#How is her crepes not falling off the plate we may never know… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xenolithium · 4 years ago

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Surprise Visits (France & America)

I remember when he was just a little boy. He had large blue eyes and that bright, innocent smile he'd always wear upon his lips whenever I'd come see him. Those moments were fleeting and the time I spent with that boy was short.

"Alfred, papa made you something to eat!"

Whenever I saw him, I remember being so happy. Even if it was a struggle just to see his face again the next time around. It was something I'd look forward to. Kissing his forehead, cuddling next to him in bed, feeding him the food I made so lovingly.

It was strange. Up until that point I'd never felt such a strong urge to protect something. To become the pillar that would hold him up in his darkest moments. But I accepted the feeling wholeheartedly and without question. This little boy was my little boy.

The American Revolution was when I truly got to know him. Arthur may have stolen away his childhood, but I had his teen years. The moments when he was the most vulnerable. The moments when he'd break down in tears, unsure of what to do. But it was okay, I was there. I'd always be there.

"I love you, mon petit chou."

---

Francis sighed as he pushed his luggage next to the front door and out of the way, pocketing his spare key. He then took off his shoes before taking a few steps into his son's home, leaving the entrance behind him. The place was quiet, eerily quiet considering who this was he was visiting. The only sounds he could hear was the soft pitter-patter of paws as Alfred's cat came to greet him. Her white fluffy tail standing up at attention as she meowed at him as if saying hello or perhaps asking him to leave. She did have a bit of an attitude problem afterall, as most cats do.

Francis kneeled down to give her a stroke, "I'm happy to see you too~" he greeted, letting her bunt against the back of his hand. A small smile played at his lips while she inspected him in mild interest and eventually took her leave. Back to her outpost atop the fridge to stare at him behind beady blue eyes.

Francis gazed upon her 'elegance' for a moment, before slowly rising to his feet again and continuing his journey through the house. First things first, he'd check to see if Alfred was even home. But judging by the fact Marshmallow was left unattended and not in someone's care, he was sure that the American hadn't gone too far.

"Alfred, papa came by to visit you~" was the only warning he gave as he so brazenly entered his son's room. It's not like he'd care if he saw anything he shouldn't. Francis wasn't exactly one who held high regard towards concepts such as shame. Plus, if anything was happening, he'd just walk back out and talk through the door instead. Simple as that~ (He had a feeling Arthur wouldn't be too keen on that logic.)

Francis blinked when he noticed Alfred laying in bed. Despite it being the middle of the day, there he was, hugging an oversized stuffed bear like he was a small child again. It made the Frenchman's heart light up as he stepped towards the bed to sit down next to his very much full grown son and run a hand through his messy hair. He frowned at the texture; greasy, split ends, dandruff. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, this just wouldn't do. It was a good thing he decided to come over.

"Alfred, did you work late last night?" He asked, his voice soft, as the American slowly blinked himself into consciousness. Staring out through windows surrounding his bed for a moment, towards the swaying palm trees and the rolling shores. Before finally turning his head to look up at Francis.

"Papa?"

"Yeah, it's me," Francis chuckled, letting his thumb briefly rub against Alfred's cheek in a comforting gesture.

"Did you bring me any food?" Alfred asked groggily and Francis rolled his eyes.

"No, I was going to ask you what you wanted though."

"Crepes~" he cheered as he sat up, suddenly a lot more energetic than he was before. "With lots of whip cream and strawberries~"

"Wait, are we having a meal here or desert?" Francis asked, his eyebrows bunched together in concern.

"Chocolate sauce?"

"That doesn't make it any healthier." Francis sighed, shaking his head as Alfred laughed. "How about I choose then?"

"What? You can't just walk in here, ask what I want and not let me choose. I will drink the chocolate sauce just to spite you."

"Alfred please...let's not drink the chocolate sauce. That is disgusting."

"To you maybe."

"No, it's disgusting and you know it!" Francis huffed, surprised when Alfred simply stared at him for a moment in silence. Seemingly letting him win the argument for a short period of time.

"Can I at least have the strawberries and whipped cream?" He begged, making those puppy dog eyes that always made Francis weak to his every will and whim.

"Fine you can have the strawberries."

"and whipped cream?"

"Strawberries."

Alfred squinted at him for a long moment, that angelic expression from earlier falling off his face completely as he realized what Francis was doing here. Opening his mouth to refute it again when Francis swiftly changed the subject.

"Alfred, when's the last time you took a shower?"

Alfred closed his mouth again, looking slightly surprised at such a sudden topic change. But also slightly embarrassed that he was caught not taking care of himself properly to Francis of all people. The one who would gripe the most about it.

"Yesterday."

Francis took hold of one of the strands of his hair, whilst Alfred tried to weakly swat him away. "This does not look like yesterday. There's so much grease, I could fry an egg with it," he pointed out, finally pulling his hand back and crossing his arms over his chest. "On top of that, you haven't been using the shampoo I recommended, have you?" Alfred's guilty look said it all. "You wouldn't have so much dandruff and split ends if you used the shampoo I told you to use. And what's this, acne? I thought I gave you a step by step guide on my skin care routine and -"

"Okay, okay! I got it!" Alfred cut off his father, who was currently going into a nagging tangent about how he should be taking care of himself. This time it was Francis' turn to squint suspiciously at Al. "I'll take a shower right now to prove it."

"Good." Francis finally began to smile again, leaning forward to kiss Alfred's forehead. "I'll be in the kitchen." He slowly rose from the bed to walk towards the bedroom door. Only pausing to turn back and close the door behind him, noticing Al curling up under the covers with his phone in hand, rather than getting up like he said he would. He raised a brow, "Alfred..." He called in warning.

"One sec, I gotta wake my legs up first."

"Now, Alfred." The American let out a huff and rolled to the floor, covers and all. Only to slowly crawl his way to his bathroom with a groan of protest. "And you tell me I'm over dramatic." Francis shook his head as he finally closed the door with a click, walking back down the hallway to get them both something to eat.

---

"Do you feel better?" Francis asked as Alfred leaned back, stretching his arms up over his head after finishing his fifth plate of food. He definitely looked relaxed and at ease, but most of all, clean.

"Yeah, your food is the best~" he complimented, grinning from ear to ear. "Thanks papa!"

Francis leaned against his hand, brushing a few loose strands from his own face. "You need to take better care of yourself. What would you do if I didn't check on you all the time? But there's no need to think of that since I'm here~"

Alfred pouted, "now you're just being full of yourself. Besides, I wouldn't want to make your job pointless if I'm doing everything myself."

"How noble of you," Francis laughed, but the sound was genuine and heartfelt. He glanced towards Marshmallow who was gazing at them from the other side of the table. "Have you been overworking yourself again?"

"Nah, just was having a bit of a hard time." Francis turned his gaze back towards Alfred as he fiddled with his empty glass nervously.

"You know you can talk to me about it, mon petit chou."

"I know, it's just embarassing."

Francis stared at Alfred for a long moment trying to think of what it was that he was keeping from him. Something he had mentioned before perhaps? "Oh, is it..." He trailed off as Alfred seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable. "Oh, Alfred." He reached across the table to place his hands on his son's cheeks. "You're perfect in every way and there's absolutely nothing you need to change." He watched as Alfred began to tear up. "It's fine, you don't have to say anything. I'm here."

Alfred nodded. "Thanks..." He swallowed thickly. "Thanks for coming."

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levis-hazelnut · 4 years ago

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Summary: when you and your best friend, Hanji, were younger, you had made up stories about your dream guys - what they would look like and how you would meet. What happens when the one you had made up appears to be real?

Warning(s): suggestions of sex. please do tell me if there are anymore.

Taglist (closed): @castellandiangelo @fandom-addict19 @20coldhearts

Status: completed

part 10 > part 11 > part 12 (final)

series masterlist

(a/n: sorry this is me just being thirsty for levi, it’s completely self indulgent and barely has a plot)

I think what I’m about to tell you right now is probably one of the biggest surprises.

So, you know how both of my relationships never lasted longer than five months? Well, my relationship with Levi has been going on for eleven months now. Almost a whole year. Which means I’ve been living in heaven for the past eleven months.

This man is just amazing in every way possible (but please don’t tell him I said this because he’s going to piss me off). He can pretend that he doesn’t care about anything all he wants because I know how much of a sweetheart he actually is, and I hate him for making me fall even more in love with him.

And another reason why I hate him is because--

That god awful sound of my ringtone screamed into my ear and I knew who it was, seeing as how there was only one person who would call me at eight a.m. on a Saturday.

With a few grumbled curses, I blindly reached for my phone and answered it, “What?”

“Good morning to you, too, darlin’.”

“For god’s sake, just tell me what you want. I’m trying to sleep.”

“I’d like for you to get your ass out of bed since our exam starts in less than twenty minutes.”

... Wasn’t it the weekend?

“... Excuse me? Exam? Since when?”

“Look at your calendar, please, you idiot.”

“I may or may not have put it into my calendar because I relied on you,” I muttered, jumping out of bed and scrambling to find some clothes before quickly brushing my teeth and trying to fix my bed head.

“Also, stop by at the café before you come. I want tea.”

“Are you fucking dumb? I’m not stopping to get you tea when I’ll already be late.”

“It’s on the way. It’ll only add a couple of minutes to your journey.”

“If I’m late, I swear I’m going to--”

“It won’t be my fault if you��re late. Thank you for getting me tea. Love you. Bye.”

He cut the phone before I could even reply and I rolled my eyes, slamming the apartment door behind me as I rushed down the stairs and made my way to the café to get Levi his precious tea since I’m such a loving girlfriend.

With a shrill ring of the bell above the door, my arrival was announced as I looked to the counter to see Eren talking to Levi, with a cup of tea in his hands.

I frowned, marching towards them to slap the back of the raven’s head.

“What the hell?” he spat, flicking my forehead in retaliation.

“What happened to getting you tea, so I can be late to the exam?”

“There is no exam, darlin’.”

“What do you mean? Why did you tell me that there was an exam? Why would you make me lose precious hours of sleep?”

“Seeing as how you don’t remember, I’ll remind you. Last night you asked me to help you study. For the exams. But I didn’t think you’d get out of bed for our study session.”

“Stop knowing me so well and let me sleep. Now, you have to buy me a cof--” I cut myself off when he presented a hot cup to me and the aroma of coffee wafted around my nose, calming me down after I took a sip. “Thank you, babe.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied before turning to the male with turquoise orbs. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“No problem. I also cleared a table in the corner for you guys, so that you wouldn’t get too distracted.”

“Aw, thank you, Eren,” I grinned. “Come on, let’s get this shit over with,” I huffed, dragging the raven towards the table, where we both sat down, and he took things out of his bag before tucking it under the table.

“What do you want to focus on?” he asked, and then glancing at me when I didn’t respond because I was too busy focusing on the black t-shirt he was wearing. Perfectly fitted around his arms, tight around his torso and pecs, exposing the ripples that I love to run my fingers over. And he was wearing a couple of silver rings on his hands, and I didn’t think he’d be able to look more attractive.

“... You,” I replied to his question with a smirk, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I will walk out of this café if you don’t stop staring at me like a freaking weirdo and if you don’t pay attention to what I’m saying.”

“But I’m tired,” I whined, facepalming the table.

“That’s not my fault.”

“I will fucking kill you, Levi. You were the one that decided to call me for five hours last night. And the one who thought it’d be a wonderful idea to wake me up at eight in the morning.”

“... Fine. We don’t have to start straight away,” he told me, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge even more.

“Don’t sit like that.”

“Why?” he questioned, raising a single brow.

“Because I’m sure you don’t want to get fucked in a café.”

“Why are you always so horny, you freak?”

“You’re asking me that question while looking like that?” I scoffed with the roll of my eyes. “The audacity.”

“Just drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“I will. By the way, do we have to stay in here? Can we go to the library or somewhere quieter?”

“Why? So you can fuck me?”

“No, you idiot. I just won’t be able to concentrate with all these people.”

“But you’ll get too sleepy if it’s quiet.”

“True,” I mumbled. “Okay, then. Just give me like half an hour and I should be ready to study.”

“What am I going to do for thirty minutes?”

“Maybe talk to your girlfriend, smartass,” I retorted, laying my head on the table again, squishing my cheek against it. There was no response, so the only sounds were the chatter of customers, glass clinking, and air conditioning because of the sweltering weather. I glanced at my boyfriend, wondering why he was silent, only to find that he was gazing at me. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” was his reply, which was unusual, before he took a sip of his tea.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About how we ended up here. Together. In a relationship.”

A tender smile conquered my lips as I reached my hand out for his, interlocking our fingers. “Thank you, Levi. For loving me like no one else did. And no matter how much you get on my nerves, I’m always going to appreciate you being here for me.”

“I’m not good with this shit, so yeah, same thing goes to you,” he said awkwardly, causing me to laugh.

“Can’t believe it’s going to be our one-year anniversary in about two weeks.”

“Going to be a year since I entered hell.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, kicking his shin, despite knowing he was joking.

“... You know what, let’s just go,” the raven-haired male randomly stated, standing up and gently tugging on my hand as our fingers were still intertwined. To my one-word question of: “Where?” he replied, “I don’t know, but I don’t feel like it’s day that we should study. We have plenty of time for that, so let’s do something.”

My hues shone brightly as I grinned and gladly accepted his offer, getting out of my seat and grabbing my coffee as he packed his things away prior to leading me out of the stuffy building, bidding farewell to Eren.

“Let’s go to your place. We’ll make breakfast, have it on the balcony, and do whatever after.”

“'Kay, then. But can we slip in a nap after breakfast because I’m still tired?” I requested.

“Of course.”

So, we made way to mine and Hanji’s apartment, relieved that I didn’t have to study all day today and could simply relax with the raven. That fact made me smile a little as I unlocked the door to the apartment, stepping inside and kicking my shoes off as Levi did the same, following you to your bedroom.

“Ten minutes, please. Then, we begin our date,” I sighed, plopping down onto my bed and he made himself comfortable, shifting my head onto his lap. Then, his slender digits began to soothingly drift through my tresses that were completely tangled, so he had gently unknotted my hair to make it easier to run his fingers through it.

“Remind me to never wake you up this early on a weekend again.”

“I always tell you, asshole. And you never listen to me.”

“Well, I’ve finally learnt my lesson. So, hush.”

After my ten-minute rest, I went to splash my face with water to wake me up a little, while Levi was in the kitchen, preparing everything for breakfast, seeing as how the only thing he ate for breakfast was tea and toast, and I only had coffee.

“Hey, darlin’, what do you want to eat?”

“Mmm, maybe crepes... Let me help.”

So, in the next forty minutes, I ended up with flour on my face and clothes, while that idiot was just smirking at me, and I had slipped because there was water on the floor. And all of it was amusing to my boyfriend, who seemed to be in a great mood since he kept chuckling (not that I was complaining because it was a beautiful sound). The annoying thing, though, was that I was too irritated to mock him wearing my floral apron that made him lose his debonair flair.

“You’re an idiot with her own comedy show,” he teased.

“I don’t know if that is a compliment or not.”

“It isn’t. I’m calling you an idiot.”

