#and so he makes them food. and she does the dishes because his prosthetics don’t let him do watery work good.
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…ok so I got inspired <3
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Thesis in the tags
#OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT#Amelia is probably the most jealous person to ever relationship.#but it comes naturally ONLY for Javi. she never got jealous while dating Ollie or any of the previous partners.#but when she started dating javi—something flipped a switch in her and BOI OH BOI DID SHE GET. JEALOUS. OF EVERYTHING.#which kinda sucks because Javi is a music sensation and POPULAR 😭#and she’s Horny. SO. so. SO. horny. like. maybe it’s the Rafkonian biology but if he wakes her up in the middle of the night#saying ‘babe I’m horny’ she just. fucking. would go down on him. then and there.#LIKE SHE WOULD SEE HIM TAKING A PEACEFUL BATH AND GO ‘i wanna fuck you slide over’#and the exhibitionist kink 😭😭 don’t even get me started on that.#Javi was always a mama’s boy so he is THE best at cooking. his mom is even better. (typical desi mom Rina 😭👍🏻)#and so he makes them food. and she does the dishes because his prosthetics don’t let him do watery work good.#Amelia isn’t good with lovey dovey words. Javi is a POET.#HE TOLD HER HE LOVED HER BY WRITING HER A SONG#AND TELLING HER ‘you are the very oxygen i breathe’.#and he waited for her confession for three years 😭 for her to fall in love with him and for her to tell him she loved him#and like#idk man#also she steals all of his clothes.#Javi got vvv annoyed once realising she doesn’t have ANY super loose sweatshirts and comfortable things to wear. not even pyjamas.#(she used to prefer sleeping naked) but ever since she discovered Javi’s oversized hoodies… that fit juuust perfectly. theresno going back.#ever#anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk :D#they’re sooooo in love your honor I cant~#power rangers#power rangers dino fury#amelia jones#Javi garcia#cosmic fury#power rangers cosmic fury#dino fury
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Sleep and Other Things
Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: SMUT, Grinding, Fingering (with them metal fingers babbbby), Oral (f), Mentions of Masturbation (f), Sergeant Kink, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Light spanking, Sub/Dom, Hair pulling, Pining, Sexual tension/frustration, Language, Classic Tropes (I will not apologize), Fluff
Word Count: 11K+ (I really went on on this one I’m sorry)
A/N: It’s been TOO long since I’ve written for my bby I apologize
-
This sucks.
Royally, royally, royally sucks.
And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep.
Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even meditation. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest.
Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?
The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row.
You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work.
“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings.
The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you.
You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now.
The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuckfuck what the fuckity fu—”
“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”
You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat.
The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow.
Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease.
But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be more. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just.
Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs.
What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the same thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s scolding himself.
“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”
You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”
“Friends?” She smirked.
“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”
Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”
Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?
Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever.
“Thanks.” You snarl.
He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”
You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge.
“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than…Dr. Pepper.”
You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”
You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence.
“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly.
You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”
You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely.
You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky was right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him.
“Why are you awake?” You ask him.
He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”
That gets you to snort. Yeah right, buddy.
“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion.
“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” Liar.
He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”
For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body.
“Sexual tension.” Wanda’s voice rings through your head.
God he really does smell good and he’s warm...stop it!
“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it.
You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.”
Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”
You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do.
He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again.
“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught.
When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him.
“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.
He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”
“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.”
You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers.
“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”
The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care.
“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”
You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”
Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”
You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a super soldier.
The air leaves your lungs with an oof as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form.
“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”
You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”
“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and fight me.”
“Fine!” You growl.
The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip.
“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear.
“I am.” You say through gritted teeth.
He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”
Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around.
“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise.
That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he doesn’t notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks.
“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”
He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”
“I would, actually.”
“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”
“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”
You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse.
“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—”
Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand.
“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”
“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”
You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact.
It doesn’t come.
Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—
“You alright?” He asks, panting.
Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move.
And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from you.
He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs.
“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”
The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell that was.
Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this.
“Than—”
“Can I—”
You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain.
“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”
Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him.
“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more…awake.”
“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip.
“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”
This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you.
“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”
You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?
“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him.
“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back.
He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.
You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.
When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do.
–
“You look…better.”
“Thank you.”
“So what was the trick?”
I masturbated thinking about my best friend. “Training. With Bucky.”
That gets her eyebrows rising up as she ahhh’s at you. “How are things between the two of you?”
“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”
“Mhmmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Just fuck already.”
“Wanda—”
“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”
You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know how, you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t live with that.”
Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”
A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more. “How did this happen?”
She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—
“Did what happen?”
You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you.
“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised and impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”
You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off.
‘Calm down.’ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. ‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’
“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”
You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation.
His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda.
“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”
Wanda laughs. “I will!”
Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the hell was that?” You hiss.
“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”
“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”
“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes.
“I get to pick the movie.”
—
Your legs hurt.
Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest.
The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?
But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space.
Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive.
It’s been almost an hour of this.
There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter.
Glad she’s having fun.
Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself.
You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. Much better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee.
Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going.
Bang!
You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally.
“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells.
You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.
“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him.
“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected.
You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky.
“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces.
Your mouth opens in a small o as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”
Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room.
“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”
“Hm.”
You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse.
“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says.
He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure what you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together.
“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark.
–
It’s been a week since that night.
Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more. To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy.
This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda.
“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room.
This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him.
“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”
Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms.
A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”
A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle.
“Buck—“
“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”
You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught.
Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity.
Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?
It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.
Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you.
This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into anyone at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it.
So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink.
Where to this time?
You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room?
Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself.
You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff,
“What’re you doing up here?”
It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here.
“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?
“Why are you up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you.
Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”
You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now.
“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you.
But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your best friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend.
So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started.
You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself.
It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities.
Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously.
It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks.
“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”
Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”
At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this.
“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”
He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms.
“Okay.”
You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”
That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away.
“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away.
“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”
You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.
Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer…domestically of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest.
“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue.
“It’s not,” he defends gently.
He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you.
The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—
“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness.
Keep it together.
Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here.
You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”
He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”
You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like.
“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars.
“You know what that is?”
Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories.
“No.” You say before you can stop yourself.
He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”
And that is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him.
“It’s beautiful.” You murmur.
Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just…
He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him.
As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward.
This is it.
Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—
“Hey, lovebirds!”
The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider.
“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”
Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because fuck you were so fucking close.
“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined.
“Yeah.” Bucky grits out.
You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them.
–
This time you find him on purpose.
You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait.
“Bucky?” You call out softly.
A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room.
“Buck?” You try again.
Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr.
“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.
He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take.
“Hey.” You put Alpine down.
Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine.
“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything.
“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly.
You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be.
“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”
He shrugs. “‘M alright.”
Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s—
“Let’s go to my room.”
He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you’re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view.
Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of.
“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation.
“Ah.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”
He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need.
“It seems I do, doll.”
Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away?
If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.
“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth.
He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips.
“Push ups.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”
“But I’m gonna need a little help.”
He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide.
Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips.
His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach.
Holy fuck. You’re not going to make it.
Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms.
“Sit on my back.”
“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just sit on you?”
“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”
It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state.
You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his.
“Good?” You ask.
“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs.
He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin.
Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.
“Say something.” He grunts.
“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself.
“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”
“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“
“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”
Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down.
“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly.
You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits.
“Oh no, c’mon.” Bucky complains. “Move.”
He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it.
“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull.
“Hey—shitmhm!”
You freeze. He does too.
Did that…did that just happen?
The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it.
Now what the fuck do you say?
“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”
He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently.
“Buc—”
There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm.
You should say something. A word. Just something. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray.
“Can I kiss you?”
It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question.
Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips.
You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself.
The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and shit that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it.
Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.
“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”
You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly.
Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you.
You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, raw excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours.
“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck.
“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.
You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.
“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too.
“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”
“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt.
“A-ah fuck.” You keen.
“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. C’mon.”
It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation.
Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”
Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it.
“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, please.”
Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back.
“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”
You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire.
Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking treasure. Like you’re the sun, the moon, everything to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout.
“Please?”
He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it.
Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze.
“Fuck, doll,” he whispers.
Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl.
“Bucky.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…
He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line.
“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I need you to touch me.”
“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently.
You don’t want to argue right now. “James.”
He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”
You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”
Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum.
You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles.
“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking dripping, baby. Did I do that to you?”
You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out.
“Answer me.”
“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky yes, only you.”
He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you.
You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you want him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry.
“Pl-EASE!”
His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will.
Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t feel like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your co-worker, is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow.
“Oh fu—” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, nothing but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too fucking much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—
He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”
He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms.
No. Oh no no no no.
Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head.
“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to—Jesus baby you—fuck.”
“Please.” You whine. “I can take it.”
He—he snarls and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance.
“You sure?” He asks cautiously.
“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair.
“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, never.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you.
“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s everything pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”
His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard.
“Fuckfuckfuck.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is.
Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter.
“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? Huh, babygirl?”
You’ll let this man do anything to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and bulges at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth.
“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about.
“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”
The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach.
“Fuck me,” you moan into him.
Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp.
Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in.
He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix.
“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “Move.”
“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”
Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s him, that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock.
“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not—fuck I’m sorry I-I’m not—”
“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just fuck me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”
Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you.
“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?”
How—oh Jesus fuck how are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”
Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking world hears you.
“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking—fuck tight?”
You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts.
“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan.
You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers.
“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “Sergeant, please.”
Sergeant. Sergeant. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to plow you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours.
“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I can’t.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—
“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck—fuck.”
Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore.
“Oh God,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”
“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “Cum.”
He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach.
“Fuck, fuck.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it.
You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “Bucky.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.
“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs.
He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest.
You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. Finally exhausted for what seems like ages.
Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—?
“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”
He’s right. This time, it can wait.
You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin.
“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”
You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”
You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.
Tags: @scarlett-berserker, @justlovetoreadfics, @lil-baby27, @mando-vibes, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch, @im-the-music-whore, @certifiedhunter, @softpedropascal, @domino-oh-damn, @okaydacre, @lemongrove, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd, @elusive-ivory, @dizzydazed, @bluejeancntrygrl, @dadzawas-eyebags, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @vikingqueen28, @tedpicklez, @blunt-cake-yes, @agoldin, @lustriix, @readsalot73, @kateb013, @eupphoriaaa, @imalovernotahater, @everything-lost-and-unsaid, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale, @fangirlfree, @amarvelousmandalorian, @ironheart-hanako, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997, @adikaofmandalore, @cahooter, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell, @acrylics-and-sunshine, @sunkissed-winter
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#james buchanan barnes#bucky x you#marvel#mcu#reader insert#fanfic#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes fanfic
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To Help the Helpless
AO3
FFN
erik sees himself in all the sick, injured, and abandoned pets he sees in animal shelters and is determined to give them the love and comfort that they deserve in their time of need when he wasn't granted the same as a human being. christine and their friends could not be happier to help.
this concept was born out of a discussion about erik and his pets with @ofserien, so thank you to her for helping to bring this idea to life :) it's been so long so I've posted on here because of my hiatus, but the first oneshot I've written since officially returning to tumblr. i really hope you all enjoy it! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3
~
"You brought in another one, Erik? Isn't your house full enough already?"
Erik simply rolled his eyes and turned to look back at Nadir, who was glancing at the variety of dogs and cats residing in their crates throughout his living room. "There is never too many rescues, Nadir, especially not when I'm taking them away from people who will put them down simply because they aren't getting adopted," he replied.
"And what's wrong with this one?" Nadir queried, gesturing to the puppy that his friend was carrying rather like a football - tucked against his side and laying along his forearm. "It looks fine to me."
"He had an old injury that was never fixed before he was turned in, so he doesn't look as perfect as people want," Erik said as he held the puppy up so Nadir could see his bowed front leg. "Otherwise, he is completely happy, energetic, and healthy, but people don't care. Looks are everything in this world."
His voice broke a bit, he noticed, and he knew that Nadir had heard it too. Every day was a different story when it came to how emotional he would get when it came to explaining why the animals had been abandoned and why their little lives were at risk. He hated that it still happened; he had been rescuing shelter animals for the better part of two years, not to mention the fact that most of his own struggles because of his appearance were behind him, but some days were simply harder than others.
He really was fortunate for all that he had to make his life as "normal" as possible, even with his physical differences. A prosthetic nose saved him far more grief than he believed people could understand and the mask he wore was so realistic and close to his skin tone, as remarkably pale as it may have been, that he hardly got rude stares anymore when he was out and about. It made quite the difference in his professional life as well; no one at the Paris Opera House wanted to accept compositions from a deformed freak, no matter their talent. His heterochromatic eyes were enough to put people off sometimes.
"I know, Erik, I'm sorry," Nadir piped up as he shot him a sympathetic smile. "I think what you're doing is great, you know that, I just worry about your stress levels. Not having to worry about you financially, but you're a composer making consistent contributions to the Paris Opera, you run an animal rescue, and now you have a girlfriend. That's a lot for one person!"
"Nadir, I'm fine," Erik replied, passing the puppy he held to his friend and smirking as it eagerly started to wiggle and lick at Nadir's neck and chin. "I'm managing it all, and having a girlfriend doesn't change much."
"Right, you say that now." Nadir turned his head away from the eager puppy, wiping his chin on his shoulder. "What is this thing anyway?"
"Australian shepherd, hence the energy." Making his way around the room, Erik checked the status of every food and water dish, but a buzz from his cell phone made him pause. As he pulled it out of his pocket, he couldn't help but smile when he saw a message from the new light in his life: Christine.
He still wasn’t exactly sure how he had gotten so fortunate as to have Christine in his life. After all, their first introduction had been at the Paris Opera House when he had nearly run her right over in his eager rush to leave the very same building. As intricate and realistic as his mask may have looked, he never enjoyed being out in public, and he knew that everything about him was under harsh scrutiny when it came to the committee of men taking his submissions and suggestions for the music at the Opera. He wouldn’t have become a successful composer, having his music played at one of the most prestigious opera houses in the world, without them, but with the way they stared at him whenever he walked in, it certainly wasn’t easy to face them.
“Is that the new light of your life?” Nadir asked with a smirk, watching the lovesick smile growing on his friend’s face. “What did she say?”
“Just ‘hi’,” Erik replied, his unmasked cheek already flushed pink as he replied to the message.
Nadir scoffed and set the puppy down in a small pen filled with blankets off to the side. “You are in deep, my friend. How long have you been dating, three months? And just ‘hi’ still manages to make you blush? Does she not make more flirtatious comments than just that?”
“Oh, like you were any different when you and Kheya first got together,” Erik retorted.
“Hey, now, that...that is not a fair comparison.”
It was his friend’s turn to blush and Erik laughed at the sight. Mockery aside, though, he genuinely was happy for Nadir; he had been through a rough patch before meeting Rookheeya one year before, his father's death hanging the heaviest over him and stealing so much of the joy that Erik knew was in him. Once he met her though, everything seemed to fall into place; Erik still remembered the moment Nadir practically choked on his drink when he first noticed her from across the room at a small gathering at the Garnier. She was a beautiful young woman who shared his faith, many of his interests and balanced out his almost painfully realistic views with the necessary imagination and optimism that he needed. A match made in heaven, if Erik were to pair a phrase to their relationship.
“Sure it is,” Erik replied, smirking when he caught a glimpse of Nadir’s lock screen as he pulled out his phone: a photo of the happy couple themselves, both smiling wide. “You’ve practically wanted to marry her since the moment you met, you’re lovesick.”
“Okay, I love my girlfriend, so sue me,” Nadir retorted. “And I will have you know that I plan on proposing in the next few days.”
“Well, it’s about time!” Erik said with a laugh, patting him on the back as the pair walked into the kitchen. “Congrats, Nadir, that’s amazing.”
“Thank you,” Nadir chuckled, crouching down to scratch the elderly golden retriever lounging under the kitchen table. “You and Christine have to catch up now.”
“No, no, this is no race. We are taking our time, I refuse to mess this up.”
“You aren’t going to mess it up, Erik.”
“I could. You remember how things ended with Lucy,” Erik said in a soft voice as he leaned over his countertop and scribbled on a notepad.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Nadir sighed. “She was a toxic mess, the end of your relationship was no fault of yours.”
Erik shrugged ever so slightly. “She ran off with some other guy and slept with him when we hadn’t even taken that step. I clearly did something wrong or she wouldn’t have left.” That breakup had hung over him like a dark, heavy cloud for weeks and still did at times. That said, the very same bout of depression and dejection had pushed him into the world of animal rescue that he still found himself in two years later, so for that he was thankful. Now, though, Luciana hardly ever crossed his mind; he had found someone to get him out and keep him out of that world of darkness.
“You didn’t, but anyhow, it doesn’t matter anymore. You have a girl that you love and who loves you, an amazing career, and an animal shelter in your living room. You’re doing alright for yourself,” Nadir pointed out. “Speaking of that, has Christie been over here yet? To meet the pack and all?”
“No, not yet. Believe me, it is on the list of things to do,” Erik replied, still scribbling away on his notepad as they spoke.
“That along with two hydrotherapy sessions, settling the new puppy in, getting groceries, working on your new composition, and going to see if you can pick up two tuxedo kittens. When do you have time to breathe, Erik?”
“In between everything. I manage just fine and I will slot Christine meeting everyone in. It’s a delicate process with some of these guys, you know that.”
Nadir scoffed. “Yes, I remember how slow it all was when you first introduced me,” he said, putting a hand up when his friend opened his mouth. “I know why it was slow, but that doesn't make it more enjoyable.”
“Right, well, unlike you, Christine is very patient, so it’ll be fine,” Erik replied. “She’s coming with me tomorrow to pick up those kittens, so I’ll probably ask her over after and try to introduce me.”
“Let’s hope it goes well. We wouldn't want you to have to choose between your lady friend and your pets. I don't know if you’d survive that.”
"Thank you for helping me today, Christine," Erik said, smiling over at his sweetheart, who sat beside him in the front seat of his car with two tuxedo kittens on her towel-covered lap (she had insisted on the towel, even though his car was covered with fur on practically a daily basis). "These two seem like a very sweet little pair. I doubt I'll have trouble finding them homes."
"Why weren't they getting adopted just at the shelter?" Christine inquired, an inquisitive frown on her face as she turned to him for an answer.
Which he did not really have, so he simply shrugged. "They don't let enough time pass to give people a chance, frankly. Not to mention that this would mean adopting two kittens at once, what with how closely bonded they are, and not everyone is willing to take on that kind of commitment."
"It doesn't seem like too much trouble." Christine looked back down at the kittens, her sweet giggle escaping her as one of them mewed and set its paws on her chest to get closer to her, almost inspecting her. "Hello there. You're not trouble, are you? You're just a sweet little baby."
Erik couldn't help but chuckle when he heard the voice she put on to talk to the animal - a light tone, using grammatically incorrect sentences, almost as if she were speaking to a baby. Which she was, in a sense.
"You'll have to help me name them. I name so many animals that I end up running out of options after a while."
"One of them - the boy, that is - should be...Sylvester. Like from Looney Tunes! He looks just like him, it's too good to pass it up!"
"A very good choice, I think," Erik nodded as he began the drive towards his home. "I'm not sure about the girl yet. Perhaps I'll call her Christine."
His girlfriend scoffed and glanced over at him. "Erik, you can't suggest naming any and every female animal you bring into your house after me."
"Why not? I like your name."
"I know you do, but once you get to Christine the Eighth or whatnot, there's a problem."
He couldn't help but laugh; her sense of humour and mild sarcasm had been part of what had endeared her to him in the first place. "I suppose there might be. I do like your name, though, I wouldn't mind it too much."
"Yes, I know that, and if we ever had a daughter, she would be Christine Junior, I know how much you like my name." She giggled again, and he noticed her look over at him in his periphery; he was just glad that he had his mask on so she wouldn't notice him blushing at the thought of sharing a child with her. "You need some new options."
He tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I...I just think it's a nice name. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he said softly.
The comment must have been the right one, as he was rewarded with a quick peck on the cheek. "You're very sweet," Christine replied as she turned back to the kittens and stroked their backs as they cuddled together on the towel. "So once we drop these little ones off, I suppose you'll just take me home? I'm sure you'll have lots to do."
There it was - his opportunity to make the offer to her to finally come over so he could truly introduce her to his life in its entirety rather than trying to hide parts of it. A glance over at her was enough to tell him that she was disappointed at the idea of having to go home, as she so often was, and he hated to upset her, so he would do his best to fix it as best he could at that moment.
"Actually, I was thinking...would you like to come in today?" he asked, looking at her briefly again and smiling a bit when she looked back at him, wide-eyed and shocked at the question. "I'll have to settle these two in, but I would love to-"
"Yes," she replied, cutting him off rather abruptly. "Yes, I would love to. Do I have to do anything? Not do anything? Can I help with anything, wh-what can I do?"
"Just be yourself," Erik said, unable to stop a quiet laugh from escaping him at seeing how enthusiastic she was. "Your sweet, gentle, caring self, my dear. That is all that I can ask of you when it comes to meeting the little pack that I have at home."
"That much I can do," Christine said with a firm nod, clearly very dedicated to her mission. "Thank you, Erik."
He frowned. "What for?"
