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randombush3 · 16 days

Text

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken?

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible.

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier.

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.”

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.”

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?”

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.”

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.” You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.”

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to.

“I am always on your side.”

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be.

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase.

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

…

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted.

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you.

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad.

And… you, apparently.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door.

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.”

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously.

“Of course.”

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence.

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft.

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.”

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?”

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this.

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration.

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection?

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor?

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility.

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.”

“Maybe she only likes men.”

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.”

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.”

…

You are more than a little confused.

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend.

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much.

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you?

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world.

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar.

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?”

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.”

“I cried for months.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.”

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes.

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself.

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.”

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving.

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said.

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone.

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.”

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy.

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more.

Do you regret it?

It’s unclear.

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here.

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become.

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date.

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official.

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face.

There are many reasons why you go out with him.

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied.

He’s not Ona. You know that.

That's the whole point.

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care.

But you just… don’t.

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head.

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself.

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago.

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them.

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.”

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday.

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona.

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger.

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?”

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country.

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.”

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen.

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited.

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially.

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming.

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it.

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun.

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced.

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything.

It won’t. (It does.)

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight.

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden.

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun.

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible.

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk.

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up.

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore.

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit.

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom.

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’.

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right.

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier.

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.”

It’s not true.

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again.

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done.

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit.

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill.

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents.

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again.

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam.

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off.

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams.

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.”

“Why?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.”

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona.

She picks up.

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Are you back at home?”

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.”

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles.

“Need me to show you around the city?”

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no?

…

Your visit goes very well.

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend.

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life.

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery.

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement.

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?”

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa.

“Who do you care about, then?”

“You.”

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day.

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend.

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter.

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before.

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back.

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly.

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.”

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers.

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her.

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh.

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs.

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?”

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly.

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.”

Ona blushes.

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless.

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on.

And that’s when she whispers it.

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering.

It has taken years but it does not matter.

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

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nighttimescribbles · 10 months

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hi scribs !! i'm sorry for the long months of no message from me i've been so ridiculously busy that my spare times don't even feel like spare times anymore but i hope youre doing well !! i'd love to hear about how youre doing !! have you gotten the chance to bake anything new? i see you're reading diligently :D do you have any recommendations for someone who should venture outside of the romance genre? and most importantly i hope you've been taking care of yourself !!

~🍬

Hi Nonnie! It's been a while - for you and me both! Things have been...a lot...on my end and seems the same for you, too! I hope your busy-ness is of the pleasant sort! 😊

Latest thing i baked was mango cake! I used the recipe from natasha's kitchen (looooove her recipes! Always a win in my book!) but used sliced mangoes instead of pureed. Also found that the cake tastes better 2-3 days after it's made bec the frosting and mango juice sink into the layers and make them super moist and smelling of mango! 😚

Also have been reading bec i buckled up and finally set a 12-book reading goal for this year on goodreads. So far i think im doing pretty well! 7 books read and it's july 😁

as for a recc, i absolutely recommend donna tartt's a secret history:

You may have seen me post about this book before. I read it months ago and still find myself thinking about it! Plot-wise it's okay imo but the *aesthetic* siiiiisssss makes me want to import the atmosphere and the vibe into daily life 😭 the language is pretty easy to get sucked into, too. I told myself i'll just skim the beginning to get a feel for it and the next i knew i couldn't put it down! I lugged it everywhere that my copy got into a tiny accident of the damp sort 😅 that goes to show how much i couldnt part from it!

If you ever decide to pick it up, pls pls let me know how you like it - love it or hate it or ambivalent towards it i would love to hear your thoughts!

#asks #🍬 nonnie #just finished girl w the dragon tattoo #gonna start solzhenitsyn soon bec i seriously miss my russian novels #also miss good prose since i dropped war and peace in the meantime due to its excessively...practical...prose 😅

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itsnothesameasitwas · 3 years

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hiii! im looking for good freinds to lovers fics bc i go through them sooooo fast :/ if you have any good ones pls send them !!!

hii… sorry this took me a whole day but here some Friends to Lovers fics… all the fics I’m recommending are Larry and please be careful with the tags before start reading and leave kudos :)

ABO

♥ Promise Me You Won't Run Away by thinlines @thinlinez | 23k | E

“Does kissing me stop you from having bad thoughts?” Harry asked, voice muffled into the collar of Louis’ dress shirt. Louis chuckled at this. He trailed a hand down Harry’s back, feeling the muscles tensing along with his touch.

“I guess you can say that. You’re a good distraction.”

“Then I will be the best distraction.” Harry answered, pulling back and watched Louis’ lips unashamedly.

“Come distract me, then.”

Or the Prince/ Knight AU in which Harry left Louis, but the omega never once gave up on them.

♥ i don't wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your neck by crybaby | 19k | E

Harry has been in love with Louis Tomlinson for four years, five months, and thirteen days.

Harry had fallen in love with Louis Tomlinson like how he’d seen in movies, and how he’d read in all the books he’d stolen from Gemma, headfirst and shameless. The only problem was, that in films and books, love was always either returned instantly, or else it took time for unrequited love to lose the first two letters, and since the first option was obviously not true, Harry decided he would wait for the second to become reality. And so Harry waited, three years, eight months, and four days, before his heart had been broken by a gentle rejection and a misplaced blowjob, before Louis and Gemma had packed up and gone to Manchester for university.

(Harry is a hopelessly romantic omega and Louis is his sister's best friend)

♥ picking up the pieces by falsegoodnight @falsegoodnight | 35k | E

“Zayn,” he murmurs, quietly but desperately.

Knowing what to do immediately, Zayn discreetly glances behind them to scan the room. “Walking over,” he says, confirming Louis’ worst fears.

“Maybe he’ll just pass by without stopping,” Louis says, glancing at the tables next to them as if hoping to find some other group of friends Harry had in high school that he could possibly want to talk to.

Eyebrow arched and lips pursed, Zayn has the nerve to look amused. “He’s looking directly at us.”

“Cause a diversion,” Louis rushes through his teeth, panic clawing up his throat. He can’t look Harry in the face again. Not yet, maybe not ever.

Zayn rolls his eyes and grabs his hand, interlocking their fingers. “It’s now or never, dear.”

- Louis returns to his hometown for the first time in ten years for his high school reunion and is faced with memories he’s long since tried to forget.

MPREG

♥ waiting on you by beckywritesthings @beckydoesthings | 21k | M

“Do you want to touch?” Harry asks, taking one of his hands off to tangle with Louis’. His open invitation finally drags Louis’ attention away from his baby and up to his face, blue eyes wobbly with emotions. It’s clear that he’s too taken to really form words, so Harry takes the initiative to press their laced hands against his shirt fabric, warmth from the skin radiating through.

Louis pushes his shirt up to his chest, taking Harry’s hand and pressing it to hold the fabric in place. His hands return to warm skin, palms even more scalding now that there’s nothing in between them. And then, as if that wasn’t enough for Harry’s heart to handle, Louis leans in, pressing his lips right above his belly button.

“Hi, baby,” he says, lips moving across his skin softly. “I’m your… I’m Louis.”

Or Harry is pregnant with a stranger’s baby and Louis doesn’t know. It’s a minor detail that Harry’s both living with Louis and in love with him. No big deal.

♥ you fit me better than my favourite sweater by brightbluelou | 13k | NR

Harry didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, and he definitely didn't mean to get pregnant. Despite that, it’s probably still the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And after that, well. It just kept getting better.

or; the one where Harry and Louis are friends-with-benefits and Harry unexpectedly gets pregnant. Harry never wants to stop getting pregnant after that, but Louis thinks seven kids is probably enough.

AUS

♥ our matchmaker: the fucking universe by peachloulou | 8k | E |

On your eighteenth birthday, you end up with your soulmates' name tattooed on your body. The universe works in a fairly simple way, so Louis knows Harry is his soulmate. He's got Harry's name tattooed on his ass cheek like a tramp stamp, and Harry's got the name Lou written on the inside of his wrist. Except Harry doesn't know what Louis' soulmates name is because Louis is a romantic fool, and, ever since Harry woke up with the name Lou two years after Louis, he's been a quest to find his own soulmate. Meeting after meeting.

But maybe Louis' wrong, and he and Harry are nothing more than best friends.

Or the one where the universe is annoyingly fucking complicated.

♥ Love Isn't Always on Time by softfonds @softfonds | 45k | E

Falling in love with your best friend sounds like a good idea, until he comes back from a work trip engaged to another man. A Made of Honor AU.

♥ You Might Want to Marry My Husband by Rearviewdreamer | 37k | M

When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore.

♥ Work of Magic by Bekita @justalarryblog | 34k | NR

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

♥ practice in pencil, seal it in pen by loubellies @loubellies | 16k | E

AU where drunk Harry lifts Louis up after someone says “bottoms up”. Louis blushes at Harry’s antics, flustered that his best friend knew him more than he thought. Friends to lovers with a happy ending pleaseor Harry is in love with Louis but he doesn't know.

♥ plant new seeds by glitterhaz @cloudslou | 44k | TUA

Harry nods, not trusting his words. Slowly, he crawls under the covers of his bed, all too aware that Louis is doing the same, so close to him. Initially, he faces his desk, not looking at Louis, but after a few minutes he gets uncomfortable and turns over. Now, he’s only a foot from Louis’ face, and Louis has turned around too.

He doesn’t think Louis is asleep already, and it's confirmed when Louis’ eyes blink open sleepily. Harry looks at Louis, and Louis looks at him. Really looks.

“Can you see me?” Louis whispers.

Harry doesn’t understand the question, not really, but nods anyway. “Yeah, I see you,”

**Louis works at a lonely community garden, Harry is the upstanding fraternity man who makes it all feels a little less lonely. Over the course of a semester, that is.

♥ Skin New, Hands True, My Hands All Over You by PearlyDewdrops | 44k | E

Harry designs wedding cakes, so of course meeting blissfully happy couples every day is part of his job description. Unfortunately, it's caused Harry to perpetually hope each new day is the one he'll find love, too. That is, until Harry realises everything he's ever wanted is right under his nose in the shape of his best friend, Louis.

But predictably, Harry only comes to this epiphany when Louis starts seeing someone else. And this is not a John Hughes movie as far as Harry is aware. Everyone else is pretty sure, though.

Featuring a heavy dose of pining, copious amounts of alcohol, drunk dialing that results in a situation reminiscent of Rachel Green's, a ginger cat that likes to interrupt intimate moments, and a Halloween party that changes everything.

♥ if it kills me by you_explode | 110k | M

Harry and Louis have worked together in a difficult office environment for six years. They're best friends; Louis is the bright spot of all of Harry's days. But Louis is in love with Harry, and Harry's engaged to someone else. And that's only the beginning.

The Office AU. More or less follows the first five seasons. A lot of pining and misunderstanding the depth of feelings and rejection and angst, until there isn’t.

♥ In This Light by exhilarated | 99k | E

Harry is a wardrobe stylist who likes to live in the moment, and Louis is a popstar who looks dreamy in double breasted jackets. Harry never stood a chance.

♥ smell the sea, feel the sky by lightswoodmagic @lightwoodsmagic | 16k | E

They’d been planning this beach trip for months, stressing around work schedules and engagement parties, trying to find the perfect place to stay in and a time where there wouldn’t be families everywhere but the weather still perfect. Louis had spent what felt like hours researching and planning, dinners with Zayn and his boyfriend at their house that just ended in looking at places and sending them to Niall. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks, getting away from his job and his bullshit neighbours and the noise of the city.

It seemed ridiculous, really, that in all that time, Zayn hadn’t mentioned once that Harry was coming.

Or, Louis doesn't know how he's going to spend a week with the one person he wants and can't have. Harry proves him wrong.

♥ This Shifting Ground by zarah5 | 28k | M

University AU. In which Louis, law student, is the cheeky waiter to Harry’s dates. This is how it starts.

♥ No One Like You by myownspark | 19k | M

Dear Niall,I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.

Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.

Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.

Are you up for a trip to France?