“Shut up. You’re the reason I’m covered in flour.”

“Just go sit down and eat. I’ll clean everything up.”

“You better, you clean-freak,” I mumbled, doing as he said, taking a seat at the table on the balcony as he placed down the plates and mugs before sitting opposite me. The sun grinned down on him, giving him an ethereal appearance and making him even more gorgeous.

There was idle chatter as we ate because I was too exhausted and agitated to carry a proper conversation that had too much information for my brain to register.

Once we were done, the raven stood up to take the dishes to the kitchen and wash them (husband material right there) as Hanji approached me with a yawn, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes.

“How come you’re awake so e-- Oh,” she said when she noticed Levi.

“Yeah, he made me get out of bed early for no reason,” I complained as I stood up to help him. “There’s leftover batter for crepes, by the way.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. Also, why is there flour everywhere?”

“Because of that idiot.” I rolled my eyes.

“You’re the idiot, darlin’,” he called from the kitchen before appearing before us, shooting an annoying and teasing look my way, and shot him a glare in return.

From someone else’s perspective that don’t know us, we’d probably look like we hate each other, when in reality, this was basically our love language - annoying each other and glaring.

“I will punch you, Ackerman. However, I need to clean up, so you’re lucky.”

“Not like you would’ve, anyway. And before you say anything else, just go shower.”

Once again, I rolled my eyes but left the room to do as he said, grabbing some clothes and a towel before going into the bathroom. Just as I was about to close the door, however, it opened slightly and Levi stepped inside, shutting and locking the door.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“I said I’ll clean everything up, didn’t I? That includes you,” he whispered with a smirk, leaning in to latch his lips onto mine, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

~/~

Soft kisses were pressed along my hairline and my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, down to my jaw and further down to my shoulders. Lips continued to migrate, travelling to my neck where there were soft nibbles and flicks of a tongue against the flesh of my neck.

My fingers were tangled in ebony locks, damp and fragrant from our recent shower, and my nails gently scratched against Levi’s scalp as I drifted my hand through his hair. His touches were light and almost careful, like he didn’t want to hurt me, even though his teeth contrasted that when he sunk his teeth into my skin a couple of times before kissing the spot he bit as a wordless apology.

We were simply lying down in my bed, relaxing in a comfortable silence. I laid on my back with my eyes lidded, while Levi laid on his side, resting his head on my chest as he continued to pepper my skin in soft kisses and gentle nips.

These would always be my favourite moments. Just moments filled with adoration, silent declarations of love, and serenity. No teasing, annoying, or glaring. No retorts, no eye rolling, no grumbles. Only warmth, tenderness, affection.

“Darlin’?” he uttered in a hushed voice, but when I didn’t respond, he lifted his head to gaze at me, finding that I had fallen asleep. His ashen hues were full of fondness, admiring my relaxed visage before he pecked my lips and assumed his original position - his head on my chest and an arm slung over my torso.

While I was asleep, he was on his phone, scrolling through social media, occasionally sighing because he was bored. But he wouldn’t wake me up because I deserved to sleep.

It wasn’t until about twelve o’clock when I woke up with Levi’s head still laying on my chest, however, his grey orbs were hidden. So, with little movement, I attempted to reach for my phone, only to find that his fingers were entangled with mine, which made me smile softly because I hadn’t been holding his hand before I fell asleep.

And when I pressed my lips against his knuckles, his eyes fluttered open to meet mine, and there was a smile shimmering in his beautiful eyes.

“Finally awake, sleepyhead,” he hummed placing a single kiss on my jaw.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” I murmured, unhinging my jaw and letting out a yawn.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, putting up an act to support his lie. “No.”

I giggled softly, kissing his forehead. “Whatever you say, babe. Anyway, what are we doing for the rest of the day?”

“I was thinking something outside because the weather’s nice.”

“Oh, I know! There’s a funfair at the park just ten minutes away. Let’s go there.”

“Sure. We’ll leave in about an hour?” he suggested, and I hummed in agreement, tugging my boyfriend closer so I could nuzzle my face into his chest before we got out of bed. “Then, we can come back later and make dinner together.”

“That sounds nice,” I said in a hushed voice, feeling sleep taking over me once again. However, Levi attempted to save me before I completely gave in.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Shhh.”

For the umpteenth time that day, the raven rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the smile that edged onto his lips every time.

He doesn’t know what it was. But every time I would do or say something, even if it was the most stupid and idiotic thing he’s seen, he feels something warm flutter inside. And he realises how much he’s fallen for me, which has changed him. In a good way.

And all this time I thought I was a bad influence.

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feralthoughtdump · 4 years ago

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Sign of The Times

Part One: Kiss With A Fist

Part Two: Only Angel

Part Three: Arsonist's Lullaby

Bucky and his Angel’s time in Riga is coming to an end and possibly their little fling.

CW: violence, slight angst, John Walker being rude, fluff, slight smut, nightmares, slight allusions to religion and maternal trauma, crying, Sign of The Times by Harry Styles, time jump

Word Count: 6.6k

Angel wakes up next to Bucky and her heart is filled with regret.

No, not regret over the sex, rather what happened after the sex.

You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.

Why did she say that? Why did she admit to that?

She hopes that he didn’t hear her. She hopes that he’ll forget what she said to him.

Never in her life, even after the sex that she’s had, had she ever admit to something so stupid. Something so personal.

But then again, she’s never had sex with someone like Bucky until now.

He’s made her feel something. He’s made her feel full in more ways than one.

He’s made her feel good, and never in her life, has anyone made her feel good.

Bucky stirs next to her, pulling her body close to his.

He’s warm, and his embrace makes her feel warmer.

She turns around, careful not to wake him, so she can see his face.

She can’t stop thinking about him. He had managed to crack the hard shell that was ingrained into her. He had managed to reach into her and pull out someone else. Someone she was unfamiliar with.

Someone human.

Thirteen years ago, when she would study the blurry images that were put in front of her, She would have assumed that they were cut from the same cloth. But now? As he is lying right next to her, holding her in his arms, they couldn’t be more different.

Bucky killed because he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t in control.

But her? That wasn’t the case. Violence was a part of her. It ran through her blood.

She needed it like a shark needs to swim.

As for you, you seem to have this, how do I say it, a compulsion to kill. It will always stick to you.

She thinks about Zemo’s words and a bitter taste fills her mouth.

He’s right. She was ruled by anger and compulsion.

She knows that when this is over, she would go back to killing. She wouldn’t be able to stop no matter how hard she wanted to.

Bucky’s metal hand clasps over hers, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What are you thinking about sweet Angel?”

She quickly paints on a smile and kisses him.

“Nothing, Buck. Just admiring you.”

How could she, a monster, have pulled a man as good as him, she thinks, staring into his bright, blue eyes.

“Well, I’ll lie here and admire you too.” He smiles.

His words improve her mood, practically melting her stress away. He doesn’t mention her confession at all and it fills her with relief.

She basks in his warmth and gentle gaze until a knock on the door startles them.

“Alright lovebirds, it’s half-past ten,” Sam remarks. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Angel smiles and gives Bucky one final kiss.

“I’m going to get dressed. So get out.”

She closes the bedroom door and sits in front of the mirror, quietly dabbing concealer around her under eyes. Her tongue slightly pokes out from between her teeth as she meticulously fills in her brows. She turns her head to the side and grins.

“Pretty.” She whispers to herself.

Pretty made her feel nice. It made her feel sweet. Feeling pretty made her feel slightly less monstrous.

As she twirls in front of the mirror, she grins at her appearance. Sure, the pink puff-sleeved dress was obnoxious and the volume and ruffled hem made it slightly impractical, she thought it was lovely. A cute little number she bought the second she saw it in a store window in Paris. A reward for herself. A little ‘good job’ gift after her twenty-fifth kill.

It almost made her look angelic.

She grabs her white heeled boots and opens the door, lacing them up as she hops through the entrance.

“Nice dress.” Sam notes, peering at her outfit.

“Really?” Angel grabs a Turkish Delight from the counter and pops it into her mouth. “Thanks. I got it in Paris.” She chirps.

“You’re in such a good mood today,” Sam mutters. “Does it have anything to do with your wild night with Bucky?”

Bucky chokes on his water and coughs.

“You heard us?”

“Of course I did. You two need to learn how to control your volume.”

She walks over to the couch and sits down, the dress poofing around her.

“Bucky needs a good lay anyways.” She ties the laces of her boots into a bow. “It’s good stress relief.”

The sun casts a colorful light onto the floor and Angel admires him, bathed in reds, blues, and greens.

“Well, I saw a crepe place nearby.” She stands from the couch, balancing on her boots. “I’ll be back soon.”

…

Sam and Bucky were deep in conversation when she walks through the door, a bag of crepes in tow.

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky says.

“You don’t say.” Sam replies.

“Well, I know a crazy one when I see one.” Bucky looks down at his plate. “Because I am crazy.”

“Oh hush.” Angel giggles, passing him a box of crepes. “You’re a little rough around the edges but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

Zemo chuckles and leans against the dresser, a glass of whiskey in his hands.

“You’re an assassin who kills with no hesitation”

“Baron, just because I kill with no hesitation doesn’t mean I’m crazy.” She laughs, placing another box in front of him. “I’m able to stay cool and calculated and need I remind you, it’s my job.”

She walks past Sam and hands him a box. He mutters a quick ‘thank you’ and shuts his laptop closed.

The four of them have a long-overdue debrief of the events that happened the day before. They go over what went wrong, and what went right.

When the conversation shifts to the serum, the mood changes.

“Hypothetically, if you were offered it,” Zemo asks Sam, “Would you have taken it?”

“No.” Sam says.

“No hesitation,” Zemo notes. “Impressive.” He turns to Angel. “What about you?”

“No.” She sets her fork down. “I don’t like the idea of becoming, you know, more of myself.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky questions.

Her mood is quickly soured when John Walker kicks his way through the door.

“Alright.” He commands. “That’s it. I’m ordering for you to turn him (Zemo) over.”

“Here we go again.” She mutters, standing up to pour herself a tumbler of whiskey.

“Hey,” Sam stands up. “Slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re running is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful yesterday. And we need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

“And what exactly has Princess Peach over there done to help?” John scoffs. “How does strutting around Latvia in her little outfits and playing with knives help?”

“Hey!” Angel snaps. “Shut your mouth. At least I have more than one outfit to wear while sauntering around Europe.”

John speeds over to her and raises his hand, but she catches his wrist.

“Ooh,” she chastises. “Hitting women, huh? Not very Captain America of you.”

Bucky stands from his seat and crosses his arms.

“Don’t you dare touch her, Walker.” He seethes.

“I can hold my own, Buck.” She narrows her eyes. “Step away John, or I’ll break your fucking wrist.”

“Listen here, John.” Sam walks over to him as John pulls his arm from Angel’s grip. “She’s been helpful this entire time, keeping an eye on Zemo, helping us track down Karli, and defending us when our lives were put at risk. Yet, you’ve been nothing but hostile to her. If you want us to work as a team, I expect you to at least show her some decency.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to push away her anger. All she wanted was to punch him in the face, maybe stab him in the neck, but she knows she shouldn’t. At least not when Bucky and Sam are around.

“Thanks, Sam.” She mumbles.

“If a fight is what you want, why don’t I put down the shield huh?” John fumes. “Make this fair.”

As the shield touches the ground, a spear whizzes past Angel, the momentum fluffing the edge of her dress.

She turns around to see a woman clad in red.

The Dora Miaje. She’s heard the stories about them. The female warriors of Wakanda who had fought the titans after the blip.

Angel had always been one to prepare for any outcome, but this? She wasn’t expecting this. Not that she didn’t mind.

Her head whips around as two more walks past the doors, brandishing spears.

One speaks in Wakandan, and Bucky looks down in shame.

She may not understand her, but she knows that they were not happy with him.

“Release him to us now.” The woman demands.

“Bucky?” Angel turns to look at him. “What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer her, he only looks at the table, avoiding her eyes.

She sighs and takes a sip of whisky, scowling at the taste.

“Hi. John Walker.”

Angel quirks a brow as he walks up to the Dora Milaje, holding out a hand. He receives no handshake nor a verbal reply.

“Well, uh,” John holds out his arms. “Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?”

“Hey, John, take it easy,” Sam says, a frustrated smile on his face. “You might want to fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.”

John rolls his eyes.

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

Angel internally winces. She may not have expected this, but she knows this won’t end well.

“The Dora Milaje had jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.”

“Okay.” John scoffs. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“John,” Angel warns. “You really should shut up right now.”

Her warning falls on deaf ears as he places his hand on the woman’s armor.

Within the blink of an eye, a fight ensues.

She observes from afar, deciding it was best that she doesn’t involve herself.

Her drink is placed on the counter as she walks over to Sam and Bucky.

She stands back with an amused look while John faces off with the Dora Milaje.

Sounds of clanging metal and fighting echo throughout the room.

“Do I have your permission to join them? Any excuse to fight Walker is a good excuse.”

She whispers to Bucky.

“Best you stay out of it and enjoy the show.” He whispers back.

Sam turns to them.

“We should do something.”

“Looking strong, John” Bucky yells over the fighting and Angel claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh.

“Bucky.” Sam scolds.

In the corner of her eye, she spots Zemo reaching for his coat.

He’s making a run for it. And she’s not letting him get away.

Before the doors of the bathroom close, she wedges her foot in between them.

“You’re not going anywhere.” She glares at him.

Zemo sighs.

“I really liked you. So please don’t take this personally.”

He pulls her through the doors as they close and slams her head against the edge of the tub.

She tenderly touches her forehead and winces.

“You son of a bitch.”

“I need to visit my home.” He says as dark spots form in her vision. “Just one last time. I hope you understand.”

All she can do is lie there, head on the tile, as her vision fades to black.

…

She wakes up with a concerned Bucky hovering over her.

“Oh, doll,” He murmurs, brushing his fingers over the developing bruise on her forehead. “I shouldn’t have strung you along.”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” She murmurs, pain rushing through her head.

“Now I’ve dragged you into this… this mess-”

“Hey, hey.” She sits up and cradles his face in her hands. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would’ve gone back to Amsterdam right after what happened in Madripoor.” He looks down, refusing to meet her eyes. “Bucky,” She lifts his chin with her finger. “Look at me. I’m here on my own accord. I want to be here. With you.”

Sam walks over to them and hands her a wrapped ice pack.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, yeah.” She accepts it and places the cool towel against her head. “What time is it? How long was I out?”

“For a few hours,” Sam answers her. “You hit your head really hard.”

“What’s next, what else do you need me to do?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “You aren’t going anywhere. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.” she stands but Bucky places an arm on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed. “Guys, I let Zemo get away, I need to-”

“Hey,” Sam crouches down next to her. “I meant what I said, about you being helpful. And Zemo getting away isn’t your fault. Stay here and rest. I just don’t want you to be putting yourself in danger.”

“He’s right.” Bucky agrees. “You need to take care of yourself, doll.”

“I can handle it.” She struggles against Bucky’s hold on her. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hey,” Sam places his hand gently on her forearm. “We don’t know if you had a concussion, but concussion or no concussion, we’re not letting you endanger yourself.”