"For trusting me with this, with meeting them. I know that their health and security means a lot to you, so knowing that you trust me to come in and make myself a new part of that arrangement that you have really means a lot to me."
"Of course I trust you, my darling. I...I love you." The phrase still felt foreign in his mouth after not using it for so long after losing Lucy, but he was making an effort to use it as often as he possibly could with Christine; she meant more to him than anyone ever had before and she deserved to hear that from him.
"I love you too," Christine said with a warm smile on her face. "Come on, then, drive! I have puppies to meet!"
~
"Are you ready, Christine?" Erik asked from where he stood at the end of the hallway, having just collected a young bulldog puppy from her kennel and was presently walking towards the bedroom, of all places, where his sweetheart was waiting. An unconventional setting, yes, but there was a purpose to it.
"Of course I'm ready!" he heard her call back, her excitement practically dripping from her voice. "There's a puppy involved, how could I not be ready?"
"Alright, alright," he said with a quiet laugh as he stepped into the room, the puppy starting to squirm in his arms at the sight of the new person and the sound of Christine's giddy squeal. "This is Lily."
Christine gasped, a hand to her chest. "Lily, oh, how precious," she said with a giggle. "Can I hold her? Or would you prefer that I didn't?"
"No, you can hold her. She's generally good with people," Erik nodded, sitting next to his girlfriend beside his bed and setting the puppy on her lap. "Just watch her back legs."
"What's wrong with her?" Christine asked softly, looking at the puppy's legs that splayed out behind her rather than tucking beneath her to hold her body up.
"It's called swimmer's syndrome. They can't really say what causes it; some people think it's hereditary, others think it's because their environment as newborns kept them from getting around a lot, even others say it was because of defects before they were born, so I'm not entirely sure," Erik explained. "Still, as bad as it looks, it's treatable, which is why we are here in my room."
Scooping the puppy up again, he stood and walked a few steps away to a sling apparatus set up against the wall and slipped the puppy into it so she hung with her paws just above the ground. "She'll sit in the sling for about 20 minutes every day, and I'll just massage her legs and try to mimic walking motions with her. I do this a few times a day."
He carefully began to act on the same procedure he had just described, smiling as Christine stepped over to join him while he carefully rubbed the puppy's legs and helped her to move them the way she would if she were walking as she should. He knew that there was always a risk that the therapy he tried to do for the animals that were struggling wouldn't work, but he was going to try his best. Very few people had ever tried to help him throughout his life, so he thought he would allow the animals to have that, whether they knew they had it or not.
"How many others do you do this kind of thing for?" Christine softly asked a few minutes into the therapy session.
"A few. Whether it's for little ones like this who have defects of some sort or for older animals who struggle with arthritis and different things like that, therapy does a lot. I do this kind of thing, as well as hydrotherapy, which entails me getting very wet," Erik replied with a chuckle. "But it's worth it when I see the results. True, it doesn't always happen, and they end up turning into hospice cases more than anything, but if I can try and get them back on their feet, as happy and healthy as can be so they can go to a good home, then I'll do what I have to do to make that happen." He turned towards her and smiled just as she cupped his face in her hands and drew him into a gentle kiss, distracting him from his therapy session momentarily. "You are one of the most kind-hearted people I know. You know that, right?"
"You tell me that enough, so I suppose it carries some truth. It's never occurred to me much otherwise, though."
"Well, you had better believe it because it could not be more true," Christine said with a grin.
Erik couldn't help but chuckle as he gave her another quick peck on the lips. "If you are trying to earn yourself brownie points or extra kisses or something, I admire your effort, it just might work out in your favour," he replied, returning his attention to the puppy.
"Fantastic," she giggled, leaning her head on his shoulder and watching while he worked. "Did you have any other plans for the day for us? Dinner, perhaps?"
"Yes, I was hoping you would help me with dinner," Erik nodded, letting the offer hang for a moment before he added, "For the dogs and cats, that is."
"Ah yes, how romantic, exactly what I had in mind," Christine said with a laugh. "Filling food bowls. I can't wait."
Ever since Erik had given her the go-ahead to come over and spend time with himself and his little pack of rescue animals, Christine had taken full advantage of it. Whenever she could manage it, she was at his house, helping him with feeding and bathing all of the little pets in his care, keeping him company while he was cleaning, and even learning how to do hydrotherapy on a few of the dogs that happened to need it. A couple of months had already passed since that day, unbelievably, but she had cherished every second that she had gotten to spend with both Erik and all the animals in his care. She found herself getting close to every single one of them, and she could see how happy it made her sweetheart; Erik smiled even wider than he normally did when she was around, a photo of the two of them with one of his eldest dogs - a golden retriever named Buddy - had become the photo on the lock screen of his phone while others had been printed and framed on his wall. She knew that he had had little joy in his life, but if she could contribute to that happiness along with allowing him to pursue one of his passions, then she would happily support it.
Getting to play with cute puppies and kittens while she was at his house was a nice perk too.
A short while into the arrangement - about a month after Christine herself had been introduced, - she had convinced Erik to let Meg have a gentle introduction of her own to all the animals he cared for. Her roommate had just about lost her mind when she had found out that she had finally gotten to meet all of her boyfriend's pets and hadn't stopped begging her to get Erik's permission for her to meet them until she had finally agreed to give it a shot.
Erik had been hesitant at first, that much was for certain, but she promised him that Meg knew how to keep calm and quiet when she had to be. Eventually, with a slightly skeptical expression on his face, he had agreed to allow her over to meet some of the animals, much to Meg's delight.
As Christine had predicted, the introductions had gone perfectly fine and Meg was quickly scooped up into the little pack Erik seemed to be steadily building. Their visits brought them closer to the animals, to Erik, as well as to Nadir and Rookheya, Erik's best friend and his fiancée. There was something endearing about seeing her sweetheart interacting with someone other than just herself; she knew that he did it for work and all, but watching him so at ease and laughing with his closest friend warmed her heart, even if Nadir didn't seem completely at ease around the animals in the house. For a while, their little group was complete and happy, enjoying every moment they had.
But not every joyful moment could last, unfortunately.
It was the middle of the night when she got the first phone call. Her ringer was quiet, true, but it lulled Christine out of her sleep, though she didn't bother to look at the screen to see who was calling. 'Whatever scam caller it is can just leave a message for me to delete,' she thought to herself as she rolled over onto her side and buried her face in her pillow to attempt to fall back to sleep.
Her phone fell silent for just a moment, but within moments, it had started ringing again.
With a huff, Christine sat up and grabbed her phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen, and saw her boyfriend's name and picture on her screen, which made her frown. It was just past two in the morning, why would he be calling her? Her heart was already racing a bit as she pressed the green 'Answer' button and held her phone to her ear.
"Hello? Erik, what's going on?"
Hiccuping breaths were what she heard first, which only serve to worry her more. "C-Christine, come over," Erik finally managed to say, his voice choked with tears. "Buddy is...something's wrong, please come over."
"Okay, it's okay. I'll be right there and I'll bring Meg with me," she replied, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible despite her own worry about the dog that she'd become so close with. "Have you called Nadir?"
"He's here already. Rookheya too," Erik said, sniffling quietly. "Just please come over, Christine, please."
"Okay, okay, I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you."
Not hearing a response from Erik told her how distracted and worried he was - he always returned her affections, and she wasn't even offended by the lack of reciprocation; she was only worried.
Christine quickly climbed out of bed, deciding not to bother changing out of her pyjamas given how warm it was outside and only grabbing a pair of socks to quickly slip on. Throwing open her bedroom door, she hurried next door to Meg's room, walked inside and over to her bed to shake her gently. "Meg. Meg, get up, come on."
She rolled her eyes when her friend simply moaned sleepily and pulled her covers over her head. "Meg, please get up. Erik just called me, something's wrong, we have to go over there."
That was enough to make Meg's eyes open rather quickly and she moved the blankets to look up at her friend. "What's happening?" she asked.
"I don't know, all I know is that it's Buddy and Erik is crying, so it's bad," Christine replied with a sigh. "Please get up so we can go."
"Okay, I'm up. Go get your shoes on, I'll be down in a sec," Meg said, clambering out of bed and shuffling past her friend to get dressed.
Within minutes, the two of them were in Christine's car driving towards Erik's house, the open roads with that time at night helping their travel immensely. Not knowing what was wrong was driving Christine half-mad, though she was drawing some unfortunate conclusions, considering the animal that was involved. If she was right, it made sense why Erik had sounded so upset; she knew how much he loved that dog.
"Nadir just texted you," Meg said softly, looking at her friend's phone while she couldn't do so herself. "Asking if we're going to be there soon."
"Just tell him that we will be. That I'm driving as fast as I can without risking getting arrested in the process," Christine said, managing a quiet laugh.
She saw her friend nod as she typed away, the clicking of the keys the only sound in the car. A moment later: "He says, 'As long as you hurry. Get here before'..." Meg trailed off at that, making Christine turn to look at her.
"Before what? What did he say?"
"'Before we lose him.'"
Christine's heart seemed to leap into her throat and, without a word, pushed her foot down ever so slightly harder on the gas pedal, just praying they'd arrive in time.
~
The two young women burst through the house's front door as soon as they arrived, Christine making use of her spare key. She didn't even need to wonder where everyone else would be; she knew that Erik kept that golden retriever by his bedside every night so that he could monitor him. Nothing had ever happened before that had warranted any action, but something had obviously changed that night. Drastically.
Bolting up the stairs with Meg right behind her, she quickly arrived at her boyfriend's room, which was completely dark save for his bedside lamp, and her heart sank when she saw him in the middle of the floor holding Buddy in his arms, Nadir and Rookheya close by.
"Erik, I'm here," she whispered as she moved to sit beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I came as fast as I could, what's happening?"
"I don't know," Erik replied with a sniffle, stroking the dog's fur as he spoke. "They said he had more time. Not much, but more than this, I don't understand."
His words were drowned out by his tears as he leaned forward and buried his face in the retriever's fur, so Christine simply hushed him and rubbed his back. "I know, I'm sorry," she said with a quiet sigh. "You've done so much for him and for all the animals you take care of, Erik, you have to remember that. Whatever happens tonight is not a result of what you've done, you have done everything possible for him."
"Not enough, though. This wouldn't be happening if I had done enough," Erik managed to say through his tears, a sob slipping out of him.
Christine's own throat tightened up hearing the heartbreak spilling over through his words, so she was fortunate that Nadir shuffled over, set a hand on his friend's back and took on the role of the comforter from her; she couldn't trust herself not to cry, so she simply focused on trying to give the elderly dog as much love as she could possibly convey.
"Erik, you know it isn't your fault," Nadir said softly. "He's ill and I know that you've known that for a while now; you always knew he was going to be a hospice case from the beginning. You have to keep that in mind because if you don't, I know that you will blame it on yourself and you can't do that. He's had a wonderful life with you."
"He's right, Erik, you've given him so much," Christine said, finding it in her to dry a few stray tears and contribute to the conversation again. "He's had a beautiful life here with you, he knows that you love him."
Erik's only response was a nod as he lifted his head enough to gently kiss the top of the dog's head. "I love you, Buddy. We all do," he whispered, trying to force a smile as the dog turned his head to glance up at him, and Christine noticed Erik move his hand to rest over the dog's chest, clearly to feel for his heartbeat and wait for when it inevitably ceased. Not knowing exactly what else to say, she simply set her hand over her sweetheart's resting her head on his shoulder as everyone simply waited for the inevitable.
It didn't take long, in the end, and Erik didn't say a word; the way he muffled a sob and leaned over the dog to hold him to his chest told everyone what they needed to know. Christine hadn't quite expected to get as emotional as she did. She knew that she was attached to all of Erik's animals and that even the thought of her love in pain made her heart ache, but there had been something different this time. Erik had loved Buddy probably more than any of his other rescues, and she had a strong feeling that that love had been mutual.
It turned out that she wasn't the only one getting emotional; she had expected to see a few tears from Meg, and there they were, but looking over at Erik's other friends, she found Rookheya with her face tucked in the crook of Nadir's neck, the slight shake of her shoulders the only clue that she was emotional, while even Nadir - Nadir 'I don't like pets much' Khan - had tears in his eyes. Whether it was Buddy's death or Erik's reaction that had made him cry, she couldn't tell, but the show of empathy for what his friend was going through was something that she appreciated and knew that Erik would too.
Quickly drying her cheeks, she leaned over and gently kissed Erik's cheek. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she reached up and gently wiped his tears away. "But you gave him such a beautiful life, just like you're doing for all the others you're caring for. They needed someone and you were there to rescue them. I'm so proud of you for that, and Buddy was proud too."
Erik managed a weak smile as he turned to look at her, leaning forward just enough to press his forehead to hers. "Do you think so?" he croaked.
"I know so, my darling. I have no doubt of it."
#my writing#i dont even know how this idea came to me#but it did#i apologize for the bit of angst#but i hope you enjoy it regardless!#e/c#erik x christine#erik/christine#poto#phantom of the opera#kerik#susan kay phantom#nadir khan#meg giry#christine daae#erik
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hey dude 💚 sorry yr having a shit night too— chainshipping ask tho! I’m always down to head more thoughts abt just. things they do to make th other person smile. but also favorite things to do together? not necessarily Big Activities but the lil domestic stuff (like cooking, maybe chores they do together, etc) that’s just better bc they’re Both doing it
Yeah it was a. rough one kdjks... ty <33
I'm always game to talk abt things they do to make the other smile!! One I think about all the time is the simple act of getting things for each other? Maybe sometimes before they even realize they want said thing, or that they need said thing. As you've mentioned b4 I do think Adam has one of those lavender-scented stuffed animals that you can put in the microwave (I have!! the celebration bear one, who naturally is named Lawrence bc he's blue... and uh... I associate teddy bears. w him) and sometimes, when Adam is doing poorly and has gone nonverbal, Lawrence will just be like "Oh! I know what might help!” so he’ll grab the husky from the bedroom (got Rlly attached to that idea when you mentioned it <33) and pop it in the microwave for a minute, rounding back to the couch to hand Adam one of his shirts to snuggle in and a kiss on the forehead. When he gets Adam’s husky from the microwave and hands it to him, Adam just kinda has a moment like oh... I didn’t even have to ask... and he smiles, for the first time that day, and honestly? It rlly does help, to have someone who knows what might comfort you/knows what types of things do, and who just. Does those things when you need them, sometimes without prompt. It’s an intimate kind of knowledge, and it makes Adam feel all warm on the inside.
Another good example of this is Adam making sure Lawrence has his cane while he's walking around the apartment, esp those first few months when he's just getting used to using it - because he's still learning + trying to get used to walking with his (properly fitted) prosthetic, he often left the cane in random places because Adam would often offer his arm if Lawrence needed it (which, again, took some time for him to be okay with, but Adam always tells him it's okay to need help sometimes), and it would frustrate him because he'd be sitting on the couch like "I. I don't know where I put it." but Adam will be like "It's okay, I know where it is!" and it's as simple as that! Lawrence can't help but smile when Adam hands it to him because Adam just. He gets how hard it is. It's so simple to Adam but to Lawrence it means a whole lot. <3
Something else is that Lawrence will remind him to eat. I've touched on this a little bit b4, but Adam has issues with food that extend past textures and tastes and such - his eating is very disordered, and has been since childhood. He doesn't eat three meals a day, sometimes he hardly eats anything at all (usually the bare minimum that will allow him to take his medications without getting sick), he tends to gravitate towards snacks/easy foods that aren't necessarily super healthy, and combined with him already being underweight + having spent the last seven or eight years since leaving his parents' place at 18 getting by on very little, it causes him frequent dizzy spells/fainting episodes. It also takes him a while to realize that hey, I don't have to spread my meals out anymore, I don't have to worry about getting food, and I don't have to feel guilty about eating when I'm hungry. I think Lawrence is a very observant person by nature, and while he might not understand it fully right away, I think he'd definitely realize that some of these issues are tied to the state of the apartment he'd seen only once + Adam's life from before.
So he doesn't force him to eat, obviously, because that doesn't work and helps no one, but he will definitely be like "Hey, I know you're not feeling great today, but why don't I grab you a granola bar or something? We have those oranges you like too. I just want to make sure you don't give yourself a headache or get sick." and admittedly Adam is. Not used to that kind of regard whatsoever. But it feels so much easier to at least eat something small when he knows Lawrence sees him, understands that it's hard and isn't forcing anything out of him. I do think that once they settle into a routine after moving in together, some of that becomes a little bit easier because hey, he's not living paycheck to paycheck, he doesn't have to survive off of ramen and monster energy, he's allowed to eat and not worry about what happens after. The stress of worrying about groceries is definitely nonexistent with Lawrence, and that takes so much weight off of Adam's shoulders; not to embtion the fact that Lawrence is also conscious about his same foods, and makes sure they've always got some in the kitchen. It's not easy, but having someone care about him so much, someone who wants to make sure he's eating right and caring about him like that always makes Adam smile a little bit.
For Lawrence, I think a big thing is just like... seeing Adam hanging out with Diana? There's nothing that will put a smile on his face faster than coming home from work to find the two of them in the living room, a Disney movie (or The Princess Bride!) playing in the background while Diana paints Adam's nails bright glittery blue and pink, because she wanted to practice patterns and she really likes the glitter. Her nails are already painted black with a glitter coat on top - "Adam's nails always look so pretty like that, and he said maybe I couldn't do full black, so he put glitter on them too!" - and he's sitting there, hand spread out on the coffee table while they both sit on the floor, talking about anything and everything that pops into Diana's head, and Lawrence just kind of stands there and watches for a little while. His two favourite people, relaxing together, enjoying each other's company. Adam turns around and Lawrence has always got this huge grin on his face, just like, "Oh, don't mind me. What was it you were talking about, Diana?" which of course prompts her to jump up to give him a huge hug, but after that she's right back to painting Adam's nails, and Lawrence is more than content to just sit in and listen. (He also absolutely adores finding Adam reading to her before bed, because he does voices and everything. He gets a little bit embarrassed about it at first, but once he sees Lawrence watching them with the most loving look he thinks he's ever seen, he just blushes, smiles back, and continues. Sometimes Lawrence joins in, but not always, because then it becomes a competition of voices and they'll never get Diana to bed if she's laughing too hard!!)
Another is that Adam is really good at pulling him out of his own head. He can usually tell when Lawrence is thinking way too hard about something, or when he's beating himself up for some perceived slight he feels he's somehow performed, or when something is bothering him and he's debating whether or not to bring it up for fear of bothering Adam. Often times he'll just sit beside him wherever he is, or lead him somewhere to sit down if they're standing, and he'll just guide Lawrence's head to rest on his chest and he'll just talk softly, making sure Lawrence isn't sitting in silence, knowing that Lawrence doesn't typically feel up to talking himself right away. He'll run his fingers through his hair and tell him about his day, or something he saw while scrolling through his phone/on TV, sometimes he'll read to him, basically just letting him know that hey, I'm right here, I know you're not doing great right now, and that's okay. I'm here for you. Lawrence cries sometimes when Adam does this, the relief of being held + feeling safe enough to express his emotions making it easier, but he smiles by the end of it because he knows how much Adam loves him + wants to make sure he's okay, and he knows that Adam isn't going to judge him. It's the safety of it all. <3
Favourite things to do together!!! Like you mentioned I like to think they do chores together! It’s just more fun that way. Again as you’ve mentioned b4, I think Adam has some difficulty with the dishes despite liking the repetitiveness of the task, both because of textures and because of his shaky hands - so what they do is Lawrence will wash the plates themselves and then hand them off to Adam, who will dry them and put them away/the strainer! They both find it helps a lot to just be around each other like this, listening to the radio above the stove and bumping hips, tapping their feet, sometimes humming along if they know the song well enough. It’s just a nice little routine. (Sometimes they dance in the kitchen after, and sometimes to the goofiest pop songs Adam has ever heard, but if you heard that, no you didn't.)
They like folding laundry together, too! That one is just because it's fun. Lawrence will toss him one or two of his shirts while they're warm because he knows Adam likes the feeling + stealing Lawrence's clothes, and every now and then Adam will throw a washcloth at him just 'cause he thinks it's funny (it is, especially bc Lawrence's gut response is to throw it back?? so they look like two dorks bc they're just throwing it back and forth???), and it's just a nice way to share space. Sometimes they get a bit too caught up in whatever is on TV (its on bc they both need background noise) and end up just sitting against the couch, two baskets of laundry on either side of them, and then eventually Adam will be like "Okay babe I think we should probably finish folding clothes now," and Lawrence will just groan like "I forgot that's what we were doing. Damn it." and they take a moment to laugh before they finish up. (Adam Loves hearing Lawrence swear bc he doesn't do it often, so even smth as simple as "damn it" cracks him up for a good minute lmao!!)
I do think they also enjoy cooking together!! Adam will hand him ingredients/assist in cutting vegetables/what have you; I think, for the most part, that Lawrence does the majority of the cooking, but Adam does help where he can! Sometimes he'll just hop up onto the counter and hand Lawrence things as he needs them, and Lawrence thanks him with either a squeeze to his hand or a kiss on the cheek, and Adam will joke about how he's basically just sitting there looking pretty, but he learns very quickly that Lawrence will just be like "Well, you DO look very pretty, so I think that's fine," and it ends with Adam red in the face but smiling into his hands anyway. The payoff is always a nice meal that they can sit down to together, and it's just such a peaceful, enjoyable thing for them to do together!!