Sincerely, Liam Payne

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

♥ across city skyline (and straight through my heart) by Halos_Boat @halohamilton | 76k | M

Louis Tomlinson meets Hollywood Heartthrob, Harry Styles when he walks into Louis' little bakery one day.

Immediately, Louis is charmed by him and Louis thinks Harry might feel the same way, given the fact that Harry has visited the bakery everyday since he'd come to town.

Until one day, Harry walks in with a boyfriend under his arm and a smile on his face.

The one where Louis owns a small bakery that's well known in his town and Harry Styles is an actor who comes to town to film a new movie. Louis is endeared by him, but that doesn’t seem to matter since Harry Styles is already taken.

♥ Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore | 113k | M

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

♥ Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds | 88k | NR

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

- 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

♥ Nicotine by KrisStylinson | 42k | E

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

♥ California Sold by isthatyoularry | 123k | M

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

—————

if you feel like you need more, don’t hesitate to ask me :)

#friends to lovers #trackinghome #tracksintheam #1dsource #hljournal #hlsource #my fic rec #larry fic rec #themed fic rec #long post #this a REAL LONG POST #sorry but yk...#fics can't wait heheh #when I was looking for fics through what I have read I noticed this is one of those tropes I barely read #but I’m always willing to read :)#hope it helps:D #ask #louisloverera

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 3 years

Text

Date The Hell Out Of You - Kaminari Denki

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Pairing: Kaminari Denki/F!Reader Rating: 16+ (Fluff) Words: 1,575 Warnings: I have opinions about comic books so don’t come at me. I think it’s a very mild argument anyway so it shouldn’t be a big deal, but if you feel offended pls know it wasn’t my intention to bash on Batman lol. AN: Hellooo here is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme is Co-Workers and I just wanted Denki and a bookstore so you get this short and fluffy little thing. You’re welcome! Please check the masterlist below for everyone else’s works and heed each pieces warnings before you dive in!

Collab Masterlist My Masterlist My Ko-Fi

---

“You cannot sit there and tell me that you think Batman is better than Iron Man. I refuse to believe it.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest and glaring daggers at his best friend.

This had become like a routine to Kaminari, ever since he’d started working at the bookstore, which had been almost a year ago.

He took his lunch break at the same time most days, anxiously hoping you had a break at the same time as well. It wasn’t because he thought you were cute (he totally did, honestly), he just enjoyed your company. You had some loud and unique opinions on a lot of things, and he was thoroughly entertained when you went off like this.

“Well they’re both billionaires with no special powers, just a lot of cool gadgets, right?” Sero pointed out, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head, his bento sitting forgotten on the table.

“You’re right. But Tony Stark has a sense of humor. Batman is such a stick in the mud.” You made a face from your spot across from them, your chopsticks resting over your cup noodles, the utensil keeping the lid closed so they would cook.

“Yeah, but in terms of physical strength, Bruce Wayne has got Tony beat.” Sero sat forward, picking up his chopsticks again. “Tony relies on his tech. In a hand to hand fight, Batman wins every time.”

“Tony is smarter, though.” You sighed. “Look, do I need to direct you to read the Civil War series? It’s only like 7 issues. I can lend them to you.”

“It’s got Spider-Man in it.” Kaminari supplied helpfully. “He’s your favorite.”

Sero chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Maybe it’ll change my mind.”

“Trust me. Batman is lame, he’s got some interesting villains though.” You finally moved to eat your ramen. “What about you, Kaminari? Any opinions?”

Shrugging, he finished off the last bit of rice in his bento. “I don’t know, I’m not huge into comic books. I like Deadpool, though.”

“That’s so on brand.” Sero chuckled. “He’s a ridiculous dumbass, just like you.”

“Hey!”

“Listen, Deadpool is probably one of the funniest antiheroes. He breaks the fourth wall so often, it’s my favorite thing.” You grinned at him. “I think it’s a perfect choice.”

Kaminari could feel the blush creeping up his neck at your words. You thought he was funny. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Clearing his throat, Sero stood up. “My break’s over. Can you check on the YA section when you’re back on, Kami? Some kids were in here earlier and I think they moved all the Twilight books around.” His teasing grin told him that Sero had not missed the way he’d reacted to what you’d said to him.

“Sure thing, boss.” He gave him a salute. “I’ve got like 10 minutes left.”

Sero packed up his bento and shoved it back in the breakroom fridge and left, leaving Kaminari alone with you.

Kaminari opened his mouth, spitting out the first thing that came to his mind. “But here’s the real question.” He pointed at you with his chopsticks. “Team Edward or Team Jacob?”

Kaminari was crouching down, putting the last copies of ‘Breaking Dawn’ back on the shelf when someone walked up to him.

“If she’s Team Edward you’re going to have to call up Aoyama and ask him to hook you up with some body glitter.”

He glanced towards his right, smiling at the scuffed black boots belonging to his other best friend, Shinsou.

Kaminari stood, staring at the cat sticker stuck to the side of the reusable coffee cup that his perpetually tired friend always had with him. His gaze then flicked to his face, his customary grin back on his lips. “You think he can help?”

Rolling his eyes, the purple haired man shifted on his feet. “Of course. He works for some makeup place, I bet they have loads of glittery shit.”

Humming, Denki let his gaze move back to the shelf, making sure everything looked okay. He threw his arm around Shinsou and began walking back to his own section (he was in charge of The Classics, okay?) leaning into the taller man. “I’ll pick you up some black eyeliner while I’m at it.”

“Please do, I’m almost out.” He snarked, before his smirk fell and he sighed. “Look, you need to do something about this crush you have on Y/N.”

“I do not have to do a thing, my friend. I am happily content sitting over here and pining away quietly.” Kaminari threw his arm out dramatically. “Leave me be.”

“Quietly?” Shinsou snorted. “Look, man, I just mean, I’ve been seeing Monoma hanging around her a lot, I just don’t want you to miss your chance.”

Kaminari stopped walking. “Monoma? But he works in the reference section, where they sell those ‘for dummies’ books!”

“Maybe he read ‘Flirting for Dummies’ and now he has a clue. You should look into it yourself.” Shinsou’s raised eyebrow caused Kaminari’s frown to deepen.

“I know how to flirt, Shinsou.” Huffing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you need to go back to Science Fiction and get some work done?”

Sipping his coffee, he fixed Kaminari with a look. “Since I am such a wonderful friend, you’re going to swap me on Saturday and work my section, which is conveniently right next to Manga and Comics, where Y/N will be. You are going to make a move or so help me, I am going to beat you over the head with a copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’.”

“Why that one? Why not something longer, like ‘Don Quixote’?”

“Do you want it to hurt?” Shinsou asked, looking entirely done with his shit. “You’re ridiculous. Just do something, otherwise Monoma might get a date before you do.”

Kaminari cursed under his breath. The thought of you laughing and smiling at Monoma’s terrible jokes rubbed him the wrong way. “Fine. I’ll think of something.”

Seemingly satisfied, Shinsou patted him on the shoulder. “I believe in you.”

—

“How come you and Sero always have these fancy looking bentos for lunch?” You asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

Kaminari paused with his rice halfway to his mouth and looked up. “Our roommate. He’s like a mother hen, he always packs us lunch.”

Looking impressed, you raised an eyebrow. “He sounds like a keeper.”

Chuckling, Kaminari sat back in his chair. “Yeah, he’s a handful, but under his extremely aggressive exterior he’s a good guy.” He gestured to your ramen. “Maybe I can get him to make you one. All I have to do is tell him you eat cup noodles for lunch every day and he’ll have a heart attack.”

“I like my ramen, okay? It makes me feel like Naruto.” You raised your arms and grinned. “Believe it!”

Rolling his eyes fondly, he turned back to his lunch, poking at his tamagoyaki. He’d been working in the section beside you all day, listening to you gush over the newest shipment of manga you’d received, shoving books at him and making recommendations. He’d been trying to work up the courage all day to get off his ass and ask you out, and he was failing spectacularly.

“You know, if you want to be like Naruto, you should be eating tonkatsu miso with the little narutomaki in it.”

You blinked at him, looking surprised. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

This was it. His chance. “We should go get the real thing sometime.” He swallowed thickly, his palms sweating. “Like, maybe tomorrow night?” He closed his eyes, waiting for you to respond.

“Kaminari, are you asking me on a date?”

The fondness in your tone had him opening his eyes to see your expression. You were blushing, biting on your bottom lip as you stared at him.

“I mean, yeah. A date. If you want to, I mean.”

He was seconds away from backpedaling, his heart climbing up his throat and on the verge of escaping his body. The anticipation was killing him.

His nervousness and fear of rejection was all for naught. Your face lit up, a genuine smile gracing your lips. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I would love that.”

A breath he didn’t realize he was holding escaped his lips. “Yeah, okay. Awesome.”

You giggled, leaning your elbow on the table, resting your cheek against your palm. “Did you think I’d say no?”

Feeling a little ridiculous, he blushed and nodded. “I was worried you might. I’m an idiot and you’re...you.”

You scoffed, kicking him under the table lightly. “You’re not an idiot, Kaminari. To be honest, I thought you’d never ask. I guess Shinsou wasn’t lying.”

“About what?” He sat up straight, frowning. “I’m going to kick his ass. What did he say?”

Snorting, you shook your head. “He might have mentioned that you liked me. I wasn’t sure though.”

“Are you kidding? Was I not being obvious enough?”

“You flirt with everyone, I didn’t think I was special.” You teased. “I’m glad he was right, though.” You turned back to your noodles.

“You are though. At least you are to me.” Grinning, he nudged your foot with his. “I’m going to date the hell out of you, Y/N. Just wait and see.”

His heart swooped in his chest when you looked back at him across the table. “I’m looking forward to it.”

#kaminari denki #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #denki x reader #bnha #bnharem collab #mha #kaminari fluff #kingexpl0sionmurder writes

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kaeyas-beloved · 3 years

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Hi!

Could I please ask for IkeRev HCs for Ray, Fenrir and Luka. What are they like as Older brothers to a younger sister who’s still a teenager, 16/17 ish?

Thank you!

Ray Blackwell, Fenrir Godspeed, Luka Clemence || Ikemen Revolution

Warning(s): Slight spoilers for Fenrir's & Luka’s route (nothing major tho), maybe some OOCness since I haven't picked up IkeRev in some time - but other than that none (do tell me if I’m wrong though ^^)

Note: Hello! I’m really sorry for taking such a long time to write this (honestly I wrote and re-wrote this a handful of times and I still don't even know if they're that great...)

Still, I hope they’re good enough and that you enjoy them - thank you for requesting!

She/Her pronouns are used to address the reader/younger sister

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

Older Brother to Younger, Teen Sister HCs

Ray Blackwell

Ray’s such a calm older brother in the sense that he’s both never intruding in on your personal space & gives you your freedom while still being able to know when he has to step up and protect you (even though he wants to protect you all the time)

Growing up the both of you were close (Fenrir was thrown in that mix too with how often the two boys hung out) But after Ray joined the army, steadily climbing the ranks and you stuck focusing on your studies you guys kind of drifted apart for sometime

You aren’t sure who started it but soon you found yourselves sending each other letters as a way to stay in touch (your letter more often than not having a picture of Belle tucked inside)

The little kitty loves you by the way - you’re his second favourite hooman (it’s cause you spoil him with cuddles), Ray’ll sometimes get jealous when the feline snuggles up to you because he thinks that his own cat loves you more than him

One day though you were walking home from school and passed an alleyway, faintly hearing someone baby talk to something. Curiosity got the better of you and that’s how you found your older brother, cross legged on the dirty street coddling one too many street cats

Though you do travel to that particular spot a lot now (usually as a way to procrastinate destress from school (or simply because you love cats like Ray does)) You’ll also keep them company when Ray can’t

Ray hates it when you go out late at night since anything could happen to you. It nags at the back of his mind a lot, that one day something might happen to his precious little sister and that he might not be there to save you. Old wounds and feelings resurface at the list of possibilities that come to mind.