She lies back down on the bed and shuts her eyes, giving in.

“Fine. Just don’t get hurt.”

…

She lies there for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, reading her book, drawing in her sketchbook. But when she turns to the clock, it’s only been twenty minutes

She’s bored. And nothing good comes out of being bored.

You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.

God, why did she say that?

Why was she feeling this way?

Despite their hostile reunion

An angel? Sure. But not the angel Bucky thinks she is.

She wasn’t like the beautiful angels hanging in the Louvre. Ones who brought peace and lights. She was the angel the world had painted her to be. One of death, rage, and destruction.

How could he ever see her as an angel? How could he show her this gentle, tender love that no one else has?

Does he love her?

Does she love him?

“Love.” She mutters to herself. “Such a funny word.”

She doesn’t even know what love is. How could she know what Bucky has been showing her is love? The gentle touches, calling her Angel, holding her close when they fall asleep. That was love, right?

Deciding that her thoughts have gone too far, she reaches into her bag to find an orange bottle of sleeping pills. She changes out of her dress and reaches for Bucky’s dark red henley that was bunched up on the floor.

Her nose buries into the fabric as she inhales his woodsy smell.

With a sigh, she pulls it over her head and walks to the bathroom to wash off her makeup.

Her fingers roll the pale pink pill between her fingers. Deciding whether or not sleep was worth it.

Finally, she just decides to take the pill, swallowing it dry and a grimace crosses her face at the bitter taste.

She lies down, covered in Bucky’s smell, and closes her eyes.

…

Angel doesn’t know where she is.

Well, she does. The house is still the same, only this time, it was up in flames.

Screams echo around her.

“Look at what you’ve done!” They tell her, voices distorted.

“Monster!”

“Devil!”

“Evil!”

She turns around to face a woman in a black dress, her face obscured by a matching veil.

“Oh, my dear.” She says, voice croaking and broken. “Why didn’t you save me? Why did you leave me there to die?”

“I-” Angel stammers. “I’m sorry.”

The woman sinks to the ground and Angel runs after her, crouching down to see where she went.

When she stands, she sees that she’s surrounded by broken mirrors.

No matter where she looked, she was faced with her distorted reflection.

“Look at yourself!” The voices return. “Look at what you are!”

“No!” She screams back. “No! No! No!”

A force knocks her onto her knees and she sees that the floor has turned into a mirror as well.

The fire burns her, making her skin peel.

She claws at her face, trying to peel the reddening skin away and she scrambles back when it reveals the cracked gray skin.

“This is who you are!” They scream.

“Stop!” She sobs. “Shut up!”

Angel looks down at her hands, fingernails growing into long black claws. When she looks up, she screams at her appearance.

Her soft, glowing skin and peeled away to reveal a pale, ghostly face. Her eyes, once bright, are now pools of black.

“You’re a monster!” A different voice booms throughout the room.

“Mama?” She whimpers. “Mama, is that you?”

“You were always the bad seed. You were always filled with darkness. Evil.”

“No Mama!” She cries. “Mama, please! I’m sorry!”

The mirrored floor cracks around her.

“I never wanted you! I should’ve killed you the second you came out of me!”

Angel scrambles around the mirrored room, avoidant the cracks around her feet.

"And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea,”

“Stop!” Angel covers her ears.

But her mother’s voice is louder “having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy."

“Angel?”

“Please stop!” She begs her mother.

“Angel! Wake up!”

“Angel!”

She screams, batting her arms, trying to push anyone and anything out of her path.

“Get away from me!” Her voice is hoarse from screaming. “I’ll only hurt you.”

“Angel,” Bucky places his metal hand against her heated skin. “Angel, you’re okay, you’re safe. You aren’t going to hurt anyone.”

Tears stream down her face as she meets Bucky’s gentle, blue eyes.

“Bucky?” She shakily whispers.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Bucky.” He gently rubs at her cheek with his thumb. “You were having a nightmare.”

She reaches out with a shaky hand and places it against Bucky’s cheek, rubbing at his stubble.

She needed to know he was actually there. She needed to know that he was real.

As her sleep-clouded vision clears, she sees the bruises and cuts on Bucky’s face and she starts crying again.

“Oh, Bucky,” She pulls her hand away. “Did I do this to you?”

“No, no you didn’t, doll.” He gently smiles at her and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Then who did this to you?” She whispers.

“Sam and I had to get the shield back. John decided to get a little scrappy but I’ll be okay.” He moves her sweaty hair out of her face. “I have enhanced healing, remember?”

Angel gives him a shaky nod and burrows her face into his chest.

A loud sob leaves her lips as she shakes in his arms.

“Oh doll,” he coos at her, reaching his flesh hand under her (well his) shirt and tracing his fingers up and down her back. “Shh. It’s okay, honey. You’ll be okay.”

When her sobs subside and she’s left a shaking form in his arms, Bucky presses a kiss on the top of her head.

She looks up and sees Sam peaking at them from over his shoulder.

He’s got a look of sympathy in his eyes.

“Nightmare?” He asks.

Her throat hurts too much to speak so Bucky answers for her.

“Mhm.”

Sam walks over to them and places a glass of water on the nightstand.

He takes a seat next to them and places a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Angel shakes her head. Talking wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to burden them further.

“Sam?” She quietly asks. “Can I have a hug?”

“Of course.”

Sam wraps his arm tightly around the both of them and rubs Angel’s back.

“I don’t know what you’re dealing with, and I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I just want to let you know that it’s okay to feel weak.”

He gives Bucky a gentle look.

“I’m, uh, I’m headed back to Louisiana in a few hours. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Sam gives Bucky a soft pat on the back and turns to Angel.

“And if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. So is Bucky.”

When Sam leaves, the crying returns. She’s much too tired to sob, but silent tears stream down her face, wetting Bucky’s soft t-shirt.

“Come on, doll. Let’s sleep.”

She vehemently shakes her head. Not wanting the nightmares to return.

“No, no.” Her breathing quickens. “I- I don’t want to. I’m scared.”

“Okay, okay.” He strokes her back. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

They sit in silence, holding onto each other. She feels vulnerable, weak, and tired. Oh, so tired. All the years of building up her walls, pushing people away, destroying anything good in her path, had finally caught up to her.

She wants to strip her skin away and emerge as a new person. She wants to open up her body. Take out all of the ugly, the evil, the darkness, and stitch herself back up. She wants to destroy herself.

And maybe, after she pays the price in her own blood, she can finally be good.

This world wasn’t made for her, she thinks, and though she gave up on faith a long time ago, she thinks that after all the things she’s done, she’ll never end up in heaven.

And having Bucky here? Having him hold her, and caress her, and call her his Angel?

That was the closest to heaven that she’ll ever get.

Bucky pulls her back to reality when he lifts her chin up.

“I have an idea.” He smiles. “Now, I haven’t done this since 1943, but why don’t we dance?” He helps her stand up and brushes her hair back.

Angel looks away from him bashfully.

“I- I don’t really know how to dance.”

“Here.” He hands her his phone, Spotify open on his screen. “You pick the music and I’ll show you how. It’s really easy.”

“Should it be a 40s song?” She mumbles.

“No.” He smiles and shakes his head. “It can be any song that you like. I just wanna make you feel better, doll.”

She quietly browses through his song library and then, turns to the search bar.

“Here you go,” she hands it back to him. “I think you’ll like this one.”

“Sign of the Times.” He chuckles. “Can you dance to it?”

She shrugs.

“I hope so.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her close to him.

“Okay, Angel, so I’m just going to hold your right hand like this.” He intertwined his right hand with hers and raised it to his shoulder. “And your left hand goes on my life shoulder.”

As she places her left hand against the metal of his shoulder, Bucky keeps his left hand on her waist.

“Now what?” She quietly asks.

“Now, we just sway.”

He quickly unlinks their fingers to press play on the song.

As the sounds of a piano fill the room, Bucky starts swaying and Angel follows along.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

Welcome to the final show

Hope you're wearing your best clothes

“You were right, I do like this song.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

You look pretty good down here

But you ain't really good

If we never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

Angel closes her eyes and allows herself to rest her head on his chest. Even with the music playing, she can hear the quiet thumping of his heart. It calms her. She relaxes her shoulders and smiles, humming along to the song. Bucky holds her tighter as the chorus approaches.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

It'll be alright

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

Have the time of your life

Breaking through the atmosphere

And things are pretty good from here

Remember everything will be alright

We can meet again somewhere

Somewhere far away from here

Peace. She feels at peace in Bucky’s arms. He is her sanctuary and she hopes that she can be his.

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

She hopes that this won’t be temporary. She hopes that this moment can last forever, being held by him.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

Stop your crying

Baby, it'll be alright

But even though she can hope, she knows it won’t last forever. Bucky, this man, this man who is filled with good, even with all he’s been through, never let that good fade away. He will see her for who she truly is, how she was never good. He will see how she was born with darkness and he will see how the darkness overtook her.

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We don't talk enough

We should open up

Before it's all too much

Will we ever learn?

We've been here before

It's just what we know

“I’m…” Her voice wobbles. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.” He places a kiss on the top of her head. “You were never a monster.”

Stop your crying, baby

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away

We got to get away

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Bucky.”

“So have I.”

We got to get away

“But you didn’t have a choice. I did.”

We got to, we got to, away

The music comes to an end and Angel pulls Bucky over to the bed.

“Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after you stop?” He asks her. “You know, when you retire, I guess.”

She sighs.

“I’m not sure. I have enough money to live a quiet life in Paris. That’s the closest I have to a retirement plan.”

“When will that be?”

Angel lies down.

“I’m not sure.”

Bucky braces his arms around her head.

“We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

“Okay.” She pulls him in for a heated kiss. “But first, I want to feel you.”

Her hands cradle his face and she kisses every cut and bruise on his face.

“My sweet Angel. You’re too kind to me.”

He litters kisses down her neck, onto her collarbones, down her sternum, and onto her scar.

“So beautiful. So, so beautiful.” He murmurs.

Angel cards her hands through his soft hair as he rests his head on her lower stomach.

She giggles when he nuzzles at her tummy.

“Tickles.”

“Can’t help it. You look so pretty in my shirt. I just want to make you feel pretty.”

He places his fingers along the waistband of her panties.

“Can I?”

“Mhm”

As he pulls them down her legs and kisses along her thighs, she reaches out with her free hand and links her flesh fingers with his metal ones.

He’s gentle with her this time.

She can’t speak, only gasping his name. She arches her back and pushes her hips closer to him, silently begging for more.

Instead of teasing her, he gives her what she wants. Never forced her to beg.

He handles her delicately like she’s made of glass.

He calls her sweet names, doll Angel, honey, as he licks into her. Her moans are soft and sweet.

He coaxes an orgasm after orgasm out of her and she lays back, relishing in the pleasure, in the love he gives her.

It feels like heaven.

He feels like heaven.

And when he unbuckles his belt and pushes inside of her, he is still gentle, slowly rocking himself back and forth.

Though she’s still sore from the night before, the pain never overpowers the pleasure.

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, silently telling him that he is hers and much as she is his.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He groans into her neck. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you too.” She pants. “You make me feel human. You’re the only one who’s made me feel human, Bucky.” This time, she wants him to hear her. She wants him to know.

The skin on skin contact, feeling his body pressed against hers, it’s all everything she’s ever wanted. It’s everything she’s ever needed.

“You’re mine.” He rocks his hips faster. “You're my Angel. Say it to me.”

“I’m yours. I’m your Angel.”

She doesn’t think she can cum one more time, but she does. Walls clenching around him, making him gasp with pleasure.

“I’m…” he murmurs against her lips. “I’m gonna cum.”

She presses her lips against his.

“Come on, cum for me, my love.”

…

Bucky quickly fell asleep. Tired from the fighting and tired from the fucking.

Angel spends the rest of the night caressing his face and playing with his fingers.

They spent only a few days together but she’s been able to fall for him in this short time.

Though she doesn’t know what love feels like, she thinks she loves him.

Being with him, it’s changed her.

She knows that she’ll eventually have to leave, go back to Amsterdam. He’ll go back to New York.

They will be apart again for who knows how long.

But she doesn’t want that to happen so now, all she can do is live in the moment, and pretend that they can live in this moment forever.

“I love you.” She whispers. “I love you, James Bucky Barnes.

…

On the drive to the Sokovia memorial, they’re quiet. But it’s a comfortable silence. They listen to Bucky’s 40s music and admire the scenery.

She’s decided that she doesn’t want to kill anymore. At least not kill as much.

She’ll settle down somewhere. Somewhere on her own. In her fantasies, it would be with Bucky, but realistically, she thinks, it’s best that she’s on her own.

“I’ve been thinking, when this is over, we’ll go back to Amsterdam.” He says, breaking the silence “You can pack all of your things and you can stay with me. In Brooklyn.”

Her heart stops. He wants to go home. He wants to go home and take her with him.

“I’ve never been to New York.” She says over the sound of Dream A Little Dream of Me.

“I’ll show you around.” He turns to look at her. “We can start a new life together. I- I know someone you can talk to. Someone who can help you work through whatever you’ve been through.”

It’s too good to be true. Yet every part of her urges her to accept his offer.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to give me an answer now, and you don’t have to come back with me immediately, but know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

She sighs.

“Bucky, you have so much in you. You have all this love, this kindness, this goodness. I don’t want to be the person that ruins it all for you.”

He pulls the car over.

“Sweet Angel,” he caresses her face. “You could never do that. You-“ he looks down and takes her hand. “I believe that you have the same good inside of you. You just don’t know it yet.”

She looks away at him, eyes finding the memorial in the distance. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she does have that goodness inside of her. She just needs time to find it.

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am sure. Yes, you actively chose to kill, but the people you killed? They aren’t good people. They’re people who had no qualms about harming others to get their way. Do I agree with killing them? No, but you did what you thought was right.”

She shakes her head.

“It’s not the fact I kill people for money that makes me a bad person, Bucky. It’s what I did that got me that job.”

“So what did you do then?”

Angel gulps, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“I don’t remember much because I was a kid. I… I don’t really like talking about it.”

“Hey,” He tilts her head towards him. “Look at me.”

She averts her gaze, shame bubbling inside of her.

“Angel,” Bucky’s tone is more authoritative now. “I need you to look at me.” She finally allows her eyes to meet his. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. There are things I’ve done that I don’t want to talk about either.”

Angel nudges her cheek deeper into his hand, wanting to feel more of the contact.

“I want to believe that I’m good, and I want to believe that I won’t hurt you.” She bites her lip, no longer wanting to discuss the subject. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I think you have some unfinished business.

…

Angel went back to Amsterdam alone.

The two had gone to the airport together, bags packed, and hand in hand, but after Bucky had gone to buy a cup of coffee, she disappeared.

She didn’t leave him empty-handed. She went to the airport toy store and bought a small brown bear. When the stomach was pressed, Bucky could hear her voice say “I’ll come back to you. I promise. Love, your Angel.”

He had found it in his duffel bag along with a small bottle of apple cinnamon body wash and a note written on a napkin.

I hope you won’t be mad that I left you, but if you are, I understand.