Other than those three they'll take turns doing chores for each other - sweeping, dusting, tidying up the bathroom, things like that just to help each other out <3
#saw#adam#lawrence#asks#thank you so so much <33#mood kind of bled into today too so this was nice to sit down n reply to!!#once again giving adam a lot of my food issues... im healthier now but it was bad for a while#I think abt them so much!!! many thoughts head full!!#hey the washcloth thing? I do that#its fun when yr w your friends hdjdmdkd#aaaa I loved answering this!!#long post#diana#FORGOT TO TAG MY GIRL im sorry diana
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Secret Santa Apex
@apex-secretsanta
@dupesoclock I hope u like it bro marry Christmas my dude
Sorry if it kinda sucks if u dont like it i can write u something else or try to draw u something but ya i hope u like it bro
Octane smiled softly as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of Elliot's face. He looked so peaceful. Like nothing bad could ever happen, and for once octane hoped things would never change. Elliott stirred awake before wrapping his arms around octane, pushing their bodies impossibly close. The sound of octane's heartbeat lulling him back to sleep. Octane pulled Elliot closer, wrapping his legs around him before returning to sleep. The warmth of his partner made him feel safe. Elliott woke up, smiling upon seeing how octane was positioned. Octane had trouble staying still even while sleeping apparently. He was face-first on the ground with what was left of his legs resting on the bed. He was going to be sore after this. Elliott went to the restroom and when he returned octane was still face-first on the ground. Elliott picked him up, carrying him back to bed placing him in a comfortable position before placing a kiss on his forehead. Just as he was about to leave octane grabbed his hand pulling him down.
“Where are you going, mi amor (my love)?” Octane placed a kiss on his cheek.
“Uh breakfast and it's 10 am we should probably get up” Mirage reasoned trying to stand up.
Octane crawled on top of Elliott, making sure he would be able to get up.
“No, we don't”.
“Are you telling me that thee Octane wants to stay in bed all day but isn't your whole motto go go go”?
“It is, but it's just so comfy with you” He pressed his face into Elliot's chest.
“Your chest is very soft by the way” Octane grabbed Eliott’s chest pressing them together.
Elliott slapped his hands away sitting up before pushing Octane away.
“Leave my chest alone!” Elliott stuck out his tongue and covered his chest with his arms.
“You mean your boobs?” Elliot's face turned bright red, he grabbed a pillow throwing it with all his might hitting Octane in his face.
Octane laughed at Elliot's little outburst.
“You're an asshole, you know that right!” Elliott shouted, his lip forming a pout.
Octane crawled towards him, “And your prefect” octane placed a quick kiss on his lips.
“You can't do that! You can't win every argument by kissing me!” Elliott turned his back facing Octane.
“Oh come on, no estés enojado conmigo amor (don't be mad at me love). I was just joking. You still love me right?” Octan hugged Elliott from behind wrapping his arms around his waist resting his chin on his shoulder.
“Of course I still love you! I'm just up-up, sus-set, frick, I'm just upset!” Elliott pouted, crossing his arms.
“Pero porque (but why)? Is it cuz I said you had boobs?” Octane slid his arms up to cup Elliott’s chest.
Elliott sighed pushing Octane’s arms down.
“Maybe” he whispered.
“But I love your boobs,” Octane said, placing a kiss on his shoulder, placing a hand over his chest before grabbing a handful of flesh.
“Can you stop saying boobs please?” Elliott said, moving away from Octane.
“Ey, no te enojes (hey don't get mad), If I make you something will you forgive me” Octane reached for Elliott making grabby hands.
“You'll burn the house down” Eliott rolled his eyes.
“No! I can cook. My parents were always too busy to cook for me and the maid never made anything I liked” Octane grimace at the memory “I don't want no rich people food yuck” Octane stuck his tongue out.
Elliott glared at him.
“Fine I can only cook like three things and I make a mess… but my arroz con leche and flan taste good! Ask Ajay she can vouch for me!”.
“Fine but you're cleaning the kitchen and you're washing the dishes” Octane groaned but agreed.
He grabbed his prosthetics and ran off to the kitchen. After what seemed forever Octane came back with the food.
“Tada! What do you think” Octane grabbed a spoon and placed it at Elliott’s lips “Does it taste good?”
“You made this tavi? I don't believe it” Elliott said, taking another spoonful of the arroz con leche.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Octane said before eating his.
“Hey, amor” mirage hummed in response.
“Tienes algo aquí (you have something here)” Octane cupped his face before kissing him.
“Did you get it?” Mirage smirked.
“You know what I think I missed” Octane kissed him again.
“There”.
“You're so cheesy sometimes you know that, pretty sure that was my job” Mirage kissed the tip of Octane’s nose.
Octane giggled, “But you love me for it don't ya?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don't guess, you'll never know” Octane pouted.
“Come on, come on, come on! The suspense is killing me amigo” Octane gripped mirage’s shoulder shaking him lightly.
Mirage laughed making Octane smile. He felt as if he was falling in love all over again.
Mirage warped his arms around Octane pressing a kiss to his face, “Does that answer your question?”
Octane pretended to think for a moment before giving him his iconic shit-eating grin, “No I don't think it did”.
“I thought you were smarter than that because the answer is obviously I do love you” Mirage kissed his cheek.
“Amigo you shouldn’t expect that much from me. I mean come on we share a brain cell and you own it”.
Mirage ruffled Octane's hair, “You know what, maybe we should stay here all day. It's not like we had anything ur-ur,ga-gan… important to do”.
Octane looked up at mirage like he meant the world to him, and he did.
“Stop”.
“Stop what? Going to have to be more specific than that amor”.
“Stop looking at me like that!”
“I can't help it you're just too adorable when you stutter”.
“No, I'm not!” Mirage’s cheeks flushed bright red.
“Boop” Octane poked Mirage's nose with his index finger.
There was a moment of silence before they both burst out laughing.
“Te quiero” octane said out of nowhere.
Mirage giggled, “I know”.
“Good just wanted to make sure you knew” Octane placed a kiss on his forehead.
“Well, then you should know I love you too” Mirage cupped his face and returned the kiss.
Everything was perfect. There was nothing wrong. No one was shouting, there were no gunshots. No scary murder bots, no drug addictions to worry about. It was just perfect. And they both hoped that it would be like this always and that time would slow down a bit to let them enjoy this moment a bit more.
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My children!
I kinda went all out and created a list of headcannons for them and a playlist ^-^ (see if you can guess which song is for who)
Rosie:
The big sister! Her hearts big and she likes to take care of everyone
She's one of the stronger kids, being sporty. She plays rugby. If you sneak up behind her you have a 99% chance of being punched.
She used to get teased a lot in school because of her physique. Her bullies have a fear of a pissed off Thomas now.
Rosie plays in the mud a lot and it's usually in skirts and her jersey. No she doesn't care.
Love's plants, especially ones that are strange looking. She keeps a pair of primroses in her pigtails. Biology in general is her favorite.
Her birthday is November 23 and she's 14 and is also 5'2
Really likes pasta, especially macaroni and cheese
She lives with Henry, but has been known to sleep at other houses as well.
She has a pet cat that is basically like a dog with how he plays with her. His name is Thorn.
Philip:
He's a good kid but can't sit still for 5 min.
The fastest of everyone on here. He plays soccer where he is an attacking midfielder and runs track.
Surprisingly smart but lacks situational awareness. Needs to be told when to give someone space.
His birthday is July 28, he's 13 and he's the tallest at 5'4''
Thinks chicken nuggets should be their own food group. Edward disagrees.
Wears his soccer jersey over a yellow shirt. Really needs a hairbrush tbh
Jokes that he was found in a box, technically he wasn't.
He does like to write fun stories a lot! He thinks it’s especially fun to share them with people who will listen. (Or people who won’t listen)
He lives with Edward and gives him so many heart attacks because of how reckless he is.
Toad:
Amphibian time! My child who was literally named after a break van.
A very good swimmer! He's usually splashing around in a creek or the ocean,looking for friends.
Cannot sleep without Oliver being nearby. It's a leftover habit from when they escaped together.
Polite to a fault, even if someone is being rude to him. He takes most insults in stride.
His Birthday is August 30th, he is 4’10’’ and is 13
He loves beef stew (me too dude)
Though he is a cheery, optimistic person he doesn’t really like bright colors. Most of his clothes are a slate grey. Usually dresses semi-formally.
Probably the calmest person in the group. He’s the voice of reason for when things go awry. The others usually come to him for advice.
Lives with the entire little western. (you think this is bad, wait till Luke lmao)
Skiff:
Boat boy who switched a shit dad for a good one and will not hesitate to brag about him.
Likes the beach mostly, but doesn’t like getting his face wet so swimming is out of the question. He does like volleyball though.
Gets rather grumpy when people ignore what he's signing. And that's when he slips in more vulgar words to see if anyone will pick up on it.
He has a crap load of scars on his neck, but isn't afraid to show them. After all it meant he survived.
He likes fish and rice dishes a lot. (also same)
Really likes to read old myths and fairytales. Captain Joe tells him some from time to time when he has trouble sleeping.
His Birthday is February 12, he’s 4’7’’ and 12
He lives with Captain Joe
Kevin:
Clumsy, but is going to be the best inventor ever!
Doesn’t play any sports, but running around the shop with Victor is very good exercise lmao.
Has the tendency to stay up all night making blueprints.(yes he consumes the gamer juice.) Doesn’t actually mind if an invention explodes, which happens rather often.
His prosthetic leg was designed by him! Victor helped him build it. He likes to make cool decals for it.
He pretty much likes all spicy foods! Especially handheld quick things to eat.
His Birthday is Feb 3rd, he’s 11 and 4’5’’
Please don’t play tricks on this child, he takes things literally.
He of course lives with Victor, and is the giver of many a headache.
Luke:
Anxious green pea, needs a weighted blanket
You can always find him on top of something. He's always climbing trees… and cliff faces.
He's a polyglot! He's learned a few different languages besides english including: Spanish,French,Welsh, and Irish.
He has a bed, but is always sleeping in someone else's because of nightmares and because he gets cold easily because of his anemia.
He loves sweets, especially ice cream and popsicles. Add chocolate or strawberry to the mix and he's sold
He doesn't actually know his birthday, but celebrates on Spring equinox. He's the shortest at 4'0 and is 11.
Wears 30+ layers even in the summertime so he looks even smaller sometimes.
Collects rocks! He has a few really cool ones with fossils too.
He jumps around all of the narrow gauge houses
Ivo hugh
Pink baby with eyes brighter than a thousand suns
He's the strongest out of everyone on here! If you need something heavy moved, he's the one to call!
Pretty emotionally intelligent. Knows what others are feeling even if they aren't sure yet. Is probably the best to talk about said feelings with.
Blunt as hell. He thinks it's best to be honest, calls others out on their bullshit quite a bit. He literally can’t tell a straight lie.
His birthday is Oct 5th, he’s about 4’10’’ and he’s the youngest at 10.
I feel like he’d be really into breakfast foods like pancakes and eggs. Since he is an early riser
He’s got about a hundred stuffed animals that he sleeps with. He really likes fluffy ones that remind him of his friends.
Lives with Bertram and Freddie because I love that headcannon from @princeluckybug13 lmao
The playlist:
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0h7hwbt6LSYUfwFFXXDcfb?si=5aIIweMxQ0e3DRqpJvvcqw
#mynart#ttte rosie#ttte philip#ttte toad#ttte skiff#ttte kevin#ttte Luke#ttte ivo hugh#ttte humanizations#Spotify#edit: ffs when you forget to color stuff#i hate tumblr mobile but i cant figure out the website
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Lasabrjotr Chapter 67: Cauldron of Despair
Chapters: 67/?
Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Mature Warnings:
Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go)
Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Has A Bad Time, But Like, Dude Did Some Bad Shit
Summary: It’s easy to forget what he did.
Thor circled the Frost Giant's corpse trying to decide what to do about it.
“Well. This is a mess.” He said, staring down into his brother's azure face. “And I'm not just talking about body cleanup.”
“She doesn't listen!” Loki seethed. “Why does she always go headlong into danger; does she not realize what it does to me? I have never run so fast in my life!”
“Mortal women seem blessed with an excess of virtues.” Thor shrugged. “Curiosity, courage, and responsibility among them. Jane was no different. You remember.”
“I do. I also remember that she managed to avoid getting badly hurt, because she knew how to run and hide!”
“Perhaps. But she also-”
“Norns, I don't care! Get this thing off me, you great oaf!”
“Temper, temper.” Thor chided, rolling the body over with his boot. “You're so angry, you've gone blue in the face.”
“I will kill you.” Loki snarled, squirming free.
“You were certainly insistent that she not see you. Still keeping that secret?”
“Shut up. We have to get this cleaned up. We have to assess the damage, and we have to check the tunnels for more. How did it get here? Is it a relic from the old war? How many are down there?”
“I will go check.” Thor volunteered. “You should go to the healing wing and try to calm things down. No doubt it's a little hectic there right now.”
Loki nodded, waiting the few moments it took to regain his milky complexion, then the brothers parted ways for opposite sides of the palace complex.
*****
“So he was frozen in here? Like some kind of cell?” Thor glanced around the scintillating bubble in the ice. There was a large slot in one wall, where the giant had presumably been sleeping. There were objects strewn about, covered in ice, that to Thor, looked like they could be a Frost Giant's version of a soldier's mess kit.
Thor knew that no humans had been down in these tunnels. The government of Iceland hadn't even known they were there. This Jotun must have been here for a very long time, sleeping in the ice. Perhaps a trapped soldier, perhaps a lost traveler.
His journey was over now. It was actually rather unfortunate, Thor mused. Even though they had invaded and killed many humans, a Frost Giant could do much good on Earth now. They could generate ice at will. On a world where important glaciers were rapidly disappearing, a Frost Giant ally could be quite successful.
How frightened he must have been, to wake up suddenly, alone, not knowing how many years had passed. Still in the mindset of a war that had long ended, surrounded by enemies. Everywhere he ran, more enemies, more unfamiliar surroundings, more fear and desperation.
Yes, he had killed people on his rampage, and yes, Thor had killed him. But, as a warrior, Thor sympathized. This was tragic, all around.
“We need to clean this area out.” He said. “Gather and clean all of these objects. Do not proceed with digging unless accompanied by einherjar. We won't know if there are more until I bring Heimdall down here.”
“What shall we do if there are more, my king?” One of the clean up crew asked.
“We dig them out.” Thor said. “Slowly. Under my supervision.”
“Could we not just...leave them there?” One ventured. “Stop digging and leave them encased in ice?”
“The climate on this world is changing.” Thor explained to him. “There is a strong possibility that the ice will melt no matter what we do, and free them anyway. Best to do it under close watch, where they can be subdued, and their situation explained to them.”
“Mercy, my king?”
“It is a new age, and we are a people reborn.” Thor proclaimed. “We can try doing things in a new way.”
*****
“She will be fine.” Bjarkhild assured Loki. “It turns out that our Blood Burn remedies are very effective on mortals. She will have sore spots on her arm for a few days, no more.”
“And Kolla?” Loki asked.
“Two broken ribs, a broken wrist, and a broken nose. She will have to stay under a Soul Forge for a week or so, but is expected to make a full recovery.”
“Very good. The messenger lad?”
Bjarkhild sighed deeply. “He will lose the arm. A terrible shame, but the damage was just too great. Perhaps if he had stayed laying down when he was hit, but pushing himself to go find you...”
Loki sat silent for a moment.
“We will Retire him.” He said finally. “It's the best we can do for him now. I will draw up the papers, if you will sign them.”
“Yes, your Highness.” Bjarkhild agreed.
Asgard loved it's heroes, and provided for them, whether military or civilian. A soldier had a pension, guaranteed care for if they were grievously injured during noble battle. A civilian, however, wasn't expected to put themselves in harm's way. For those that did, and suffered for it, there was the institution of Retirement. All of his needs would be taken care of; he would never be without food, home, quality clothing, or respect.
Bjarkhild was right. The messenger's arm might have been saved, had he simply lay still and waited for medics to come to him. But instead, he had found Loki, to warn him of the danger, which gave him the head start needed to reach you in time. This was a heroic act on par with any einherjar.
One day, they would have their technology up and running at the capacity Old Asgard once had. And if the man wanted it, a nearly seamless prosthetic could be offered. But Asgardians tended to cherish their battle wounds, which was why Odin never got an mechanical eye, and great-uncle Tyr never replaced his hand. They could have, of course, but they had earned those wounds in the defense of Asgard. It was a matter of personal pride.
“Shall I have you notified when I release her, or should I just send her to you?” Bjarkhild asked.
“Send her to me.” Loki said. “You need all your people here. How many are...”
“Beyond my help?” Bjarkhild finished. “Six. The other ten are in various stages of injury, but expected to pull through.”
Loki nodded solemnly. Six of their all-too-rare people.
He left the healing wing, noticing Gloa hovering anxiously in the corridor outside. He approached, and took her by the arm.
“Gloa, I want to thank you for-”
She whirled with a startled cry, and struck him across the face.
Loki quickly stamped down the stab of rage within him, watching the emotions fly across her features: Shock, realization, acceptance, and finally ownership over what she had just done. She jerked herself out of his grasp.
“Don't just grab me!” She snapped. “I don't care who you are, you don't have permission to lay hands on me whenever you want!”
“Gloa...” He growled.
“Don't talk to me right now. Not when your filthy kind has robbed me of yet another person I love!”
Loki flinched. Gloa's family had not come through Ragnarok whole. He knew she blamed him for it, for unleashing Surtr, and he didn't know how to explain that it had been Thor's idea without seeming like he was just passing the blame.
“Gloa, your father and uncle were brave warriors, and we honor them-”
“My father and uncle were heroes, and they died saving the people of Asgard!” Gloa interrupted. “I am satisfied for them. They rest in Valhalla with all those who died well.”
“Then why do you blame me?” He demanded.
“Not for them! For my brother!”
“Your brother?”
“You don't even remember. My brother was chosen as a guard in the Allfather's vault. We were all so proud.” Gloa scoffed bitterly. “The eve of Thor's coronation-the first one-he was guarding the Cask of Ancient Winters. He was murdered by invading Frost Giants, who sneaked in to steal it.”
And just like that Loki's throat closed, a fist of guilt squeezing his heart.
“I know it was you who let them in.” Gloa accused, tears rimming her eyes. “Maybe you didn't directly admit to it in that horrendous, self-aggrandizing play you had written about yourself, but I could read between the lines. The sick justification for your actions- all because you had decided that Thor was unfit to rule! That he didn't think things through, and he would get us killed through his bad decisions. But how are you any different? You were perfectly willing to sacrifice Asgardian lives-the very lives you claimed to have been trying to protect-for your own agenda! And it got you nothing! You shattered my family for nothing!”
Speechless, Loki stepped back under the sheer unexpected force of the tirade. What could he possibly say?
“You wanted to thank me for standing next to your little pet project? Pah! She is feeble, and brief, and weak, but she's not a coward, and she actually stood for our children. She may not be worth much, but she is still too good for you.”
Gloa stomped away, furious tears streaming down her face, leaving Loki stunned.
*****
Thor gazed over the objects arranged on the table before him. All the scattered debris from the frozen cave, cleaned and brought to him for observation. These definitely made up a soldier's mess kit, and perhaps a higher class soldier, if the quality of the items we an indication. There were dishes and cutlery, hewn from bone and ivory, carved with foreign designs-Frost Giant art. There was decayed leather bedding and bags, waterskins, and a pack for rations that had long since rotted away.
And, untouched in the ice near where the giant had slumbered, a diary. Velum and ink from the strange sea creatures of Jotunheim, bound in leather, with ivory plates, it was a precious artifact from a thousand years before.
Thor picked up a page turning stick and very carefully opened the book. The ink that the Frost giants extracted from their oceanic beasts was thick, so thick that it raised slightly from the pages, making the letters look carved, rather than written.
Thor was not familiar with Frost Giant writing; until recently, he would not have thought they were literate at all. He had to wonder if examples of Frost Giant writing had been more common before their defeat at the hands of Asgard's armies, before the claiming of the Casket. What kind of dark age had that defeat plunged them into?
As Thor gazed at the unfamiliar runes, they resolved themselves in his mind into something he understood as if he had been raised on it; it was simply automatic. He read a few pages, absorbing what they revealed, until he realized that he could, in good conscience, read no more. This was meant for someone else.
This was meant for Loki.
*****
Consequence. Every action set off a chain of events that never ended. Loki would never get the chance to be a good man again, because the fallout of his deeds would stretch out into forever. He would never actually be able to make amends. He could not restore Gloa's brother to life. All of eternity would pass without him. Without her brother, and without the other guard. He hadn't even considered their lives while he schemed. Hadn't known their names, nor attended their funerals. They really had just been a means to an end for him, acceptable casualties.
And he had considered himself more concerned with the safety of Asgard than Thor had been. What a fool! He had been exactly the same as his brother, only more secretive about it. Moreover, Thor's actions regarding Jotunheim, while irresponsible, had not actually cost any Asgardian lives. But Loki's actions regarding Thor's irresponsibility had. In a way, Loki had tried to play father to Thor, but he wasn't a father yet, and had failed in all of the ways he had blamed Odin for failing. And Asgard was poorer for his actions: Families shattered, people bereaved, grief and emptiness that would flow on until time ended.