He doesn’t want history to repeat itself, he doesn’t want to be unable to protect you from danger. So anytime that you visit headquarters and you stay late you either simply stay the night or have an escort take you home. You can choose which option you’d like but Ray’s not taking a ‘no’ as any form of an answer

Calls you dufus just because he can (but affectionately). Might also ruffle your hair and/or pat you on the shoulder

You call him an old man because he can’t stay up past 10PM (Ray’ll then make some kind of comment regarding Sirius and how he’s more of an old man, to which you both laugh until the man himself makes his presence behind you known)

Absolutely the kind of brother to move things you need off a shelf out of your reach before proceeding to walk away with a satisfied smile on his face

Also the kind of brother to tease you about any cute boys/girls/people that he catches you staring at or gushing about (but he’ll stop if you tell him seriously to stop)

Do you like books? Ray likes books. He has a lot of books. Take a book, please he has too many--

If you enjoy reading, Ray is constantly recommending you novels, letting you read them before casually asking you your opinion on certain characters or events when you’re returning it. But even if you're not an avid reader he may still hand you a book or two that he knows you'll enjoy

Like mentioned earlier, Ray is very busy with Army work and such but honestly, out of everyone in the Black Army, he’s the second best person to come to with homework (second only to Sirius). Especially with history. Like, you need the entire history of the Black Army or Cradle? He’s got you, he had to read up on it when he was on the road to becoming the King of Spades.

Really, you could just pop right into his office at anytime, ask your question and Ray will be able to answer without missing a beat before going back to whatever he was doing

You can always come to Ray for anything. Questions, complaints you name it he’ll listen to your woes/answer however he can.

You guys bond over your teacher(s) giving too much homework; Ray reminiscing when he was your age and in high school - he completely understands the struggle (it was excruciating. All the work prolonged the sweet embrace of a good night’s sleep T~T)

There’s someone who’s picking on you? Don’t worry he’ll deal with them >:)

He might not always know how he can help or comfort you since he’s not the best with words when it comes to certain things, but that won’t stop him from at least helping where he can

Will never let anything happen to you -- Ray protects you with his life and he'll use any power he has if it means that you can walk out unharmed, that’s how much he cares for you

Fenrir Godspeed

Fenrir doubles as both your older brother and your best friend

110% flaunts how you’re the coolest little sister a brother could have to anyone that will listen (most of the time it’s the Black Army tho)

Flips between calling you by name, ‘sis’ and any other ridiculous nickname he can come up with (but don’t worry - you have an equally stupid name for him)

Considers you his best buddy (aside from Ray that is)

Fenrir’s also the kind of brother to pat his sister’s head, ruffle her hair, give gentle noogies and shake her around by the shoulders/poke her playfully then go ‘wasn’t me’. Just like these wholesome little things that mean no harm or anything

I also like the idea of Fenrir giving his sister piggyback rides - it's just a nice thought, please don't take this away from me I beg of you T-T

Best bro Fenrir picks you up from school every day, no ifs, ands or buts! Usually, he’ll buy you your favourite sweet/snack and give it to you when he gets there.

Brings Shu Shu along as well and the three of you will talk about what happened at school or anything exciting that may have happened as he walks you either home or to the barracks

You’re both very chaotic + Ray joins in too most of the time. Quite a few pranks happen when you’re at Black HQ (RIP the Black Army when you come over and you three triple team them).

Harmless pranks I promise!

Fenrir may take one of your belongings (a brush, your favourite book or an accessory) and run around the place with the only way of you getting it back is to catch him

There was this one time you snuck tomatoes into his food to see if he’d notice.

Spoiler alert: he most certainly did

After that he kinda ignored you for the rest of the day as payback, pouting and pretending like you weren’t there, saying stuff like ‘huh? Did you hear that?” At the end of the day though he wasn't mad and was able to laugh it off (it doesn’t erase the betrayal he felt tho)

Once in a while you’ll also poke fun at his fear of ghosts, saying off hand that there’s one at the end of the hall, down in the cellar or behind him. You never go too far though - not after the time that a prank of yours left him really shaken. You’ve never seen him so scared in your life and don’t plan to again.

Oliver’s soul nearly left his body when he first met you and learned that you took after your troublesome brother

Fenrir loves helping you with any school work you have cause he likes being a dependable brother for you! …The only problem is that sometimes he doesn’t know how to. Like, he grasps the basic concepts of what you’re talking about, but if you ask him how to calculate acceleration or a parabola he draws a blank - you’ve lost him.

Pls cut him some slack tho he’s trying his best and just the thought alone is sweet 🥺

Compared to his best buddy Ray, the Ace of Spades has quite a bit of free time, which he spends by dropping by the family home where you still live for surprise visits.

Most greetings start with “There’s my favourite sister!” with you adding on “I’m your only sister Fenrir…”

You still welcome him with a smile, open arms and a hug :)

Swears up, down and on his life to keep you and army affairs separate, he’s NOT going to expose his little sister to the violence that comes with his occupation. He stands firm on this decision. This topic is one of the only times you’ll see him actually serious

You’re not stupid though, you know what goes on, and, because of this, every time you hear in passing that the gun crazed Ace of Spades was at it again - launching himself straight into battle - there’s this pang of anxiety that rattles you to your core. You’re sure that there always will be no matter how much times passes

As a sum up - very loving and goofy brother/best friend with the addition of lots of pranks and battle scares 😎✌️

Luka Clemence

You know how in game Luka starts off as kinda cold to MC/Alice? Yeah there's none of that with his little sister

Usually when hanging around her he's most of the time adorning a small smile cause he finds joy in being around her

The relationship you have is a VERY close one considering that, while growing up in the prestigious Clemence household, it was basically you and Luka against the world

Sometimes Luka fears that you’re really lonely back at home because he’s not around as much as he used to be ever since joining the Black Army. Therefore, every week he’s set aside at the bare minimum a whole day (or at least an afternoon/evening) to go visit you - or for you to visit him!

Y’all cooking buddies and I’ll die on this hill

Luka teaches you any and everything he knows about cooking all the way to baking. He’ll even write down recipes for your favourite dishes so you can make them when he’s not there.

Whenever you’re visiting the Black Army and it’s Luka’s turn to make dinner you pitch in and help. He’ll make some of the dishes while you make the others.

The Black Army adores your cooking since you have such a great teacher/brother

Luka lets you hold/pet/feed/take care of Stone. You’re the only exception he makes when it comes to his furry companion

Don’t swear around him he’ll die (that is, after getting told by the other Black Army officers why it's such a bad thing and a big deal)

Lets you hold his sword once but you ended up nearly toppling over because it was heavier than you first anticipated.

Would play the violin for you while you study if you asked him, especially if you bring up that it helps you concentrate better

Sibling fights are non-existent. The only time that there’s a chance of you butting heads is when Luka starts pushing himself too much with training or the conversion involves Jonah

Speaking of the Queen of Hearts--

It’s a constant tug of war between the two brothers on who gets to spend the day with you. Luka’s scowling, Jonah’s pouting and you’re wondering what you have to do to get your brothers to get along (or at least have it where you’re not in the middle of it all)

Very supportive of whatever you want to do with your life. Luka also tells you every once in a while that you can always come live in Black territory or even the barracks when you’re a little older if you want to

All the more should Jonah/your parents ever try to enforce something on you (like some kind of lesson/social norms for Red Territory that you don’t like etc.). Luka will 100% whisk you away into Black Territory to get away from it all, just say the word.

All in all each of the boys are wrapped around their little sister's finger and would do anything to keep her safe and happy :)

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

Thank you again for requesting!

[Masterlist]

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orionwhispers · 4 years

Text

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence.

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #orionwrites

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lemony-snickers · 2 years

Note

I'ma rec some books if that's okay!! My taste in books is a bit... random lol so bear with me but you mentioned you were after lighter books so here's some that come to mind: One of my favourite books is 'The Travelling Cat Chronicles' by Hiro Arakawa, just a super adorable and fluffy story from the point of view of a cat, it's about different forms of love and human relationships and our relationship to animals, it is a bit bittersweet and it will make you miss pets you've had, though, so maybe skip that one if you're feeling a bit sensitive, but I did find it wholesome and uplifting on the whole <3

Early Morning Riser by Katherine Heiny is also really good, it was just so funny? And also really wholesome and is set in this small town with lots of wacky characters. It's been years since I read this one so it might be worse than I remember, but it always comes to mind when I think 'funny', and it's 'Cold Comfort Farm' by Stella Gibbons, it was written between the world wars and it's mostly just really funny? In a really british way, so that's not everyone's thing, but it's about this classy but spunky, headstrong girl who gets sent to live with her weird and ridiculous estranged relatives on this dilapidated farm and it's about how she makes their lives better and fixes their problems lol. Now that I'm thinking about it it's as if Tohru from FB if she was a sarcastic British socialite lmao.

Aaaand I went through my goodreads to see what i read last year if i could think of anything else, and there were a lot of books i read that I hated, and the only things i thought were good were either depressing or manga 😭 so i will just go with those for now, out of these all, my fave is the first one. Sorry for the rambling I can just go on about books for TIME - (pf 🌸)

oh, my dear wonderful pf, pls. i would be happy to hear you go on & on about the things you love anytime. <3

i have to say, the traveling cat chronicles certainly seems precisely up my alley, ahaha. cats & books? two of my all-time favorite things.

also, a thing you could not possibly have known about me before, but that is suited perfectly to your third suggestion is that i grew up on british sitcoms and movies and books, so my sense of humor is about as british as it can be for someone not actually from there, lol.

thank you so much for these recs! i'm definitely going to see if i can get my hands on them. with all these suggestions, i'm gonna have to make a list and see how many i can get through in 2022.

(also, perhaps when i'm not so in need of serotonin and dopamine, i'll reach back out about some of the more depressing fare you might recommend. )

#ask #and answered #pfreadsandwrites #book recs <3

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rusalkii · 4 years

Text

I need to start doing these on Friday again, this is ridiculous.

Was not in the slightest productive since I got back from the workshop. Studied somewhat for my exams but not very well, did quite poorly on one and (I hope) okay at another. Had @evolution-is-just-a-theorem visit over the weekend, which was delightful but not exactly conducive to work (by which I mean I dropped everything when they got here and when I learned I wouldn’t be able to see them over my spring break didn’t pick any of it up, which I honestly don’t regret), and when they left realized I'd misremembered two deadlines (not checking this I do regret) and horribly botched a project trying to complete it on time. This was quite possibly my worst such failure since high school, I am not pleased with myself at all. Since then have been failing to study for an exam tomorrow.

Some of this is probably just disruption in routine from workshop + Evo visiting + heading home due to coronavirus (I don't work well at my parent's). Some of it's probably just the general air of We Are Now In A Crisis Situation (university is cancelling classes for a week after spring break, and then moving to online classes, which should be interesting). Some of it is my complete inability to get into the right headspace for work. I'm going to try coworking with someone tomorrow and see if that helps (have asked people on discord, if anyone on tumblr is interested let me know, if not I'll prod my brother).

Studying continues to be very difficult. I need to be in the habit of doing it regularly, not just when I have an exam coming up. ""Studying"" feels like a terrifying undoable black box, though, and I often don't have problems to work halfway through the semester. Also, I've told myself this before, and it never works. Black box: for algorithms, I can review past problem sets and redo any problems I had difficulty with or got wrong, go over summation simplifications and rules and make sure I have the common ones memorized, read the textbook and take notes making sure to rephrase things to check that I understand them, try to find past exams and do those. PL: do those long practice exams, quizzes, and questions on the website from last year, redo old clicker questions. Linear: summarize & review old notes to make sure I have the key information memorized/understood, otherwise the problems given seem to be adequate. Metrics: try to find old exams? try to do practice problems in the textbook? do the goddamn derivations from scratch until I understand them? I don't like the structure of this class.

How do I make sure I actually do this? Uh. Well. I've tried deliberately scheduling blocks for it, which didn't work. I've tried adding it to my calendars/lists as a daily unblocked thing, that didn't really work. I've aimed for weekly hourly targets, that didn't work. I've aimed for weekly concrete accomplishments, that... sort of worked? I could make it a goal each day to add a studying thing to my lists and aim for getting at least, let's say 4, done a week? That's worth a try, as long as the addition to the list is concrete ("go over notes for chapter 2" or "do these problems", not "study for metrics"). Will start from next week unless I fail to talk my brother and dad out of going skiing, this week's weird. I'll set a reminder to start Saturday. Also, might be nice to get some version of this list in my accountability channel to have as an easy reference if I’m not sure what to plan for that day.

