Fuck It’s 8 Am And I Am Now Devastated By Tony’s Death All Over Again 😭

At this point I’m a @fanficimagery fan page.

But I don’t care your fics are to good for me to not share them

The Alpha’s Sister

Imagine coming home for Thanksgiving break and letting your family know you’re moving back home. Life in Beacon Hills ends up being a rollercoaster, but what a fun ride it is.

Words: 9.3K Author’s Note: Um, excuse me.. but how the hell have y'all let me go so long without writing anything for Derek Hale?! I wrote three books, each book having 77 chapters, and not a single imagine for my favorite werewolf.  Warning for this..? Some violence though it’s not detailed. And Scott’s pack only consists of his inner circle (Stiles, Derek, Lydia and Malia). I wasn’t a fan of the baby beta or his friends.

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God I LOVE YOU SO MUCH !

You cannot imagine how this mad me happy from the moment I started reading I had a smile on my face !! It feels so good to read something that I can relate to a 100% !

(Also I’m sorry for reading it so late I had a busy day but I was so exited when I saw the notification)

I cannot explain how grateful I am for this ! THANK YOUUU

It was perfect 🤩

Heeey babeee !! I wanted to ask something but only if you are comfortable writing about it

Bucky with Muslim reader and like him kinda learning about it because you know the 40’s and like maybe him being confused at first and like with time he learns about it and start doing things for the reader to make it easy on her

(Idk if this ask makes sens I’m kinda scared to send it because when I ask for Muslim reader people just ignore me )

Since it’s almost Ramadan I have based it around this ❤️ Thank you for entrusting me with this, I hope you enjoy it xx No warnings just sweet Bucky and fluffiness!

Ramadan with Bucky

The kitchen was busier than usual, then again most days were busier than usual with half the population suddenly reappearing. There were twice as many hungry mouths to feed and yet the volunteer numbers had dropped off to take care of their own families who had returned. Not one to complain, you worked twice as fast to dish up plates of food for the people desperate for what could possibly be the only meal they had that day.

“Heads up, your boyfriend’s here.” Your friend nudged you as she nodded her head to the door.

You looked up and smiled as Bucky made his way through the crowd, a few of the veterans stopping him to shake hands until he reached the table you were set up at. He pulled on a pair of gloves and squeezed through the other volunteers, asking to swap places until he was next to you and in charge of putting a bread roll on each plate that went by. You hadn’t been sure he would actually come when you first invited him but a year later he was still there every week, albeit when hero duty called.

The day Bucky moved into the building you had been living in was the day everything changed for you. His company seemed to make everything better no matter how rough your day was, even before you got to talking just a smile across the hall could make all the difference. It had taken him weeks to summon the courage and talk to you until one day when you both arrived at the building door at the same time.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me but do you want to go to lunch?” He asked nervously. “With me, um, obviously.”

You had chuckled as he tipped his head back and whispered ‘seriously, Bucky” to himself before you shook your head. “I would love to but I can’t right now, it’s Ramadan.”

His eyebrows pinched together at the unfamiliar word and he fidgeted with his house keys. “Uh, yeah it’s no worries. I get it.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

He shook his head with a shy smile. “I have no idea, but I would love to hear you tell me about it.”

That was a year ago and Bucky had come so far.

“Ramadan mubarak.”

His greeting warmed your heart and you felt your neck heating up under your hijab as you returned the greeting. “Has Sam been giving you lessons?”

“He tried but apparently I’m not very good at listening to him. At least that's what I think he said.”

His lopsided grin left you disarmed and it wasn’t until your friend nudged you that you remembered what you were doing and handed another plate of food over with an apology.

“I was thinking, you should invite your family over for iftar.” You nearly dropped the plate you were holding at his suggestion. “It’s closer to the mosque from our place anyway.”

“Are you sure?” You asked between handing over plates. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I’m sure, doll. It’s your religion, a part of who you are. Plus, I think it’s time I met your family. Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Of course I do.” You assured him with a smile. “I’d really like that.”

You were exhausted as you walked up the many flights of steps to your apartment, the first week of fasting leaving you tired at the end of the day. Thankfully Bucky was with you, carrying your bags and promising you that you were almost at the top as he helped you with his arm around your back. He took your keys and unlocked the door, getting you settled on the couch while he hung your bag behind the door.

“Get some rest, doll.” Bucky said as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

He draped the blanket from the back of your couch over your body as you nestled into the cushions to have a rest before it was time for iftar. You could still remember his confusion last year when you had explained Ramadan. He had grown up during the Great Depression and found it difficult to understand why you would fast when he had first hand felt the hunger pains of a home empty of food. After listening to your explanation and asking a few questions of his own, he had understood and wanted to help make the month long celebration easier for you.

“I forgot to say,” Bucky’s voice startled you as the door opened and you hadn’t expected him to come back to your apartment until sunset so you had removed your hijab, “I went to the market earlier. Oh, sorry!”

He spun around, facing his own apartment door as you pulled the blanket over your head to protect your modesty with a squeak and you repinned the material in place, checking your hair was all tucked away before lowering the blanket.