Perhaps Gloa had been right all along. Perhaps he simply was the actual worst, undeserving of the happiness he had attained. Unworthy of you.
Certainly you had never done anything to endanger your world, or any others. You only had one murder under your belt, and it was not only self defense, but it had also been erased by the great reality reset. You were practically innocent. What had he actually done to earn your love?
All he had done was kidnap you and destroy your life. Take you away from your home and family, and force you into a new life and career, been rude, frightened you, kept secrets. Was still keeping secrets.
He shouldn't have yelled at you. He had been overwhelmed by fear, and adrenaline, the fog of war, but he still didn't have to yell. He had acted like an ogre to one of the few people who loved him.
His dazed wandering had brought him back to his only place of real safety; his bedroom, the black sheepsking rug in front of the faux fire. The place where he held you. He needed to hold you.
He ached for you. For your warm embrace, the comfort of you. Bjarkhild had said you would be released soon, mostly unharmed. He waited, wallowing in his torment.
He shot up to his knees the instant he heard you enter the chambers, hope suffusing him. He heard the door to your little room open and close, then nothing else.
His heart split and sank down, as he laid down flat on the rug.
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Title: Just As Scripted
Author: @ShatterGlassCeilings / @ask-the-sakamaki
For: @namsuuuuuuu
Rating/Warnings: None
Prompt: Marriage Proposal
Author’s notes: N/A
Hajime walked into his cabin with his hands filled with everything he needed to devise his plans. After spending the last month getting opinions from all of his friends, he finally pulled himself together and decided that it was finally time to pop the question. First things first, making Nagito’s favorite dish from scratch.
Upon returning to Jabberwock island, it sunk in that that would be his home for the rest of time. He’d be stuck here with most of his classmates, left to do as they pleased. The thought was scary, if he was honest. He knew because of the catastrophe that much needed to be rebuilt and his home before all this madness was no longer waiting for him, but he missed it. There was still so much he wanted to see and do.
“Hajime?” He jumped, whipping around to see Nagito walked up to him. He waved his prosthetic hand with a little smile. “It’s time to get off the boat.”
He could suddenly feel his feet again, helping him stand on the sturdy wood deck. His arms tingled as he moved them after being locked for so long. There was a beat of silence as Hajime stared out at Jabberwock, then to Nagito. He watched as Nagito held out his good hand for him, his small smile unwavering as he waited for Hajime to grab ahold of him.
It was then he realised he wasn’t really afraid. He wasn’t terrified of staying on the island, nor was he scared of Nagito like he was after the first trial in the simulation. He wasn’t a new person entirely. Everyone was relatively the same in their own way, but they had all grown from where they used to be. This Nagito was different, but so familiar in all the ways he craved that it didn’t take him long to hold his hand, returning the smile.
The rest of his uncertainty vanished as they stepped off the boat. He felt his hand be squeezed as the boat began to sail away into the distance. The sun was beginning to set, and the stars began to peak out from behind the clouds in no time. He dared to sneak a glance at Nagito, who was staring up at the sky with wide eyes, as if he’d never have this sight and experience again.
Hajime made a note to himself to take him out again soon. To knock on his door in the night and take him by his hand and guide him to the beach. He’d lay out a blanket and they’d lie in silence and stare out at the stars until the rolling breeze off the sea chilled them to the bone. Then he’d bundle up the blanket and drape it around their shoulders before navigating them in the dark back to the hotel. Share a goodbye at Nagito’s doorstep, then head back to his own room with a goofy smile on his lips.
He wasn’t afraid of what he lost. What was waiting for him, his home, his sanctuary- it was all right here.
“The boat arrived,” Nagito called as he entered the room. Hajime looked up from where he was digging through his bags, watching as his boyfriend set a few bags down at the door. He immediately went over to greet him, giving him a hug and a quick kiss on the lips.
“You asked for things this time?” Hajime asked as he stared at Nagito’s haul. With every boat, they were allowed to fill out a paper of things they wanted or needed. Usually it would come in the next shipment, unless it was something that was ridiculous to begin with. Ibuki once asked for a drummer, and it’s been a year and she hasn’t gotten a response yet.
Nagito never filled out a paper, so Hajime took it upon himself to ask for things for him when he wasn’t in need of materials for building. It was usually just a request for a book or thicker clothes if Komaeda seemed to be getting sicker. Then he’d have to sneak it into Nagito’s stuff and pray he didn’t notice and panic about how he didn’t deserve so much kindness. Nagito’s self deprecating behavior was still a work in progress.
“I did,” Nagito hummed, “but don’t look. It’s private.”
Hajime held his hands up and stepped away. “You have your space.”
Nagito laughed. “So, are you going to be working with Soda today? I was thinking that while you are out working hard that I could make you your favorite.”
Hajime’s heart stopped momentarily. “Oh. Uh, actually, I was going to cook tonight.”
“It’s okay, I can do it.” Nagito gave him another smile, eyes fluttered closed before they opened, looking to his bags. A clear hint at some of the bags contents. “I got lessons from Teruteru and I don’t want to forget what he taught me. I need to do it right away.”
“I got advice from him too…” Hajime frowned, not wanting to relent. If he let himself wait another day, he could lose his nerve entirely. If things didn’t go as he planned for the last month, no matter how small it was, he’d flounder and ruin the proposal. Then again, when Nagito had his mind on something, he tended to get his way, either through his luck or cunning. He had to hold his ground or settle this. “The kitchen is big enough, I guess. We could both use it to cook, but it will be a little weird to both be making dinner, right?”
“Good point, you can help me cook then and save yours for tomorrow!” Nagito grinned, clapping his hands together. Hajime gave him a look before snagging his bags off the floor.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I had an inkling.” Nagito picked up his bags as well and began to head to the kitchen. Hajime followed, closing the door behind himself. The walk was peaceful since everyone was off doing their own thing. He was glad the kitchen was empty and all the dishes were washed so he didn’t have to waste time getting set up. Nagito took the other side of the kitchen before beginning to unpack his things. “What are you making?”
“Chicken yakisoba, what about you?” Hajime asked.
“Omurice.” Hajime smiled at his response. He used to make that all the time when he was in school and his parents were too busy to cook for him.
What was meant to be a thirty minute recipe ended up taking an hour. He should have read through his written out recipe, but he was eager to get started. Nagito wasn’t doing much better, as he had to restart two times already because his food somehow started on fire. Hajime wasn’t sure Nagito even knew how that happened. One moment he’d turn to check his recipe, the next he’d be staring at a pan completely engulfed in flames.
“Oh.”
He dropped the pan on top of the other one and ran it under cold water.
Hajime stifled a laugh as Nagito started up again, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the new mix, as if daring it to start acting up. “Do you need help?”
Nagito was silent. He didn’t look up from his pan, but Hajime could see the pout on his lips. Making his way to the other side of the kitchen, he stood beside Nagito. He then noticed the sugar around the bottom of the pan. It must have been mistaken for salt for the last few pans when the flames began. He sighed a little, remembering Teruteru drilling in his head the differences in the containers between the salt and the sugar. He might have forgotten to tell Nagito with how much he hounded Hajime for it.
He wrapped his arms around Nagito’s waist and rested his cheek on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it if there’s another fire.”
“What about your food?”
“It’s got to cook a bit longer, but otherwise I’m done.” Nagito nodded, leaning back into Hajime’s touch. “Do you want to eat away from the hotel?”
“That’d be nice. Let’s go somewhere quiet, like the beach.” Hinata’s nose scrunched. That’s not exactly what he had in mind, more in favor for taking Nagito to his favorite place, the library. He already had his plan set up in there too… Going to the beach wouldn’t be an option.
“Why not the library? I got another book from the ship I want you to read.”
“You don’t want to eat in a dusty library, right? The weather is so nice outside today.”
“We can always eat on our way there.”
“I prefer to sit down for my meals.” Liar. Hajime always saw him walking around with a sandwich or apple while deep in thought. He didn’t understand why Nagito was being so difficult today. They usually were rather harmonious, except for petty things that were resolved within the hour. Neither seemed to be in sync with each other today.
Maybe he was timing this wrong and needed to pull back from his plan after all. Fate was probably clubbing him with hints that the stars weren’t in position and it was best that he just followed along with Nagito and toss his plan in the gutter.
His arms tightened around Nagito’s waist. That wasn’t going to happen.
“We can eat here then. Less trouble since we won’t be carrying our dishes back later.”
Once they were finished, they sat down in silence and began to eat their meals. While his favorite food tasted wonderful, it didn’t wipe away the crummy expression settled on his face as he thought of how this night was going exactly the way he didn’t want it to. Nagito didn’t look too much happier, poking at his food and staring at his plate with a little frown on his lips, forgetting to hold his usual cheery demeanor from being too lost in thought. Hajime set his fork down.
“Does it not taste good?” Hajime scratched his neck. “I’m sorry. I never made a dish like this before. I will try again some other time for you.”
“It’s great!” Nagito gave him a dazzling smile, scooping up some food with his fork. “I really appreciate you making this for lowly scum like me”
“You aren’t scum,” Hajime scowled, shaking his head. He put his fork down and held out his hand, waiting until Nagito offered his own with a confused expression on his face. Hajime leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to Komaeda’s knuckles, eyes scanning the other’s expression to get a view of the pink that dusted Nagito’s cheeks. “I wish you’d stop saying that stuff and see yourself how I see you.”
Nagito smiled, saying nothing over anything else ill of himself ready to tumble out of his lips. Hajime heard them all the time. He wished his partner was never plagued with such thoughts.
He watched as Nagito leaned forward. The sunset outside gave light that reflected off of Nagito’s grey eyes like he was ethereal beauty. He is. His lips twitched up into a smile, one that resembled the one Hajime saw long ago when he woke up on the beach during the start of the killing game. Of course, he was the only one with memories of the game almost perfectly intact. He wondered if Nagito remembered how they met and how warm Hajime felt when he helped him up from the sand. He hoped he remembered only the beginning of the party, when Nagito dragged him into a goofy dance because of Ibuki’s hounding for everyone to start dancing. He knew Nagito didn’t remember the end of the party, thank god, but he wished there was some way to preserve the good memories.
“Come with me to the beach,” Nagito whispered. Hajime felt his chest tighten. He couldn’t let Nagito miss anymore good memories.
“I want you to come to the library with me,” Hajime replied, “please.”
Nagito pulled his hand away and gathered his plate. The food was half eaten, which wasn’t a shock. He never got enough to eat, even though Hajime insisted getting more nutrients would help him feel better. “Thank you for the meal, Hajime. But I have something to do. I’ll see you tonight… so long as you won’t be working?”
Hajime had finished all he wanted to do today yesterday. He wanted to ensure he had the whole night with Nagito without having to rush off to finish something for the Future Foundation in the morning or having to make sure all his friends were still doing okay. He gave Nagito a nod before his partner left him in the dining hall with his half eaten plate of food.
Though he was no longer hungry, he continued to eat. He had a feeling he sat there for at least thirty minutes before the plate was clear and he felt no fuller than before. With a small sigh, he picked his plate up and took it to the sink. Nagito had washed his things before leaving, so he followed suit so Teruteru wouldn’t be upset with any mess they had left. As he headed out of the hotel, he began to walk to the library. There was much to clean up, especially since this no longer seemed like the perfect time to propose. He couldn’t do it when they couldn’t seem to agree on anything. Maybe it was the world’s way of saying that they weren’t as perfect as he thought. They must have things to work on, but that was alright. It will happen one day, even if he needs to wait a little longer than he expected.
He paused when he reached the bridge to the center island. Before heading across, he spared a glance toward the beach and caught the sight of flames. Not a wildfire, but small flickering lights. He tried to poke his head around to get a better view from afar, but he didn’t spot anyone down there.
“Nagito?” He called, stepping toward the beach. He climbed over a small dune and headed down to where the candles were decorating the sand in a circle, with a gap wide enough to enter without worry of getting burned. Inside the circle was a pale wooden board that was a few inches off the ground. It was wide too, maybe around eight feet in diameter and four inches from the big candles blazing. On top of the board was red specks. Hajime hesitantly crouched down and poked one. To his relief, it wasn’t like the red specks he witnessed in the killing game. It was rose petals.
Nagito set this up? Hajime smiled and stood, looking out at the darkened sky and the gentle waves of the ocean. It was beautiful. How did he manage to get the board out with his bad hand? Had he gotten help while Hajime was getting assistance in the library with Sonia and Chiaki?
Hajime’s heart beat fast in his chest as he thought of his partner. He just wanted to make good memories too. Nagito wanted to do something romantic, and Hajime was so absorbed in what he wanted to do that he didn’t want to consider it.
Stepping off the platform, Hajime went running toward the hotel to apologize. He struggled to make his way through the sand with tennis shoes, but managed to not fall. Once he got to the path, he stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing Nagito step off the bridge from the main island, clutching something to his chest. Their eyes met.
Hajime ran over to Nagito, noticing the closer he got that the item Nagito was holding was the book he had gotten for him from the boat that morning. He stumbled to a stop right before Nagito, pants escaping his lips. “Did you do that?”
Nagito smiled a little, looking to the beach. He nodded and Hajime could see his eyes had become glossy. “I went to the library to apologize for being so stubborn and stupind… and I saw what you did there.”
He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his green jacket. “I didn’t expect someone to ever do something like that for me… It was so beautiful, it must have took you so long.”
“I could say the same,” Hajime replied with a small laugh, sparing another glance to the beach.
They both were quiet for a moment, Nagito attempting to calm down the emotions swirling inside him and Hajime trying to decide if it was as good a time as any. He cleared his throat and reached forward, brushing some stray strands of white hair from Nagito’s face. “Did you look at the book I got you yet?”
“No.” Nagito shook his head. “I rushed right over to see you since you weren’t in the library.”
“Do you want to check it out?”
Nagito sniffled, then pulled the book away. He brushed his robotic hand over the cover, smiling at the words he saw at the front. Fairy Tales. It wasn’t Nagito’s favorite thing to read, Hajime knew that. He loved learning and rarely read stories unless they were written in the old days. The type of literature that was assigned for class in highschool english classes. That’s why he knew Nagito wouldn’t mind that he wouldn’t be able to actually ready through the book.
He watched as the robotic hand tried to open the book to a random page, but was stopped when he touched the edges of the pages. It was stiff, each piece forced together. Nagito frowned, looking back up to Hajime with a confused look.
Hajime shrugged, averting his eyes. “I thought you always read books cover to cover.”
Nagito smiled, shaking his head as he grabbed the thick front cover and pushed it open. Instead of being greeted by the front page, usually only the title of the book and authors, he was greeted to hallowed pages to make a square in the center. Inside was a velvety material that held up a silver ring in the center. The center of the ring had holes in it, the design like a tangle of vines. It reminded him of the spirals of the old books Nagito would carry from the library to their home to read at night. When he saw it in the catalogs he flipped through a few months ago, he knew that was the one he needed to give Nagito.
“Hajime,” Nagito whispered as he stared at the ring inside. His eyes welled with tears once more and Hajime resisted the urge to pull him into a hug. Instead, he waited until Nagito shifted to rest the book into his robotic hand.
“Will you marry me?”
Nagito tried to hide the large smile twitching onto his lips as he nodded. “Y-Yes, I… yes.”
Hajime took the ring from the box and carefully slid the ring onto Nagito’s good hand, happy to see it looked perfect. It appeared as though it was always meant to be there. He smiled as Nagito dropped the hollowed book in favor of pulling Hajime into a strong hug, happy giggles leaving his lips at the sudden spike of joy.
“I-It’s stupid, it’s really stupid,” Nagito laughed as he pulled away finally. Tears stained his cheeks, which were red and puffy as he fished a hand into his coat and pulled out a small box. Hajime’s heart was caught in his throat as his fiance opened the box to reveal a silver ring. It had two lines on it as a design, and between the two the surface was slightly raised. It was simple, but it still took Hajime’s breath away. “And I guess I already know your answer too.”
Hajime laughed and let Nagito place the ring on his finger. “You do.”
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Sambucky AU prompt: Bringing home their adopted child
@lesbians-love-taylor sorry it took so long! I've had it ready for a couple days, but my WiFi kept acting up. Hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 2166
Warnings: None, unless you count fluff
A/N: I loved writing this so much, I'm deadass thinking of making a second chapter. What do y'all think?
REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN! LOOK HERE FOR WHAT YOU CAN SUBMIT!
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Sometimes, Bucky wished he had lost his leg instead of his arm.
He knows it’s foolish to wish he hadn’t lost any body part. He fell from a train. In the mountains. No matter what, when Hydra found him, he would become partly disabled.
However, there would be some perks with still having an arm. Not having to wear long sleeves and gloves everywhere. Someone wouldn’t flinch every time he grabbed them with the prosthetic. He wouldn’t rub his skin raw in the shower.
A prosthetic leg, however, would have many perks. For example: he wouldn’t be bouncing his leg up and anxiously, waiting by the home telephone in the apartment he shares with his husband. It’s a terrible habit; a stupid one. He was an assassin for Hydra. Being calm and collected was sewn into his DNA.
However, today is a special day. Maybe one of the most important days since he married Sam. It’s so important, he’s decided to mute all other numbers other than his husband, and the one he nervously waits for.
“Dammit, Buck.”
Bucky curses internally.
“You weren’t supposed to be home until tonight,” Bucky says, looking up and giving Sam a sheepish smile. He returns it with a raised brow. It’s a look Bucky used to receive quite often before they had realized the feelings between them. Back when the two used to ‘hate’ each other.
Sam rolls his eyes, dropping a duffel bag on the floor. “My meeting with King T’Challa and Secretary Ross ending early,” He explains, crossing his arms. “You promised you wouldn’t sit waiting by the phone all day. Weren’t you going to go and visit Steve in the Senior Home?”
“Steve will be fine,” Bucky waves him off, turning back around in his chair to face the phone. The main priority at the moment. “Besides, this is more important.”
Sam is tempted to roll his eyes again, however, a smile overpowers the action. He walks over to his husband, leaning over the chair and resting his chin atop his head.
“This is gonna work out, alright?” He mumbles into Bucky’s long locks.
“You can’t promise that.”
“But I can promise that eventually it will,” Buckys looks up at Sam’s as he begins massaging his shoulders. “We paid the fees, filled out the forms. I mean, who wouldn’t approve two superheroes for parents?”
“You’re probably right,” Bucky sighs, reaching up and laying a hand overtop Sam’s. “I’m just nervous.”
“No shit,” Sam laughs, gently pulling Bucky’s hand so they are both standing. “Now go take a shower. I ain’t dealing with your greasy ass hair in bed tonight.”
“Whatever,” Bucky’s laughs, rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, after pecking Sam on the lips, he disappears down the hall to wash up.
——-
The shower helped. A lot. As soon as Bucky stepped out, his muscles had felt relaxed and his mind clear. What was he worrying about? Everything would work out in the end, just like Sam said.
“Sam, what are you thinking for dinner tonight?” Bucky calls as he steps out of the bathroom and changes into a pair of cotton pants and a hoodie. “I was kind of feeling like pizza.”
The silent is what sends a series of goosebumps up his arm.
“Sam?”
Still no reply.
It only takes half a second for Bucky to jump into action, opening a drawer and pulling out the loaded pistol. Stalking through the halls, with the gun raised, his heart beats rapidly. Sam has his suit. He has his guns. Why is the house so quiet then?
Bucky slowly approaches the connected living room and kitchen, the light emitting a soft glow into the hallway. He hears someone quietly breathing, however, there is still no response.
He stops in his tracks for a moment, right outside the entrance. 3… 2… 1…
Bucky barely snaps his head behind the wall, only quick enough to peek at the state of the living room. Finding Sam standing by the phone, unharmed, isn’t exactly what he had expected.
“Sam?” Bucky’s lets out the breath he had been holding, lowering the gun. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
The tone in his voice… something’s clearly wrong. There’s no softness in his voice reserved only for Bucky. His shoulders aren’t held back and straight like he always has them, just the way his parents had insisted he keep them. The suspense of finding out exactly what the problem is may be even worse than having to approach the living room in the first place.
“Babe?” Bucky asks slowly. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I just talked to the adoption agency. They called a few minutes ago,” Bucky’s heart drops as soon the realization of Sam’s words and tone hits him. “We didn’t get approved.”
Bucky is silent for a moment, slowly putting the gun on the table. “It’s my fault. Isn’t it?”
Sam turns around, ready to shoot down any of Bucky’s negative thoughts or ideas. However, just the look in his eyes is answer enough.
“This isn’t anyone’s fault, the agency just didn’t think superheroes—,”
“Don’t lie to me, Sam. Tell me the truth,” Bucky snaps, the harshness catching Sam by surprise. “They didn’t approve because they didn’t want a deranged assassin responsible for hundreds of deaths to raise a child. Right?”
“You’re not deranged, and you’re not an assassin,” Sam says sternly, walking up to Bucky. He cups his husband’s cheek. “We’ll try again. It’s not like we don’t got the money. Eventually—"
“What’s the point, Sam?” Bucks asks sadly, gently pushing Sam’s hand away. “No agency in their right mind would approve me as a father. As long as you’re my husband, you won’t be a father.”