I need to figure things out, tie up some loose strings before I find a lasting home. Maybe a lasting home in New York.

But I promise you, I’ll see you again. And I never break my promises.

I hope you’ll wait for me.

I love you, Bucky

He felt his heart shatter, but he understood. She needed time.

So he went home, back to his Brooklyn apartment. And he waited.

When he woke up, he waited.

When he’d listen to the voice in the bear, he waited.

When he’d go get lunch with Yori, he waited.

When he went to Louisiana to help Sam with the boat, he waited.

“Did you find your Angel?” Sam had asked him, looking out into the sunset.

“Not yet.” Bucky had replied.

Even after the events in Lower Manhattan, he still waited.

For days on end, he waited. Constantly checking his phone, calling Sharon, scouring through European newspapers, looking for any sign of her.

But he found nothing.

He wanted to give up, but a small part of him knew that Angel would come back. He could feel it deep within him.

She made him a promise.

Five Months Later

Angel stares at the red water rush down the shower drain, the metallic stench of blood permeating throughout the bathroom.

There was so much of it, not even her body wash could cover the smell.

She had said ‘one last kill’ three days after she stepped foot back in Amsterdam. And then she had said it again three kills later.

And now that her body count had reached a perfect two fifty, maybe this would be her last kill.

Two fifty was a good number, she thinks as she pulls Bucky’s red henley over her head. A good number to stop at.

The buzzing of her phone turns her attention away from the soft fabric.

She picks it up, brow furrowing at the ‘unknown number’.

Cautiously, she answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me, Sharon.”

Angel stands.

“Sharon? How did you get my number?”

“I was a hustler in Madripoor. I have my ways. Don’t worry though, I’m using a burner phone.”

“Why are you calling me?”

There’s the sound of a refrigerator opening and closing from Sharon’s end of the line.

“I just want to let you know I’ve been pardoned.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And I’m back in the CIA.”

“Congratulations.” Angel’s voice is tinged with sarcasm. “Now you’ve got an entire database of American government secrets at your disposal. Have fun with that.”

Sharon laughs.

“You know me too well. Which is surprising considering that we spent less than twenty-four hours together.”

“Well, knowing how to read people is a part of being an assasin.”

There’s a sigh on the other line.

“I don’t want you to panic, but there’s word that MI6 reopened your case.”

Angel closes her eyes and pulls the top of Bucky’s henley over her nose. In the beginning, when she had left him at the airport, she had taken the shirt with her. After a really bad job, or when she needed to feel okay, she'd bury her nose into the fabric and inhale, clinging onto the only piece of him she had with her.

But his smell had started to fade away and it filled her with sadness.

“So you’re telling me that they’ll come for me.”

“I doubt they’ll find you. After our talk in Madripoor, I managed to erase almost all of their progress. Still, I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell in between them.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

Maybe it was time. Time to put her weapons down, pack her bags, and start over.

She thinks about Bucky’s offer. How he said that he would be waiting for her in Brooklyn. Maybe he’d still be waiting for her. Plus, she had made him a promise. She never broke her promises.

“I think it’s time to retire.”

...

Bucky had come home from late-night grocery shopping when he could smell the unmistakable scent of apple cinnamon body wash.

It could’ve been him. He found himself using it regularly. But this time, the smell was stronger. Sweeter.

He opens the door to his dark apartment, the only light coming from the city lights peeking through the curtains.

He quietly sets his bags down and turns on the lights. There, sitting on his kitchen counter is a cake box.

The fancy gold script indicated it was from one of the expensive bakeries in Midtown.

He hesitantly approaches it and gently opens it, revealing a fancy white cake covered in delicate piping and rosettes.

In the center, iced in simple pink script were the words ‘Miss Me?’

She’s here. She kept her promise.

The sound of his front door closing made him jump.

He whips around to see Angel. His sweet angel, wearing the same pink dress from their last day in Latvia, leaning against the door, arms crossed, and a wide smile on her face.

“Hey, Bucky.” She chuckles. “Thanks for waiting.”

...

Once again, a huge thank you to @sojournmichael for being my beta read, check out her writing, it’s amazing <3

#bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #tfatws

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 4 years ago

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(don’t) wake me up

Hold Me Close (and never let me go) Masterlist

Shirayuki never did wake easily.

That’s what her grandparents always told her, voices fond and smiles baffled as she bounced off walls and stumbled her way to her bowl of froot loops in the hours before nine. Earlier bedtimes did not mean earlier risers, the film of sleep lingering until she was loaded down with her books and binders and bundled onboard her school bus. Not even the allure of a perfect attendance sticker was enough to pry her to full consciousness until after the morning school announcements were done and everyone had taken their seats.

College had been a blessing, any classes scheduled before 10am something everyone mourned. Sleep dazed students piling into their lecture halls wearing a unicorn onesie after lunch didn’t even cause her professors to bat an eye. “Everyone is tired,” Yuuha scoffed, bent over his laptop while downing an espresso with a redbull chaser.

This was fine, she thought. It was the ROTC crowd that were the odd ones; Mitsuhide showering off the sweat of morning PT and downing a plate full of protein before her first alarm of the day had even sounded.

It wasn’t until she was in medical school memorizing the symptoms of sleep disorders that she realized maybe her mornings were not… neurologically normal. But no graduate advisor was going to sign off for the time off needed for a sleep study and she had lived long enough like this, why not hold off a few years more?

Part of her wishes that she had done the tests back then; sacrificed a few perfect grades for the possibility of a well rested morning.

But considering her current predicament, perhaps she saved herself both time and money by not.

“Miss.”

A soft laugh and gentle pressure on her shoulder stops her cold. Blinking blearily, she stares at the whirls of gold paint dancing up a purple wall, the crinkled blue fabric covering the window beside it.

“Ah,” she breathes, rubbing at her crusty eyes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to do that.”

Another laugh, not unkind, filters through the haze. “Do what?”

Shirayuki turns where she stands - Oh, it’s a hallway. They’re in a hallway now. When did they do that? - and says, “Touch me without asking first.”

In the dim of the establishment's lighting, she can barely make out the color of his eyes, but she remembers. Gold. His eyes were… somehow gold.

No, that couldn’t be right.

“There are exceptions to every rule, Miss,” Obi says quietly, but his hands fall through the air, landing harmlessly at his side, and through the soft fuzz wrapping her brain, Shirayuki feels a paign of regret.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asks, his voice just as soft as they had been when the both of them had been wrapped in fresh, clean smelling sheets. “Do I need to call you a Lyft?”

It’s like turning over a flooded engine. She’s cranking the gas, keys turning in the ignition, the starter screaming-- “Oh!” Shirayuki shakes her head, scrubbing at her face again. God, she can’t remember the last time a conversation was this hard. It’s almost as if- as if she just woke up. Or something. “Oh, no. I came with a friend. She’s taking me home.”

In the dim half lighting, his eyes spark with humor and- and she thinks his eyes really are gold. Somehow. Either that or sleep deprivation has caused her to start processing the color yellow inappropriately, in which case, she really should schedule an appointment with a neurolo--

“Good to know, Miss,” he says, gesturing towards the door to the reception area. “I’m sure she’s waiting for you. We went a little over time.”

Shirayuki could not say this with complete certainty, but she was pretty sure she’d never been late to anything in her life. “Huh? Why?”

Obi glances up at the ceiling, scratching at the non-existent stubble at his chin. “You were… rather insistent that you wanted to stay in bed.”

Mortification floods her face with heat and she can only hope that the lighting is dim enough to hide it. She must have- she must have actually slep--

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts. Her grandparents had recorded it one time to show her; grandpa snickering behind their new camcorder as grandma wrangled Shirayuki’s floppy limbs out of bed and to standing. She had flopped right back onto the mattress, spooling the covers around her before grandma could catch her. Twice. To her knowledge, she had never outgrown it. “I’ve never woken up easily.”

His shoulders shake. “It was flattering, Miss, truly. Never have I seen a more satisfied customer.”

Now she wants to ask. But she might melt right through the floorboards first out of sheer embarrassment first. “I can’t believe I just made you lay there for an hour while I slept.”

“Professional hazard,” he quips with a wink. “You wouldn’t be the first lady to fall asleep on me.”

“That somehow doesn’t feel like something you should be bragging about,” she claps back, only to slap her hands over her mouth. Inside thoughts, Shirayuki. Inside thoughts.

“Well.” His hand lands on the door handle, huffing out a sound halfway to a laugh. “It depends on who you are talking to.”

All things considered, she may firmly be in the satisfied customers camp, so it really wasn’t fair of her to tease. Actually, now that she’s thinking about it, if she actually did sleep-- “Can I take you home with me?”

Fingers blanch on the door handle and- oh yes, those eyes were definitely, definitely, gold. “Uhm.”

“I mean!” Shirayuki’s hands slap against her cheeks this time. That- that didn’t come out right at all. “Do you have a business card? Or something?”

Obi just stares at her, and it may be her imagination, what with the lighting and all, but his cheeks seemed a little… darker than before.

“It’s just-” Oh, if only she had been blessed with even an ounce of tact. “I slept so well.”

Rubbing awkwardly at his neck, Obi huffs, “It was just a nap, Miss.” But he reaches behind her, plucking a card off of a wall rack covered in adverts from massage therapists and yoga instructors and, goodness, Shirayuki may have visited half of these establishments. “But any time you feel like drooling on my arm again, feel free to give me a call.”

She wants to tell him that it was more than a nap. It was the first time in months that there hadn’t been dreams. “Thank you.”

“I, ah-” Obi coughs into his fist, staring at the door. “I do have overnight rates.”

It’s Shirayuki’s turn to be speechless.

He tilts his chin towards the bit of cardstock in her hand. “Info on the back.”

Her tongue twists in her mouth, staring up at him, but he pulls on the handle and--

“Oh there you are!”

In the reception area, Yuzuri bounds to her feet, ushering her out of Obi’s shadow and into her arms. She already has her phone out. “I was beginning to wonder if you left or something. C’mon, let’s go get lunch at that little crepe place before things start getting busy.”

Shirayuki casts a wide eye look behind her, only catching the profile of Obi’s face as the door is pulled shut behind him.

“Okay!” Yuzuri bubbles, holding her phone between them as she leads them outside. She is not prepared for the cold blast of early spring air, but she’s even less prepared for the woman smiling up at her from Yuzuri’s phone. Pixelated leafs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Geocities era flutter across a soft focus headshot, the tinkle of piano keys emerging from underneath the sounds of passing cars. “So this is the reiki lady Kazaha swears by. She’s booked out for months, but he said he was able to get us a slot-”

“Yuzuri-” Shirayuki tries softly.

“-and, yes, I know how you feel about energy work, but her yelp reviews are really good and-”

“Yuzuri, I slept.”

Carefully swept up curls, freshly tied back into a high ponytail stop swinging, and Shirayuki almost bumps into her. Someone does bump into Shirayuki, though, then swears as Shirayuki collapses into Yuzuri’s back.

“Sorry-” Shirayuki begins, glancing behind her, but all that gets her is a dirty look as an old man swings around her, grumbling something about not stopping in the middle of the sidewalk-

Yuzuri takes hold of her arm, shuffling them to a display window. “Did you say,” she begins slowly, staring at her with wide eyes. “That you slept?”

Shirayuki nods, still unable to believe it herself. “And no dreams.”

Yuzuri takes a breath. Then another one. “Do you think… you could seep… some more?”

Any time Shirayuki closes her eyes, they burn, but she does it again and this time, her body goes momentarily weightless with the promise of unconsciousness. “Yea.”

“Okay, okay,” Yuzuri breathes, taking Shirayuki’s arm in hers once more. “Okay, yea, let’s- let’s get you home, then.”

~ ~ ~

“If I had known that this is what you needed, I would have done it ages ago.”

Shirayuki stares at the far wall. It was so much easier back there on the street, still sleep warm and a little bleary, to say that she would sleep. To say that she could. “Mm.”

Yuzuri’s arm wraps tighter about her waist, cold nose brushing against her neck. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed our little outings,” she continues. “I’ve always wanted to try that stuff.”

While Shirayuki doesn’t precisely agree, she’s not going to pretend that it hasn’t been an, ah, experience. “Mm.”

“I wonder why the professional cuddler worked but not the massage therapist?” Yuzuri hums. “If it was physical contact you needed, I would’ve thought--”

Shirayuki sighs, loud enough that Yuzuri stops talking. “It’s not coming.”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Yuzuri pulls at her shoulder, rolling Shirayuki until she’s flat on her back. Brain as heavy as a sack of beans, she watches Yuzuri frown at her still open eyes, confirming that Shirayuki was, indeed, not asleep, and then sighs.

With a plop, Yuzuri collapses back onto the mattress next to her once more, arm wrapping about her middle. It’s nice. Warm. She misses warm.

“Well, we just laid down, maybe you need some more time,” Yuzuri mumbles into her hair, and maybe- maybe she’s right. This is the closest she’s felt to sleep in her own bed in a long time. At least without heavy medication. “And maybe I should stop talking.”

That’s an idea. But it never used to bother her. Grandma could be on the phone right next to her for hours while she napped on the couch, and grandpa’s poker buddies could caw until the wee morning hours outside her bedroom window and Shirayuki would never stir. Even Zen, with his countless 2am business calls with Hong Kong, didn’t bother her--

“What sort of music were you listening to?” Yuzuri asks, flopping onto her back and digging out her phone. “We had some pretty windchimes.”

“Whales.” Shirayuki murmurs, without thinking. “We were listening to whales.”

She hadn’t liked them - they had sounded like drowning puppies - but maybe there was something to the experience that had made her relax enough. She remembers reading about it in a journal once. The researcher had said something about frequencies and brain waves and music therapists having moderate success with the method, but it’s buried under the mounds of more… established papers that she had given more time to.

Yuzuri props her phone up on the nightstand, soft cetacean whines filling the room. Settling back down next to her, Shirayuki’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation of fingers gently winding through her hair. It’s nice. Comforting, even. But not-

“It is working?” Yuzuri whispers.

“Mm.” Shirayuki doesn’t dare move. Not when she’s so close to the edge like this. “A little bit.”

“Maybe the smell is wrong,” she muses, thumb brushing against Shirayuki’s temple in soothing strokes. “Sorry, my hair product can be a little strong.”

Honestly, Shirayuki hadn’t even noticed. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll get you some tea tree oil tomorrow,” she says absently. “I think that’s what they had in their diffusers. I’ve seen the good stuff for sale at the organic grocer down the street from me.”

One by one, her muscles unwind, the pressure on her brain easing. She can’t find the energy to respond, her thoughts winking out one by one--

Buzz buzz buzzzzzzzzzzzz

Shirayuki’s eyes spring open.

“First mistake,” Yuzuri groans. “Leaving your phone in the bedroom.”

Shirayuki just might cry. With a whine, she shifts onto her side, moving to grab for her purse dumped at the side of her bed-

A firm hand stops her midroll, Yuzuri staring down at her with her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Second mistake,” she frowns. “Checking it.”

She’s very likely right, but- “It might be the hospital,” she counters.

“Then it’s low priority,” Yuzuri claps back. “You have a pager for a reason.”