Miscellany: Evo got me into Pokemon Go, which is a terrible phone game of the sort that eats my brain, but Pokemon Go eating my brain mostly means taking a lot of walks so I think I'll take it (if you're on there, I think the friend mechanism is actually useful? I like having friends, friends are good). Re: food, staying with my parents means I don't have access to a dining hall, so I need to be very careful to consistently get reasonable meals. Libby continues to be a delightful, I'm on a depressing book kick, recommend me history about people being horrible to each other (past, current, and on my list: King Leopold's Ghost (exploitation & mass murder in colonial Congo), a memoir about Iran during the revolution, And The Band Played On (AIDS), Hitler's Willing Executioners). Once spring break starts, need to remember to finish my goddamn paper. No dance for me until we're out of plague conditions, likewise probably SCA and local rat meetups; I should try to call people occasionally for some social contact.

#the work of the world is as common as mud

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lovelyirony · 5 years

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26 protection (tony x Bucky pls!)

Tony usually didn’t really notice his bodyguards. He didn’t try to shrug them off because contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid all the time. There were reasons why they were hired, and if he really needed to go somewhere, he could usually count on them to be discreet.

But after his last bodyguard had decided to pursue becoming a Michelin-star rated chef, he hadn’t really thought about the new hire. Presumably, some guy in sunglasses and a suit or someone casual that blends in.

He got a fucking supermodel. The guy has a jawline cut like glass, eyes that look like sea glass, and a strut that could have many people going all kinds of ways into Sunday.

He’s also got a really good track record with aim, has a prosthetic that’s from the new Stark Industries line (with customization of looks and features, such as fixing the icing problem and the heating problem), and just…he’s Tony’s type.

Not that Tony is going to do anything about it. Preposterous. Because James Barnes is a bodyguard, not someone that he can gaze at and fall in love with, because that’s just stupid.

He does it anyway.

He didn’t try to, if that’s what you (and Rhodey) were thinking. He absolutely did not try to fall in love with James Buchanan Barnes (and he wasn’t ever calling him Bucky, that was ridiculous).

James Barnes shows up to work in khaki shorts and an old t-shirt advertising some attraction from Iowa.

“You from there?”

“Nah, but traveled through there with a client. It’s interesting what they have when it’s not a big city.”

“Hm, I see. Like what?”

“You ever heard of the Corn Palace? It’s absolutely riveting.”

They talk easily, and it’s almost like it’s not a job, and he’s not a client. But that’s what he is.

Luckily–or is that unluckily?–James is having the similar situation. Because he fell head-over-heels for Tony Stark, who has enough intelligence in him to blow the White House down, and enough of bad humor for ages.

“Can you shut the hell up?!” Sam yells. “I’m tired of hearing about him! Go tell him or some shit!”

“It’s not professional!” Bucky yells back. “I can’t just go to who is essentially my boss and say ‘oh yeah by the way I’m falling in love with you, is my paycheck coming this Friday’?”

“You could if you wanted to,” Sam calls out. “If you weren’t chicken-shit!” Bucky flips him off.

Regardless, this is a problem. Tony likes to solve problems, and it actually physically annoys him when he won’t solve one.

So, he decides to fire James on the basis of “physical and emotional affection has occurred.” It sounds very fancy, he gets a good recommendation, and what he doesn’t expect is James to sweep him off his feet and smother him in a kiss (after it was cleared.)

“You…like me?” Tony asks. “You do?”

“Of course,” James says, grinning. “I think I’ve liked you since you took me out to that dinner after your fancy gala thing.”

“That’s been…that’s been a long time.”

Pepper and Rhodey laugh at him.

“You’re a walking romance book,” Pepper says over her glass of grape juice. “You dork.”

“At least I got a man,” Tony sniffs. “What about you?”

“Who needs a man when she can hopelessly crush on the nurse in Queens?” Rhodey teases. “Who was it again…Nurse May?” Pepper flings a tissue at him, ponytail swinging.

“I don’t like her. I just thought she was nice.”

“Yeah, and I don’t have a boyfriend,” Tony says sarcastically, sticking his tongue out. “Admit it, Pep.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Let’s just focus back to you. When is your first official date?”

“Thursday night. He’s taking me to a movie.”

“Don’t do anything in the movies. It’s so not as romantic as you think.”

“Like you’ll find out any of the details!” he proclaims. “Now, I have to get back to work and find a new bodyguard.”

#bodyguard au #lovelyirony writes #winteriron #bucky barnes #tony stark #iron man #winter soldier #i love them okay #it's Softe #also yeah i threw peppermay in here #it's cute and i'm HERE for it

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spine-buster · 5 years

Text

Alone, Together | Chapter 1 | Morgan Rielly

Bee didn’t understand how the universe conspired in such a way to have her sit across from this large man named Morgan, but the longer she sat with him, the longer she realized she couldn’t complain. Things like this could go so horribly – the person could not talk at all; the person could talk too much; the person could be creepy, invasive, or a serial killer – but Bee wasn’t scared as she sat across from him. He seemed mellow enough, taking the situation of them being thrust together in stride. It didn’t interrupt him from eating his food, or drinking his lemon water, and instead, they settle into a semi-comfortable back and forth conversations of questions to get to know each other. What else could they do?

“So…why are you reading Friedman?” he asked, popping a fry into his mouth.

“Um, a friend recommended it to me. I’m kind of reading it just for fun.”

Morgan seemed shocked as the words came out of her mouth. “You’re reading it for fun?” he asked. “What about Friedman is fun?”

“It’s not. Sorry, that’s the wrong word,” she shook her head, embarrassed. “But it’s a bit of a break.”

“From what?” the look of shock on his face hadn’t left.

“Um, my life?” she tried to make a joke. His face lightened up a little bit but she knew she had to explain more. “I’m studying for my MFE at U of T. I’m also a TA so reading first year undergrad essays is also my personal form of hell. Between reading those and reading for my courses I’m a bit…well…I needed a bit of a break.”

“Wait,” Morgan held his hands up. “What’s an MFE?”

“A Master’s in Financial Economics.”

“At University of Toronto?”

“Yeah.”

“And you teach?”

“At university, yes. I’m a teaching assistant. So like, the professor has us, his minions, who lead smaller group tutorials where we discuss the course readings,” she explained. “My tutorial group has around 30 students in it.”

“And Friedman is a break to you because of this?”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Yes. I know it seems crazy, but yes.”

Morgan cracked a smile and she tried to grab her wrap to keep her from blushing after her giggle. “That’s nuts,” he commented. “I’m feeling very inadequate right now.”

Bee’s face completely dropped. “Oh my God, no – no – I didn’t mean --”

“Relax, relax. I’m joking,” he said, popping another fry into his mouth. “How far along are you in your Master’s?”

“I’m in my last term.”

“And what’s the plan after?”

Bee took this as a bit of a weird question. Was not the ‘plan’ for everybody to find a well-paying job to be self-sustainable and contribute to society? What did he think she wanted to do? “Oh, you know, find a sugar daddy and just live off the gifts he gives me,” she shrugged her shoulders casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Morgan snorted at her reply, and she was glad he picked up on the ridiculousness of her response. “Well the plan is to obviously find a job. Maybe at a bank or some corporation or something. I don’t know. I recently completed an internship at Scotiabank so I’m hoping that gets me an in there.”

Morgan smirked. “So become a corporate drone,” Morgan teased her.

She smirked back at him. She enjoyed his sarcastic sense of humour, but two could play at that game. “Maybe. Or maybe my plan is to control the Canadian economy by flirting my way to the top and becoming the next Minister of Finance.”

Morgan let out a hearty laugh. “I don’t know. You’re obviously pretty smart. It doesn’t seem like you’d have to flirt your way to get anywhere.”

She appreciated the compliment, giving him a polite smile. “And what about you? What do you do?”

Bee watched as a quick sense of tenseness passed on Morgan’s face. “I work in the sports industry,” he said.

She had never met anyone in Toronto who worked in the offices for one of the major teams. Granted, she didn’t exactly mix with those types of people often, but it was still interesting to be sitting across from someone who did. She decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. “So let me guess. You want to schmooze your way to the top of like…I don’t know, being the head of the Toronto Blue Jays or something?”

Whatever tension that was on his face disappeared when he heard the joke. “Something like that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll be the next Alex Anthopoulos.”

“And to think, you got the idea from a random girl you sent a drink to one night,” she winked.

“I didn’t send a drink to your table,” he repeated his earlier sentiment definitively. “I’m telling you. You got pranked by someone else in here.”

“Whatever you say, Morgan.”

Bee was surprised at how natural the conversation was flowing. It was one thing to be this way with a friend – it was another to be this way with a complete stranger. But, judging by how the conversation was going, Morgan wasn’t a stranger anymore, was he? After moving on from dullness of their everyday jobs, they started to talk about other interests. TV shows. Movies. What other books they had read, or planned to read. What their favourite genre was. Where they liked to eat in Toronto. What they liked to do. Where they liked to go. Morgan ordered dessert. Bee kept ordering ginger ale.

By the time the waitress brought the bill, Morgan took care of it. Bee insisted, but he insisted more. When she insisted that she had to contribute something he said, “Contribute your number and we’re even.” He said it in the smoothest, most nonchalant tone of voice that Bee was actually taken aback for a brief moment. When she nervously smiled and giggled and let out a small ‘sure’, Morgan smiled and nervously giggled and took out his phone to exchange numbers.

When preparing to leave, they both leaned in to hug each other. Bee got a true sense of his size only when she was up against him, his broad arms engulfing her tightly, but only for a brief second before letting her go.

“This is the weirdest experience to ever happen to me, but it was really nice to meet you,” Morgan said as he pulled away.

“Me too,” Bee said, suddenly a bit nervous. She hated to admit it, but she didn’t exactly want the conversation to end. “I’ll uh…I’ll let you know when I’m done Friedman and tell you what to look out for.”

“Please do, because I have a feeling I’m in for it,” he said as they both lingered in front of the glass window of the restaurant. “You sure you’ll get home okay? I can call an Uber for you.”

“I literally live a five minute walk from here. It’s fine,” she waved him off. “Um…I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah…” he nodded, a strong smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah, for sure.”

As they went their opposite ways, Bee couldn’t help the blush that came over her, and she wondered if any of the passers-by noticed it. When she was far enough from him (okay, she kept looking back to make sure he couldn’t see her), she took out her phone again and opened the conversation she was having with her best friend, Angie.

I just met someone

One of those weird ‘high school reunion’ encounters we were talking about this week?

No no. I met a guy.

OMG omg what? who? where?

I was at green cactus and a waiter brought a drink to my table

And he said it was from this guy but when I approached him about it he denied it

And then all of the sudden I notice we’re reading the same book

Friedman

And I guess the waitress thought we would join each other cause like a split second after she just brought all my food to his table

And I ended up eating with him

And it’s been like two hours

And we just left, but we exchanged numbers

omg OMG you guys were reading the same book???

Yeah

Bee this is fate It’s F A T E Bee you have to text him PLEASE

It was so weird That’s never happened to me before It was like this super random thing but we ended up talking for so long

Bee, you need to text him You NEED to text him I can’t believe you were reading the same book?!

Yeah, super random right?

It’s random but it’s FATE When you get home, text him Pls Do it for me I don’t want to see you become an old spinster You’re not Anne Elliot You’re BEE MCTAVISH

Bee giggled at her best friend’s antics as she fished her keys out of her small purse. She entered her apartment – a old, tiny, cramped, abode on the first floor of a converted multi-unit Annex house – and immediately hung her purse on a hook.

I’m going to take a shower. See u l8r ☺

BEE DON’T YOU DARE DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE I WILL COME OVER TO YOUR HOUSE AND I WILL MURDER YOU BEE ANSWER ME ANSWER ME!!!!!!!! IF YOU DON’T TEXT HIM I WILL STEAL YOUR PHONE AND TEXT HIM FOR YOU

Only about half an hour later, Bee sat on her bed, wet hair wrapped in a towel, and stared at her phone screen. Stared at Morgan’s number. Stared at the message screen and keyboard.

