as he stood there watching you walk away.

By the time you made it down stairs you went into a stairwell where a guy in all black sat waiting for you. You didn’t really have a type, all they needed was to be was attractive. They were quite easy to find on the internet. Especially if they were influencers because they could not afford to have there reputation tainted. You could always build yourself back up with your talent. They couldn’t. Today you got lucky enough to get with one of the Philippines most popular vlogger.

Had over 160 million followers, was rich, had such a nice body and was a real looker.

You made sure to take your time back up to the dressing room. He should definitely be gone by now so that gave you the chance to use this room to let of some stea-

"Leave before I slam you to the ground." Gojo said as he leaned on the makeup table.

You looked at him in disbelief until the guy behind you quickly ran away. How did he know? Did he never leave? Has he known about this? You weren’t able to see his facial expression’s clearly due to him wearing those stupid sunglasses inside. You just wanted to tear them off and slap the smug smirk off his face.

Letting out a heavy sigh you turn around to leave but his voice stopped you from taking any further action.

"Not you"

Your heels turn once more to see him approaching you. It took him two strides to reach your personal space. You tilted your head up to look at those glossy sunglasses peering over you.

"Pull your skirt up and bend over the table."

Your eyes widen.

"Excuse me?! What the hell are you telling me to do?! You think you can get me to do anything because you’re my body guard?! Well I have news for you! Your fi-"

"A new rule was established Siren, they caught up with your little sneak ins and now have me making sure you don’t meet up with anyone outside the stadium or hotel. They don’t want you having relations with anyone they don’t have investigated." He smiled.

"Fine, just let me go I haven’t even done anything with him yet." You cross your arms.

"Sorry but you took a while to get back here, from all I know you guys already have done it." He says before taunting his head at the table.

You bit your cheek before dragging your legs towards the mirror. You scrunch your skirt up and bend over the table.

You were definitely going to say something about this to the company! No maybe you should file a lawsuit because this had to be a violation. You have your lawyers on speed dial so this shouldn’t be a problem. You just had to wait for him to put his hands on you so you could file one.

He was now behind you looking at what was Infront of him. You saw as he bent down and pulled your panties down to your ankles. He made you step out of them so he could spread your legs apart. You hid your face as you felt him spread your folds too. This was so humiliating. It just had to be that jerk.

"Hm I don’t know siren your pretty wet down here. I’m going to have to inspect further. Just keep standing still and don’t move." He said as he shoved his fingers in your hole. You jolt from the sudden feeling and bite your lip.

He was moving his fingers aggressively and quickly. You cover your mouth as he kept moving but you could help but let some whimpers escape. Your legs would twitch everything his fingers pressed on a certain spot and once he realized this he kept pestering it. Your legs began to buckle as you were close to your climax but before you could he slipped his fingers out of you.

"Siren, you feel pretty good down there but something feels off. Be honest," he stood up and leaned over you. Removing a hand from your mouth he held it as he took his sunglasses off so you could meet his cold gaze. "Did you play with yourself using these fingers?"

Your face turned into a crimson red.

"Naughty Siren." He whispers making you rub your heat onto him. "Such a needy thing. From now on if you’re going to play with yourself you need to tell me so we don’t have to go through this whole process. I’ll need to watch though to make sure it’s your fingers you’re using and not someone else’s." He kisses the top of your head.

"Saturo I can’t anymore, stop teasing me and put it in." You bite out.

"No relations remember siren?"

You turn around and shove him onto the makeup chair. You quickly climb on top and straddle him. He had no idea how badly you wanted this, wanted him. Never have you felt this desperate till now.

"I’ll stop sneaking out, I’ll stop meeting other men only if you do it with me. Anytime I want day and night. It will make your job easier and it well help me get the released I need." You say.

He analyzed you before letting out a laugh.

"Alright alright siren, didn’t know you were so needy. Here hold these for me." He said as he placed his sunglasses on you to wear. He turned you around to face the mirror as he undid his pants. Once his member sprang free he aligned you with it and slammed you down sending electricity down your spine.

He held you by your thighs as he used you as his sleeves. Using you to his hearts content. This was such a great view for the bodyguard to look at in the mirror. Having a pop star on his dick as you wore his sunglasses. Seeing how much you were enjoying him.

He knew anyone would kill to have you like this, to even see you in such a state. Such a shame that you were for his eyes only from now on. He was going to make sure that you became so obsessed with him and you wouldn’t want to leave him.

With a few more slams you became a mess. You moaned out his name as you rode your orgasm.

"That’s it my siren, sing for me."

[cut-the-camera]

Soulmate | Liam Lawson x Male! Reader Part 1

I've never written a soulmate au before but I wanted to give it a go! This is the version where you have the same mark as your soulmate

Liam had two obsessions, racing and finding his soulmate. His mark had always been a distraction to him throughout his entire life, he drew it on books at school, read articles about it, spent hours staring at it in the mirror etc.