——
It didn’t matter what Sam, or anyone else said to him. Bucky was convinced he was some kind of curse in the matter of becoming a father.
It’s been almost two months since the agency disapproved Sam and Bucky as parents. Sam tried calling. Numerous times.
He argued, he begged, and he even tried to play the discrimination card. However, each time, he was disapproved and back to square one.
It didn’t help that Bucky basically isolated himself from everyone. He hardly spoke, or ate, and spent all his time on cases and fighting. Steve had even tried giving him a patriotic lecture every now and then, but nothing seemed to snap him out of his depressed mood.
Now, things are starting to return back to normal. However, every time Sam tries to bring up adoption, or perhaps a surrogate, he’s shot down. Seeing the guilt in Bucky’s eyes kills him. There seems to be no way to convince him that he’s not a curse. That eventually, they will be parents.
If someone like Thanos could be a father, Sam refuses to believe that he and Bucky can’t.
However, at this moment, he can’t exactly think about that.
“Remind me again how Hydra still exists?” Sam grunts as he narrowly dodges a knife.
“You tell me,” Sharon holds her hand up at Sam, catching the shield as he tosses it. In one swift motion, she’s knocked out two of the enemies. “You’re Captain America, after all.”
After shooting one last soldier, and knocking out another, the two finally stand back to take a breath.
“Where did your boss say the weapon was?” Sam asks breathlessly, using the x-ray vision on his goggles. “The rooms are all lined in lead- I’m not getting anything.”
“We’re looking for a heat signature,” Sharon explains, whipping out a small device to detect one. “Everett wasn’t very thorough about what it was, though I’m pretty sure he’s just as clueless,” She mumbles the last part under her breath. The machine lets out a beep, before Sharon points a finger at a steel door. “I’m getting one in that room.”
Sam nods, the two of them venturing forward towards the unmarked door. As they approach it, Sam grimaces unintentionally.
“You said heat signature,” He confirms. “Does that mean the weapon is a person?”
“I’d assume as much,” Sharon mutters, pulling out another gadget and attaching it to the doorknob.
The two of them back up, Sam using his wings as a shield for the two of them. The doorknob blows up only a few seconds later.
“Stay here in case someone comes. I’ll call if I need you,” Sam nods at Sharon’s, feeling a bit better, frankly, about not having to go inside. He’s not afraid, just uneasy.
Sharon pulls out two pistols, slowly walking in on full alert, the room appears to be empty, except for a small, tall metal box attached to several wires and tubes. They all seem to link back to a series of monitors.
Sharon scans the room for any other entries or people, and after finding it to be in fact empty, approaches the box. It has a glass top, however whatever is inside isn’t visible from far away.
It’s only after she approached it that she lets out a quiet gasp.
“Wilson? You’re going to want to see this.”
—-
Bucky lets out a tired sigh as he collapses on the couch. After returning home from a day of being The Winter Soldier, he began the start of being Bucky Barnes.
Aka, trading bag guys and guns for dishes and laundry. Sam said he would bring home food, considering neither are all too talented when it comes to cooking up a meal. That’s not to say they’re completely useless, however, one can only eat sandwiches and ramen so many times.
The door clicks open, a smile stretching across Bucky’s face as he hears Sam walk in. However, as soon as his husband walks into the living room, the smile falters.
“That doesn’t look like takeout.”
His ocean eyes are transfixed on the zipped up carrier Sam holds in one hand, his duffel bag in the other.
“Did you get a pet?” Bucky asks in confusion, pointing to the white cat lounging on the couch. “Because we kinda already have one.”
“Do you remember, two months ago when you said you could never be a father? That I could never be one if I was married to you? And I told you were wrong?” Sam ignores Bucks questions, lowering the carrier gently to the ground.
Bucky’s eyes widen slightly as he takes a second glance at the carrier.
“Sam, what’s in the carrier?”
“Do you remember?” Sam asks, once again ignoring the questions. Bucky sighs, nodding.
“Yes, yes, I remember,” Bucky waves him off, still staring at the carrier. Sam grabs his face with both hands, tears brimming his waterline.
“Well,” Sam smiles tearfully, laughing gently. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole or anything, but I told you so.”
Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as the words leave Sam’s lips. His eyes flicker back to the carrier, hope filling them.
Understanding that he’s going to be wordless for quite some time, Sam grabs Bucky’s hand and pulls him over to where the carrier sits. He leans down and unzips it, carefully picking up a small bundle from within.
“This,” Sam begins in a quiet voice, gently pulling the blanket down to reveal a tiny face hidden in the fabric. Bucky stares down at the baby in pure awe. “- is Katarina. She’s the child of a woman who was a failed super soldier serum experiment in Hydra. They’ve had her for about four months now, and were going to inject her with more serums to make her into a new weapon. Luckily, Sharon and I got there before they could.”
“They let you take her?” Bucky asks, referring to the government. Sam smiles, shrugging.
“She’s a baby who is barely showing signs for the super soldier serum- they don’t need her,” Sam looks back down at the bundle in his arms, her eyes slowly prying open from sleep. Two glistening hazel gems stare back at him, filled with curiosity. “But we do.”
Bucky’s caught by surprise as Sam holds the baby out to him. He looks up with raised brows at his husband.
“Say hello to your daughter, Buck.”
All this… it seems surreal. A child is being offered to him right now.
His child.
Bucky stares up at this man that he loves, so, so much, and then back down at this tiny little bundle with sparkling eyes… and he realizes something.
They’re his. Both of them. His husband. His daughter.
His family.
Bucky doesn’t wait a second longer to take Katarina from Sam, holding her tightly against his chest. Hesitantly, he brings a cold metal finger to the baby’s cheek.
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t cry, or stare at it in horror. What she does brings a fresh set of tears to Bucky’s eyes.
The baby grasps his finger with both hands, giggling softly as she hugs his hand to her chest.
“Our daughter,” Bucky whispers, a tear trailing down his cheek. Sam sniffs, smiling and nodding.
“Yeah. Our daughter.”
----
#I LOVED WRITING THIS#i dont even ship them that hard#but this was so much fun to write#Bucky Barnes#Sebastian Stan#winter soldier#falcon#Anthony Mackie#sam wilson#sambucky#sambucky fanfic#sambucky fan fiction#winter soldier and falcon#fluff#adoption au#marvel fluff#sambucky fluff#marvel#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fanfic#post endgame
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Poetry Favorites
I cannot remember a time when I didn't love words. Poets use words efficiently and effectively and quite often evoke strong emotions, so poetry has also always appealed to me. I tend to seek out anthologies, novels in verse, and even books with poetry sort of sprinkled throughout. Here are a few of my favorites.
Anthologies:
No Matter the Wreckage by Sarah Kay Write Bloody Publishing
Summary: Following the success of her breakout poem, “B,” Sarah Kay releases her debut collection of poetry featuring work from the first decade of her career. No Matter the Wreckage presents readers with new and beloved work that showcases Kay’s knack for celebrating family, love, travel, history, and unlikely love affairs between inanimate objects (“Toothbrush to the Bicycle Tire”), among other curious topics. Both fresh and wise, Kay’s poetry allows readers to join in on her journey of discovering herself and the world around her. It’s an honest and powerful collection.
Voices in the Air by Naomi Shihab Nye Greenwillow Books
Acclaimed and award-winning poet, teacher, and National Book Award finalist Naomi Shihab Nye’s uncommon and unforgettable voice offers readers peace, humor, inspiration, and solace. This volume of almost one hundred original poems is a stunning and engaging tribute to the diverse voices past and present that comfort us, compel us, lead us, and give us hope.
Voices in the Air is a collection of almost one hundred original poems written by the award-winning poet Naomi Shihab Nye in honor of the artists, writers, poets, historical figures, ordinary people, and diverse luminaries from past and present who have inspired her. Full of words of encouragement, solace, and hope, this collection offers a message of peace and empathy.
Voices in the Air celebrates the inspirational people who strengthen and motivate us to create, to open our hearts, and to live rewarding and graceful lives. With short informational bios about the influential figures behind each poem, and a transcendent introduction by the poet, this is a collection to cherish, read again and again, and share with others. Includes an index.
Dreaming in Indian by Lisa Charleyboy & Mary Beth Leatherdale (Not solely poetry, but containing some poetry) Annick Press
A powerful and visually stunning anthology from some of the most groundbreaking Native artists working in North America today.
Truly universal in its themes, “Dreaming In Indian” will shatter commonly held stereotypes and challenge readers to rethink their own place in the world. Divided into four sections, ‘Roots, ‘ ‘Battles, ‘ ‘Medicines, ‘ and ‘Dreamcatchers, ‘ this book offers readers a unique insight into a community often misunderstood and misrepresented by the mainstream media.
Emerging and established Native artists, including acclaimed author Joseph Boyden, renowned visual artist Bunky Echo Hawk, and stand-up comedian Ryan McMahon, contribute thoughtful and heartfelt pieces on their experiences growing up Indigenous, expressing them through such mediums as art, food, the written word, sport, dance, and fashion. Renowned chef Aaron Bear Robe, for example, explains how he introduces restaurant customers to his culture by reinventing traditional dishes. And in a dramatic photo spread, model Ashley Callingbull and photographer Thosh Collins reappropriate the trend of wearing ‘Native’ clothing.
Whether addressing the effects of residential schools, calling out bullies through personal manifestos, or simply citing hopes for the future, “Dreaming In Indian” refuses to shy away from difficult topics. Insightful, thought-provoking, and beautifully honest, this book will to appeal to young adult readers. An innovative and captivating design enhances each contribution and makes for a truly unique reading experience.
See also their other two collections: Urban Tribes & #NotYourPrincess
Novels in Verse
The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo HarperTeen [Audrey’s Review]
A young girl in Harlem discovers slam poetry as a way to understand her mother’s religion and her own relationship to the world. Debut novel of renowned slam poet Elizabeth Acevedo.
Xiomara Batista feels unheard and unable to hide in her Harlem neighborhood. Ever since her body grew into curves, she has learned to let her fists and her fierceness do the talking.
But Xiomara has plenty she wants to say, and she pours all her frustration and passion onto the pages of a leather notebook, reciting the words to herself like prayers—especially after she catches feelings for a boy in her bio class named Aman, who her family can never know about. With Mami’s determination to force her daughter to obey the laws of the church, Xiomara understands that her thoughts are best kept to herself.
So when she is invited to join her school’s slam poetry club, she doesn’t know how she could ever attend without her mami finding out, much less speak her words out loud. But still, she can’t stop thinking about performing her poems. Because in the face of a world that may not want to hear her, Xiomara refuses to be silent.
A Time to Dance by Padma Venkatraman Nancy Paulsen Books [My Review]
Summary: Padma Venkatraman’s inspiring story of a young girl’s struggle to regain her passion and find a new peace is told lyrically through verse that captures the beauty and mystery of India and the ancient Bharatanatyam dance form. This is a stunning novel about spiritual awakening, the power of art, and above all, the courage and resilience of the human spirit.
Veda, a classical dance prodigy in India, lives and breathes dance—so when an accident leaves her a below-knee amputee, her dreams are shattered. For a girl who’s grown used to receiving applause for her dance prowess and flexibility, adjusting to a prosthetic leg is painful and humbling. But Veda refuses to let her disability rob her of her dreams, and she starts all over again, taking beginner classes with the youngest dancers. Then Veda meets Govinda, a young man who approaches dance as a spiritual pursuit. As their relationship deepens, Veda reconnects with the world around her, and begins to discover who she is and what dance truly means to her.
Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books
Summary: A cannon. A strap. A piece. A biscuit. A burner. A heater. A chopper. A gat. A hammer A tool for RULE
Or, you can call it a gun. That’s what fifteen-year-old Will has shoved in the back waistband of his jeans. See, his brother Shawn was just murdered. And Will knows the rules. No crying. No snitching. Revenge. That’s where Will’s now heading, with that gun shoved in the back waistband of his jeans, the gun that was his brother’s gun. He gets on the elevator, seventh floor, stoked. He knows who he’s after. Or does he? As the elevator stops on the sixth floor, on comes Buck. Buck, Will finds out, is who gave Shawn the gun before Will took the gun. Buck tells Will to check that the gun is even loaded. And that’s when Will sees that one bullet is missing. And the only one who could have fired Shawn’s gun was Shawn. Huh. Will didn’t know that Shawn had ever actually USED his gun. Bigger huh. BUCK IS DEAD. But Buck’s in the elevator? Just as Will’s trying to think this through, the door to the next floor opens. A teenage girl gets on, waves away the smoke from Dead Buck’s cigarette. Will doesn’t know her, but she knew him. Knew. When they were eight. And stray bullets had cut through the playground, and Will had tried to cover her, but she was hit anyway, and so what she wants to know, on that fifth floor elevator stop, is, what if Will, Will with the gun shoved in the back waistband of his jeans, MISSES.
And so it goes, the whole long way down, as the elevator stops on each floor, and at each stop someone connected to his brother gets on to give Will a piece to a bigger story than the one he thinks he knows. A story that might never know an END…if WILL gets off that elevator.
Gabi, a Girl in Pieces by Isabel Quintero Cinco Puntos [My Review]
Summary: Gabi Hernandez chronicles her last year in high school in her diary: college applications, Cindy’s pregnancy, Sebastian’s coming out, the cute boys, her father’s meth habit, and the food she craves. And best of all, the poetry that helps forge her identity.
July 24
My mother named me Gabriella, after my grandmother who, coincidentally, didn’t want to meet me when I was born because my mother was unmarried, and therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY, times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five. That story is the basis of my sexual education and has reiterated why it’s important to wait until you’re married to give it up. So now, every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, “Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas.” Eyes open, legs closed. That’s as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don’t mind it. I don’t necessarily agree with that whole wait until you’re married crap, though. I mean, this is America and the 21st century; not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can’t tell my mom that because she will think I’m bad. Or worse: trying to be White.
Jumped In by Patrick Flores-Scott Henry Holt and Co. [My Review]
Sam has the rules of slackerhood down: Don’t be late to class. Don’t ever look the teacher in the eye. Develop your blank stare. Since his mom left, he has become an expert in the art of slacking, especially since no one at his new school gets his intense passion for the music of the Pacific Northwest—Nirvana, Hole, Sleater-Kinney. Then his English teacher begins a slam poetry unit and Sam gets paired up with the daunting, scarred, clearly-a-gang-member Luis, who happens to sit next to him in every one of his classes. Slacking is no longer an option—Luis will destroy him. Told in Sam’s raw voice and interspersed with vivid poems, Jumped In by Patrick Flores-Scott is a stunning debut novel about differences, friendship, loss, and the power of words.
Shame the Stars by Guadalupe García McCall Tu Books [My Review] [Interview with Guadalupe García McCall]
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Joaquín del Toro’s future looks bright. With his older brother in the priesthood, he’s set to inherit his family’s Texas ranch. He’s in love with Dulceña—and she’s in love with him. But it’s 1915, and trouble has been brewing along the US-Mexico border. On one side, the Mexican Revolution is taking hold; on the other, Texas Rangers fight Tejano insurgents, and ordinary citizens are caught in the middle.
As tensions grow, Joaquín is torn away from Dulceña, whose father’s critical reporting on the Rangers in the local newspaper has driven a wedge between their families. Joaquín’s own father insists that the Rangers are their friends, and refuses to take sides in the conflict. But when their family ranch becomes a target, Joaquín must decide how he will stand up for what’s right.
Shame the Stars is a rich re-imagining of Romeo and Juliet set in Texas during the explosive years of Mexico’s revolution. Filled with period detail, captivating romance, and political intrigue, it brings Shakespeare’s classic to life in an entirely new way.
Piecing Me Together by Renée Watson Bloomsbury [My Review]
Summary: Jade believes she must get out of her neighborhood if she’s ever going to succeed. Her mother says she has to take every opportunity. She has. She accepted a scholarship to a mostly-white private school and even Saturday morning test prep opportunities. But some opportunities feel more demeaning than helpful. Like an invitation to join Women to Women, a mentorship program for “at-risk” girls. Except really, it’s for black girls. From “bad” neighborhoods.
But Jade doesn’t need support. And just because her mentor is black doesn’t mean she understands Jade. And maybe there are some things Jade could show these successful women about the real world and finding ways to make a real difference.
Friendships, race, privilege, identity—this compelling and thoughtful story explores the issues young women face.
If you want even more great titles, check out our Poetry Month posts from the past.
Poetry Month (2018)
Pieces of Poetry (2017)
Poetry Link Round Up (2016)
Novels in Verse (2014)
Piles of Poetry (2013)
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-- Prompt 01: Questionnaire
(content warning for: violence, substance abuse, suicidal thoughts, self harm........ maybe don’t read this actually he’s a mess)
01. Tell us about your character’s name. Was it given to them or chosen? Does it hold any special meaning? If your character has aliases or nicknames, how did they get them and what do they mean?
Tahir was named by his mother, on Denon. He doesn’t have any memory of what it might mean, but suspects that it’s something unfavorable (he’s wrong).
He doesn’t have any official aliases because whenever he’s on the run he just refuses to tell people his name... He might have to develop one in the future, though, if ‘on the run’ ever becomes a permanent status.
The Master he’s serving at the moment has a ton of annoying nicknames for him that if anyone else tried to use he’d have to fight them. She only gets away with it cause he’s terrified.
02. What is your character’s relationship to their homeworld? Do they hold fond memories of it, or do they hate it? Are they still here, and if not, do they miss it?
Like those of his mother, Tahir's memories of Denon are almost nonexistent. He assumes it was very similar to Coruscant, all tall buildings and gleaming grime. It has a worse reputation, though, so maybe it’s more grime and less gleam.
He never intends to visit.
On the topic of Coruscant, though... There are a few too many memories to have a fond opinion. Both good and bad, the emotions weigh heavy on his tongue when he thinks of the planet for too long. He doesn’t miss it. He won’t. Another place he never intends to return.
03. Describe your character’s relationship with those who raised them. Was it positive? Negative? Neutral? What sorts of ideologies were they raised with, and do they still stand by them now?
The Jedi that raised Tahir were... He wasn’t their favorite student. Tahir was something of a problem child from the beginning, although he did try his hardest. It wasn’t ever that he wanted to disappoint them, the lessons just never really clicked.
Luckily, he was able to fake his way through well enough-- he learned all the right things to say, and when to say them. If things weren’t so dire for the Jedi at the moment, he might have warranted more attention and restriction, but as things were he could fight well and paid lip service to the code and that was all that really mattered.
04. What is your character’s relationship with the Force? Is your character Force-sensitive? Whether or not they are, do they believe in it? Do they lean more towards the dark or the light or are they somewhere in between?
For Tahir the force has always been dark. Clearing his mind, meditating, focusing as hard as he could... The light was always weak and thin, as though through murky water. That doesn’t mean he didn’t keep trying, but in every event that went past his training, every time his instincts kicked in and the force reacted without preparation, he leaned into the dark.
Close, warm darkness, thick on his skin like the pollution of Coruscant summers. Maybe it’s corrupting him, twisting his mind from the inside out, or any of the other horror stories that the jedi warned so strongly against, but he doesn’t care anymore. It feels good, it feels right, that’s all that matters.
05. What three word would you use to describe your character? What three words would your character use to describe themself? What three words would someone close to them use?
me: cowardly, guilty, repressed
tahir: gone (yes he knows that’s less than three words)
io, relationship complicated: betrayer most foul (also, ‘i’m going to kill that bastard’)
06. Describe your character’s aesthetic. Do they tend towards fashion or function? Do they like to accessorize? How does this extend into their own personal spaces, such as their home or their workspace?
Left to his own devices, Tahir is a Mess. As evidenced by his hair growth and shabby wardrobe ever since he officially left the Order. Before that, he at least kind of tried to maintain appearances, but why bother at this point? He thinks the ragged cloaks and beard make him look more intimidating, anyway. He does very much like to collect shiny things, though, which can sometimes be seen in both his wardrobe and his living space.
Speaking of-- he calls the monster that spreads over every space he occupies for too long organized chaos but anyone else would call it a mess. At least he knows where everything is.
07. What are your character’s vices? Guilty pleasures? Bad habits? Weak spots?
There’s... so many. All of Tahir’s habits are bad, all of his pleasures are guilty, the man is one giant weak spot and I’m not sure he has any virtues.
But seriously, I don’t even know where to begin. I mean, I guess, he’ll do just about any drugs that are offered to him? Especially at this point he’s eager for any sufficient distraction-- he’s somewhat careful to keep himself from growing dependent, but it’s a thin wire. It’s kind of a... Russian Roulette kind of thing. He’s far too afraid of death to actually take his own life, but he’s not above daring the universe to do it for him.
It doesn’t help that his force abilities seem to grow slightly in power the more he loses control, although he has yet to try and take on a fight when seriously impaired. Also, he tries to avoid hallucinogenics after a couple of bad experiences.
For bad habits, he chews his nails pretty consistently (the ones that are left), and has a hard time leaving wounds alone.
And if anything hits one of his big guilt spots, the will to fight might just leave him completely.
08. Tell us about your character’s relationship with food. What are their favorites? Do they enjoy cooking? Are they adventurous? Will they eat absolutely anything or are they hard to please?