“I should have knocked, shit, I’m sorry.” He dropped his head.

“It was an accident.” You gave him a small smile so he would relax a bit and nodded to the bag in his hand as you stood up. “What’s that?”

“Oh, yeah I went to the market and got you some fresh dates.” He said holding it up. “I figure like most things they have to be better when they are fresh.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” You said as your voice threatened to break at the sweet thought. “I invited my parents over tonight, I hope you don’t mind, they sounded really excited. My father wanted to know if you would come with us to the mosque after dinner.”

“I don’t think I would be welcome in any holy place.” His lips pulled into a sad smile. “The things I did as the Winter Soldier…”

“If any one does evil or wrongs his own soul but afterwards seeks God’s forgiveness, he will find God Oft-forgiving, Most Merciful.” You recited as you took his metal hand in his. “You are welcome but only come if you are comfortable. There are lots of people who come and observe during Ramadan, you wouldn’t be alone.”

“Wouldn’t I be with you?” He frowned, he always walked you there and waited outside but what went on inside the mosque was still something of a mystery to him.

“Women have a separate space for prayer.”

“So you father was-”

“Wanting to spend time with you.” You grinned. “That’s a good thing.”

“Ok.” He nodded, his back straightening as his resolve set in. “I can do this, it’ll be good.”

“You’ve got this.” You said with a squeeze to his hand. “I’m sure you’ve met plenty of women's parents in your 107 years.”

“Never, actually.” He laughed as he pulled you into a hug. “In my day we only met parents if we were serious or thinking about proposing.”

“I’m glad you think this is serious.”

“I’ve never been so serious in my life.” He admitted softly. “Imagine if Steve could see me now. He would love you, but probably think you are too kind for my surliness.”

“You’re not surly, ok, not so much anymore.” You said as you stifled a yawn.

“Get some rest, I won’t distract you anymore.” He said as he released you from the hug.

“I’ll see you later, right?” You asked as he opened your door. “When mom and dad get here?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

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promise

frank castle x reader

It was the first time in a long time Frank was in a deep sleep, when he heard a loud bang on his front door.

He was out of bed, half-asleep, gun cocked as he made his way to the sound, fearing the worst. As he quietly opened the door, gun ready, he let out a groan when he recognized your prone body collapsed outside of it.

“What the fuck, I was sleeping.”

You glared up at him half-heartedly. “Just calling in a favor, Castle.”

He could tell you were injured, blood staining your jacket and trailing from a cut on your cheekbone. He didn’t even think twice as he leaned down to carefully scoop you up into his arms and into his apartment; you’d done it for him enough time that he really did owe you one.

“What is it this ti-fucking christ.”

You’d pulled your jacket off, lifting up your sweater to reveal the 8 inch gash along your side. It was deep, blood pumping out at a terrifying amount.

“Just a quick stitch-n-ditch, I promise.”

Frank rolled his eyes, trying to hide his concern as he quickly grabbed his kit from under the sink. “I’d be amazed if you didn’t pass out from blood loss within the next ten minutes, sweetheart. You ain’t going anywhere.”

You gave in pretty easily, considering there was no way you were walking out by yourself at this point. A stab wound to the ribs, possible broken wrist, and most likely a concussion.

Frank didn’t say a word as he stitched you up, focusing on his work. He could feel your gaze on him, heated and soft. Like always. He could move his face an inch and kiss you. But he wouldn’t.

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We love youuuu ❤️

You deserve every single one of those followers even more !! You feed us every with content of high quality you fucking deserve all the love in this world !!

Whaaaaatttttt??? How did this happen!

Thank you to everyone of your beautiful people who follow my shit show of a blog 💕 I see you, I appreciate you, I want to kiss every single one of you on the forehead (respectfully, if you gave me permission of course)

I feel like I should do a challenge or something to celebrate but have no idea what so I’ll just keep going with requests because you all have such great ideas!

Thank you once again ❤️

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

This story is golden !!

MASTERLIST

Flipped

The reader is Aberama Gold’s eldest daughter, Esmeralda Gold in this fic.

This fic might have dark themes which may irritate or offend some readers. But if you’ve seen Peaky Blinders and are familiar with Thomas Shelby, you’ll be okay. The story, plot, character histories and back stories might not be relevant to the original “Peaky Blinders”. Warnings will change per chapter.

Update: every 2-3 days

Synopsis: Your father’s one mistake shall alter your life’s direction forever.

Chapter 1: The coin

Chapter 2: Kitten

Chapter 3: Distraction

Chapter 4: Dawn

Chapter 5: Fook Linda

Chapter 6: Sybill

This wonderful person right here writes good masterpieces.

And this is one of them !!!

Obscene Behaviour || b.b & s.w

Platonic relationship with Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson and a new mom!reader

Summary: Your coffee date with your friends takes a turn when you slip your nip out to feed your newborn. Warnings: public breastfeeding (let's normalise it please), bullying WC: 624

|| Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Sam Masterlist ||

“Wow, look at you.” Sam gushed as he took a seat at the table you were waiting at. “You are absolutely glowing! How’s everything going?”