“I don’t like making people wait.” Shirayuki squirms out of Yuzuri’s hold, fishing her phone out of her purse. “If it’s small, then it’ll just be a minute.”

“When you’re done, I’m taking that from you and putting it in the kitchen,” Yuzuri grumps. “And putting it on silent.”

“Deal.” Shirayuki smiles, swiping her thumb over the blank screen. Blue swirls fill the screen, a single message notification block blaring across the center that says,

IZANA WISTERIA

“Whelp.” Yuzuri’s chin digs into Shirayuki’s shoulder. “You’re never going back to sleep now.”

With a wince and a familiar churn of the gut, Shirayuki carefully rearranges her face before even attempting to cast her friend an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” she sighs. “You might as well go home. I know Suzu must be missing you.”

“That telephone pole was probably looking forward to a night without me starfishing all over the bed,” Yuzuri grumps, pushing herself up. “But you’re right. I don’t want to be dragged into whatever overtime horror project Wisteria is pulling you in on.”

Shirayuki frowns, watching Yuzuri sweeping up the mess of her hair. “It’s not like that.”

That earns her the rise of an eyebrow. “Then what, pray tell, is it like?” Yuzuri challenges back, pinning her bun into place.

Shirayuki doesn’t know how to answer that question. Doesn’t know how to explain that things are complicated, and not in a Bumble sort of way. That the incident created a strange world where only her and Izana lived, and well…

Well she doesn’t think that Izana would appreciate her talking to anyone about it, even if that someone was her best friend. To be frank, she doesn’t even know how to begin describing the odd dynamic between the two of them.

She struggles for a response for too long and Yuzuri sighs, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and stuffing it in her coat pocket. “Call me if you need anything,” she says, like she always does. “I’ll be over with tea tree-everything in the morning.”

From the comfort of her blankets, Shirayuki smiles. “Thanks, Yuzuri.”

“Mm.” With a lazy wave over her shoulder, she calls. “Don’t stay up too late!”

From down the hall, Shirayuki hears the front door latch shut, her apartment once again falling into stillness. Unnatural silence. And even under her down feather duvet, Shirayuki feels a chill. Maybe she should have asked Yuzuri to turn up the thermostat before she left. Or maybe she should just take the plunge and get herself a cat. They’re warm.

Taking a deep breath, the smell of her single, empty apartment filling her lungs, Shirayuki looks back at her phone. And, with a resigned sigh, clicks Read.

#bubbleswrites #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obiyuki #professional cuddler au #TAG JEN YOU'RE IT

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words-for-holland · 5 years ago

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Happier (3) | T.H.

Summary: Harrison is looking for answers. More unknown text messages and blackmail. A phone conversation takes place. Wait...who’s the new guy?

A/N: Don’t be shy let me know all your theories! Again, thank you for the support on Happier! The story continues!

Puzzle

This whole thing was just a giant puzzle that needed to be solved, but the closer one got to solving it, another complication comes around. The story wasn’t clear for anyone, but for Harrison it was a mess. He had so many questions that needed to be answered, so many clues he wish could have been solved at the snap of a finger.

Tom was too lost in himself to even comprehend the puzzling reality, Y/N while also lost in heartbreak had been awefully quiet since she left London, Kate was lying to Harrison, and Natalie had been too friendly with Tom.

Harrison replayed the conversation with Kate over and over again in his mind, trying to remember every little thing she said that night. He knew Kate was aware of something. Her tone said it all.

“Listen I dont know who you are, but if its the same person that sent my best friend a threatening message that she’s better off breaking up with her boyfriend”

“She received a few messages...from Tom.”

“Oh my god.” Harrison said to himself in realization. How could he have been so dim to not recognize what Kate had said in the first place? He paced around as he continued to think it through. But a threat message? Who would send a threat to Y/N? And what did they threaten her with? Tom and Y/N’s relationship has been secretly hidden from the public for as long as they’d been together. No one knew she even existed...right?

For a moment, Harrison stopped in his tracks, thinking of Natalie. Though he quickly shook the idea off. Natalie may have wanted Tom, but she wouldnt go as far as threatening Y/N. He had been friends with her since they went to primary school, and knew she wouldn’t go that far. “Maybe a stalker fan?” He questioned himself. Though he also quickly ruled it out, but something about it just didnt feel right.

In the kitchen, Harrison took out his laptop and started googling Y/N’s name. If her name didn’t show on the News or one of those Tom Holland fan accounts, it would at least answer one theory. As he scrolled through pages and pages, nothing showed up until...he found on account. He logged into the site and browsed the history, realizing it was all about Y/N and Toms life. Not as a couple but seperately. It all seemed too strange. Only very few accounts followed it and yet no other accounts in the world had mentioned Y/N. Harrison quickly shut his laptop when he saw Natalie enter the room.

“Oh don’t mind me just...grabbing a water.” She giggled, making her way to the fridge.

“Hey mate...uh..I guess everyone got hungry at the same time?” Harry asked, a bit surprised to see Harrison and Natalie in the kitchen.

“Yeah. I guess.” Harrison muttered.

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine. If i didn’t know I’d say you were the one more affected by the break up then Tom and Y/N themselves.” Natalie commented.

“No. It’s just that I dont think Y/N broke up with Tom just because of some rumors about you and him.” He explained rubbing his face from exhaustion. Natalie’s smile dropped, when she heard Harrison mention his potential theory.

“Well...did you talk to Y/N about it?” Harry asked him, also intrigued by the theory. “Now that I think about it she —“

“Oh come on. Just leave the poor girl alone. Im sure she knew what was best for the both of them. You’ll only make it worse.” Natalie interrupted, taking a sip from her water. “Well since you boys are all talk, Im gonna go find something more worth my while.”

Out of sight and out of mind, Natalie made a quick call about what she heard. “Harrison’s getting suspicious, and so is Harry.”

“Time to clean up then.” The unknown number spoke out before hanging up on Natalie completely.

Meanwhile, Kate had managed to get Y/N out of the apartment and walk the streets of the city. Her heart and spirits were still low, but she appreciated the efforts. Kate and Y/N went around stuffing their faces with crepes and ice cream. It was the cure to any bad days, but it wouldnt have been a Kate and Y/N date if they didn’t hang around the New York Aquarium. It was also the perfect time to crack out what Y/N really knew about the unknown text message, and who was harrassing the both of them. “Look, I know I promised you a stress free outing, but I saw a text from your phone the night you came back home.” Kate confessed.

Y/N’s face became pale almost as if she’d seen a ghost. She knew, and now there was no point in going back. “So you know then.” She says quietly looking at the fishes.

“I only know they threatened you.” Kate states, leaving out that she, herself, was also threatened. Y/N had enough on her plate to worry about, and it wouldn’t be the best time to being up how her message also threatened their friendship. “How long?” She continues.

“Weeks maybe. They started around the time I was fighting with Tom.” Y/N vents, she takes a deep breath before she continues. “Each message was worse than the last. They threatened that if I didnt leave, Tom would lose career, and I...I couldnt do that to him.” Tears were falling slowly, but Y/N was quick to pick them.

“Why didnt you tell him?”

“Yeah, Kate let me just tell him the truth of why I left him because the messages weren’t offensive nor threatening enough. And let’s just assume that the person texting wouldn’t blackmail either of us if they knew I said something. Anyways, maybe it was for the best...I could never fit in his world and those past few months just proved that.” Y/N’s words continue to spill out every fear and thought she had bottled up within her. It felt good..for a moment, but nothing can really erase a heartbreak of losing the one you loved.

As the pair walked through the shark tunnel, Y/N bumped into a tall figure. “Oh my god, Im so sorry...Matt?” she asked in confusion. The moment Y/N looked up into those familiar brown eyes hidden behind the thin glasses, she knew. How could she forget?

“Y/N? Wow, it’s been so long how are you?” Matt greeted as he wrapped her into a hug. “Kate, it’s good to see you again too.”

“Yeah, we’re great, just you know...navigating life.” Kate responded to him. “We haven’t seen you since what? High school?”

Matt smiled and nodded at Kate’s response, his focus remaining on Y/N. He didn’t remember much with Kate back in high school, but Y/N was a different story. They were good friends at the time, always competing in classes, but as junior year rolled by things got awkward. Y/N was falling for Matt while he didn’t return the favor at the time. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t say he may have felt the same at one point, but just never committed. Now all grown up, he didn’t realize how pretty she turned out, but her personality wasn't there. He must have figured something was wrong. After all, a girl with that kind of spunk back in the day, didn't seem like the one to lose hers so easily. “Yeah, look. I know it’s kind of a spur in the moment, but maybe we can all hang out sometime? I’d love to catch up.”

Kate was all for it, but Y/N felt a tension she wasn’t sure if she wanted to act upon. After all, breaking up with your boyfriend after 2 weeks, because of threatening messages and still loving him deeply, it wasn’t an easy thing to move on from. Then again it’s not like Matt was asking for a date, it was just to catch up after not seeing each other for 6 years. “Uh, maybe. I have to check my schedule, and see when Im free, but I can let you know” Y/N answers him.

“Great, well..here’s my number, and hopefully I hear from you guys. I gotta get back to my brother, so hope to see you around.” he quickly says as he walks away.

“Wow. Matt Brynne, who would have guessed?” Kate says, breaking the silence.

“I know...Funny I used to be so head over heels with him at the time, and now I barely feel a thing.”

“Well yeah, cause you still love...you-know-who.” she teases, though it probably wasn't the best time to be making that type of joke with everything going on.

“And I don't think I’ll ever stop.” Y/N mutters to herself. As Y/N and Kate make their way forward, Kate’s phone began to vibrate.

Unknown

Set up a date and take a picture of Y/N and that boy you posted on your insta story. Or Y/N finds out the truth about what you did. XOXO

Kate looked up as she cursed herself, realizing she forgot to keep her story private. It was supposed to be a harmless post of old friends reuniting and now the unknown number has used it as blackmail. It would have been easy to find the culprit, but her view count was up in the thousands with unfamiliar faces. It’s what she gets after gaining a decent following on TikTok. Kate couldn’t let Y/N know what she did, and she’d make sure she would hide that truth from her for as long as she can. “Hey, Y/N...I think we should hit up Matt.” she says, running after her best friend.

At the same time, another texted popped from Y/N’s phone. She picked up thinking it might have been a group chat with her close friends, but it was from the only person who could make her heart flutter and break simultaneously.

Tom

I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I still love you.

Y/N almost called him..almost, but she knew better. She couldn’t...not unless she wanted to continue to hurt each other.

Meanwhile, back in London, Harrison was ready to come clean to Tom about what he’d found out. He watched as Tom finished typing on his phone, and throwing it on the side of the bed, rubbing his face. This was the new normal. Tom being alone in the dark, reflecting on his sadness and exhaustion. Only stepping out when needed and keeping up smiles for appearances.

It was then Harrison was ready to knock on the door, when his phone received a notification.

Unknown

Don’t even think about it. Or I’ll make sure you and your lads careers are over for good.

Harrison sighed deeply, as he put his phone down, and walked away. Until he came to a most probable conclusion. “Natalie.” he says anger. “I should have fucking known.” At this point he no longer cared, about who she was before and how they were friends. The timing of it all seemed too perfect. Her arrival, the eavesdropping, the flirting. It had to be her but with what proof other than unknown numbers and good timing? Another part of him feared...what if it wasn't her?

Meanwhile, Tom was still unaware of what was really happening behind his door, but he did know, he had to take a chance now and try to contact her instead of sending these useless messages. In the moment, he showed no signs of regret, only praying Y/N would pick up so he could hear her voice.

“Tom?” Y/N answers hesitantly.

Tom closes his eyes, as he takes in her soft and gently voice. “Y/N.” he speaks softly into the phone.

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @ifilosemyselfagain @hevjadams @averyfosterthoughts @fangirl-with-a-mission @drishtisikarwar @eridanuswave @ifntelyinspirit @trumpettay @astridcommings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years ago

Text

Claimed

This fic is a response to this gorgeous yet painful image by @whiteleyfoster. It’s also available on AO3 (I’ll reblog with the link once AO3 stops being down).

CW: Whump. Violence like you might expect in a PG-13 movie, possibly clean enough to sneak a PG, but the IMPLIED violence is worse. Torture, non-graphic. Hitting. Branding. Despite the opening paragraphs, this is not going to go well.

“So. Can’t get decent crepes outside of Paris, eh?”

Crowley lifted the nearly-empty bollée to his lips, hiding a smile as Aziraphale polished off his second order of crepes (third, technically, since he’d also claimed Crowley’s).

“Obviously not.” Aziraphale waved a hand, and a server rushed over with another plate – these crepes stuffed with eggs and ham – as well as a fresh pitcher of the crisp cider that was already making Crowley’s head buzz most pleasantly.

“Only, I seem to recall,” Crowley swirled the last of the cider and finished it off, placing the large cup on the table beside him, “the last time we were in France, you said the best crepes came from Bretagne.”

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale was currently very occupied with his mouthful of stuffed buckwheat cake.

“And I seem to recall that, just at the moment, Brittany is one of the safest places for an Englishman to be. Especially one with such,” he glanced under the table, “fascinating taste in footwear.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sternly, taking a drink from his own large, bowl-shaped cup and trying to frown seriously. “You know perfectly well that tastes and styles change. Brittany may have been the place to go for crepes in the twelfth century, but these are modern times. You absolutely must get them from a Parisian creperie or what’s even the point?”

“Is that so?” The demon folded his hands and leaned forward, smiling in a way that showed all his teeth. He peered over the tops of his glasses. “So tell me, why did we spend twenty minutes walking past at least a dozen restaurants until we found one run by a Breton?”

Aziraphale swallowed, very visibly. “Well. I suppose…” He pushed the crepes around his plate with his fork, studying them as if he’d never seen them before. “I suppose…”

“Yess?”

“Oh, I missed you, if you must know.” His eyes darted over and then back again, but there was something in them Crowley had only seen a few times in six thousand years: complete honesty. “You’ve been over here for nearly four years now, and I…I haven’t had a decent conversation in all that time. There are plenty of lovely humans in London, but they’re all…you know…human.”

“So you decided to come down to Paris and get yourself nearly decapitated in hope of a bit of a chat? That’s barely better than doing it for the crepes.”

“That wasn’t the plan! I just…” he glanced around and moved his chair closer, much closer, close enough for the fabric of his trousers to brush Crowley’s knee. “I really did want to talk to you. Get your, I don’t know. Perspective. Things have been a bit…strained…between my superiors and I lately.”

“Gabriel’s strongly worded note?”

From the frown that crossed Aziraphale’s face, Crowley suspected the Archangel had been more than a little rude. “He doesn’t like my plan to set up a permanent base in London, though I did get Michael and Uriel to approve, which is enough. So he had me…audited.” He shuddered. “They didn’t find anything worth recalling me over, but my powers are rationed until further notice.”

“He doesn’t like that you went around him, so he tries to cut off your access to miracles? Petty wanker.”

“Crowley! You shouldn’t say such things.” Aziraphale’s protest had noticeably less conviction than usual.