Did you want to meet up again soon? Maybe this weekend?

She absolutely cringed as she hit send. God, she was a grown woman and she was cringing at herself. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. With Morgan. With any guy, to be honest. But she trusted Angie. And more than anything, she trusted herself to judge a good character. Morgan was a good character. At least what she saw of him that night.

Can’t do this weekend. I’m out of town. Maybe when I get back?

Oh. Oh. So he was going to be one of those. Her friends warned her about these types. The type that would say they wanted to see you again but then kept blowing you off. The type that would ghost you completely. Suddenly she wasn’t so happy anymore. Suddenly she felt angry at the possibility that he had just wasted almost two hours of her time on some guy that was going to completely ghost her. Two hours of her time on a guy that wouldn’t give her a second thought. Two hours of her time, only to have her question her own judgement because she thought he was a good guy.

If you don’t want to see me again just let me know now

She texted back quickly, almost regretting it. But if Morgan was going to be an asshole, she would willingly be an asshole back. She was too busy and too proud to be waiting for someone who didn’t want to give her the time of day.

No No no I really am out of town I come back late Monday night I can see you Tuesday I swear

The texts came in quick succession, one after another, followed by a screenshot of his phone screen showing an e-ticket for a flight to Montreal. Bee cringed even more than she did when she sent her initial message.

Sorry. I guess that’s for work.

I really do want to see you. Can we make it Tuesday?

Sure. My tutorial ends at noon. Where can I meet you?

I’ll meet you on campus. Where is your tutorial?

She couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he wanted to meet her on campus. She began wondering what it would be like for him to navigate U of T and its buildings. He never specified which university he went to.

Sidney Smith Hall on St. George Street You can meet me at the front

Okay great Can’t wait

Bee tossed her phone on the duvet cover, unable to look at the text for a moment longer. Can’t wait.

#morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #alone together series

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i-contain-ineffability · 5 years

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Good Omens AU idea

I wanted to repost this because some people pointed out that parts of the original post for this was problematic, but I’m linking to the original post so other people can also learn why it was problematic as well as see the contributions from other people in the Good Omens fandom because they were good contributions and I recommend you read them!

Concept: Good Omens but the Them is college aged bc everyone I know in college is jaded, angry, aged, and done with everything.

Pepper got a full ride and is studying political science, she wants to be Prime Minister some day

Brian is an Environmental Scientist or Engineer and wants to go into environmental clean up

Wensleydale is studying to be a Dietitian

Maybe Adam is studying archeology specializing in theology (idk how archeology majors work) or sociology specializing in religion (idk how sociology works as a major so if any archeologists or sociologists to be want to speak up about how this would actually work pls do, I’m curious now)

Maybe in this AU Adam’s powers don’t manifest until he’s 21 after he gets Dog at age 11, or he was a late bloomer for his powers and Crowley and Aziraphale have to sell that lie to Heaven and Hell while they look for someone who is 11, 12, 13 etc all the way up to 21 with a Hell Hound, and Crowley has to come up with a sellable lie for the mess in the Middle East with Warlock, or he just goes on the run from Hell. Maybe Aziraphale tells Heaven the influences from the Light are working.

He and the Them live together in a pet-friendly apartment so he can keep Dog with him, but he can’t take Dog everywhere he would like to since his powers aren’t manifested yet.

Agnes Nutter predicted this so Anathema isn’t running around for a decade trying to find the Antichrist

Weird crap still happens to Adam, but in the context of college

Like maybe he can eat dubious or suspect food and be fine (you know, the food that gets forgotten in the back of your fridge? the one you just toss out in the container because you don’t want to think about it? he can eat it and be fine)

Adam’s always on time when he’s stressed about arriving on time, even when he shouldn’t be on time, he puts it down to managing to run/drive/bike to catch the train/get to class/get to work/get to the interview on time

If he’s a late bloomer when he starts hearing voices and having weird crap happen to him he puts it down to finals week stress (I got lucky that time I ate 2 week old meatloaf, I’ve been hearing voices but I haven’t slept in 3 days so that’s fairly normal, Dog’s eyes are glowing red but I’ve had 6 Red Bulls today to I wouldn’t be surprised if he started talking bc I can hear colors right now)

Crowley: Haven’t you been hearing voices? Getting urges to cause mass destruction?

Adam: Well yeah, but I haven’t slept in 3 days and I’m fueled off of stress and coffee made with Red Bull instead of water so I’ve been hallucinating dog’s eyes glowing blue and losing a bunch of time, like yesterday I came home to all my homework done and I don’t remember doing any of it.

Crowley: THOSE AREN’T HALLUCINATIONS DOG’S A HELLHOUND AND THAT WAS YOUR POWERS MANIFESTING

Alternatively: he figured out he has powers and the only people he told were the Them. Crowley and Aziraphale are either on the run from Heaven and Hell while trying to find the Antichrist, or have to come up with increasingly ridiculous excuses/lies to buy themselves more time to find him. Until Adam walks into Aziraphale’s bookshop asking if he has xyz books for his thesis project or something.

In this one Adam purposefully uses his powers for small-scale stuff, like making the food forgotten at the back of his and the Them’s fridge safe to eat again, maybe slowing down time to get more study time for stuff (since in the book and show, at least the way I interpreted it, it’s kind of Adam’s friends that pull him back from being the Antichrist and to being human again), free tickets and things for movies and musicals etc. Also he uses them to be able to bring Dog with him everywhere and not have anyone notice Dog or be bothered by him (credit to @bookgeekgrrl for this one) and he’s been doing this since he was 11 when he decided to stop being the antichrist.

Crowley: what do you MEAN you decided to stop being the Antichrist?

Adam: well, I almost did, until I told my friends I could make them do whatever I wanted, and we were all so horrified by that statement that I stopped. also it’s difficult enough looking after myself and dog and my friends and coming up with things to do that ruling the world sounds like a nightmare

Anathema enrolls in the same college to try and track him down in both versions of this AU, and also moves in basically next door to them.

in both AUs Adam still makes large scale stuff happen, deliberately or unintentionally, and some people came up with great ideas for this in the notes of the original post (linked at the top) so do go check it out! I don’t want to retype it here bc I don’t want to act like I came up with those particular ideas.

If anyone writes this pleeeassee tell me

#good omens au #the them #ineffable husbands

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imagine-organization-xiii · 5 years

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Organization XIII - Domestic Headcanons

Suggested by: Anon. This is a long one!

Xemnas - Part 1

It’s difficult, living with Xemnas. There’s really no other way to put it. He’s a strong, easily annoyed man who doesn’t deal well with bullshit. You either say what you need to say and do what you need to do or you’ll end up wasting his time. The fact that he even wanted you to move into his room to be with him means more than you can ever explain in words. The trust in that very statement??? You never thought that you would actually get to that point, but you know that it means that he holds you of some value.

He does seem a little soft around you in private, especially when he’ll stroke his fingers along your cheek or kiss your forehead in the morning as he gets out of bed and thinks you’re still asleep. He’s not one for public displays of affection so you have to take what you can get.

Surprisingly, you and Saix are the first ones he goes to for criticism. The others will usually praise Xemnas’ actions without questioning them - though they do complain when not in his earshot - and Xemnas knows that he can trust you to tell him the truth.

Even though the two of you have been together for a while... you can never be 100% sure how he feels about you. He could act like the most doting boyfriend in the world but still make you feel as if he would sell you out for about 5 munny. But at the same time, he could treat you like you’re simply just one of the other organization members and make you feel as though you’re the only person that matters in his world.

Xigbar

Knows you’re angry whenever you call him Xiggy. Which is often. Xigbar can be such a shithead sometimes, but there’s something about him that you just can’t stop loving.

Hates the word ‘boyfriend’ and refuses to be called such. Hates it even more when you sweetly asked if he would prefer to be called ‘man-friend.’ Likes to be referred to as your ‘partner’ because you have ‘an equal partnership in your relationship.’ You both know that this is bullshit, obviously, but you like to humor him so you don’t argue.

He’s absolutely appalled at your lack of skill with shooting - his kind of weapon was never your forte and sharpshooting even less so - and attempts to teach you how to use his arrowguns. It’s a good bonding experience, if anything, even though no progress is ever made because you’re absolutely terrible at long-range weaponry.

The Master of PDA whenever you least expect it. You’ll be in the lab working with Vexen and Zexion and all of a sudden he’ll be there with his arms around you, dipping you into the air and laying a heart-stopping kiss on you. Then he’ll just trot out the door like nothing happened and you’ll be left breathless while Zexion and Vexen look a combination of baffled and appalled.

Likes to lounge around on his days off and literally would not move for anything. Someone could have spontaneously combusted and he’ll just be like, “sounds rough, let me know what happens.” Whines a lot, too, when he just wants you to go over and give him attention like he’s a lazy, stubborn cat.

Xaldin

After getting super close with Xaldin, you found out that he has a little hobby of carving things out of wood. You’ll often find little wood shavings on the floor in the corner of the room or maybe sometimes in the places he patrols with Lexaeus, but it’s fine!!! Because usually these little statues or figurines or whatever are gifts for you and he leaves them on your bedside table for you to see when you wake up in the morning.

A great handyman!!! Somehow knows how to fix literally anything, whether that’s a busted pipe, electrical wiring, a broken piece of furniture, etc. You just tell him that something isn’t working correctly and the next day it will be working better than it ever had before.

Xaldin also has magic hands. He gives some pretty damn great massages. When you’re stressed out or your back is hurting because of overworking yourself during the day, all you have to do is flop onto your bed on your stomach and you’ll hear him sigh and step up behind you to massage your shoulders.

He’s that guy who’s always willing to step up and kill any spiders or cockroaches that happen to cross your path.

His kisses are as powerful and intense as he is. They always blow you away. He’s such a big guy and you practically dwarf him, so whenever he puts your head in his hands and kisses you like you’re the only thing in his world, he always manages to take your breath away.

Vexen

One of the biggest things that surprised you about Vexen after your relationship first started getting serious was that he is a complete sucker for trashy day time television. I’m talking Keeping Up with the Kardashians, Judge Judy, Maury, etc. You walked in on him shaking his head at the TV at some some antics on one of those reality shows and you both stared at each other for a while before he was like, “please don’t tell the others.” Sometimes you’ll watch with him just because you think it’s funny how angry he gets watching people on those shows be ridiculous.

Vexen is an infuriating man because he has literally no sleep schedule. You never know when the man sleeps, but you’re sure he has to be sneaking naps sometime in the day because he always comes to bed long after you’re already asleep and the bedsheets have already gone cold by the time you wake up.

Surprisingly the worst person to grocery shop with. Has to go down literally every aisle to make sure he isn’t forgetting something and usually ends up buying a bunch of stuff you don’t need. It’s much easier if you just go to the store by yourself, but he usually insists on going with you anyway because he doesn’t want you to be alone.

Lexaeus

Gives the best hugs and cuddles. If you have a bad day you can literally go up to him, smash your face against his pecs, then fall completely asleep. He’ll ask you about your day and listen while you either complain or talk about how things went. Not much of a talker, but he’s happy to listen to you. Will rub your back with his large, warm hand and it immediately lulls you to sleep. He’s also oddly warm and squishy in the morning!!! Such a sweet, gigantic boy!

Usually ends up being the bigger spoon in bed because he’s so large, but he enjoys being the little spoon!! He also loves it when you come up and hug him from behind when you happen to come across each other in the castle. He gets awkward and blushy, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you to stop.

You usually have to be the one who plans dates, if you happen to have time to go on one. He doesn’t get the point of dates, really. You can spend time together doing literally anything, so why do you have to go out of the castle and do ‘activities?’ Well, that’s probably because seeing him play mini-golf is hilarious.

Never really tells you when he’s upset and doesn’t really show it on his face, but you can tell when he’s sad or mad about something because he’ll follow you like a large, sad puppy. It’s super cute, but you have to sit him down and physically ask, “Okay, what’s wrong, Lexaeus?” And then it takes more cajoling and coaxing to get him to actually talk to you. You get that he’s closed off and it takes quite a long while before he feels comfortable enough that he goes out of his way to speak about his problems with you.