Tahir has a surprisingly strong sweet tooth! And, when he’s not being a grumpy butt and denying himself things he doesn’t think he deserves, he’s kind of picky too. Not enough that he’d make a big deal about it, but it’s definitely not uncommon to see him pushing his food around his plate and delaying until he can reasonably say he’s full and leave to find something better.
He does enjoy cooking, but it’s a secret secret, partially because he doesn’t commonly get around to it. A few old friends might miss his experimental dishes, though-- he has a fantastic grasp of flavors, even if he doesn’t always get ingredient ratios and cooking times quite right.
09. How does your character feel about engaging in relationships—romantic and / or sexual—with others? What is their history like? Do they fall in love easily? Are they constantly in and out of relationships?
He’s deadly allergic to love, to be honest. Tahir’s felt its poisonous touch before, even let himself become fully infected at certain points. but he’s always done his best to rid himself of it quickly. Love’s a stubborn bastard, though, isn’t it? Sometimes even when you’ve severed ties to someone completely, it lingers.
Sex is a different matter, though. Like several of his other indulgences, it’s a good distraction and nothing more. He’s never officially been in a relationship but he has had a number of sexual partners over the years.
10. What is your character’s pain tolerance like? Can they hold their own in a fight, despite injury? If someone hurts them with the aim of gaining information, how much can they take before they cave?
Higher now than it used to be. One doesn’t really lose an arm, get a new one, and deal with the ongoing maintenance of a mechanical prosthetic without getting used to a level of pain.
More than that, though, there’s always been a certain allure in pain. At times when nothing else can cut through the haze, it’s there, strengthening him, reminding him he’s alive. Reminding him that at least his body cares if he’s alive, even when he can’t muster that instinct anywhere else. It’s a stalwart friend.
11. What is your character’s weapon of choice? Are they more skilled as a melee fighter or do they have more skill with ranged weapons? What’s their fighting style like? What sort of training do they have behind them?
The boy has a double bladed lightsaber (w a white crystal) !! Cause he’s just that stupid. Listen. He just wanted more stabby parts. And lightsaber is actually one of the few things he excelled at in the academy, so he spent as much time training as he could-- so far he’s managed to avoid seriously injuring himself.
As with many that wield a double bladed saber, his fighting style relies more on agility than strength. On the battlefield, on a good day, he becomes a blur of whirling light and robes, hopefully as difficult to hit as he is to track. He tends to rely on many small injuries to weaken his opponent before going for the kill rather than a more aggressive strategy.
Without his saber he goes from ‘good’ to ‘okay’. In cases of unarmed combat, he resorts to force tricks immediately.
Actually, what am I saying, he uses force tricks the whole time. If he can use his abilities to up the confusion of the moment and weaken his opponent in any way, he’s going for it.
12. Does your character have any words or catchphrases that they say frequently? Tell us about how they picked them up.
Not as much catchphrases, necessarily, as certain speech patterns that pop up consistently. That is, Tahir back pedals like every other sentence, and is constantly contradicting himself or dancing around the subject. What do you want from him he’s a chicken shit.
13. Tell us about a negative experience your character has had with either the Jedi or the Sith, and how this has affected their standing. Whether currently aligned or unaligned with either faction, if forced to choose, how would they side?
Ahahahahahahahaha
Ahem. I mean his experience with both has been pretty shit. Growing up among the Jedi wasn’t a wonderful experience for him, and it could be argued that he’s lost even more since he joined the Sith. Tahir would be hard pressed to say anything good about either organization, but then again at least the Sith let him be himself.... Sort of.
Besides, he’s already aligned with them, right? That’s not really a decision he can really take back at this point, not after all that he’s done.
14. How would your character react to seeing a relative or friend on the opposing side of a battle or mission?
I mean I guess we’ll find out won’t we !!!! Or, we already did at least!
So far it hasn’t stopped him, or even really made him hesitate. He’s killed... At least one of the people that helped raise him at this point. Hard to say what he would do if it was someone he actually cared about, though.
(That’s a lie.)
(If it was someone he really loved on the other side of the blade he’d let them kill him.)
15. Describe a memory that your character finds embarrassing.
All of them... How terrible, to recall existence.
But for a real answer-- take your pick of any of the times he accidentally force cloaked at the academy and couldn’t undo it until Io came and calmed him down. The idiot.
16. What goals does your character hold for themself and what steps have they taken towards achieving them? How far are they willing to go to reach them? What is their be-all and end-all?
Survive! Survive!! And when you’re done keep surviving!!! The goal is to somehow be alive at the end of all of this bullshit!
Maybe someday if he heals somewhat he’ll develop like... Things that are worth living for, but right now it’s down to base instincts babey!! And moral obstacles are no match for raw instinct!!
17. What is the one thing your character would change about their life if they were given the chance? What other lives could they have lived as a result?
Just one thing, huh.... You drive a hard bargain. Fine. If he had the choice to only change one thing, he’d rip his stupid inconvenient emotions right out of his chest. They’re fucking everything up.
18. Living in such a high-conflict time, how does your character feel about doing what they must to survive? Will they hurt or kill others—either directly or indirectly—to protect themself and / or those close to them? If so, do they regret it when all is said and done?
Doing what you have to to survive is the name of the game babey!! He’s killed before, he’ll kill again. He’s killed strangers, masters, friends. No one is off limits. He would have a hard time getting himself to kill innocent kids but that’s no guarantee he wouldn’t do it! If they wouldn’t get out of his way!
That’s a lie he likes to act tougher than he is and kids and animals are his weak points!
He loses no sleep over any of this!
That’s also a lie he hasn’t slept unaided in like........ years.
19. What is the biggest problem your character is currently dealing with?
He’s supposed to hunt down the one person that might actually give him pause to fight. How is he supposed to cope with that? I mean, he’s gonna, but he’s not gonna be happy about it. How does he even find this fucker, anyway? Bait him into a trap, probably.
20. Give us 3+ headcanons of any length or subject matter.
1. Force Cloak: The ability that Tahir has always found easiest to access and activate is the ability to cloak himself in the safety of the force and disappear from view. Unfortunate that he instinctively reaches for the dark side to do this, but it’s very effective regardless. When he was a child he could barely control it, but over the years he got it firmly in his grip... And then lost it again when he started relearning the force through the dark. Now it’s more powerful than ever, but mildly out of control again. Any sufficiently strong fear or fear-adjacent emotion prompts him to immediately vanish, whether he likes it or not.
2. Force Healing: Something he had zero talent for in the Jedi academy, this is something he’s actually been working on in secret since turning dark. Approaching it from a different angle has given him new insights, and while he has yet to practice much on others (there are few willing participants and even fewer people he would trust to know about his pet project), he’s gotten to the point where he can heal himself fairly well. Not from anything mortal, but flesh wounds are easy enough. Splitting skin only to watch it knit back together again under his own power has become something of a mild fascination. Not that anyone can know.
3. Sith Civil War: It’s a secret, but given the power struggle among the Sith at the moment, and that his base of operations is on Korriban, and that his master is pretty powerful and politically involved, Tahir has fended off his fair share of assassination attempts. He’s probably killed just about as many Sith as he has Jedi at this point.
bonus. Give us a list of any length telling us why our “fave is problematic.”
WHERE DO I BEGIN......
listen, you read this far, you Know
there is nothing un-problematic about this boy except for MAYBE his fondness for creating tasty eats.
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Southern Charm: Chapter 1
Shipping: Bucky Barnes x Southern!Reader
Summary: You meet the team and later make them a traditional Southern breakfast, just like at your home.
Warnings: Just some happiness
A/N: Just reposting this...
Series Masterlist
Tags are open!!
After your successful interview, you started the next week. You wanted to tell your family that you were moving to New York and be able to pack all your things. You had decided to drive back to New York in your pickup cause you wanted a means of transportation once there. It was a 3-day drive, but so worth it in the end.
Once you arrived back at Avengers Tower, Tony made sure that you were to have a room in the tower, so you wouldn’t have to travel very far, and to introduce you to the team.
“Here is you room key, so don’t lose it. It will give you access to the living quarters, entrance and other certain places of the tower. We’ll get to that once you’ve settled; now it’s time to meet the team.”
He led you to the living quarters with your luggage in tow; once you arrived, you were greeted by a man with dark hair sporting glasses.
“Bruce! I’d like you to meet my new assistant, Y/N Y/L/N.” Tony said as the man came up.
“It’s nice to meet you Y/N. I’m Bruce Banner.” You’ve heard of him. You’ve read all the newspapers and reports of what happened to him. “I have to say, your last name sounds familiar. Isn’t your father’s name Y/F/N?”
“Yes, he is actually. He’s told me about you Dr. Banner.” You told him with a sympathetic smile
“He is a good man. How is he doing?”
“He’s doing perty good. He works at the recruitment office down where I live after he retired from the military.” You tell him after giving him a handshake.
“That’s good. We should catch up sometime and we can discuss more. It’s very nice to finally meet you Y/N.” Bruce said as he goes to leave to do something.
After that, Tony escorted you to meet the rest of the team.
“Guys! I’d like you to meet my new assistant, Y/N Y/L/N.” Tony announces to the rest of the team as they get up to meet you.
“It’s such an honor to meet all of you!”
Whom you meet was the original members of the Avengers plus a few others as well. The first person you met after Bruce was Clint Barton. He was a bit laid back, but you could tell that he had a bit of a fatherly vibe coming off of him; After that, you met Natasha Romanov, the famous Black Widow. She looked like she came out of a bombshell magazine! She had a strong demeanor, yet her eyes were soft and kind.
You went down the row, meeting Sam Wilson and Thor (built like a brick house my God). The next to last person you met was the Captain America, Captain Steve Rogers. When you met him, you felt like you were going to swoon.
“Captain Rogers, it is such an honor to meet you! My great-great grandfather was a Sergeant that served in the 69th regiment before joining the 107th during World War Two.” You say with the biggest smile on your face.
“It’s nice to meet you and please, call me Steve. My friend here also served in the 107th as well.” Steve said, gesturing to his friend.
“My name is James, but my friends call me ‘Bucky.’” The man, now you know as James, said as he shook your hand.
“My grandfather told me about you too Sergeant Barnes. It’s an honor to meet you as well!” she told him with the kind smile. “Where’s the rest of the team? I heard there were more of ya’ll living here.”
“They’re away on a mission right now, but they should be back by tonight.” Steve said as you went to your luggage.
“Perfect! Give me enough time to get some grocery shopping done!” You say excitedly. “Which way is my room again Mr. Stark?”
“This way, you are next door to Steve and Bucky.” Tony says, escorting you to your room. Once there, you don’t mind the size of the room, but the view is spectacular.
Once you have your luggage in, you grab your phone and your keys, and you run out to go grocery shopping.
~~
Once the team was alone, they decided to speak their mind about you.
“She’s a sprightful one, isn’t she?” Steve points out with a smile.
“Is she from down South, Tony?” Natasha asks, going to grab a bottle of water.
“Did her accent give it away?” Tony joked as he went to sit down.
“She does have a sort of charm about her. Hopefully she can keep up with all of us.” Thor said leaning against the kitchen counter.
“I think it’s what they call ‘Southern Charm’ or something down where she lives.” Sam said, chuckling a bit. “I can’t wait for her to meet the twins.”
Bucky is silent during their conversation until he pulls Steve to the side. “Do you think she knows about me?”
“I don’t think so Buck. Even if she did, I don’t think she’d be the type of person to judge.” Steve states to his best friend. “Ask her when you feel ready to, ok bud?”
“Okay.”
~~
The next morning was when you met the rest of the team, so you decided to make them breakfast. That was why you went grocery shopping, so you could cook them a traditional Southern breakfast.
You woke up early to prepare breakfast; you made: biscuits n’ gravy, blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes (you made sure to get plenty of syrup), grits with butter, whole and wheat toast, eggs and bacon, French toast with powdered sugar, fresh squeezed orange juice, coffee, and you made a bowl of assorted fruits as well.
You were finishing up the biscuits n’ gravy when you heard, “What’s all this?” from behind you. You turn around to see the team standing on the opposite side of the table.
“Mornin’ everyone!” You say with a smile on your face. They notice that you are wearing pajamas with an apron over them, wearing glasses over your eyes and your face having splotches of flour on it. “Please, take a seat, breakfast is almost served!”
“Did you make breakfast for an army, kid?” Tony asked, astonished on how much stuff you made.
“Well, when you grow up with four older brothers, it kinda feels like that sometimes.” You laugh when you heard a timer go off. “Biscuits are ready!” you say as you rush to the oven, sliding on the tile floor.
Everyone goes to sit around the table as you prepare the last of the meal to be served. “Oh! Mr. Stark. I have all the interviews that you need to do scheduled up to the next week and I need you sign some papers as well. Ms. Romanov, your new weapons you ordered have arrived. I took the liberty to set them out for you in the shooting range; they are ready for you when after you eat. Captain Rogers, S.H.I.E.L.D. has some new recruits for you to train. Director Fury wants you to go by there tomorrow if it’s possible. Mr. Barton, someone left a message for you. I didn’t ask who it is because they told me it was a secret, so it sounds important.”
She said all of that whilst pulling out the orange and grape juice, and the milk, putting the biscuits on a plate and stirring the gravy pot, placing everything on the table. While she did that, the last of the team came in, introducing themselves as Pietro and Wanda Maximoff and James Rhodes.
The rest of team is in shock of how much she did her job and how she got all of the things done in a short amount of time.
They all go to sit around the table when they hear her say “Oh! I almost forgot!” She goes to grab a box from the cabinets and tosses them to Thor. “Got Pop tarts for the big guy.”
Even Thor is impressed by this woman.
“Don’t just sit there lollygaggin’, dig in! If ya’ll get any biscuits and gravy, I’ll show you how to prep it.” You said with a smile as you took off your apron and sat with the rest of the team.
As the team got all of their plates ready, they all took one bite at the same time.
“Oh my GOD!” Tony exclaimed after taking his first bite. “This is so good! Where in the world did you learn to cook like this??”
“Like ah said, when you grow up with four brothers and in a military family, it feels like I’m cooking for an army.” You laughed as you ate your breakfast.
“You said your great-great grandfather served during World War Two. What was his name, if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve said as he took a sip of his coffee.
“Ah, the stories that he told me and mah family. He was a real hoot, lemme tell you. I think he told me he used to serve in the ‘Howling Commandos’ or somethin’. His name was Timothy Dugan.”
When Steve and Bucky heard that name, they both choked on their drinks.
“Your great-great grandfather was Dum Dum Dugan!?” Bucky said out of shock, trying to breathe while the others laughed.
“Well, don’t act so surprised! Where do’ya think ah got my charm from?” You said with a cock of your eyebrow.
“Why isn’t your last name ‘Dugan?’” Sam asks out of curiosity.
“Grandpa Dum Dum was my great-great grandfather from mah mother’s side.” She told him as she took another bite out of her breakfast.
“Small world, isn’t it Rogers?” Tony teases as he finishes up his plate to make another.
“I actually own the pickup he had. It was passed down to me by my mother.”
“What year is it?” Steve asks, going to make another plate.
“Mid-forties ah think? I’m still tryna fix the ol’ girl up.”
The conversation goes on until most of the team leaves. All the food ends up getting eaten, so you start to do the dishes. Steve insists that he, Bucky and Tony do it because you spent so much time on breakfast.
“That’s mighty generous of you, thank you! I’ll go hit tha showers. Thanks again!” You say as you place a hand on Bucky’s left shoulder. He stiffened at the contact, but you didn’t seem to mind that he had a prosthetic on.
After you left to take a shower, they all watch you leave.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Steve says as he begins to wash the dishes. “You better keep her around for a while Tony, she could be a good asset to the team.”
“Yea, I think so too.” Tony agrees as he dries them and hands them to Bucky. Bucky is just thinking about you in general, your smiling face being framed by your glasses, your dimples showing when you do so. He smiles a bit in the thought of getting to know you a bit too.
It must be your Southern charm.
#my writing#writing#fanfiction writing#writers on tumblr#bucky barnes x reader#avengers x reader#reader insert#bucky barnes smut#future smut#bucky barnes#the winter soldier#white wolf#the winter solider x reader#white wolf x reaer#bucky barnes x southern!reader#southern charm
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springbeauty xiii
{masterlist}
ONE MORE CHAPTER ONE MORE CHAPTER ONE MORE CHAPTER ONE MORE CHAPTER.
warning: be ready to get mooshy with feels, my friends.
Clyde usually would sleep on his stomach when he was extremely tired from working at the bar. Usually it was uncomfortable for any guy to sleep on his belly and rest all his weight there, yet that was how Clyde would sleep once knocking himself out once his head hit the pillows. Just a way Clyde Logan liked to sleep after working so hard at a job he thoroughly enjoyed. It had his perks to him that many people didn’t know.
Feeling warm hands touch his bare back and lips kissing along his shoulder, Clyde inhaled slowly out of his dream and hummed in a exhale at the lovely feeling of his woman’s soft hands and mouth waking him. Turning his head to crack his eyes open in time to see her nuzzle to the back of his shoulder, Clyde smiled tiredly when Belle greeted him with a soft kiss to his cheek and whisper to his ear.
“Happy birthday, handsome.”
Forcing himself to roll to his back, the man opened his arms and beckoned her into his naked chest. Belle was more than willing to cuddle into him and straddle his hips while he circled his arms comfortingly around her, earning more kisses to his skin as he purred. She began humming the birthday tune while giving him more and more kisses and snuggles to his neck, making her way to hold herself up with her hands to kiss his lips with a smile. Clyde remained still, eyes closed with a content smile on his face until she finished, his only hand stroking up her thigh lovingly.
“Good morning, birthday man,” Belle spoke sweetly, giving his lips another kiss that he willingly returned with eagerness. “You excited for the party at Duck Tape? Sadie is already sending me texts through Jimmy’s phone about her present. She’s very excited to give it to you.”
“Hmmm,” Clyde chuckled at the thought of his little niece waiting impatiently to give him her gifts (a set of new button up shirts and a handmade bracelet, since she already told him three times). “She’s more excited ‘bout my birthday than I am.”
“Oh, hush,” Belle giggled as she pushed back his messy bedhead from his face. Clyde helped himself to sit up against the headboard to get more comfortable. “Remember, it was your idea to have lunch with your family and have a little party.”
“Because Mellie threatened me to,” Clyde countered and Belle kissed his lips and hummed in disagreement with him.
“To accept gifts,” Belle went on with a grin.
“Sadie wanted to shop with her own allowance.” Another kiss to his lips for his fake pouting.
“Eat some cake of your favorite flavor: chocolate with homemade buttercream frosting and sprinkles? With vanilla bean ice cream?” Belle tried next.
Clyde seemed to think it over, humming as they kept eye contact before he broke first into a grin. “I like chocolate cake and sprinkles.”
“I know you do,” Belle laughed and pat his grinning cheeks with both hands. “Okay, big bear, what would the birthday boy like for breakfast? Whatever you want for birthday breakfast in bed.”
“Mmmm,” Clyde pursed his lips for a moment, his arms coming to wrap comfortably around her back. Belle watched him knowingly, her smile growing bigger as he clicked his tongue and looked away.
“Clyde.”
“Don’t want nothin’ but Belle cuddles!” Clyde declared cheekily all while she shook her head and pat his cheeks again. Snickering, Clyde hugged Belle to his chest and rolled them both over on the bed; pressing small kisses and light nips to her neck, Clyde pinned her down to smother her with love and his playful attitude. “Jus’ wanna kiss ya and get some birthday lovin’, hmm? Could go for some love ya got between your thighs, baby.”
“Why not eat some actual food? I got a whole pack of bacon ready to burn, just the way you like it,” Belle suggested with a raised brow and he shook his head. “Clyde Logan is actually saying ‘no’ to burnt bacon?”
“Some Belle first, then bacon?” Clyde tried before she let out a laugh and pushed his face away when he tried to use his mouth to dig into her little bit of cleavage peeking from the button-up shirt she borrowed to sleep in. “C’mon, baby, just a little bit? I thought I was the birthday boy!”
“Good birthday boys get their special treat after they celebrate with family,” Belle informed him, wiggling out of his grip. When the man made a huge pout and puppy eyes, Belle sighed and gave him a quick kiss to his lips. “Don’t fuss, I promise we will go as long as you want, and even more after that you probably can’t get out of bed tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“Bacon and eggs,” Clyde answered bluntly, making his girl smile and give him another kiss. He broke his facade and grinned into the kiss when she told him how he was being a good boy already. “But I wanna shower with ya. Don’t wanna go anywhere unless I get to shower with my beautiful lady.”
“Well, it is your birthday…”
After getting his breakfast in bed and his shower, Clyde dressed up in his nice dress-shirt and clean jeans while Belle wore a cute blue summer dress and her hair down. Once he saw Belle pull out a sealed gift bag with ribbons on the handles, the man began his rare, mischievous behavior in trying to figure out what was in the bag to tease his lady. Belle managed to move the bag to a point in the car, where he couldn’t reach, and grab his only hand to lock with her own and press against her thigh. She giggled at seeing his focus change on feeling the soft cotton of her dress, jumping a bit when he flipped his hand over to squeeze her flesh with a naughty grin, all while he maneuvered the steering wheel with his prosthetic and knee.
Arriving to the closed bar, Clyde was only able to place the car in park when Belle jumped out of the passenger side and scurry up to the porch. Smiling, Clyde hauled himself out from Belle calling for him and get rewarded with a kiss to his cheek.