Crowley shifted his hand across the table, across the distance between them, until it met Aziraphale’s right hand. It came to rest by the pitcher of cider, the longest fingers of their hands just barely touching. The angel didn’t pull away. “You wouldn’t have come all the way to Paris if you didn’t want someone to say it.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. His left hand reached up, tipped Crowley’s glasses just a bit further down. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

“Nhk. So.” Crowley tried to keep his voice steady. “A dashing rescue. Spot of lunch. Insulting your boss. Anything else you need from me this time?”

The angel’s right hand, still resting on the table, crept forward, fingers lacing between Crowley’s without quite touching them. “Do you…Crowley, do you have a place to stay in Paris?”

“Yes,” he whispered, almost regretfully.

“Because I don’t.”

The silence that can exist between two immortals is absolute. Not a breath. Not a heartbeat.

Crowley’s shaking hand rose to push his glasses back in place. “What…exactly…are you saying?”

A very disapproving look. “Not that, Crowley. Get your mind out of the gutter, please. But…well, I very much don’t want to be alone right now. Can we…talk?” His left hand fell to Crowley’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “There’s something…I don’t quite know how to say it, but…”

“There’s…” Crowley gently lifted Aziraphale’s hand from his shoulder, taking it in both of his, circling his thumb across the back of it. “Yeah, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say, too.”

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath. Nodded. “Shall we…shall we go?”

At that moment, that glorious moment he had awaited so long, Crowley sensed…something. Another being. Not human. Not of Earth at all.

“Aziraphale.” The angel tilted his head, puzzled by the change in tone. “Were you followed?”

“No, why would I…” His eyes went wide as he sat up very, very straight, jerking his hand back, pushing his chair away as if to pretend he didn’t even know his tablemate. “I don’t sense anyone.”

“One…no, two, I think.” Crowley concentrated, closing his eyes to help focus. “I can’t tell where, but very close. Can you teleport?”

“No. Gabriel’s still tracking me.” His eyes darted from the front door to the back. “But he wouldn’t…no. Michael. She seemed suspicious last time we spoke, but I swear I thought I’d convinced her…”

“Doesn’t matter, Angel.” Crowley stood up, circling behind Aziraphale’s chair. He couldn’t cover both exits. They might already be trapped.

“Get out,” Aziraphale said, almost like a command. “I’m already in trouble just for being here, but they’ll certainly buy my crepe craving story. Just teleport away.”

“Don’t be stupid. I froze time already today, you think I can –” He rested a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s chair, trying to calm down. “Besides. I wouldn’t leave you even if I could.”

“You idiot.” Aziraphale stood next to him, hands folded behind his back. “Fine. That leaves two choices. We either have a big dramatic fight and try to fool them, or we split up and try to sneak out.”

“Sneak,” Crowley decided. “But we should stick together.”

“Too risky. There’s a tailor’s shop five blocks from here. That’s where we meet, but only if it’s safe.”

“Nh.” One more glance at the doors. “Fine. I’ll take the front.”

Aziraphale nodded, and leaned close to whisper an address into his ear. Then, before he pulled away, he pressed his lips to Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley had been kissed before. Among humans, as a casual form of greeting, it had gone in and out of style for about three thousand years. He thought he knew what to expect: pressure, warmth, maybe some wetness.

What he felt was like the brilliant, shining burst of a newborn star, painfully bright, almost unendurably sweet. His ears rang with the music of the spheres, a single perfect chord too high for human perception. For just a moment, he forgot everything but the sensation of being wrapped in a warm blanket, held close by someone who cared for him, which wasn’t something he’d ever experienced but now he knew, he knew precisely what it would feel like, and every cell in his body gloried in it.

It was like Heaven before the Fall.

“Stay safe, my dear.”

Before Crowley could even think of responding – could even find the pieces of his heart, shattered from shock and joy, and pull them back into himself – Aziraphale had slipped away.

Front door. Right.

He pushed it open and leaned out, sniffing the wind. No angelic scent, just the usual filth and mud that permeated the air of Paris these days. Sanitation should really be a higher priority of the revolutionary government.

He crept out, keeping to the shadows. The street was abandoned, empty apart from a dog wandering from alley to alley. That wasn’t good.

Crowley knew two ways of hiding from non-human eyes. He could turn into a snake and try to slide into the cracks of a wall, but it was hard to make the transition without sending off enough psychic energy to alert every angel, demon, witch and medium in the entire continent. Harder still when exhausted, and he hadn’t yet recovered from stopping time.

The other choice was to blend into a crowd, try to dissipate his demonic essence. He closed his eyes, trying to sense the noise of humanity, the rumble of feet and voices. There – two blocks east, a major street. It should be enough.

He pushed away from the building, dashing across the first alleyway.

A hand grabbed his ponytail, jerking him back. Dirt-smeared fingers fell on Crowley’s shoulder, pinching him, keeping him from escaping.

“Hullo, Crawly,” growled Ligur in his ear. “Where’s the angel?”

How much did he know? Enough to be lurking outside the right creperie.

Shit shit shit fuck

“What do I look like, his travel agent?” Crowley pulled himself free, brushing at his collar. Trying to look unphased. “I’m trying to find the bastard, same as you.”

Ligur leaned close, narrowing his eyes, and took a big, disgusting sniff. The hat on his head shifted, chameleon head poking out from under it. One of the strange eyes stayed fixed on Crowley while the other scanned the area around them.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Crowley said, stepping back. “I haven’t got him in my pocket. You try that way,” he gestured vaguely westward, “and I’ll keep heading –”

In a flash, Ligur had him by the collar, pulling him close for another sniff. “Oh, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

A pale figure appeared at the other end of the alleyway, by the back of the creperie. Crowley very nearly called out, until he recognized the grubby form of Hastur.

“Find him?” Ligur asked, chameleon eye still fixed on Crowley.

Hastur spat, rubbing at his jaw. “Wasn’t expecting the little twit to fight. Covered his trail, too. Might be able to find him with a Hellhound but…what have you got there?”

Crowley’s heart swelled at the news. Good job, Angel. Now he just had to talk his way past the idiots.

“That’s just perfect. I spent months setting up a trap for him, and you two…” Something wasn’t right. The way Hastur circled, staring at Crowley like he’d never seen anything like him.

“How’d he know we were coming?” Ligur asked.

“He could probably sense you,” Crowley snapped. “That particular angel is a lot more clever than you are. He could probably sense your auras even with them suppressed. I know I can.”

“Hm. And no power in Hell can hide a demon’s aura.” Ligur was smiling. It was never good when he smiled.

“Well. Yeah.” Crowley glanced from one Duke to the other. “Everyone knows that.”

“So why can’t I sense yours?” demanded Hastur.

He didn’t have any answer for that.

Ligur grabbed Crowley’s jaw, one finger tracing across his face where the glow of Aziraphale’s lips still lingered.

“There. A blessing.”

And he slammed Crowley head-first into the stone wall of the creperie. The world shattered and went dark.

Hot lines of pain sliced through his skull, turning his thoughts into a strange, sliding jumble. He was being carried. A rotten stench. He fell unconscious again.

A slap of something wet, putrid, slightly burning splashed across Crowley’s face.

He jerked up, trying to stand, but his legs just scraped helplessly. He was tied to a chair, arms behind his back, and something kept the wood from even budging as he struggled. The air was hot, stuffy, rancid. Nearby, a fire flared from red coals to brilliant yellow-orange flames, pain searing across his retinas. He shut his eyes, hissing.

“Uh-uh.” Ligur slapped his face. “No sleeping now. You like to talk? It’s time to talk.”

Crowley shook his head. It only made the pain in his skull worse, but at least he managed to open his eyes again. The fire was back down to something only vaguely uncomfortable.

He wondered where Hastur had gone off to, but really, one Duke of Hell was enough to deal with.

“You wan’ a story? Right. There was this girl. An’ she wore a cape. Red cape. With a hood. S’why they call her Goldilocks.”

“Where’s the angel?”

“Told you,” Crowley snapped, or tried to. His voice was still sluggish, mind still seemed to be missing pieces after being so thoroughly shattered. “Dunno.”

“You’re lying.” Grubby fingers pinched Crowley’s ear, twisted it, pulled it. Ligur could rip it clear off. He’d done so before. Crowley clenched his teeth and focused on not making any sound as the Duke leaned closer. “You smell like angel.”

He punched Crowley in the mouth.

Fire lanced across Crowley’s jaw, tongue suddenly swimming in a lake of copper-tasting blood. There was a tooth. Wasn’t sure where that had come from. Molar?

Crowley spit, trying to clear his mouth. “I mean,” he grinned as best he could, “if we’re talking ‘bout stench, I think you got me beat.”

He didn’t see Ligur pick up the club. Just felt it crash into his already-shattered skull, the explosion of pain almost more than he could endure.

Then another, another – shoulder, ribs, stomach. Something in his leg cracked. Something in his gut tore.

He must have screamed at some point. His throat felt ragged. He couldn’t remember.

Then, just as suddenly, it was over. Ligur still stood over him, Hastur’s voice coming from somewhere beyond: “We need him to answer the questions first.”

Crowley blinked at the fire, finally saw Hastur standing behind it, holding something in the flames. “Lord Beelzebub sent us to check on you. Instead, we find a fancy little angel wandering the city. Lost him outside the prison. Tracked him to the restaurant. And then out comes you. Shiny new blessing. No aura.”

Shit shit shit. They knew everything. He didn’t have a story to explain it. Didn’t have a clear enough head to think of one. Could barely keep his face blank, keep the despair from showing.

“Well?” Ligur demanded.

“You…didn’t ask a question.”

Kick to the chest knocked him over, onto his back, onto his arms, crushed under the weight of his body.

Ligur’s foot landed on his chest, stepping down, forcing the breath out of him. “You think you can get away from us that easy? You gave our Dark Lord your soul when you Fell. It’s no longer yours to try and barter your way back into Heaven with.”

“Wha’?” Crowley couldn’t keep up. “I don’t…what you talking about?”

“The blessing,” Hastur said from beyond the fire. “It’s how angels mark what’s theirs. You let some fluffy winged bastard try to claim you as his own.”

His own. The two words pierced through the fear and pain, struck him in the heart. He closed his eyes, tried not to think about the look in Aziraphale’s eyes as they’d sat in the creperie together. “Don’ be sstupid,” he hissed. “Don’ wanna go to Heaven.”

But he remembered how that kiss had felt. A tiny piece of Paradise. He would give anything to live in that moment, forever, with Aziraphale.

“Good,” Ligur said. “Wouldn’t work anyway. Heaven doesn’t want you anymore.” He ground his heel in, pressing down on an already-cracked rib. Crowley bit his lip, couldn’t hold in the whimper. “Soon as that angel has what he wants, he’ll toss you aside. Right back in the pit. Where you belong.”

“You’re wrong.” Crowley realized his mistake after the words were already out. “I mean. ‘M not…Don’t know why he blessed me. Didn’t ask for it.”

“Oh, we’ll help you figure it out,” Hastur said, pulling something long and dark out of the fire. “You’re going to tell us about every moment you’ve ever spent in that angel’s company.”

“And if we don’t like your answers,” Ligur grinned, “I get to have more fun.” He grabbed the front of Crowley’s shirt. Crowley cowered, but all Ligur did was pull him upright, chair and all, tearing the black fabric in the process.

“I tol’ you. I don’ know! I…” but his mind was a cold blank. Oh, Someone, Anyone, he had to think of a story. “I don’ even want this blessing,” he lied.

Then Hastur lifted up the ling piece of metal he’d pulled from the flames.

A brand.

The end of the iron glowed white-hot, twisted into a Leviathan Cross. The symbol of Sulfur. Of Brimstone. Of Hell.

“Good. Then you’ll like what comes next.”

Ligur pulled at the torn fabric of Crowley’s shirt, exposing his throat, his shoulder, his collarbone.

“Nooo…” Crowley moaned. “No, you don’ hafta…I’ll talk. Whatever you wanna know, I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah,” Hastur nodded. “You will.”

And the brand pressed into his flesh, into his muscle, into his soul, hot as the birth of a universe.

Crowley howled until he blacked out.

Crowley lay face-up in a London alley, among the garbage and the rats. Where he belonged.

Somewhere above, stars shone down, blessing on all God’s creatures. All except Crowley. He might have helped to hang them, set them in their courses, but Heaven had seen his defects, his weaknesses, and thrown him down here to die, inch by inch, for six thousand years.

He tried to see the stars, but it was all a watery blur. Even when he blinked the tears away, there was always more, more, more…

He hadn’t told Hastur everything. He’d told enough. What would the Duke do with that information? Would it get back to Heaven? Would they use it against Aziraphale?

Would they break him, like they’d broken Crowley?

A voice, muffled, distant. Go away. Leave me to rot.

“Oh, my Lord – Crowley!”

A heavy thump as a figure fell to its knees beside him. His eyes tracked over. The face was closer than the stars, but no clearer. “…Angel?”

“Oh, my – I’ve been looking for you for – where have you – what did they do to you?”

“Sorry, Angel. Didn’ wanna talk.” He closed his eyes. “Didn’ wanna. But…”

“No, of course, don’t even try. Let me.” Soft hand brushed his forehead. A trickle of that lovely, welcoming warmth…

And then fire, burning sulfur, blazing through his shoulder, his chest, his limbs, his soul. Crowley arched his back and screamed.

The hand jerked away. “What – how –” The paid faded, and now Crowley could see Aziraphale’s flustered face, pinched with pain. “Oh, my dear, I swear, I only meant to heal you, I don’t –”

“’M not yours.” He tried to raise a hand to clutch at his fresh brand, still sizzling and aching, but his arms refused to move. “Never be yours.”

“I understand,” said Aziraphale, but he couldn’t. How could he? Crowley didn’t even understand. How such a tiny wound could forever cut his soul off from the one place it longed to be. “Let’s get you inside.”

Warm arms, behind his shoulder, below his knees. Lifting him. Carrying him. Like a child. He curled into it, burying his face in the softness of Aziraphale’s chest. Trying to recapture that safety, that belonging he’d felt, just for a second, in a restaurant in Paris.

He couldn’t remember how Aziraphale got him inside. But soon he was settled on the bed, black down pillows under his head, thick red quilt tucked around him. Hiding his wounds, his mangled body.

“There. Is…what do you need, Crowley?”

“Rest,” he sighed. “Just rest. ‘M a demon. I can heal. Just…”

“Of course.” He turned to leave. “I…I’m sure you’ll know where to find me when you’ve recovered.”

“Angel.” Blue eyes turned back to him. He had to know. Had to be sure. “You…blessed me.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale sank down to sit on the side of the bed, hand resting close to Crowley’s face. The angel kept his eyes turned away, as if something urgent lurked nearby. “You noticed. I…I really shouldn’t have presumed. It’s not…there really isn’t an etiquette for it, I suppose, but I suppose asking first was the least I could do. I truly am sorry if I caused offense. I had hoped, if it was Michael, you might be able to slip past her.”