Lexaeus cooking breakfast after he’s just woken up, shirtless and in boxers and his hair all mussed? yes pls

Zexion

It takes a while for both of you to get into the rhythm of being in a relationship because you’re both so caught up with your day jobs. You’ll often be pulling him out of the library or the lab in order to get some sleep, and he’ll more often than not be found bringing you a tray of food to eat as you help Saix sort out missions for the other members. You’re both hopeless, so you tend to take care of each other.

Bubble baths together! With lots of bubbles!!! and Bath bombs!!! And I’m not even talking about a sexual bath. I’m talking making Zexion a beard out of bubbles and watching the glitter from the bath bombs stick to his skin, just listening to a little calming music and spending some peaceful time together.

The two of you are friends before you get together, so you know each other pretty well. It gets to the point where you actually have this way of communicating with each other just through looks and stares, and it drives Vexen insane because he always thinks that the two of you are talking about him. You are, obviously, but you don’t have to tell him that.

Book friends! One of your favorite things is to get new book recommendations from each other in order to gain more knowledge and expand your tastes.

Saix - Part 1

Cooking! Dates! Cooking meals with Saix is so much fun because it’s both romantic and educational. It’s also awesome when you can just sit on the counter next to the stove with a big glance of wine and watch him hustle around the kitchen, chatting about nothing in particular as he cooks. It’s so fun and he’s so cute and it’s..... so damn hot when he’s cooking in just pajama pants and no shirt???

The master of undercover, underrated cute fluffy moments of things that he does for you. You’ll fall asleep at your desk in the lab or something and wake up in bed with a blanket over you. You’ll forget to eat lunch, go to the bathroom, then find that there’s a sandwich and a bowl of fruit waiting for you.

He’s fairly neat and tidy already, but you both share an equal partnership when cleaning up any messes in your bedroom. He makes lists showing who is responsible for which task and sometimes passive-aggressively posts it on the lamp on your bedside table.

Likes to read to you and you like to listen to his voice. You’ll sit in bed with your eyes closed, hand on his chest and with his arm around your shoulder as he reads from a fictional novel, scientific journal, or historical text. His voice is so soft and lilting that it can easily just make you fall asleep. It’s always fun to discuss whatever he reads to you, like your own personal book club.

Axel

Axel is literally the weirdest person to be in a relationship with because he... doesn’t really act any different? He’s just more cuddly and playful but still treats you like you’re one of the guys. Like he has a tendency to call you ‘dude’ a lot as a complete reflex. One time he said, “Thanks, dude” right after sex then passed out and you were so annoyed that you made him sleep on the couch for four days.

Not a morning person whatsoever, but you tend to get up early. You could drag him out of bed and sit him down in the kitchen while you make some coffee, but he’ll be so out of it. You can call his name, snap your fingers in front of his face, and it’ll take him at least twenty seconds for his brain to stop buffering and actually give a response.

It’s okay though, because you’re absolutely useless at night time when you get super tired, so you always make him carry you to bed. He’ll usually just toss you over his shoulder and may or may not sneak a grab at your ass as he takes you up to bed to sleep.

You will almost always fight over the TV remote. You’ll ask politely for it, Axel won’t respond, then you’ll demand it, then Axel will go so far as stick the remote down his pants. You shocked the hell out of him when you called his bluff, stuck your hands down his pants, and triumphantly pulled out the remote while smirking at his red face.

Demyx

Demyx is way more laid back than you are and it shows in literally everything he does. It takes a while for you to get used to someone who’s just so... chill all the time. It’s a good balance though, because he can easily tell you when you’re worrying too much or overreacting about something, and you can tell him when he isn’t taking something seriously enough.

Likes to go on lots of dates! Movie dates, drive in theater dates, dates to mini golf, dates at the bowling alley, picnic dates, shopping dates, etc. The list can go on forever and ever. He likes having someone he can do fun stuff with because he always likes experiencing new things. He’s constantly moving and doing stuff, so some of his favorite moments are when he can just slow down and do something new and interesting with you.

Has some messy habits that drive you absolutely insane. You need order in your life and Demyx has literally none of that. He’ll leave blankets and clothing and towels on the floor and he’ll toss his cloak and whatever is in his pockets everywhere and just - “for God’s sake, Demyx, just pick up after yourself!”

Neither of you can cook, but you are snack connoisseurs. You’ll fight over who can eat the last of the Oreo’s or Chips Ahoy. He’ll wake up at three in the morning to go and eat the last of the cookies, only to outrageously find out that you had eaten the last of them 2 hours before.

Luxord

Does a lot of the cleaning and such simply because he doesn’t like messes. You won’t really ever have to lift a finger in that sense, because your bedroom is usually dusted and cleaned every few days. Sometimes even does chores just in an attempt to keep himself busy. Insists that he enjoys doing it, but you aren’t quite sure.

Likes to play cards with you because it’s something fun that you can do together to pass the time. You’re actually getting pretty good at it and you’ve beaten him a handful of times, but he still bests you more often than not. He teaches you a few tips and tricks that you can use against the other members on your annual poker night, but Luxord isn’t allowed to play because, well, he’s too good.

You’re usually on your feet more often than not, so you get achey during the day. All you have to do is plop your bare feet in Luxord’s lap and you’ll probably end up getting a pretty great foot massage.

Marluxia

Can’t really cook anything more than a salad so you tend to make the meals for the two of you, but he’s always the one who supplies the fresh ingredients. It’s always nice to have your own personal grocery store! He’s also pretty great at staying on top of dishes and washing clothes because you hate doing both of those things.

Flowers everywhere! Flowers in your hair, dirt under your nails, bouquets on your bedside table, a rose or a tulip as a present when he brings you your morning coffee. The whole room smells like a flower shop and it’s amazing. You like to spend time with him weeding the garden and pruning the flowers!

Sometimes walks around shirtless when he gets comfortable with you. He doesn’t do it for any particular reason, but sometimes he just... neglects to put on a shirt? He doesn’t see the point of it if the two of you are just hanging out together by yourselves.

He lets you play with and braid his hair when you get stressed. It gives you something to do with your hands and he enjoys the feeling of your hands running along his head.

Larxene

Larxene doesn’t like other people touching her while she sleeps - you think it might be that she knows she can’t protect herself when she’s knocked out - so it takes a while before the two of you can sleep in the same bed without one of you getting annoyed.

She’s such a badass, awesome girlfriend. She’ll step on other people without hesitation just to make sure you’re okay and happy. Hell, she could probably step on you and you would be like ‘thank you.’ She was super intimidating when the two of you first met because you’re pretty sure that she could snap your spine without any hesitation.

The best person to have on your side in a pinch because she’s always ready to square up even when she has no idea what’s going on.

Is not the kind of person to have casual relationships. She’s either all in or all out. It’s a very serious and very awkward conversation that the two of you have to have at the beginning of your relationship, but it’s worth the awkwardness because it makes sure that there are no misunderstandings about where you stand.

Roxas

He’s a mess but he loves you a lot. Likes to give lots of hugs and cuddles and cheek kisses whenever he can.

Roxas is basically your biggest fan. You will literally never find someone who is more encouraging for everything that you do. He always cheers for you, tells you that he has faith in you, and continuously insists that you can do anything that you set your mind to as long as you have a little courage. He’s also willing to help you with whatever you need. Basically, he’s just an all around nice guy.

He’s definitely someone who just enjoys a relaxing evening just sitting around and doing nothing, so there are a lot of times where you just sit in silence and nap together.

Picnic dates! Can’t cook for anything and burns everything he touches, but he’ll throw together some sandwiches or get someone else to cook something, wrap it up in a little basket, and bring you somewhere nice where you can eat.

Rock, Paper Scissors is your go to tactic when figuring out who is responsible for household chores, but usually you can just give him some wide Bambi eyes and he’ll break down and do all the chores anyway.

Xion

Wife! Material! Xion is literally the cutest wife in the world.

Slow dancing in the kitchen or in your bedroom or after you’re in pajamas and just out of the shower. Cute dances that aren’t serious but they’re still fun and playful. They’re one of your favorite things about being in a relationship with Xion.

They do yoga together sometimes, especially when they found out about couples yoga. It’s fun and hilarious and is always good for when they need to relax or need a good laugh. They originally discovered yoga as a suggestion from Vexen, and they tried it once and it just happened to stick.

You fight over who gets to be the little spoon. She says the little spoon position makes her feel safe and loved and you’re like, “well yeah, that’s why I want to be the little spoon.” “No, I want to be the little spoon!”

#organization xiii #kingdom hearts #organization xiii headcanons #kingdom hearts headcanons

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theserpentlife · 5 years

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Chapter 1: The Fall

hey loves, so here’s the first chapter of my riverdale rewrite based on this storyline and character synopsis i did awhile back. this is my first time writing fiction like ever and it was really fun and i hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you guys. send me nice messages pls.

Recommended Song to accompany read; Always forever - The Cults

As the raging summer takes its last humid breath, trees morph from tones of lush greens into assorted hues of red and gold. Brightly tinted maple leaves fall from the trees like confetti, a triumphant declaration of the beginning of the crisp and cool autumn. The season of fall had come to Riverdale, a small town nestled inconspicuously on the northern border. The season of autumn held great significance for the townspeople. It marked the beginning of the new school year for the town’s youth. A change of hands between the elder of the teens who would be leaving town for their college lives and the younger bright-eyed ones on the cusps of their new lives as high school students.

Fall was also the prime harvesting season for the town’s number one export - it’s rich tapestry of sickly sweet maple syrup. An abundance of sticky gold bled bountifully out of the trunks of the tall maple trees that surrounded the town. Steeped in decades of tradition and history, the Blossom Maple Farms, founded by the descendants of the Blossom Family, was truly the bedrock of the town’s economy.

In the winter of 1998, under the celestial glow of the full moon, the next in line to the empire would be born. An heiress. Cheryl Blossom had skin as pale as snow and hair as red as flames. As soon as she had left the confines of her mother's womb she had already committed a grave sin - being born a daughter to parents who had prayed ceaselessly for a son. Imagine the wrath that rained on her after Penelope was told she could no longer bear any other children. Cheryl Blossom’s very existence marked the end of the Blossom bloodline.

__________

Archie Andrews threw his freshly pressed light blue shirt over his broad shoulders and slowly worked his way up the buttons. As soon as he reached the very last one on the top, a bizarre scene unfolded in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. He saw that his hands were replaced with much paler ones, nails long and exquisitely polished in a deep red color. The air around him had suddenly gone cold. He was paralyzed by the sight before him and yet he could not look away. It was as if the cool wind had frozen him in place too. A sickeningly sweet aroma swarmed around him and his eyes darted anxiously as if trying to trace its source before fixating on his reflection once more. The mysterious hand was now gone and so was the smell. Archie swallowed hard at the lump that had gathered in his throat. It was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him, he reasoned. After all, he spent most of the night before tossing and turning in bed.

He takes a handful of his watered-down hair wax and slathers it generously onto his saffron hued locks. As expected the wax doesn’t take well to his hair. "Damn it." He grunts in annoyance before slathering another dollop, this time running his hands through his hair with increasingly aggressive strokes. His rage interrupted by a sudden weight pressing down on his right shoulder. His fear-ridden body jumps in response to the unwelcomed stimuli. “Woah Arch, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in.” It was Betty Cooper. “You okay?” Betty's brows were furrowed softly in concern. Archie's usual warm and rosy complexion was drained of all its color. She ran her hands across the length of his back in soft and soothing strokes. Her touch did wonders in soothing him. “Y-yeah I’m good.” "You sure?" "Yeah, Bets." this time Archie manages to conjure up a soft smile. Betty mirrors her childhood sweetheart melting into a soft smile herself. Her eyes trail the entire length of Archie’s body before fixating on his hazel brown eyes. “You look handsome.” she cooed. Archie couldn’t help but break into a light chuckle before averting his gaze away from her crystal blue eyes. Archie always had a habit of looking away or biting his lips whenever he felt sheepish and Betty loved that about him.

She brushed back the loose strands of hair that had fallen on his forehead and adjusted his navy blue varsity jacket, making sure to dust off any loose traces of lint. He instinctively stepped forward, eliminating the distance between them wanting nothing more but to take in the familiar aroma of her rose-scented perfume and the slight traces of her magnolia shampoo. He lifted his hands to embrace her face, thumbs softly stroking the pink of her cheeks. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Betty Cooper.”