“You ready for the surprise attack?” Belle asked with an obvious look in her eyes that made him grin. It was always a habit of Sadie wanting to “surprise” her favorite uncle with hugs and kisses, and Clyde always acts so surprised when she does so. However, with his birthday being today, he was expecting it with every doorway and corner the little girl can squeeze herself into.
“One of these days, she’s gonna knock me off my feet,” Clyde chuckled as he went to open the door, pretending that he didn’t hear the pattering of Sadie’s feet on the floor.
“Happy birthday, Uncle Clyde!” the little girl screamed all while jumping to wrap her arms around Clyde’s neck, being easily caught by his good arm so she wouldn’t fall back. Sadie laughed joyfully before pressing kisses to his cheek and nose adorably while Jimmy began taking pictures on his phone. “Happy, happy, happy birthday to the best uncle in the whole world. I love you, Uncle Clyde!”
“Good job, baby girl!” Jimmy praised as Clyde waddled further into the bar with Belle following close behind with Sadie in his hold. Snapping a couple more, the older Logan brother snickered at how his kid took notice of her uncle’s girlfriend and instantly changed her attention to the other woman.
“Aunt Belle! You look so pretty!” Sadie squealed as she leaned over to be released. As soon as Clyde set her down, the girl wrapped her arms around Belle’s skirt. “You’re always pretty, but you look extra pretty today!”
“What a sweetheart,” Belle cooed, hugging the little girl back and smooching the top of her head repeatedly. “You look extra pretty today, too.”
“Thank you!”
“It’s ‘bout time y’all showed up!” Mellie said as she can from the back kitchen with the chocolate cake on a serving platter. It was smothered with frosting with the top covered with rainbow sprinkles and numerous unlit candles on top, instantly catching Clyde’s attention and making his mouth water at the sight. “Dumbass here thought he could swipe his dirty fingers on my cake without me noticing, so I had to guard it in the back kitchen, and had Sadie keep watch ‘til ya came in.”
“Ya don’t always make chocolate cake, Mel. I can’t help it,” Jimmy shrugged as he saw how his sister angled the cake far enough from his reach. Pouting, Jimmy snapped a few pictures without Mellie’s consent, instantly grinning at how she threatened him to delete the unflattering pictures of her immediately. “So, can we cut the cake now?”
“No!” Mellie shrieked at him as Clyde and Belle approached the bar with Sadie on Clyde’s toes, walking along with him in silly strides as she giggled excitedly. “We’re gonna let Clyde open his gifts first, then eat some actual food before cake.”
“Food?” Clyde raised his brows as Mellie slapped her hand over Jimmy’s phone, pushing it against the oldest face with a grunt.
“Belle gave me the recipe for that pasta dish ya like so much,” Mellie told him with a half-grin. “Wanted to surprise ya with all yer favorite foods; including Mama’s potato salad and Pa’s cheese dip he makes with some alcohol he never told us about, but I got it. It was all her idea.”
Belle refused to look at Clyde as he stared at her, playing with Sadie’s ponytail. “You said you were okay with having a birthday party, so why not make all your favorites to make it more enjoyable? I don’t know if you would want another one, so I’m going all out.”
“You lil - c’mere!” Clyde whined as he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and peppered kisses to her cheek before going to her neck, aiming at her tickle spot for some affectionate bites.
“Ugh, Sadie, be careful to not catch yer uncle’s damn cooties,” Jimmy teased with censorship to his daughter, all while the child blinked in confusion as being trapped between Clyde and Belle’s hips without a care.
Belle rolled her eyes when Clyde gave Jimmy a sharp glare, giving Belle’s cheek one more kiss while Mellie pushed his shoulder. “Knock it off, Jimmy. Yer jus’ jealous ‘cause Sylvia had to leave town for the week n’ yer all deprived of her cooties,” Mellie snapped back. “Now, come and help me carry plates out here, will ya? Had to buy paper ones on the way here, since ya only got baskets.”
Clyde let out a laugh as Jimmy rolled himself off the barstool and followed Mellie to the kitchen, eyeing the chocolate cake longingly before being dragged back. His own chest swelling with a certain joy of being completely at peace with everything he had in his life. Of course, he was content with what he had before, but now was more evident that he was happy with his life and celebrating his birthday with his family and lovely girlfriend. Clyde felt truly at home.
Of course, Sadie had Clyde open her gift first. He had to model each shirt for Sadie, all while Jimmy took pictures and kept telling him to “work it” every time he turned for the kid to see the back - something that her mother did to her every time they went dress shopping, so she assumed it was suppose to happen in general. The little beaded bracelet Sadie made at school was meant to fit his fancy prosthetic, yet it dangled and fell off the black, metal hand too easily, making Sadie pout a bit that it didn’t work. However, the little girl smiled and promised her uncle that she will fix it as soon as she got home with her dad, getting a big hug and kiss from Clyde for being so thoughtful with her gifts to him.
Mellie’s gift was a expensive bottle of whiskey for his personal collection in Duck Tape and a giftcard to the fancy restaurant he took Belle for their first date with a note stating that it was for the both of them to use for their next anniversary (where Clyde mentioned once he wanted to take Belle). Clyde’s face went absolutely red with embarrassment and gratefulness as he mumbled thanks to his little sister, all while Mellie was being cheeky and telling Belle her ideas on what to do with her hair for date-night.
“I’m taking pictures of yer birthday, ‘n gonna make a scrapbook for ya,” was Jimmy’s excuse, holding up his phone to take a reaction photo of Mellie’s anger and Belle restraining herself from laughing and being irritated at the same time. Clyde only rolled his eyes at his brother’s usual behavior and refused to acknowledge Jimmy’s need for his approval, finding that more amusing when he started whining. “It’s gonna be cute, ‘n yer gonna love it and treasure it for the rest of your life!” he added dramatically, still grinning at everyone as he continued to take pictures.
Belle had secretly bought Clyde a collection set of novels of his favorite authors. A thick book of works by F. Scott Fitzgerald, an older version of Harper Lee’s novel that Clyde remembered having in junior high school, and Truman Capote collection. It was obvious that Clyde adored the gift of his favorite books, reaching over to give his girlfriend a loving smooch on the lips that made Sadie giggle and Jimmy fake-gag. Belle’s cheeks were very pink by the time he pulled back and told her she had to have some kind of secret or black market friends to get all of these classics.
The lunch was more like a banquet, and everyone had their bellies full to the brim and still had room for Mellie’s chocolate cake with ice cream. Sadie ate her cake rather quickly since her father was teasing her on stealing her cake, yet Belle and Mellie told her to ease on the ice cream to avoid brain freeze.
With the little blonde girl in a deep food coma, snoozing away against Clyde and snuggling him, Jimmy eventually decided that it was time to leave after seeing the clock strike well past seven at night. There were a whole lot of laughter and jokes being thrown around the adults while Sadie behaved perfectly before falling asleep on her uncle’s lap. Clyde was very happy seeing the people he cared for most enjoying themselves, being able to feel pampered in his own bar, being given food and drink with a bright smile or a ruffle to his dark hair. There were no negative feelings within his body, and he felt at peace with his little niece snoring lightly against his shoulder, her arms dangling as Jimmy reached over to steal her away to bring her home. Giving his little brother a squishing hug and Mellie and Belle a kiss to their heads, Jimmy carried the still-sleeping child in his arms into the setting sunlight outside.
By the time Mellie was ready to leave the bar, it was dark outside and the moon was high. Mellie made sure that all the extra leftover foods were properly packaged in plastic containers she brought, and took her share. The strawberry blonde gave her brother a big hug and kiss to his cheek, wishing him another happy birthday before cuddling up to her best friend. Belle thanked Mellie personally for all her help in making the party possible, and the Logan sister winked flirtatiously and practically drank in the compliments before leaving. Clyde sighed and shook his head with feigned annoyance while Belle giggled.
“Should clean up, ‘n then head on home,” Clyde huffed with a half smile once Belle approached him, still sitting on the barstool.
Belle shook her head and popped herself on the footrest to be leveled with him. “Let me take care of the garbage,” she told him before giving him a quick peck on the lips. “It’s your birthday, so you chill out until I’m done. Then, we can go home and give you your special treat, if you’re still up for it. I won’t take too long.”
Humming, Clyde pulled her into a long kiss before letting her go to start cleaning up.
Watching her open a trash bag to start dumping the empty paper plates and utensils inside, Clyde’s head tilt to the side with a sort of adoring look in his eyes as he carefully stood up from the stool and cleared his throat. “Baby, I’m gonna be right back, alright? The door’s still locked outside?”
“Mmhmm!” Belle sang as she startled to collect the empty drink cans and bottles. “The recycle is still in the kitchen, right?”
“Right, baby,” Clyde nodded before heading to the small hallway hidden back.
Smiling, Belle collected all of the bottles and cans, emptying them out before sorting them for the recycle bins hidden the back kitchen of the bar. It didn’t take long for her to rinse them out and dispose of them by the time Clyde returned to find her wiping down the counters with a rag and a bottle of Windex, taking the extra mile to make sure everything was clean before going home.
Taking a deep breath, Clyde approached her from behind. “Darlin’?”
“Yeah, Clyde?” Belle responded casually, fixing Jimmy’s chair back properly to the edge of the counter.
“I need to talk to ya,” he spoke carefully, “‘bout the cauliflower.”
Seeing her halt in her ministration of cleaning, Clyde watched her take a deep breath and continue on to clean. “I thought we agreed to not talk about it, Clyde. I don’t want you getting upset and me pressuring you; you said it wasn’t anything dangerous or something to worry about, so…”
“But I wanna tell ya, baby,” Clyde admitted. “For my birthday wish, before we go home, I wanna tell you the truth before I chicken out again.”
“Why would you chicken out?”
“I admit it’s a cauliflower plan, and that it’s not anything to worry about at all,” he offered when she looked over her shoulder for a moment from cleaning. When he gave her a promising half-smile, she slowly turned back to scrubbing a spot where Jimmy placed his dirty hands on the counter. “I promise, it’s nothin’ dangerous. I jus’ wanna tell ya the truth… Please, Darlin’?”
“Okay,” she breathed softly, and Clyde felt his heart speed up. “If that’s what you really want to do, handsome, you can tell me.”
Clyde grinned and approached her, wrapping his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple that made her smile, leaning into him. Giving her one more kiss, Clyde took a step back to let her continue on with her task as he pushed his right hand in his pocket.
“I’ve actually been plannin’ this for a year or somethin’ now, but I haven’t really put too much effort into it, ‘Til not so long ago. I asked Jimmy ‘n Mel for help first,” he started carefully. “You know I ain’t the type with all the master plannin’, but I knew I wanted to make sure you didn’t find out right away…
“I had to first talk to Joe Bang ‘bout it, before I would actually start the cauliflower plan, and that’s where I got that bloody nose from.” He didn’t miss the way he saw Belle grumble under her breath, something along the lines of ‘I fucking knew it’, or ‘he’s gonna get it’ made him chuckle a bit nervously - a little bit unsure if it was towards him or her uncle-figure.
Swallowing, Clyde went on. “Joe Bang agreed to it, and I had it all planned out accordin’ to when and where it was gonna happen. It didn’t work out, and I was very tempted to give up on it, until I realized something that I can’t ever say enough.”
Belle waited for a moment for him to continue, yet only heard a shift behind her. Frowning, she let go of the rag and turned around to find Clyde on one knee, his only hand holding a small, velvet box that was propped open. Belle’s eyes widened as she dropped the Windex bottle, absolutely silent; eyes darting between the sparkling ring inside the box to the shy eyes of her loving boyfriend biting his lip out of nerves.
“I love ya with all my heart and soul, Belle, and I can’t see myself being with anyone else but you. You’ve always been there, ‘n keepin’ me strong to get out of bed everyday; ya make me feel like a real man without even tryin’, jus’ smilin’ at me and making my heart feel like it’s flying,” he professed honestly, huffing with a toothy smile. “I never thought I could ever feel so happy and in love with anyone, so I wanna ask ya...if you will marry me.
“I promise I’ll love ya everyday, even when you get moody ‘n probably want to kick my ass,” Clyde said, and Belle covered her mouth with both hands. “I don’t have much of a classy life, like Dayton or some other folks back in Colorado, but I’ll treat ya like a goddess and love ya.
“I wanted to give ya a perfect proposal, but the damn Logan Curse got me a couple times ‘n my own fears,” he confessed. “But I can’t wait any longer with wonderin’ if it could be too late, so...Rosabelle, will you marry me?”
Seeing her eyes fill with tears, Clyde could feel his own starting up as she looked to him. “Are you serious?”
“I can’t ask for a better gift, if it means I can have ya as my wife for the rest of my life,” he laughed when he saw her smile through her tears pouring down her cheeks. “Will ya be my wife, Belle?”
“Yes...yes, yes, I will,” Belle nodded with a sniff, completely forgetting her chore to tackle him into a hug. Falling to her knees, Belle shoved her face into his neck and clung to him as she kept chanting. “Yes, I will. I will marry you, Clyde.”
Feeling his heart soar and the tears slipping down his face, Clyde wrapped his arms tightly around her. Both laughing and crying, neither of them could pull away from each other completely while he insisted to place the ring on her left hand. The simple designed ring was placed on the heartstring finger, fitting perfectly to the point that Clyde couldn’t resist in kissing her hand and trailing it up to find her lips to which she eagerly gave to him with a smile, her hands tangled in his dark curls as he carefully held her waist. Clyde pulled her closer, kissing her more passionately and taking her tears with more gentle ones while she laughed emotionally and excused herself for crying.
“Sweet angel, don’t ever be sorry,” he chuckled tearfully, kissing her cheek again. “Yer still beautiful, even when ya cry.”
“Hush, no I’m not,” Belle croaked a laugh, hiding her face into his shoulder and clinging to his shirt.
Chuckling, Clyde gave her head numerous kisses, keeping her in his hold so she couldn’t get away and hide. “I’m the ugly crier of the bunch, Darlin’. Don’t be embarrassed about it, Belle, I’m jus’ so happy,” he hugged her even tighter, making her laugh and try to hide herself.
“You’re happy? I’m happy!” Belle hiccuped a laugh, pulling back to look at him. “You’re asking me to marry you and it’s making me cry tears of joy. Are you serious that this was your cauliflower plan the whole time?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, my God, Clyde, I love you,” Belle exclaimed before claiming his mouth for more kisses. “I love you so much, big bear. I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it, baby,” Clyde sobbed against her lips, returning them as best as he could while maintaining his own laughter and cries.
Fun fact: I WAS BEING SUPER MUSHY AND SQUEALING WHILE WRITING THIS, GOODNIGHT.
taglist: @ayatimascd @oh-adam @formerly-anonhamster @deliriumdoll @a-whole-damn-sackler @bourbonboredom
Remember, if you would like to be tagged for future chapters, please don’t hesitate to message me! I’d be more than happy to add you. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear from you!
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Here’s the Thing (or, How Emma Swan Learned to Appreciate Football)
Summary: Here’s the thing - she didn’t mean to fall asleep on Killian Jones’ shoulder during the Nolan’s Rose Bowl viewing party. ~3.3K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.
A/N: Here’s the next thing I’m transferring over for the Fandom Crescendo! It’s a fun little fic definitely not inspired by my own tendency to fall asleep during football games and wake up during the 4th quarter with no idea what the hell is going on. Not at all. Emma is sorta a Vikings fan in this one because I’m from Minnesota, and look, we’re going to be reliving that touchdown for the next two decades of disappointment. Un-beta’d. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
Here’s the thing – Emma Swan doesn’t like football.
It’s not for lack of trying now, when she’s an adult. But football will always remind her of men who smell like beer and cigarettes who are quick to anger, and later boys in letter jackets who try to corner her in empty hallways. Emma, for better or worse, can’t move past that.
But here’s the other thing – David loves football. And Emma loves David like the brother she always wanted but never had. So Emma finds herself watching football a lot more than she ever wanted.
David’s the kind of fan, too, where he doesn’t just follow his beloved Patriots (which is, coincidentally, Emma’s hard line on this football nonsense – she’ll watch the games, attend the tailgates and parties, but she refuses to root for the damn Patriots). No, David’s a fan of the game. So she’s roped into watching all matter of playoffs and qualifiers and whatever the hell else, because it makes him happy when people come to his viewing parties and makes Mary Margaret even happier when people eat the dips she makes. So Emma keeps showing up and eating finger foods and pretending to really care about the Minnesota Vikings because it makes David happy that she has a team (and Minnesota is at least a place that she has a few pleasant memories of).
Today, though, David seems determined to test her patience with this football nonsense. Some people had to work New Year’s Eve and didn’t get home and into bed until seven in the morning, and some people are fucking exhausted. And don’t give a shit about football. Even if he and Mary Margaret insist that everyone come over for the Rose Bowl.
But if Emma doesn’t show up, Mary Margaret is going to get that face, the sad puppy face, and call to find out where she is and why she can’t come, and Emma is way too tired to deal with that. So she shows up in her warmest sweater and comfiest jeans at 3:41 pm (the closest she’ll ever get to “3:30, on the dot!”) with a six-pack and a determination to make it through two games of football, if only so she can go home and get some damn sleep.
Thankfully, it looks like the evening might shape up to be bearable. There’s enough people present and Emma is late enough that Mary Margaret isn’t able to fret over her the way she might usually, so she’s able to make it to the kitchen with relatively little fuss, dropping off her beer offering in the fridge and loading up a plate with all manner of finger food. If she has to be here, at least Mary Margaret made her famous seafood dip. There’s a minor hiccup in finding a seat – Graham and Ruby are already all over each other in her usual, favorite armchair – but there’s still plenty of room on the loveseat and sectional. David’s college roommate, Kristoff, has burrowed in on one side of the larger couch with his girlfriend, and Emma’s coworker Liam looks to be making eyes at the girlfriend’s sister, so Emma picks the loveseat instead. Less chance of flying pheromones. It’s not her chair, but it’s a comfortable enough set-up. It’ll do just fine.
Things go relatively well, albeit somewhat drowsily, until the end of the first quarter, when he shows up. Killian Jones. Liam’s brother. Mr. Tall, Dark and Arrogant. Literature teacher at Storybrooke Academy with Mary Margaret, relocated from England six months prior, who Emma has been avoiding ever since. It’s not exactly anything against him – though he does seem slightly full of himself for Emma’s taste – but when Mary Margaret, damn her, hears the words “new in town”, she apparently thinks that means “open to set-ups”. And Emma is her favorite target. Sure, Mary Margaret’s meddling ways may have paired Ashley Herman up with her now-husband, but they also resulted for Emma in the worst first date ever with Walsh Ozwald. As such, Emma has been attempting to avoid large group gatherings as often as possible since school started and Killian entered M’s radar, in an effort to avoid being roped into anymore dates. They still see each other, but only when she absolutely can’t avoid it without being rude.
Still, Emma suspects Mary Margaret planned this all, because when Killian walks in with a bottle of rum in hand and a grocery bag of chips hanging from his prosthetic, conveniently the only spot left to sit is on the loveseat next to Emma. An entire room with a massive sectional and an armchair in addition to the loveseat, and somehow the only available seat is next to her. Of course. At least he’s polite about it, murmuring a quick “Sorry to intrude, Swan,” in response to her grumbling. And at least he offers to fill up her plate again because Emma is far too burrowed into the cushions to get her own refills.
They’re coexisting. It’s fine. Football is still boring and she still wants to go home, but things could be a lot worse.
------
Here’s the thing – despite her best efforts, she can barely keep her eyes open at halftime. Which is probably just as well, because the halftime show is confusing at best. Next to her, Killian is squinting at the screen like he can force it to make sense.
“What the bloody hell are they supposed to be doing?” he demands, and Emma is apparently far too tired to suppress her snort. “Can anyone actually tell what that shape is supposed to be? I didn’t think marching bands dabbled in modern art for their formations.”
Emma tries to form a sentence to throw back at him, but at this point, she’s too tired to properly enunciate, and it seems unlikely that he actually understood her replied “They don’t.”
She’s not paying attention to the TV very well anyways. Really, would it be that big a deal to close her eyes, just for a few minutes?
------
Here’s the thing – Emma didn’t mean to fall asleep. It’s with no small amount of confusion that she struggles back to consciousness amidst the sound of cheers.
She was asleep. So she should be home in her bed, where it quiet and there’s no cheering. Slowly, the circumstances of her evening come back. David and Mary Margaret’s. Football. Horrible halftime shows and closing her eyes for a moment and –
And oh shit, her head is definitely laying on something a lot more bony than a pillow.
It’s that thought that finally propels her eyelids open to see the players on the screen wearing different colors altogether. Jesus, how long was she out?
All she knows for certain is that she was sleeping with her head on Killian Jones’s shoulder – a man she barely knows, she might add – for God only knows how long. The realization makes her stiffen in panic and embarrassment, only to feel a gentle pressure on her upper arm, and God, is he actually holding her? Could this get any worse?
Apparently, it can, because Jones seems to have mistaken her sudden tensing as the sign of a bad dream, whispering into her hair that “It’s alright, love, you’re fine, shh. You’re at the Nolan’s.”
But despite his comforting words, she’s scooting away down the loveseat as fast as she can, trying to put some distance between their bodies. Unfortunately, that leads to an even more concerned look on his face.