“Demons…”

“I know. As I said I truly am –”

“Ligur saw it.” Aziraphale faced him, eyes wide, mouth open. “Sstupid lizard eyes.” Crowley swallowed, tried to rally his brain and his tongue enough for full sentences. “They…they took me to Hell. Wanted to know why an angel claimed me. And…when I couldn’t answer…”

“Crowley!” One hand hovered over the demon’s forehead, not quite touching. “No, oh, Lord, no…It’s…That means it’s my fault…”

Pain on his angel’s face again, tears in his eyes. Who hurt Aziraphale? Crowley would kill them –

Ah. Right.

“Shuddap,” he managed. “Just. Do it again.”

“What?”

One hand fought free of the quilt. It seemed to have the right number of fingers, but Crowley was having trouble counting past three. He held it out, trying to find Aziraphale’s. “Angel. Bless me. Again.”

Aziraphale’s fingers gently surrounded his, lifting the hand to his face. Lips lowered to brush against it –

Again, pain lanced out from his brand, boiling across his skin, through his muscle, his everything. The scream was as much rage as pain this time.

When his mind cleared, Aziraphale was gone. No, not gone. Across the room, pressed against the wall. “’S it that bad?”

“What did they do to you?”

“You claimed me. They claimed me back.”

He couldn’t stand the look of horror on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley huddled down under the quilt, trying not to sob again.

“Crowley,” the voice came softly, from a distance. “I…there aren’t any words…what could I ever do to make up for this?”

“Stay,” he whispered.

A long pause, filled with silence as could only exist between two immortals.

“What?”

“Stay. Here. Until I’m asleep.” A shudder crept through him. It would be a long sleep, full of dreams he didn’t want to face. “Please. Don’t want to be alone.”

This time, the pause was long enough that Crowley feared the angel had simply teleported away.

Then the quilt shifted, and another body, warm and soft and so very solid, settled next to him. “Is…is this what you mean?”

He didn’t have any words left. He just sank into those arms, let them wrap around him. Everything hurt, more than he’d ever thought possible, but he was here, wrapped in a warm blanket, held close by someone who cared for him, and it was better than he could have imagined.

Perhaps this was enough. Even with his soul claimed by Hell for eternity, perhaps he could have this one tiny piece of Heaven.

It was the only piece he wanted, anyway.

He knew that Hell would try to take even this from him. But maybe, together, with the right weapon, they could fight for it.

His mind drifted away, born aloft by the pure angelic smell, mixed with some sweet, floral perfume. This time, when sleep took him, he didn’t find darkness, just warm golden light, a stone cottage surrounded by flowers, and a smiling face framed by silver curls…

Slow, easy breathing told Aziraphale that Crowley had finally fallen asleep. He’d given the demon’s mind the tiniest nudge, to ensure good dreams while he healed. Aziraphale had worried it would be too much like a blessing, trigger whatever had happened the last two times, but this seemed small enough to pass.

Crowley was asleep now. There was no reason to stay.

He waited a moment longer, anyway, arms around the broken body of his friend.

Friend. As if he could call it that, after what he’d put Crowley through. He couldn’t tell – not for certain – if Crowley hated him for it, but why wouldn’t he? It was probably only the pain, the fear of being alone, that had kept him from throwing Aziraphale out already.

For now, though, Crowley lay in his arms, and if he ignored the wounds, it was very nearly everything he’d ever imagined. He traced a finger down Crowley’s cheek, drinking it all in, not sure he’d ever be allowed another chance.

He pressed his lips to Crowley’s forehead. Not a blessing this time, just a kiss. “I swear to you. Even if you hate me, even if you never speak to me again.” Another kiss, gently, on his eye. Then his cheek. “I swear, I will never, ever let any harm come to you. Never again.” One last kiss, lingering on his brow. The last Aziraphale would ever give. And a whisper, soft as a sigh: “I love you.”

Thank you for reading! AO3 link will be up soon.

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random-imagines-blog · 6 years ago

Text

10 AM {Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot}

Wordcount: 3207 Synopsis: Five days in which 10 AM was a very important hour in your life.

10 AM, September 12

Your name was being called by your best friend, and you could hear it over the chiming of the bells indicating that it was now ten AM. For the last year, you spent every Sunday morning at the Farmer’s market for you found it to be a quiet enjoyable place - that was, until you decided to bring your rather boisterous friend along. “Oh look, I’ve never seen carrots so orange before! Y/N, aren’t they gorgeous? Did you grab me a bag for that asparagus? Did you see the size of that cauliflower? Oh wow, I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these before.”

While she was asking you all of these questions, you were perusing the fruit, picking up a couple of grapefruit for your breakfasts. Next to you, quite close actually, was a man looking at the blood oranges. Your attention was grabbed by him when he accidentally dropped one on the ground. When your instincts rushed in and you both went to grab for it, your hand touched something metal rather organic. He quickly pulled his hand away, and that’s when you realized that it was what you had touched - a prosthesis perhaps, he had moved rather quickly so you weren’t able to take a look at it.

It only took you a second to recover from the small shock and to pick up the blood orange from the ground, and wipe it against your jacket to get any of the dirt off of the surface. You held it out to offer it to the blue-eyed man with a friendly smile on your face. “There, it should be fine, do you still want it?” It did seem perfectly fine, so the man opened up his reuseable bag and you let it drop gently in there. You gave him another smile, then paid for the grapefruits and moved over to your friend who was still by the vegetables.

“The market is a way to meet cute guys? New favorite place,” She laughed, nudging you and winked in the direction of the man that you just had an interaction with. You laughed along with her, and started to pick out some vegetables for your dinners this week.

“You know, there’s more to life than attractive men.” It was impossible to say that the man was anything but good-looking, even with his hat pulled down to cover part of his face, and his longer than average hair falling to his shoulders. You’d remember the haunted blue eyes as you continued your shopping, knowing that despite your own words, you’d be looking for him when you came back next weekend.

10 AM March 4

You got to the diner first, and took a seat in one of the dark colored booths that lined the side wall. Bucky Barnes, the man from the market, had agreed to have breakfast with you, after running into each other every weekend at the Farmer’s Market. Had it really been so long ago that he had dropped the blood orange, causing the first contact with the two of you? He was shy, and somewhat hard to talk to at first, always hiding his face behind his hair or his ball cap, but you supposed your friendly smile got through to him somehow. He had even let you pick out the place to meet, and you suggested this diner for their delicious variety of breakfasts - french toast, crepes and smoothies, oh my!

Bucky walked into the diner, looking nothing like he usually did at the market, which was a nice surprise. He was wearing his red Henley shirt, which you assumed was his favorite for he wore it often, but without the addition of the ballcap pulled low over his forehead. It surprised you as well to see that he had his hair pulled back into his bun so you could see a bit more of his features today, though there was still a look in his eyes as he looked around the restaurant. He focused his eyes on you, then started to walk over and slid in across from you, eyes still shifting around nervously. He wouldn’t tell you what he was looking for, that much was obvious. He had a lot of secrets.

“You look well,” You said, smiling at him as you opened up one of the menus the waitress put in front of you. But Bucky didn’t give you a compliment back. That didn’t hurt your feelings though. After putting in your orders, you had more of a chance to look him over, and he was doing the same to you. He finally smiled, which put you more at ease. Maybe this wasn’t going to end up being so bad.

You could tell that Bucky didn’t do this often. “I heard that what you ordered is really good,” You said, attempting to bring conversation to the table.

“It is, I’ve had it before.” He still seemed on edge, like he wasn’t likely to relax.

“I’m not sure what you’re worried about, but I can assure you that nothing bad is going to happen. They don’t burn food here.”

That made him chuckle and ease up just a little. He still seemed to be on guard but became less tense after the food came around and he had his first bite. You took small bites yourself, not wanting to be a pig in front of your date. There was a comfortable silence over the table, and once in a while you’d both make eye contact and smile with closed lips.

“Where are you going after this?” Bucky asked, setting down his knife and fork once his plate was just syrup leftovers pooled in the middle.

“Alright, so it’s Thursday which means...” You had to think about your schedule for a moment. “Home for a little while and get ready for work.” Bucky nodded at your answer. By the time the eleventh hour was about to roll around, you set your knife and fork down as well, finished with your breakfast and your stomach was feeling satisfied.

“Not to be too forward, but can I walk you home?” Bucky asked. There was a pause before you slowly nodded.

“If it’s that important to you that I get home safe.” Musty with a hint of orange, the cologne softly radiated off of Bucky as he stood up to pay the bill, just as the church bells near by rang eleven.

10 AM, May 14

Like the Spring before, the air was thick with the scents of freshly mown grass, flower bunches and the approaching Summer. Two months before, on the one year anniversary of your first date with Bucky Barnes, you had offered to let him move into your apartment since he was so nervous about being found. It was a way for him to stay off the grid, and he reluctantly agreed. You picked up a small box of things, that ended up being a white toaster and a thick red thermos, and carried it up the stairs into the place that was no longer just yours.

Because now - it had memories of Bucky all over it.

Bucky, who was standing shirtless in the kitchen, sweat sticking to his skin, glistening against his metal arm where it had slid. You couldn’t help but give him an up and down look - you could not get used to how beautiful he truly was. When he caught you looking, a light flush went across his tanned cheeks.

“You really don’t have much stuff,” You said, putting down the box on the counter. You pushed it a little closer towards him to unpack. A minute later, the toaster replaced your old one in the corner, and the kettle was on top of the fridge. Not even a box of plates or anything, he had just eaten off of paper ones. The way that his muscles moved as he reached up to place the kettle kept you hypnotized for a moment.

Bucky just shrugged, and tossed the cardboard box into a pile with the other ones. “Oh,” He said, realizing just how little there were. That had been the remnants of his life, next to nothing. Boy - he didn’t show it outwardly but he was a little excited to start putting down some roots with you here. Crushing down a couple of the boxes, he put them aside for later, planning to donate them later to anyone who could use them.

Bucky stayed in the kitchen, looking at where his stuff was, and how well it had fit in with the rest of your kitchen. The man stayed still as you came up behind him, put your arms around his torso, and rested your head between his shoulder blades. “The kitchen looks amazing,” You hummed into his warm skin. “The bedroom is going to look great too, once we get your clothes hung up. That’s what we should do next, then the bed will be free,” You grinned.

Your hand was no longer alone. It was covered by Becky’s metallic one as he held you close.

10 AM, August 4

Your fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly as you read through the menu for the hundredth time in your life. Which was only because this restaurant had become the regular one that you and Bucky went to - even though you’ve lived together for over a year now, this was where you two went when you had time for breakfast together. But he was running late, which was a bit rare for him, and made you glance up at the clock that was by the kitchen. You heard the bells of the church ringing ten AM, which meant that he was half an hour late.

You kept looking towards the door every time that it opened, and a good fifteen minutes had gone past from when the bells chimes. You started to get worried, wondering if perhaps, maybe - had he been found? Bucky had told you some of his past, but you knew that he was keeping more secrets from you - to protect you, you assumed. Bucky seemed to appreciate that you never pushed the issue, though it did keep you wondering if it was ever truly going to be okay.

At twenty after, the door opened and Bucky stepped in, hair stuck to his face due to the sweat that had gathered on his skin. Irma, your usual waitress, stopped to give him a clean dishtowel to wipe his face with, which he did before approaching the booth and sliding in.

“Good thing you arrived, another ten minutes and I would have been searching the streets,” You said, leaning forward to get an explanation.

“The thing I needed to pick up wasn’t ready,” Bucky said, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“Kid, you look like you just ran a marathon,” Irma said, putting two glasses of ice water down before the two of you.

Bucky thanked her, then quickly ordered the usual for the both of you, then watched her walk away carefully.

“Things are alright, right?” You questioned softly. And by that, you had meant that he didn’t run into any of his enemies out on the streets. “Good pick up though, right?” The last thing you wanted to hear is that he had to pick up guns or something.

“You worry too much,” Bucky chuckled, soothing your nerves. Your breath released itself from your lungs and you giggled along with him.

Bucky then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small box. The material around it was velvet - it was the sort of container that every woman recognized, and most have dreamed of. They probably weren’t as shocked as you were to get it, considering the man who put it on the table was over a hundred years old, had a metal arm, a history of being brainwashed and was on the run from all sorts of governments.

“You didn’t-” You said, turning your gaze from the box to the man. Bucky slowly opened it and pushed it closer to you, revealing a thin white gold band, topped with a black diamond, and smaller glittering ones along the side. He nodded, and smiled nervously.

“As soon as I could afford it... it’s not much...I’d like to get you a better one someday.”

“Bucky... it’s perfect.” You smiled. Bucky, with his natural flesh and blood hand, removed the ring from the cushion and slid it onto your ring finger. Good fitting rings were hard to find, but this one was absolutely the right size. That made you feel even more like this was fate.

“You didn’t say yes,” A voice said. Irma had come back to the table with two plates on her serving tray, a grin on her face. “You better before I do.”

“Were you even worried for a second that I wouldn’t?” You laughed, with a twinkle in your eye at Irma, then admired the ring that was already on your finger. You loved how simple it was, how thin, how perfect.

10 AM, September 29

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe you should reconsider giving your life to someone who was a known killer.

Now, none of those minds went through your head, as much as your best friend tried to put them in there once they had learned about your boyfriend’s past. Bucky gave you no doubts - he was loving with you, gentle with you, even cautious when he cuddled you that his metal arm wasn’t squeezing too hard. You smiled softly at your reflection in the mirror, knowing that he would think that you were beautiful. Bucky always told you that you were, even in your t-shirt and sweatpants days. You did a little twirl, showing off the outfit that you were wearing for this special day - a little more formal than usual, but by no means wedding attire.

And Bucky - he was looking in his mirror as well, wearing the same red Henley he had worn on your first date together, under a black blazer. Every morning when he woke up beside you, he knew that this was exactly what he had wanted. It wasn’t going to be a legal wedding, sure, the price that he had to pay for his past - but it was going to be a more spiritual one, giving your hearts to one another in front of the friends he had made in this place. You had asked him if there was anyone that he wanted to invite, and Steve had immediately jumped into his mind but he knew he couldn’t do that. But still, he wished.

Now was the moment that you both had been waiting for. He stepped out of the men’s room and went to the old fashioned counter that ran along the length of the diner, smiling nervously at the few people who were sitting in the booths and at the tables. But there was one person that he was not expecting - the same friend he had been thinking about earlier. Steve Rogers.

Bucky had to stop himself from visibly gawking at the sight of his friend, keeping it low key in a brown leather jacket, smiling at him from the booth where he had proposed. Because of the gasp from Irma, he was forced to turn his attention away from his blonde friend and towards you as you made your way out of the girl’s bathroom and into the main restaurant. Your best friend was walking with you, arm in arm, wearing a dress right out of a boutique while you looked more simple in white. You have never looked so beautiful to him as you did in this moment, as the larger hand on the clock hit the six, indicating 10:30. And everything was right on schedule.

You walked past the tables, towards the counter and stood face to face with your fiance. He was smiling in a way that you had never seen before, his face just lit up with absolute joy. When you two locked eyes, a blush went across your cheeks.