______________

It’s twenty minutes before the start of the first period and the schoolyard is teeming with cliques of excited teens all engrossed in exchanging stories about how they had spent their summer. Right across the street, a sleek black BMW pulls into the street. Its tinted windows rolled down to reveal a raven-haired teen peering discreetly at the scene before her.

“Andre, my dear, you can stop the car here.”

“But Miss-”

“It’s okay Andre, I prefer to walk.”.

Veronica Lodge had a plan. After her family's not-so-graceful fall from high society in New York, Veronica wanted nothing more than to detach herself from the shame of her past life. Opting instead to forge a new one for herself. She looked down to inspect her outfit one last time. A simple black dress, sinched fashionably at the waist with a thin violet belt. Her hands found its way to her collarbone and lingered on her bare skin where her prized pearl necklace used to lay.

"No need to pick me up later. I'll see you at the Pembrooke." Andre nodded, pausing thoughtfully for a second before flashing a warm smile at Veronica's reflection in the front view mirror. "Have a nice day at school, miss." she heard Andre say before closing the car door behind her. Nice day. I sure hope so she thought. Veronica wasn't expecting much from her new life in Riverdale, after all, she wasn't planning on staying for long. She figured it was best if she kept a low profile and made a graceful exit when it came time for her family to return to their lives in New York. No attachments, no drama. The lesser her classmates knew about her the better.

Inscribed in gold on the school’s brick facade read “Riverdale High”. Here goes nothing. As soon as she pushed open the rust-tinted front doors, she found herself right in the middle of it all. Students gathered in front of their lockers, chatting with friends and getting their books in order. All eyes were drawn to her immediately. You see in a small town like Riverdale, everybody knew everybody. They all shared the same street, grew up in the same schools. It was an understatement to say that she stood out like a sore thumb. She eased into a slight smile hoping it would soften her image, but her attempts were received with snickers and ridicule instead. There was no time for pleasantries anyway, the first period was coming up and she hadn't found her locker yet. “431.431.431” she repeated as her eyes scanned the row of deep blue lockers on either side of the hallway. “Veronica Lodge?” She froze in her tracks as if struck by a freeze gun. No way. Was it someone she knew? Perhaps someone from New York? This couldn't be happening. Her cover already blown and all before the first period?

She turned slowly on her heels to meet her fate and to her surprise and great relief it was a new face, someone she hadn't met before. Standing before her was an all-too-enthusiastic, blonde ponytail donning Betty Cooper. “I’m Betty Cooper, I’m on the welcoming committee. I’m supposed to give you a tour of the school? You know get you oriented on our programs and clubs and where the restrooms are...”. Her cheerful demeanor and upbeat voice threw Veronica off. I guess she wasn't used to the warm hospitality. An ambiguously awkward period of silence passed between the two before Betty let out a nervous laugh, embarrassment coloring her cheeks a bright pink. “Right Betty, nice to meet you". Veronica extended her hand for a handshake and Betty gladly returned the gesture.

“So, have you found your locker yet?”.

“No, actually, I’ve been walking in circles for the past five minutes. Do you know where 431 is?" Betty nodded and mouthed an Ah-hah before leading Veronica further down the hall. “431, here we are.”. Veronica entered the code for the lock and viola her life at Riverdale High had officially begun.

________

“So here we have the girls’ locker room, that's the gym hall over there, and the cafeteria is just down the hall to the left.”. The all-inclusive Riverdale High campus tour was in full swing, led by Riverdale's golden girl no less. Veronica nodded nonchalantly, a polite gesture in acknowledgment of Betty's forthcoming reception. Veronica, however, took little effort to remember the details of the tour seeing as her time at Riverdale High would be brief.

“Oh, and this is the Blue & Gold-" Veronica's ear perked at the noticeable boost in enthusiasm in Betty's tone. You'd think the blonde couldn't get any peppier than this. "You’ll find me here most of the time, I’m the Chief Editor here.”. The pair stepped into the dimly-lit space, a small classroom haphazardly converted into a publishing center for the school's paper. Tall dusty shelves lined the corners of the room with volumes of worn and aged books displayed sparsely on its bones. Their workstations buried in tall stacks of paper, several empty coffee mugs, and typewriters. Talk about old-fashioned. Who knew moving to a small town meant going back in time. “You know we’re always looking for writers so if-” “No thanks, I’m not much of a writer myself,” Veronica interjects, ‘But...I love what you’ve done with the place,” she rejoined, feeling her initial rejection of Betty's offer was rather crass for the good-hearted blonde.

Seated at the very corner of the space was Jughead Jones. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the edge of his sharp nose. He sips his black coffee with one hand while the other dances frantically over the keyboard of his MacBook. Paying absolutely no heed to the presence of the two. “Jughead, this is Veronica Lodge she’s-” “New girl I know.” he interrupts, not even bothering to pry his gaze from his laptop to meet theirs. “This is Jughead, he’s one of the best writers in this school. His pieces are phenomenal.”.

“Well, I guess I should start reading the school paper then.” Veronica thought she should offer a light compliment, perhaps as a way to break the ice. She reached out her freshly manicured hand to shake his but was met with an unfazed Jughead still blissfully engrossed in his writing. She retrieved her hand, ego sorely bruised by the boy's crude demeanor. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes and return his hostility with a snarky remark. But she was new Veronica and new Veronica was not going to make an enemy out of her classmate on the very first day of Sophmore year.

Just as Betty was about to usher Veronica out, they hear Jughead read the summary of his latest piece aloud. A seemingly innocent behavior laced with malice of course. A deliberate attempt to rattle the cage. You see Jughead Jones was a bit of a sadist, getting a kick out of ticking people off every once in a while. He reclined into his seat, fingers interlocked behind his head as he began the narration of his latest piece. “Dark and mysterious family moves into town on the very same night Riverdale's scarlet heiress Cheryl Blossom goes missing - an awful coincidence perhaps?” “Jug!” a wide-eyed Betty scolds.

“Excuse me?” Veronica glared in disbelief. “Oh, it’s just a piece I’m working on about the disappearance of Cheryl Blossom.” Jughead gets up from his seat to come face to face with a fuming Veronica. His cold blue eyes peering straight through her dark ones. She couldn't help but scoff at Jughead's ridiculous attempt at yellow journalism.

“So let me get this straight, you think I body-snatched some girl I don’t even know, just so I could take her place in some local high school in the middle of nowhere?” Jug shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just a working theory.”. Unbelievable! The guy practically knew her for all of five minutes and already he’s pegging her for a kidnapper. “Come on Veronica, let's go.” Betty ushered Veronica out of the room before looking back once more to shoot Jug a disapproving look.

“Betty, I have a question.”

"Yup?" the blonde hummed, eyes glued to the pages of her baby blue leather notebook. She ran her index finger down the rows of her handwritten agenda making sure she had covered all the bases of Veronica's orientation tour. "Who the hell is Cheryl Blossom?”. Betty blinked up at Veronica, her organized thoughts completely disarrayed. She wasn't prepared for this. Cheryl Blossom's disappearing act of the summer was not on the agenda for today and frankly, she didn't know how to describe Cheryl, well not with decent adjectives at least. "Well, she umm... she's-". Betty fumbled over her words before giving up completely seeing as Veronica herself was absorbed in the sight before them. A locker plastered with personal messages and flowers with a row of lit candles lined up neatly at its foot. A bright red banner hung from the ceiling just above it reading "Come home, Cheryl.".

_____________________________________

ok so should i continue with a chapter 2 or lets can this mess - what do ya’ll think? sound off in the comments.

#riverdale #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #archie andrews #betty cooper #veronica lodge #jughead jones #cheryl blossom

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esseastri · 5 years

Text

Megan Reads Oathbringer (part 11)

All right, now that it’s been 4 months and I’ve read all the other things, I realized that it’s, like, 5 days until this book has been out for a year and I should probably get the fuck on with it, so. Here we are.

Part 11 encompasses pages 828-934 (previous parts)

me in July: I’m almost done! I can finish this!

me, now: sweet christ I have a smaller novel’s-worth still to get through lord let me live

Aw, damn, I left off on Interludes, but I DON’T CARE ABOUT VENLI, WHERE MY BOYS AT

oh SNAP I WANT THAT, the ability to speak and understand all languages???? GRABBY HANDS

ah yes the “the alethi enslaved us so we should rise up and kill them by enslaving ourselves to this other, more horrible godlike being” narrative. my favorite.

sigh

why we gotta EXTERMINATE people?

I’m tired. of extermination plotlines.

Maybe. Venli and her lil light spren will stop? the extermination!? I’m here for that!

“There was an art to doing laundry” HONESTLY THO, HAVE YOU MET COLLEGE-AGE BOYS WHO NEVER LEARNED HOW MUCH SOAP TO USE? AMEN.

oh.

I forgot about Mraize.

like, literally, 100% forgot about his existence. sorry alyx.

eyy, we found Shalash!

HE WAS LOOKING FOR HER?? IT WAS A TRAP??

admiralakbar.gif

...Mraize has a babsk? I didn’t think he was Thaylen????

��A resistance is not what we caught you mounting.” UGH. PICK THE HAMMER, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.

Why do I feel like this is a “HE HAS CHOSEN THE BEAR. BRING FORTH THE BEAR” joke?

yeessssssss, VENLI!!! TAKIN RESPONSIBILITY!!!!!!!! I CARE NOW. I WANT HER TO BE BETTER, I WANT HER TO WORK THROUGH. GIIIRRLL!!!!

HOW LONG WILL YOU VACILLATE?

YESSSSS

gr oss? Tha nk s? for the melting flesh images??

yelch

PART FOOUUUUUURRR

that’s. so many POVs. What is this, a GRRM book?

also none of the POVs are Bridge Four and. WHEN WILL MY BOYS COME BACK FROM THE WAR.

wait, I could have sworn the Alethi had been fighting the Parshendi for ten years?? but Dalinar is talking to Gavilar EIGHT years ago?

Did I miss smthn?

Did I conflate the Shattered Plains with the Trojan War? I’m confused.

Lisa has done Math for me and found out that it was only 6 years????????? Why did I think it was ten??? I COULD HAVE SWORN IT WAS TEN????

“his job was to loom” heheheh

so... Dalinar is the nuclear deterrent and the nuclear threat all in one?

Dalinar, leaning into the mic: “The truth is... I am Iron Man.”

#Evideservedbetter2kForever

OH NO A BABY

TINY FIFTEEN YEAR OLD ADOLIN IS MAKING MY HEART SING

“I had this specially tailored” I LOVE HIM

OHHHHH

HE’S TRYING SO HARD TO IMPRESS HIS DAD I’M CRYING

“When censured, Adolin only tried harder.” I! LOVE! THIS! TINY! SUNLIGHT! BOY!

I wanna write fic where Adolin Kholin meets Luke Skywalker and the world literally EXPLODES IN SUNLIGHT AND SOFTNESS.

“Who could deny him?” CERTAINLY NOT ME, I WOULD DIE FOR ADOLIN KHOLIN TOO GOOD TOO SOFT FOR THIS WORLD

me, squinting: “which Herald is Ahu?”

my running method is to just suspect everyone of being a Herald. At some point, I’ll have to be right.

WHICH! HERALD! IS! AHU!

HE’S TALKING ABOUT THE UNMADE LIKE HE KNOWS THEM PERSONALLY, TALKING ABOUT HOW THEY LET THEM IN. WHICH!!! HERALD!!! IS!!! AHU!!!!

LISTEN, I JUST WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THE HERALDS. GIMME A BOOK ABOUT THE HERALDS, BRANDON!

GIMME THAT JUICY GOOD BACKSTORY, BRANDON!!!

me: why is there a map with the sea but Kholinar is on it???

two seconds later: OOOHHH DUH IT’S SHADESMAR

wack y fun!

ARE DREHY AND SKAR OKAY???? THEY DIDN’T COME WITH???

ARE THEY OKAY?

OH NO OH NOO I’M GONNA WORRY AOBUT THEM FOREVER

Adolin, say hi to your swwooooorrdddd

....the Oathgate has souls?

what?