He did always keep it covered though, when he started to gain a little bit of notoriety and got to the stage where people were taking pictures of him he always kept it covered because it was insanely precious to him. He didn't want it to be broadcast to the internet for everyone to see, he'd heard horror stories of the other drivers having people pretend to be their soulmate by drawing marks or getting them tattooed in fits of obsession and he did not want that.

He found himself examining everyone he met, he knew that his soulmate would have the same mark as him on the inside of their wrist but that is all he knew, hell he didn't even know what gender they were going to be seeing as he was 99.9% sure he was bisexual. He checked the wrists of everyone he ever came across whether it's the guy in the drive through at McDonalds, the flight attendants, the journalists, the photographers, the security, the the fans, the fucking royalty that handed out the trophies all while keeping his own mark under wraps and jumpers and the sleeves of his race suit even under the harshest heat of the desert or the warm New Zeland summers

Only a few of the drivers knew what and where his mark was with one of them being Yuki seeing as the pair lived together for a long period of time. Yuki helped his friend in the quest to find his soulmate whether it was asking to see peoples wrists when Liam felt awkward doing so or scaring people who weren't his soulmate away from him

He watched the other drivers swan into the garages with smug faces, wedding rings, uncovered marks and new photos of people on their lock screens and it was driving him wild. He watched Max with Kelly, Charles with Alexandra and Alex and Oscar both find soulmates called Lily and it was starting to feel like he was the only driver without someone cheering for him.

The thing that pushed him over the edge was when Kimi found his soulmate before he did. The boy was only 18 and he was twenty fucking three it wasn't fair.

He went to Yuki and he ranted about that very fact. It wasn't fair! It wasn't long before he was tearing up, being awkwardly patted by Yuki who didn't quite know what to do other than listen to Liam talk about how badly he wanted to meet his soulmate and how scared he was that he never would

There was one night when it reached 2am and Liam was doom scrolling on tiktok. Swiping video after video like 'top ten places to go with your soulmate' 'here are the soulmates of all the drivers of the f1 grid' 'like this video and you'll find your soulmate' 'predicting Liam lawson's soulmark' 'Max verstappen announce gender of child with soulmate Kelly Piquet' 'you'll meet your soulmate on 23rd April if you share and like this video' and it just broke him

He blocked the word soulmate from all of his social medias and decided that he did not care. He didn't care about finding his soulmate, he stopped checking people's wrists, he stopped talking about it and only focused on his racing career

He pretended he didn't care that he had no one to jump into the arms of after he got his red bull seat and he pretended that he didn't care that he didn't have any ones arms to cry into when he lost his red bull seat just a few weeks later

One random Friday, Yuki practically broke down the door of the Racing Bulls garage panting like he'd just ran a marathon, screaming his name so frantically that Liam feared he'd have to call an ambulance in a moment

"LIAM!! LIAM WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!!" Liam poked his head out from behind the wall.

"What?! What's wrong?!"

"Redbull has new mechanic!" Yuki panted out. Liam freezes for a moment, confused. It felt the tiniest bit insensitive given that he'd just been booted out of the red bull garage.

"What?"

"Just come on you have to see him!" Yuki lurched forwards and grabbed his wrist, pulling him with a surprising force.

"Yuki what the fuck are you trying to show me?" He asked as they stopped on front of the red bull car that you were leaning over, spanner in hand.

"don't you see?!"

"see what?!"

"oh my god!" Yuki charged forwards and grabbed you by the wrist, catching you off guard so you didn't think to fight it, wondering where the shorter man was taking you. He dragged you away from the car and closer to Liam, thrusting your wrist until your hand hit Liam's chest, your soul mark on full display

Liam gaped at it like a fish in a bowl for a moment, frozen in shock. He finally looked up and caught your beautiful, albeit confused gaze which prompted him to start ripping at the coverings on his wrist, yanking at the tight fitting fabric of his fireproof suit until he managed to show you his wrist, his mark.

Two identical, star shaped soul marks pressed together.

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

REQUESTS

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Crush Culture (Tim Drake x F!Reader Pt 1 )

Prompt: Tim’s finally mustered up the courage to confess to his crush. Armed with contradictory, questionable advice from all his brothers what could possibly go wrong? (1.3k words)

Tim’s got himself a reputation for his wits. He’s known in the family for his quick thinking and uncanny ability of uncovering the optimal solution in a record amount of time. 

He isn’t some prodigal child as some like to think. No, he had to hone his talents through countless hours of analysis and research. Be it mastering the technical know how of the latest gadgets on the black market, or his laser point accuracy in predicting an enemy’s next move in a fight, there was nothing that Tim couldn’t decipher without some investigation.