“Later tonight, I’m going to show you what you mean to me in a different way, but for now, words are going to have to do,” You started boldly, making it Bucky’s time to blush. “It has been an absolute honor getting to know you, the real you that only you, me, and one other person in this room knows.” Together, the two of you shot glances towards Steve, then back at one another. “After everything that you have been through, I know that you are more deserving of love, affection, care and tenderness than any other person I have ever met, and I will work diligently to make sure that I give enough of all of those things. For the rest of my life, I promise that I will be by your side, no matter what happens. The bad things will only strengthen us, and the good things will become the most amazing memories that we will keep together. Your happiness, and mine together, will be my greatest achievement in this life. You are my everything, and always will be, James Buchanan Barnes. But... that doesn’t mean that I’ll let you get away with leaving me with a sink full of dishes,” You added a joke to the end to make some of the others in the room chuckle.

“The dishes are my fault, I admit that.” Bucky said, smoothing his hair back with his natural hand. “You are worth doing the dishes for, and doing them right. You have become my home, something I thought for a long time I would never have again. The time that I’ve spent with you has been the best in my life, and I’m looking forward to the years ahead. It will be my honor to wake up beside you every day, to provide for us, and to argue over which grapefruits look the freshest at the farmers market. After all the help you’ve given me, I’ve become a better man, looking forward and never back. With you, I’ll only get better. You are my life, y/n, and nothing is going to tear us apart, I won’t let it.”

There were cheers from the dozen people scattered around the restaurant. Your best friend held out her hand with the thin, simple wedding bands that were held in her palm. You took Bucky’s, and he took yours. You slowly slipped the ring around his fleshy finger, and he did the same for you. Again, there were cheers from the crowd. Hands clasped together, you looked out towards your friends, and raised your arms together in triumph. You would never legitimately be husband and wife but in both of your souls and minds, this was more than official enough.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes oneshot #Avengers #Avengers oneshot #Marvel #Marvel oneshot #oneshot #nonequest #buckyb

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freedom-shamrock · 7 years ago

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Catching Chances - Chapter 2

Also on AO3 Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Marichat May day 4 prompt, it has been two months since I last ate something sweet, and I would murder for a croissant

Tuesday was baking day. While Marinette still stopped by her parents' bakery frequently, it wasn't always convenient, given her hectic design job was in the opposite direction. She also felt it was important that her kwami's favorite foods be made with the same love and respect the tiny being showed her. Store-bought cookies were an emergency option only. Today she'd made chocolate chip, a standard she tried to keep on hand, and lady fingers, which always made the kwami giggle and imitate Chat Noir in his cheesier moments.

"Special delivery," Marinette called, presenting a plate with one of each to her magical friend and mentor. Marinette had made a little space for Tikki to lounged on top of the kitchen cabinets. It was warmer, which Tikki greatly appreciated, and it gave her the opportunity to see and hear while relatively comfortable when Marinette had friends over. The counter below was still cluttered with cooling racks, so Marinette had to resort to standing on a chair to reach Tikki's soft pillow..

"Oh, thank you Marinette," Tikki said. "I'm one lucky little lady," she added in her best Chat Noir impersonation, swooping up the lady finger and waving it about.

Marinette snorted, dismounting from the chair faster than she liked to keep from falling off. "You're too good at that." She went back to cleaning up.

She had just finished with the dishes when there was a familiar tap-tap at her balcony door. She couldn't help but smile as she turned to let her favorite cat in. Plagg was a close second, but he'd never take Chat Noir's place. "You know," she drawled as she slid the door to the side. "You've been visiting me for years; I think it's time you stop knocking and just come on in when you get here." She waved for him to enter.

He stared at her in surprise. "But what if you have company?" he asked. "You're still friends with the Ladyblogger, and I can not imagine what would happen if I sauntered in while she was here." He paused before adding, "Actually, I can imagine, and it's terrifying."

Fair point," she conceded. "We should have thought of this before, but we need a way to signal that it's safe for you to treat my balcony as your personal cat door."

"I don't think I'd feel comfortable barging in," he insisted.

She shook her head. "That's the point. It would signal that I'm alone and it's totally safe for you to come on in as if you own the place." she grinned at him. "You are a cat. Isn't that what cats do?"

He chuckled. "Some cats. Perhaps. But I'm not a filthy stray. I have a pedigree and everything. I get to be aloof and well-mannered."

She reached up and ruffled his shaggy blond locks. "Oh yes. So aloof." She watched as he recognized the still prevalent odors of baking, his eyelids drooping to half mast as he sniffed at the air. "Is my Kitty hungry?" she asked. "It's Tuesday, you know… wait… I don't think you've ever been by on a Tuesday."

He stalked slowly over to the twin towers of stacked cooling racks, a low rumble emanating from him. She'd heard him purr before as both Marinette and Ladybug, but usually there was some form of touch involved.

"You do this every Tuesday?"he asked, his voice taking on a hint of a whine.

She followed him across the room. "Yeah. Since I got my own kitchen, anyway. It's how I make sure to have fresh cookies to share with friends."

He spun toward her, his eyes huge and his usually slit pupils unreasonably large. "Am I your friend?" His voice was small, and to an outsider it might sound like he was teasing and having fun, she knew him well enough to see the hint of seriousness beneath the acting.

"Of course you're my friend." She pulled him into a hug. Their relationship had always included a fair amount of touch on both sides of the mask. She wasn't sure if that's just the way he was or if he subconsciously recognized her as his partner with whom there were very few physical boundaries.

"You don't usually give me cookies," he pointed out.

"Oh." She hadn't realized that. In his early visits, back when she'd still lived with her parents, she usually fed him the bakery's end of day or day-old treats, mostly little breads and cakes. She'd switched to fruit and crackers for her Chat entertainment snacks when she got her first apartment. After she learned that he was on some stupid restricted calorie diet that didn't take his superhero activities into account, she'd moved to giving him full meals of her own leftovers or hearty sandwiches, omelettes, and crepes that she could whip up quickly, all while insisting it was no bother.

"I'm so sorry," she said, sincerely apologetic. "Would you like some cookies?"

"Princess, it's been two months since I last ate something sweet, one of those strawberry muffins you were experimenting with, I believe." He smirked. "I'd kill for a cookie."

She shook her head and snatched a still warm cookie off the rack.. "No murder necessary." She held it out to him. "Does Plagg need to eat?" Since he'd come to her injured, she started keeping all sorts of cheese on hand. It felt a just absurd enough that she joked that she'd turned into his kwami's cheese dealer.

Chat Noir nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, and she could tell he still felt uncomfortable with this new arrangement.

"You can go hang out in my bedroom while you're detransformed," she suggested. "More sanitary than the bathroom." She waggled a finger under his nose. "But no rummaging through my drawers, you curious kitten."

He laughed. "I'm a full grown gentlecat." He stepped forward to loom over her, and it did stupid swoopy things to her stomach. "I can control my curiosity."

She cleared her throat. "I'll get you some milk and more cookies while Plagg's eating, then. Do you need real food, too?" When his gaze slid away, she nodded. "Food and cookies for you, then."

"You're too good to me," he said, his voice soft and his face utterly serious. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Princess, but I am so grateful."

She closed the distance between them to hug him again, stronger and longer this time. "You deserve all the good things."

#miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #marichat may 2018 #my writing #Marichat #Catching Chances

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mamawolfblood · 4 years ago

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Chap 9 paitball deer hunting

Chris: Last time on Total Drama Island… Both teams set out on a canoe trip to deadly Boney Island. Cody hit on Gwen about eighty times, but he made up for it by setting her up with the guy she actually wanted to hang with, Trent. Good strategy, bro! There were winners. And there were losers. Also known as, The Gophers. The last marshmallow was set to go to either Izzy or Lindsay, but the RCMP swooped in and bam! Izzy hightailed it outta there! [laughs] Man, I knew the girl was nuts, but I didn’t know she was totally insane! However, one Gopher may have secretly done something even crazier when she brought home a creepy stick statue voodoo thingy from the deadly haunted island. Will Beth live to regret her souvenir? And can my teeth possibly get any whiter?[ding] Find out here on Total. Drama. Island!

Iris pov

I was writing all possibilities on how to get back at Duncan. I also was writing all out comes trying to pick the best strategy. All good outcomes points to being nice to Harold. I was about to put my jurnal away, when the sound of a helicopter scared the shit out of me.

Duncan[waking up,scarred]: Oh! Hit the deck! They’re coming, man! They found us!

Leshawna: Huh! Ooh! Ugh! Okay, that dude is really starting to get on my last nerve!

Heather [after she yawns]: Whatever. He just loves ruining our mornings. Beth, Lindsay, go warm up the shower for me. Now! And remember…

Beth: Not too hot this time, I know. [yawns]

The girls were waiting for Heather to be done in the bathroom. Gwen and I go in the woods to pee. "So you don't get any special treatment from Chris do you?" Gwen asked. "He has tried but I turn him down." I said handing her Toilet paper. "One would think you would considering how we are treated." She said handing it back. "Exactly why I don't want special treatment. It just wouldn't be fair." I said before walking back with her.

Chris [through loudspeaker]: I hope you’re ready for the most challenging challenge yet. Breakfast in three minutes at the campfire pit. Gwen and I sit together chatting waiting for everyone.

Chris: Are you ready for today’s extreme max impact challenge?!

Owen: We are ready! [laughs]

Chris: Incoming! This… is breakfast.

Heather: No, breakfast is crepes, croissants, even Chef’s crappy burnt eggs.

Owen: Beans beans, they’re good for your heart, the more you eat, the more you–[ a can thunks at his head]

Chris: Today’s challenge is about survival. We’re going hunting.

Duncan: That’s more like it.

Harold: Isn’t that a paintball gun?

Chris: Why yes Harold. It is.

Harold grunts

Bridgette: So we won’t be killing anything?

Chris: Negatory. This is the first ever paintball deer hunt. I’ll announce the team’s once we get into the woods. So… finish breaky.

Owen [burps loudly] : Ahhh… Got any more?

Chris: And now for the team breakdowns. The Killer Bass hunters are… Harold, Geoff, and Bridgette. Locked and loaded with bass blue paint. And using orange paint are the Gopher hunters, Leshawna, Beth, Owen, Lindsay.

Owen: Whahoo! This is awesome, man!

Chris: You also get these stylin’ glasses and wicked camo caps! The rest of you are now deer. Here are your antlers, noses, and little whitetails.

Heather: Yeah right. I am not wearing that.

Duncan: There is no way I’m a deer.

Chris: Take these off and your team is toast.

Owen chuckles.

Duncan: What are you lookin’ at?

Owen: Oh, nothing. Bambi.[snaps Duncan's tail]

Duncan: You’d better be a good shot, tubby.

Courtney: At least we get a headstart.

DJ: I don’t know about y’all. But I’m outta here.

"Guys we should split up. If we hang in a group better chance of us losing." I said making everyone nod. While hiding in the bush I spot Heather being guarded by Beth and Lindsay. "Hey Beth Lindsay your hunters. Heather is a deer shoot her. I mean she is a mean two face bitch. Don't you want some payback Beth." And like that paitballs flew at Heather. It turned into a paint war with everyone. I hung low to the ground

Courtney: Why do you smell worse than usual?

Duncan: It’s Owen’s stink. It’s following me around like my juvenile record.

Courtney: Well, I’m heading back. This stupid game must be almost over by now.

Duncan: You’re going the wrong way.

Courtney: Excuse me? I was a CIT, remember? I have a natural sense of direction. Camp is this way.

Duncan: No. It’s that way.[ their antlers smack into each other]

Courtney and Duncan grunt.

Courtney: Very funny. Now let me go!

Duncan: Hey princess, this isn’t my idea of fun either.

Courtney: Great, Duncan.

(Confessional: Duncan)

Duncan: Sure, we could’ve taken those lame-o antler hats off, but Miss Counselor-in-Training would probably go blab to Chris and have us disqualified. And hey, I kinda liked it.

(Confessional off)

Courtney: Now what?!

Duncan: You wanna make out?

Beth, Heather, and Leshawna: [indistingueble] Ow! Ow!

Bridgette: This is really fun!

Chris [through loudspeaker] :Attention human wildlife and hunters! Please report back to camp! It’s time to show your hides and tally up the scores!

Cut to the campers standing in line.

Chris: Tsk tsk tsk. Stealing from Chef. Eating chips in the woods. Being mauled by bears. Do you know what I see here? I see a very undisciplined group. I see a disgraceful mess. I see a massive waste of paint product. And I have to say… that was awesome! Haha! When you guys opened fire on your own team? Wicked TV, guys.

Harold: Hey. Where are Duncan and Courtney?

Courtney and Duncan grunt as they come in,still tangled.

I had to keep my composure seeing them like that. I am definitely going to make them pay

Gwen: Oh, this is too much.

Owen [ in between laughs]: Duncan, you sly dog, you!

Duncan: The girl can’t keep her antlers off me. [grunts] [falsetto] Can’t even bend over.

Chris: Easy, Courtney. Our medical tent is really only equipped for one at a time and Cody’s pretty messed up. Well, since three members of the Gophers are dripping in paint… Make that four members. And some of them aren’t even deer. I think we have our winner![Bridgette, DJ, Harold, and Sadie cheer] You’re off to a hunting camp shindig!

Duncan and Geoff: Whoo!

Duncan groans

Chris: Gophers, I’ll see you at the campfire ceremony. Again.

Heather: I mean, seriously. Twice in a row? What is wrong with you people? I can’t wait to see Beth get kicked off. I just wish I could vote off two campers at once.

(Confessionals: Cody, Owen, Leshawna and Lindsay)

Cody: Heheheh. Okay. I know I got mauled by a bear, but I’m feeling good about this. I’m a quick healer. And besides, Heather’s as mean as a snake, dude. Her own team shot her like eighteen times. They’ll never kick me off.

Leshawna: Who did I vote for? Well, Heather’s been a pain in my butt from day one. But I gotta say… Cody.

Owen: Yeah, that Cody. Not so useful in challenges anymore.

Lindsay: I totally admire Belle for standing up to Heather, but she’s so dead now.

(confessionals off)

at the elimination cerimony.

Chris: There are only eight marshmallows on this plate. When I call your name, come up and claim your marshmallow. The camper–

Gwen [quickly]: Who does not receive a marshmallow must immediately return The Dock of Shame, catch the Boat of Losers and leave. Can’t we just get this over with?

Chris: Fine. Whatever. Spoil the moment. Trent. Iris. Lindsay. Owen. Gwen. Leshawna. Beth. Campers, this is the final marshmallow tonight. Heather.

Heather: You are all lucky, okay? Very lucky!

Chris: Cody. The Dock of Shame awaits, bro. I guess we can help you get there.

Beth: I’ll do it![Pushes Cody to the dock of shame]

Gwen: Bye, Cody!

Leshawna: Seeya, buddy!

Owen: Take care, dude.

Cody tries to speak but i's muffled.

Beth: I know. I can’t believe I stood up to her, either.[Cody tries to speak but its muffled] I’m gonna be okay, don’t worry about me. And I still have my good luck charm! See? I got it from Boney Island last week. Cool, huh? Bye Cody. Take care. [kisses Cody's head]

Cody muffled screams before falling into the water with a splash

#romance #total drama #total drama island #original characters

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