Fearspren: gross.

I knew they were all bigger on the inside, as it were, but. #yikes?

“Kaladin’s not well.” “I have to be well.”

BRB SOBBING ABOUT KALADIN

I’M!

HE’S SO STRONG

I’M! HELP!

GIANT CLAW? UNMADE!!?? LET’S KILL IT. IDK IF WE CAN BUT CAN WE TRY??

“sword lady” HEH

ok well, at least we know Drehey is alive, since Shallain bumped into his soul, which is both TERRIFYING and REALLY COOL

YOU’RE NOT NOTHING, ADOLIN, YOU ARE EVERYTHING AND I LOVE YOU.

*long keening noises*

I FELL ON THE FLOOR

“Hey,” Adolin said. “It will be all right.” “I survived Bridge Four,” Kaladin growled. “I’m strong enough to survive this.” “I’m pretty sure you could survive anything. Storms, bridgeboy, the Almighty used some of the same stuff he put into Shardblades when he made you.” Kaladin shrugged. But as they walked onto the next platform, his expression grew distant again. He stood while the rest of them moved on. Almost like he was waiting for their bridge to dissolve and dump him into the sea. “I couldn’t make them see,” Kaladin whispered. “I couldn’t...couldn’t protect them. I’m supposed to protect people, aren’t I?”

GUESS WHICH PART BROKE MEGAN

GUESS WHICH PART DUMPED MY HEART ON THE FLOOR

ANYWAY, I’M CRYING

THISISFINE.PNG

“I’m frightened. I talk when I’m frightened.” I LOVE HIM.

ADOLIN’S HELOIGN HIM HE’S MAKIN HIM TALK TO DISTSRAT HIM AND MAKE HIM JEEP WALKING AND I”M

I LOV A SUNSHINE BOY

SO MUCH

...is Vivenna okay?

oh shiiit, Adolin is? king????

sort of? almost??

oh man, he’s gonna be SO GOOD AT IT!!!! LOOK AT HIM TAKING CHARGE AND TAKING CARE OF EVERYONE. HE’S SUCH A GOOD LEADER, HE’S GOING TO BE SOOOOOO GOOOOOOODDD AT THIS!!!!

that chapter was a Lot

OH NO A SZETH CHAPTER

I’ve only been asking for this for tHE WHOLE BOOK

but now I’m gonna be MORE SAD

.......idk how I feel about the soul-after-image thing. it’s interesting, but I’m still a lil weirded out by Szeth...you know...being alive?

huh. Vasher knows about the magic fish? So....does this validate Lisa’s theory about the fish and the birds from that other cosmere thing I can’t remember bc I haven’t read it?

holy shit, that’s a LOT of skybreakers.....

...who have been around the WHOLE TIME???? WTF

So...Szeth can hear the Spiritual Realm.....and is going to bond a spren, of the Cognitive Realm...and is in the Physical Realm... so does that make him the Avatar, Master of All Three Realms?

(while he may have a lot to learn, I believe that Szeth can save the world)

hm. they’re so...regimented. militaristic. ritualized. They’ve got tests and rules for getting in and it’s all very well-put-together. and it’s WEIRD compared to everyone else stumbling into their Ideals. Is this what is was like before the Recreance? or is this just the Skybreakers being Skybreakers?

why are there kaladin flashbacks in the dalinar book, why, brandon, why must you hurt me in this way

Brandon: *mentions Tien* Me, softly: “no”

HE REALIZED HE COULD KILL AND THAT’S WHAT TERRIFIED HIM

THISISFINE.PNG

I’M EMOTIONAL AND KALADIN IS SAD AND I’M UPSET

Also, Syl just. grabbing his arm and snuggling him is VERY GOOD, SHE IS VERY GOOD, AND SHE SHOULD BE WORSHIPED FOR BEING SO VERY WONDERFUL

“It cannot be holy. If it truly were, it would have burned me away long ago.” I’M SAD NOW, THANKS.

I have weird emotions about people losing their faiths, and Szeth’s character arc has been particularly. compelling to me.

“Here’s what you have to do: fight him and win!” has the same energy as that obnoxious Assassin’s Creed “tip” that’s like “the trick to staying alive to is get your enemy’s health bar to zero while keeping your above zero” and I’M SO PLEASED.

ooohh shit

he drew Nightblood

which I feel is NOT RECOMMENDED

# Y I K E S

Skybreakers take the “lawful” part of DnD alignments to a very unhealthy extreme

tbh they’re a lil fucked up, ngl

Skybreakers make me uncomfortable, is what I’m saying.

“he had never mastered the ‘sleep anywhere’ skill the grunts bragged about” NEERRRRDD

WHEN WILL ADOLIN REALIZE HE’S A REALLY GOOD LEADER??? SOMEONE TELL HIM, I WOULD BUT I’M TOO FAR AWAY.

oh that makes sense

I was confused for a hot second about how Vivenna knew Adolin’s kata, but she probably learned it from Vasher who...also...taught Adolin. Duh.

“I’m just a woman who has been constantly out of her league since adolescence.” Viveennnnaaaaaa, darling. You’ll be all right.

also that makes total sense--the Horneater Peaks? If they’ve got a portal, it makes sense they’re so much more in tune to the spren. Easier border crossings.

PEOPLE live in this realm? What the??

I don’t know Nazh, but the fact that he has an embarrassing tattoo due to Horneater lager bad decisions DELIGHTS ME

hm. idk why I’d sort of assumed that Dalinar went to visit the Nightwatcher before Gavilar died, but. maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was a consequence of Gavliar’s death.

“the other one” GET FUCKED WITH A CACTUS, PAST!DALINAR

OOHH

SOFT BOY

Renarin is such a Good

also, Dalinar HUGGING is SO GOOD KEEP DOING THAT THAT WILL HELP

“Humans, you must stop your emotions. They are very inconvenient here.” I think, Pattern dear, that Shallan rather thinks emotions are inconvenient everywhere.

mmmmmmmmmmmmm

HERE WE ARE AGAIN

ANGER IS ALWAYS THE FIRST STAGE OF DEPRESSION

HELLO, KALADINMEGAN BRAIN, IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE YOU WERE SO NEATLY SPELLED OUT BUT HERE WE ARE AGAIN

“You’re not angry at anyone, you’re just looking for something to latch onto. Something to feel.” To stave off the darkness of unfeeling and anger is easy. It’s irrational and warm and so easy. So it’s always the first one to go.

“It would continue until numbness seemed preferable.” GOD YUP. THERE IT IS.

It’s still really validating and really, really unsettling to see your brain problems spelled out so succinctly.

oh lord

“Men he loved, killing each other.”

I’M UPSET

(and the very tiny garbage part of my brain goes, ‘see he LOVES Moash’)

ADOLIN TAKING THE REARGUARD BECASUE SOMETIMES KALADIN NEEDS LOOKING AFTER I’M EMOTIONAL

Syl had a different Kaladin before Kaladin?? Wild.

and GOD but the symbology of the LIGHTHOUSE in Kaladin’s chapter. I’m. <3

EEEYYYY NAVANI!!!

she made them carry their own chairs, GOD THE MEANING BEHIND THAT, I LOVE HER

“Elhokar and Adolin are safe somewhere.” ABOUT THAT....

LOPEN, PLS

Bridge Four’s unwavering belief in Kaladin is SURE A THING. I love them SO MUCH.

also, god, MY BOYS, here they are, eating all the food and being ridiculous losers at a formal event I HAVE MISSED THEM SO

god, fuc you Ialai. ofc she didn’t carry her own chair, fukin JERK

good to know the assholery of the Sadeas name is being upheld, even after his death

god, every time Taravangian is mentioned, my gut just clenches, he makes me SO NERVOUS

GOD YES OH MY GOD, LIFT VS ROCK EATING CONTEST PLS GIMME MORE

I have forgotten that I love Sebarial. Petition for him to show up more often.

OH GOOD HE’S HAVING A BAD DAY. EXCELLENT. HE’S MUCH BETTER WHEN HE’S STUPID

...unless he’s super smart today and just pretending to be stupid.

fuck

IT’S SO HARD TO TELL WITH HIM ARGH

ANYONE ELSE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE DISCUSSION OF INVADING SHINOVAR WHEN SHINOVAR IS THE ONLY PLACE THAT DOESN’T HAVE A REPRESENTATIVE AT THIS COUNCIL???? JUST ME? OKAY.

also they keep talking about Shinovar as a redoubt and a haven, but....didn’t the Everstorm--going the wrong way--destroy Shinovar? Has anyone checked??

Navani is so clever and it’s brilliant.

“Taravangian was talking about having you tour Vedenar personally”....alone....so he can MURDER YOU. BAD IDEA. ABORT MISSION.

KALADIN HAD AN OLD LADY SLAVE FRIEND WHO DIED AND I’M SAD AGAIN DAMNIT

“He’s got battle fatigue. We have to watch him when he’s sitting around doing nothing, not when he’s got a specific mission.” MMMMMMHHHMMMMMMM

the future is forbidden, but not to Truthwatchers, sooooooo... is. this “Oracle”. a.......... Herald? PERCHANCE.

(He’s not, but I AM SUSPICION INCARNATE)

Weren’t they lying at the beginning and saying that Shallan was an Elsecaller? Because Odium thinks she’s an Elsecaller for some reason. And I wonder...who he’s spying through and where his attention is focused and who told him the lie?

KALADIN JUST WANTS TO SAVE HIS DAD IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK

aight, which world does canned food come from? How far ahead is the mistborn world whose name I can’t remember right now but it begins with an s SCADRIAL YEAH THAT ONE how far ahead is Scadrial in technological progression? Where does the Stormlight Archive fall on the mistborn timeline?

ADOOOLLIINNN. TALK! TO YOUR SPREN!!!

THEY DON’T KNOW??? THE BOYS DON’T KNOW? HOW THEIR MOTHER DIED?

HOW DO THEY NOT KNOW?

oh my god

that

god, that’s a huge lie to believe for so, so long. ohhh my goddd

someone has been writing down all the Unmades’ names, right? So I can look them up in the Coppermind later and be confused and try to work out which is which and what they do and how terrified I should be of them? cool thanks.

HELLO DARKNESS, MY OLD FRIEND

HE’S GONNA TELL US SECRETS!!!!! ARE THEY USEFUL!? WILL I LEARN THINGS ABOUT THE HERALDS!!!!??

I have one (1) priority in this establishment

...why does Syl have color

who is she

also LIGHTSPREN/REACHERS??? COOL AS FUCK OMG

“You don’t fly, you fall the wrong way.” Hehehehehehe <3

I HAVE MISSED KALADIN’S SELF-DEPRECATING JOKES THAT ARE FUNNY BUT ALSO VERY PAINFUL god, I love him. I love him so much. idk if y’all know this about me.

...ok, but the punny banter between Kaladin and Shallan is SO NICE Why do they have to be mean to each other so often why can’t they just be terrible sarcastic pun buddies?

“In that polished breastplate and striking figure, with her talk of chasing bounties and traveling worlds. She’s deeply mysterious.” CAREFUL, SHALLAN, YOUR BI IS SHOWING.

“The feeling was friendship, but neither of them had ever experienced it.”

NOPE

NOOOOOOPPEE

WHO WANTS TO BET THIS SCENE IS SHIP FODDER DEAR LORD

Kaladin, darling, that shit is SO UNHEALTHY, DO NOT ENCOURAGE THIS

god

also like. darling. no. “I wish I didn’t have to care” DARLING ALL YOU DO IS CARE WHO WOULD YOU BE WITHOUT CARING

THIS IS GOOD FOR NEITHER OF YOU STOP

DO NOT ENCOURAGE THAT IN HER AND DO NOT WISH THAT FOR YOURSELF, jesus

lord, ok, well, I’ve read 100 pages, so on that disappointing character note, I’m going to go to bed.

#op #Megan reads OB #Oathbringer spoilers #is it still spoilers? man have I come out the other end on spoilers? oh well #Stormlight Archive #Oathbringer #Brandon Sanderson #mmmmmm I HAVE OPINIONS #also cry a lot #I miss Bridge Four petition for my boys to come back

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