“Thanks, Sam.” You grinned as he gave you a kiss on the cheek and stole your newborn from your arms. “I’m still adjusting. It’s weird seeing you guys on the news and not being out there in the action.”

“You got something more important now.” He said, gently bouncing your baby boy in his arms and swapping to baby talk. “Isn’t that right, little Sammy?”

“His name is James.” Bucky argued as he arrived and gave you a hug before he took the third seat at your table.

“You’re both wrong.” You laughed as they began to argue with each other until you grabbed the birth certificate from your handbag and placed it between them. “His name is Steven Anthony Y/L/N.”

“No way.” Sam grinned. “That’s a big name to live up to, little man.”

“If anyone can, it'll be him.” Bucky smiled as he grabbed a chubby toe and tickled it. “You doing alright, mama?”

“Could do with a few more hours of sleep a night but I think we are doing pretty good.” You said before a yawn broke out at the mention of sleep.

“We can have him for a night if you need some rest.” Sam offered and Bucky’s head snapped to him with wide eyes.

“We can?”

“I’m not doing it alone.” Sam chuckled. “I’m not as brave as y/n.”

“You might find it a bit difficult, unless you can breastfeed?”

“Last time I checked…no.” Sam said with a shake of his head and looked at Bucky.

“Don’t look at me, these are pure muscle.” He said with a wave over his chest.

As if your infant understood the talk about breastfeeding, he began to cry and you took him back so you could open the discreet slip on your shirt, latching him on. Neither man bat an eyelid as you fed your bub but you could feel a pair of eyes on you and looked around to see a middle aged man staring at your chest. Bucky turned as he saw your eyebrows pinched and his own eyes hardened.

“Hey, you got a problem?”

The man jumped at Bucky’s harsh voice but he recovered quickly and looked down his nose at you. “Some of us are trying to eat here, not be subject to pornographic, obscene behaviour.”

“Pornogr- what the hell is wrong with you, man?” Sam asked seriously. “Some people are trying to eat, including her baby.”

“You don’t see us trying to stop you from stuffing your pie hole.”

You watched with amazement as they both ripped into the man who was turning redder by the second.

“I could see her nipple. It was offensive and distracting.” He gupped as more people were tuning into the conversation.

“I can see your cutlery, I don’t find that distracting.” Sam laughed. “It’s just a nipple, how about not sexualising it, then you shouldn't find it so distracting.”

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head and sat back in his chair as a few bystanders began to pull their phones out and Sam took his shirt off next.

“Oh my god, what are you two doing?” You laughed as they turned their seats around to face the man.

“Distracting him.” Sam smirked. “Look at all these pornographic nipples.”

Bucky smiled at one woman that looked just his type and pointed to his chest. “Is this offensive to you ma’am?”

“No, sir.” She giggled before turning to the man. “You should be ashamed of yourself, if you have the right to eat in a public place, so does this beautiful wee baby.”

Oh ! This is exactly what I needed right now 🙃

Enamored [43] - Dancing with the Devil

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Lovers’ quarrels are the renewal of love.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, some gender specific language and terms, arguments.

Word Count: 7500

Series Masterlist

 You couldn’t sleep that night.

It felt nearly impossible. Your thoughts were like a hurricane in your mind, and more than once you had got up from the bed to pace in the room, desperate for some sort of movement as if that could help with just how restless you were.

It didn’t help that you were alone in your bed for the first time after almost a month.

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There isn’t even one dude who can compete with this magnificent being that is Henry cavill in my eyes 

Look at this beauty

Fuck No sleeping is overrated !

Hands That Heal - Ch. 2

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Bucky knows all about having a past and doesn’t judge you for yours. Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men. (smut will come later) Word count: 3164

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 coming soon

RECAP: “Do I know you?” Axel asked as he pointed the weapon at Bucky. “You look familiar but I know you don’t belong ‘round these parts.”

“Nah.” Bucky smirked, not showing an ounce of fear as he looked down the barrel of the gun. “I’m just here for her hands.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

“The fuck did you say?” Axel growled as he stepped closer to Bucky but you moved in to intercept him.

“Ax, I’m just fixing his bike.” You said as you placed your hand on his gun arm and tried to lower it. “That’s all.”

“Not that it is any of your business.” Bucky commented.

You wished he would go back to being quiet, you didn’t understand why he was suddenly talkative but you would certainly ask if you all made it out of this moment alive. For now you had to try to stop your ex from putting a bullet in Bucky’s brain. That goal was getting harder by the second as he glared down at Axel and neither man looked ready to back down from the staring contest.

“You are not helping, Bucky.” You pointed to him before poking Axel in his leather clad chest. “And you, you know better than to come here. Go home to your wife and fix your fucking fence.”

“When did you grow a set of balls?”

Axel sneered at your sudden confidence but there was something about knowing Bucky was there and fearless that gave you the courage to talk to him in ways you never had before.

“Just get off my property.” You sighed and pointed out the garage door. “You’re not the only one with a gun, remember.”

“You’re lucky I’m late for church.” He growled before getting up in Bucky’s face. “You touch my girl, you’re dead.”

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