Well, except perhaps the current conundrum he found himself in.

It’s been a while since Tim concluded he has a crush on you. All the signs were there, the mix of anticipation and excitement that courses through him whenever he makes plans to hang out with you. The way blood rushes to his cheeks when you compliment him on something. Then there’s the fact you’re the first person he thinks of when he’s got good news to share. And perhaps the finally nail in the coffin is how lately, he finds his mind wandering to thoughts of you, and instead of pushing them away he finds himself soaking in the warm sunshine feelings they evoke.

Coming to terms with his feelings wasn’t the hard part, it was what comes after which proved to be tricky for Tim.

Ever since he established that he likes you more than a friend, he came to the conclusion that he ought to confess his feelings. He wanted to know if you felt the same, he wanted to explore what more than friends would look like, if that were to be a possibility. 

Now this was fairly uncharted territory for Tim. His adolescent years were characterised by an emotionally constipated father, chaotic siblings and patrolling the streets of Gotham in Spandex in the twilight hours. All of this didn’t leave much room for day dreaming about crushes or exploring most of those teenage firsts with someone else.3

Tim’s usual go-to method of internet research quickly reached a dead end when the first 2 questions he searched up immediately led him to Manosphere content. He would much rather avoid the red pill blue pill route thank you.

He didn’t want to sit down and have any sort of painfully awkward ‘talk’ with his dad about any of this either. He could already picture Bruce grimacing at the mere thought of entertaining such questions. 

But perhaps none of that needs to be a roadblock. He’s lucked out with not one but two older siblings, Dick and Jason. There’s also his younger sibling, Damian, and though the boy seems to mostly be made of sarcasm and snark, he can be mature when he wants to.

Now, would Tim consider them to be fully functional, well adjusted members of society? Dick yes, the others could pass for that on good days, yes. But surely between the three of them they ought to have some good advice for a brother in a rut right?

“Girls like a guy who’s got a bit of mystery about him. Don’t reveal all your secrets, you need to keep her guessing” Jason uttered sagely. Though his wiseman schtick was being somewhat undermined what with the way he had his feet kicked up on the dinner table. His breakfast choice of pancakes with an all too generous serving of whipped cream wasn’t doing him any favours either. Not that Tim was gonna point that out.

“You need to be attentive, show that you care by being a good listener. You must know what she likes, maybe you should surprise her with her favourite flowers or her favourite drink” Dick chimed in from his seat opposite to Jason. 

“You’re still stuck in your Rom-Com Hallmark film era” Jason huffed in response, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I’d advice you not be corny, but that would be futile given that’s your perpetual state of being” Damian remarked in a neutral tone before taking a bite of his eggs. Right. Tim just gonna’s chalk that up as Damian’s attempt at being helpful.

Dick snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up as he leans in conspiratorially “Humour! A good sense of humour always does the trick. You can put her at ease by making her laugh”

“I believe it’s a dry sense of humour that’s in today. Sarcasm, when done right can look real smooth” Jason counters, as he languidly rocks in his chair.

The conversation pauses when the boys hear footsteps. Bruce emerges from the hall, the shadow under his eyes coupled with his stubbled jaw serving as evidence of his late night patrol. “Oh you’re all down already? What have you been-“ 

“Tim has a crush but he needs advice on how to confess cause he doesn’t know how” Damian states flatly before Bruce is able to finish his question. 

Tim all but sputters at Damian, who pointedly avoids eye contact with him as he brushes off an imaginary piece of dust off his cardigan. 

Bruce freezes for a moment before slowly, almost mechanically turning to face Tim. There’s a beat of eye contact, before he gives a stiff nod at Tim’s reddening face.

“Alright… seems like your brothers have you covered. I’ll leave you to it” he remarks before turning on his heel. He seems more relieved than Tim that he’s got an excuse to sit this one out.

“Don’t forget the patrol schedule for tonight” he calls out as he walks away. Tim has a feeling that’s the reason Bruce came into the kitchen in the first place.

After a few more helpful(?) anecdotes shared by his brothers, Jason stands up to stretch, “Right, time for me to go brush up on some fighting tactics”. Damian perks up at his words, seemingly ready to follow.

As the brothers begin to vacate the kitchen, Dick offers Tim a bright smile, signalling a thumbs up as he mouths ‘You got this’.

Right. Be nice and welcoming, but also mysterious. But not standoffish. Be warm but not overly familiar either in case he comes off as corny. That’s easy. He’s totally not nervous after that. Tim rapidly taps his fingers on the table, the motion an attempt to distract himself as his mind swims through all the information he gathered to figure out an optimal solution.

His phone buzzes, pulling him out of his internal monologue. Oh look at that, it’s a call from (Name). Perfect.

Tim takes a steading breath before answering.