“Swan? Are you alright?”
Somehow, she manages to nod and throw out a hand to keep him on the other side of the loveseat. “Yep, fine. Just startled.” After a moment of quick thinking and plotting proverbial escape routes, her mind finally connects to her mouth as she stands. “I’m just… going to get some water.”
And then she flees. Not her finest moment, but there it is.
Because here’s the thing – for just a moment, before her fight or flight had kicked in, lying there and using him as a pillow – she had liked it.
------
Here’s the thing – Killian Jones isn’t really that bad. Hasn’t been for a while. It’s just that when Mary Margaret first introduced them Emma knew it was leading to a set-up, and Emma wanted none of that. And then Jones had made some comment about welcoming committees and and how he was sure she’d give him “the warmest of welcomes” while offering her a salacious wiggle of his eyebrows, and that was that. Emma decided that she didn’t like him, wanted nothing to do with him.
Since then, she’s gotten to see a bit more of the man, what he’s really like. Yes, he puts on a cocky front, but she’s also seen the way he scratches behind his ear when he’s bashful or nervous, how his attempt at winking is more like a weird facial spasm, and how he flirts outrageously with Granny because it makes her blush, even as she scolds him and tries to swat at him with a dish towel. He’s not a bad guy. She just doesn’t want or need anyone in her life right now, especially after the disaster that is her past love life, and it’s easier to continue wanting nothing to do with Killian than dealing with anything else he may make her feel.
That’s why the Rose Bowl incident is so disconcerting. She laid there on his shoulder for two hours, let him drape an arm around her shoulders so they would both be more comfortable, let him protect her when she was vulnerable and her guard was down, and she allowed it, even unconsciously. In those two hours, she allowed him to get closer than she ever planned, and Emma isn’t sure how she feels about it.
So Emma does what she does best, and tries to avoid him even more that she did before.
------
Here’s the thing – it’s hard to avoid someone when you’re both invited to a mutual friend’s viewing party for the college national championship game.
If Emma was stronger, she would have just stayed home, declined the invitation, but while Emma considers herself to be very much the badass, Mary Margaret’s cooking is her weakness. Emma is about one step away from setting up a religion centered around Mary Margaret’s shrimp dip, and will not miss it for anything – including for the sake of avoiding Killian Jones.
She is, thankfully, able to snag her armchair at the beginning of the night, choosing to forget Graham and Ruby’s canoodling the week prior. And this week, she’s had the day off – no worries about falling asleep in the middle of the game and making a fool of herself again.
Unfortunately, Killian seems less on board with her plan to avoid him. There’s plenty of people in the Nolan’s living room that he knows, but instead, he singles her out, grinning and coming to sit on the corner of the sectional closest to her chair. “Swan!” he calls, like some sort of excitable puppy. It’s simultaneously adorable and infuriating.
At least her scowl seems to throw him off, shifting in his seat and reaching for his ear, like he’s thinking better of his earlier enthusiasm. His next sentence comes out more like a stammer, much to Emma’s amusement. “Can… can I get you anything? Another beer, more chips, more, more… I don’t know, more dip?”
Her negative response is terse, at best. He knows it, she knows it. Again, not her finest hour. But the idea of acting otherwise, forming some sort of connection with Jones, is slightly terrifying, so she tries to use her words and tone to establish a distance.
Not that it stops him. He’s courteous and attentive the whole game, offering to get her drinks or food and trying to engage her in conversation by asking questions about how the game is played. Despite all his best efforts, though, her replies remain limited to a few words.
It could be nice, she’ll admit, if she allowed herself to enjoy the fact that a man was paying her attentions. But encouraging Killian would lead to more than just an annoyingly smug Mary Margaret – it could lead to affection and attachment and disappointment when he’d inevitably leave and probably break her heart in the process. So she keeps her distance.
She finally leaves at nearly midnight, with no small amount of relief to be out of his presence.
-------
Here’s the thing – Killian Jones is nothing if not persistent.
Emma expects something of an out of sight, out of mind thing to happen – that the only way she’ll see Killian is if she actively seeks him out, and she sure as hell isn’t going to do that. If she just stays away from him long enough, this whole thing will blow over. They’ll all forget about the sleeping incident, and Emma can forget about any… feelings it might have stirred up.
But she starts the whole thing off wrong by running into him at Granny’s on Tuesday morning. He must hear her drink order, because he starts sauntering into the station on his way to school in the mornings with a hot chocolate for her – whipped cream and cinnamon on top. The next week, she walks into the diner to find that her lunch has already been paid for – courtesy of one Killian Jones. Arriving at the station for an evening shift, there’s a daffodil on her desk in a small vase, just like her tattoo. David, Graham, and Liam are all clearly in on this too, if conveniently timed gifts and their refusal to look her in the eye when she asks are anything to go by. After complaining about her back the entirety of a Wednesday, there’s a little vibrating back massager on her desk the next day with another flower – a colorful daisy, this time. She mentions to Liam one afternoon that she’s planning to watch “The Princess Bride” on her day off, and lo and behold, there’s a copy of the book on her desk by the weekend.
In the meantime, he keeps up with his attempts to draw her into conversation over the course of the month, with everything from comments about the weather and his curriculum to questions about her week and the calls she’s had to respond to – the latter of which she’s sure he’s already heard about from Liam. At the beginning, she mostly answers with hums and grunts and one word answers. By the end of the month, she’s willing to give him a little more – better answers about how her week has been, asking how his students are, actually warmly thanking him when he brings her her drink in the morning.
Emma wouldn’t say that she likes him. But she will admit that when he doesn’t show up for three mornings in a row, she worries, even after Liam tells her that Killian is stuck at home with the flu.
Mary Margaret tries to interrogate her on the matter, but all Emma can really do is shrug and tell her, “I don’t know.” Because she doesn’t know. Emma isn’t looking to be in a relationship, but there’s something about Killian Jones and how earnest he is in all his actions towards her.
(She doesn’t notice the blur of blue eyes and black leather at the door to Granny’s while she and Mary Margaret are talking. Maybe her answer would have been different if she had.)
------
Here’s the thing – as much as Emma feels like she’s doing as much to encourage him as she’s comfortable with, she’s noticed him getting progressively more nervous this past week, leading up to the Super Bowl party at the Nolan’s. She probably should have expected some kind of action, but it’s still a surprise when she’s barely set the chips on the kitchen counter before he appears at her side, scratching behind his ear again in that nervous way he has.
“A word, Swan?”
She goes. It would be rude not to, for one, but this nervous and unsure Killian is really off-putting as well, and she’d like to get to the bottom of the matter, or at least let him speak his piece. Emma expects him to beat around the bush a bit once they’re alone on the patio, what with that flowery way it seems he can’t help speaking with, but instead, he jumps right to the point.
“Would you like me to stop?”
It’s a shock. All she can think to do in response is dumbly stare at him, barely able to stutter out a word of surprise. “What?”
“Would you like me to stop?” he repeats. “I’ve been doing all this for weeks and still can’t properly tell whether you’re enjoying my efforts. And I know you were somewhat avoiding me at first and less than enthusiastic, but David and Liam both assured me I should be patient, and I thought you were enjoying my presence a little bit more, but I heard you with Mary Margaret the other day and –” He finally pauses for breath. “Would you like me to stop?”
She could be brave. She should be brave. But instead, she just shrugs again, and hands him another “I don’t know.”
To his credit, he just looks at her in that thoughtful, patient way, like he knows her hesitance isn’t about their interactions the past couple weeks. “What don’t know you about?”
It’s silent for several long moments and she can visibly see him deflating, losing hope that she’ll give him a real answer and let him in if only a little. Finally, she blurts out, “Do you really want this?”
Understandably, Killian just looks confused. It’s a bit of an odd thing to ask, after all the questioning and pacing he’s just done that should say he’s very committed. Emma’s mind finally catches up to her mouth, leaving her to continue. “Do you really want this, or is this just because Mary Margaret and Ruby probably made some comments while I was asleep about how cute we looked together, and pressured you into it?”
He’s already shaking his head. “Oh, Emma, no, of course not –” but she plows right on.
“Because I’m not usually like that. I’m difficult to be with and not a particularly good girlfriend. I’m not big on PDA and I –” but it’s his turn to interrupt, this time with a smile.
“Oh, Emma, of course not. I may have acted like an arrogant ass when we first met but… I liked you. I like you. Not because you fell asleep on my shoulder and the Devious Duo nearly melted – though you were very cute, drooling on me and trying to burrow in further like I was a proper pillow – but because you’re brilliant and absolutely badass and sarcastic and don’t take shit from anyone. Not to mention, you’re the kind of beautiful that makes a man think in poetry.” The ear scratch is back again, but the grin is continuing as well, and that’s what she’s choosing to focus on. At least until he seems to remember how their conversation started, and it slips off his face again. “But I swear, Emma, if I’m irritating you, or you don’t feel the same way, I’ll leave you be and –”
But he never gets a chance to finish his statement, as Emma grabs his collar and hauls him in for a kiss.
That ought to clear things up.
-------
Here’s the thing – Emma Swan still doesn’t like football. It’s long and violent and there’s way too many different ways to get points for her to possibly keep track of them all.
But here’s the other thing – none of that matters quite so much when she gets to spend the Super Bowl curled up in the Nolan’s armchair with her boyfriend of almost a year, making fun of the commercials instead of watching the game.
(And if David or Mary Margaret complain about all the PDA, well, this is their fault anyways.)
#my writing#ouat fandom crescendo#cs ff#here's the thing (or how emma swan learned to appreciate football)#cs modern au#football
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Been A Fool For Lesser Things
Well, it’s been a while since the last update, hasn’t it? Canon happenings kind of destroyed several basic foundations of this fic, but on the other hand these dumb idiots are ACTUALLY CANON NOW. So I made it work. Just pretend the fifth Koenig brother is a magical healing fairy so nothing happened to Coulson or Fitz. [Which is canon, right? Silly me.]
If you’d like to refresh yourself on what’s already happened, you can find the whole thing on AO3 here, or on tumblr in part one here and part two here. In this chapter: breakfast, Mack, and utter betrayal.
III. I Forgot How Nice Romance Is
Phil is not a morning person. In his years at S.H.I.E.L.D. he’s had to get used to some ridiculous sleep schedules (including one particularly hellish op in 2003 during which he didn’t get more than three consecutive hours of sleep for two weeks straight) but on his own he tends toward late nights and leisurely mornings. Unfortunately, he is still an active agent, even if he’s not the director anymore, and as such he’s showered, dressed, and staring blearily into the pantry at seven.
It’s honestly pretty bleak. No bread for toast, someone’s eaten the last of the good cereal - almost certainly Daisy - and as much as Jemma loves her oatmeal, he’s never been able to stomach the stuff. There’s plenty of coffee, though. A quick check of the fridge reveals some assorted fruits and vegetables and most of a carton of eggs, so at least he won’t be reduced to mainlining coffee until lunch.
The back of his neck prickles as he starts filling the coffee machine, though there hasn’t been any sound. In the field, this is where he’d start mentally reviewing sightlines, potential cover, and the available options for improvising a weapon. But it’s not an unknown assailant behind him this time. “Good morning,” he says, already knowing what he’ll see when he turns around.
Knowing, however, does not prepare him in the slightest for the sight of Melinda clearly fresh from a post-workout shower, because she’s one of those terrifying people who actually enjoys exercising first thing in the morning. Her ponytail is still faintly damp at the ends. It’s like a tease, the hint of where she’s been - he’s seen her totally soaked before (albeit clothed) more than once, and he knows exactly what it looks like when she pushes wet hair out of her eyes, and water is trailing down her throat, and her clothes don’t cover so much as cling to her-
What was he doing? Oh, breakfast. Right. Fuel for the day. Phil’s good at breakfast.
“Pancakes?” he asks, internally congratulating himself on how normal his voice sounds.
She makes a face. “Not after training. Omelettes instead?”
“Sounds good.”
They move around the kitchen with practiced ease. The whole song and dance is so familiar from safehouses and shared missions over the years that the only noise is the coffee machine dripping away and Melinda’s knife hitting the cutting board. It’s no accident that a plate appears at his side right when the first omelette is ready, and the clink of glasses and cutlery behind him as she sets the table for two has him smiling down at the skillet where she can’t see.
He takes a sip of his waiting coffee as he sits down across from Melinda. It’s perfect, of course. Phil used to wonder how she manages to add exactly the right amount of milk every single time when he’s literally never once seen her make coffee itself correctly, but then he realized he knows how to make her tea despite never drinking it, so maybe it’s just one of those things. If it means he can practically inhale glorious caffeine while he waits for his food to cool off in the morning, he’s not going to complain.
“This is nice,” Melinda says, already halfway through her plate.
Phil pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I sure hope so,” he says slowly. “I’ve made you omelettes hundreds of times. You’d think I’d know how you like them by now.”
“No, I meant��. this. Us. Breakfast together.” Her foot nudges against his under the table. “It’s nice.”
Phil can’t think of a single thing to say. Well, he can, he’s practically the king of the snappy one-liner, but “It’s even better in bed” is way too sleazy, and it’s really not the right time for “I love you” even if it is the loudest thought in his head right now. How does she do this? Thirty years they’ve known each other and he’s still falling over himself at a simple comment from Melinda May like nothing has changed at all since the Academy.
“It is,” he says finally. “We should do it more often.”
“Does that mean you’re finally going to let me do something more complicated than making cereal?”
Phil shudders. “I’m pretty sure that qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment,” he points out, laughing when she flicks a piece of egg at him.
They make normal morning small talk - or at least the closest two people who have spent their lives working for S.H.I.E.L.D. can get to normal small talk - over the rest of breakfast. By the time both plates are clean and Phil’s finished his coffee, their feet have ended up tangled together under the table.
It feels, he realizes with a jolt, like a date.
“Coulson?”
They both look up to see Mack coming through the door.
“Fitz wants to see you today. Hand recalibration time.”
“But Yoyo and I just did that a month ago,” Phil protests. It’s not like he minds, exactly, since keeping the giant hunk of metal and electronics attached to his arm working properly is sort of a priority of his. Even so, it’s usually much longer between sessions.
Mack shrugs, grabbing a mug to pour his own coffee. “Don’t ask me,” he says. “I stick to engines and I’m happy that way. Maybe there’s some fancy new gadget he wants to install or something.”
Phil and Melinda exchange a look. Fitz has a habit of tinkering with prosthetic designs as a distraction when he’s frustrated with other projects. Phil really should be worried about spending his time in the lab instead of getting things done, but he can’t help the rush of childish glee. This kind of thing is how he got x-ray hands. It’s like being a real actual superhero.
Melinda’s expression says very clearly that he’s not hiding it well enough and she’s laughing at him on the inside.
“Don’t know what’s wrong with a hand just being a hand,” Mack grumbles, oblivious.
“It was just a hand before you chopped it off,” Phil points out, laughing at the look on his former partner’s face. “Besides, I don’t remember you complaining too much about my gadgets when we got ambushed that time in Denver-”
“Shut up and get your hand fixed, Coulson.”
Melinda bats her eyelashes at him. “Director’s orders, Phil,” she says, all fawning solicitousness. Mack salutes her with his coffee and heads back out to the hallway with his nose already buried in his tablet.
“I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” Phil says, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
“Maybe I just like giving you orders for a change,” she says. Their eyes meet in silent recognition of what happened the last time she had, and for an long moment there is nothing in the world but the two of them and the memory of a kiss. But then her phone buzzes, startling them both, and she sighs in annoyance. “I have to meet with Piper in ten minutes. You should go find Fitz.”
“Maybe by this afternoon I’ll be able to play the piano,” he jokes. “I’ll see you later?”
“I don’t think you’ll want to,” she says. Phil frowns; he always wants to see her. Does she really- “Yoyo’s having a Scream marathon.”
Phil does not flinch. He’s a seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with decades of experience under his belt; a reaction like that would be deeply unprofessional. Besides, he’s faced real life horrors and lived to tell the tale. A few jumpscares are nothing. Really. He just… prefers other forms of entertainment.
(He thanks his lucky stars every day that Daisy hasn’t caught on yet.)
“A girls’ night it is. Got it.”
She’s been teasing him about this for so long that it’s become completely nonverbal; though the only sound in the room is the clatter of dishes as they clean up after themselves, Phil knows from long experience exactly what she’d say, and it only takes a single glance at her smug expression to confirm that she’s thinking exactly the same thing. Sticking his tongue out would be childish, of course, so he does the mature thing instead and reaches out to tug at the end of her ponytail.
But... he’s promised himself that he won’t touch. Admittedly this hadn’t really been what he’d had in mind at the time, but the principle is the same. Just because he can’t remember the last time he enjoyed breakfast so much doesn’t mean Melinda feels the same way. He never would have dared to pull her ponytail before, so he can’t in good conscience do so now, right?
Man, he feels like a twelve-year-old.
Still, Phil doesn’t like going back on his word, so he turns the movement into pretending to brush something off his shirt and beats a quick exit. Crisis averted.
He doesn’t notice Melinda’s frown as she watches him leave in the reflection of the microwave.
#philinda#agents of shield#been a fool for lesser things#preux fic#listen domestic kitchen philinda is my ultimate weakness#I could write an entire novel based on my ideas about philinda and their relationship with food alone#god knows my list of ideas has a lot of food things#ah well if music be the food of love play on and all that#also that's right phil you dumbass#you're acting weird and it's DEFINITELY too much to hope that the person who knows and loves you most wouldn't fucking notice#wow guys it's almost like actually talking to each other about your feelings is a good idea#fun fact this fic originally came about because they have a very specific type of communication problem#like they know each other so well that they understand what the other's emotional reaction will be to anything#EXCEPT they've also been thinking in friend mode for so long that they kind of bluescreen when it comes to romance between them#which means the only blindspot in their relationship is.... their relationship#bc of course it is#ac dc ac#i would die for melinda may#rachael no#aos
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Single Father Lance Pt. 2
This story puts the trash in blueplanettrash, and I’m sorry about that. I hope you enjoy anyways. I’m tired, it’s 5 AM and I haven’t slept yet.
“I’m going to tuck him into bed for the time being,” Lance announced looking down at the drooping eyes of his son. “I’ll come find you guys when he’s up for good and I can introduce you to him,” he said quietly bouncing Leo gently in his arms. The paladins nodded and he turned and walked out of the hangers towards the quarters. As he walked out the doors, the others all turned to each other. Coran, Hunk, and surprisingly Shiro’s faces were lit up with excitement; while Allura, Keith, and Pidge had reluctant grimaces on their faces.
“So now we’re going to have to live with Lance and his spawn, great,” Pidge muttered looking off to the side.
“Oh come on Pidge! This is going to be great, we’ll be able to teach him so many things!” Hunk gushed, she only gave Hunk a deadpanned look which he ignored. Keith crossed his arms and looked worriedly at the doors where Lance and Leo left.
“Are you sure that he is going to be safe up here? We are fighting a war after all,” he commented. Coran popped up beside him with a smile.
“Not to worry Number 4, the Castle Ship is equipped to handle the raising of all sorts of species even during times of great violence,” he stated twirling his mustache. “There are certain parts of the ship that can be locked down for safety,”
“Still raising this kid is going to be a pain in the ass,” he grumbled looking away.
“Keith,” Shiro huffed. “Not all kids are difficult,”
“You’re the one who told me that kids were hell to raise,” he defended himself.
“Actually I said that you were hell to raise,” Shiro stated with a quirked eyebrow. Keith let out an indignant noise and a blush rose to his cheeks. He gave Shiro a hard punch to the bicep which he received with a grin.
“Anyways,” Hunk drawled gaining the attention of the rest of the paladins. “I’m going to go cook Leo a welcome dinner,”
“Or, I could cook him a traditional Altean dish,” Coran suggested with a flourish. The paladin’s visibly cringed.
“Um, I think he might need something sort of familiar for his first meal,” Pidge said inching away from the man.
“Yah, going from home-cooked meals to space food is difficult,” Hunk added heading towards the exit.
“Well, someday then,” Coran said with a huff. The paladin reluctantly nodded before escaping behind Hunk.
“Someday,” Coran promised himself in the silence of the hanger, ignoring the bored expression Allura was giving him.
When Lance returned with Leo in his arms they were scattered around the kitchen watching Hunk show off his cooking skills. He had just taken a pan of cookies out of the oven to cool and was now expertly chopping strange looking vegetables. They looked over and smiled when they saw Leo gazing around in awe and Lance looking down at him with udder adoration shining in his eyes. Leo noticed them and immediately tucked his face into his father’s shoulder to hide his face. They stood up, Hunk abandoning the chopping board and wiping his hands on his apron.
“Guys this is Leo,” he said with a flourish gesturing to the shy child. There were various soft greeting coming from the paladins, not wanting to startle the already shy child. Lance grinned and poked him in the side making him twitch and cautiously peek his face around again. Lance put him down on the ground and took his hand to walk him closer to the team.
“Leo, these are all your aunts and uncles,” he said with a beaming smile. The paladin’s eyes widened and when Lance looked at them their faces grew matching smiles. Leo’s eyes sparkled as he looked into his father’s. He walked him to the two Alteans who were looking curiously at the waddling figure.
“This is Princess Allura of Altea, and Royal Advisor Coran!” He said gallantly raising a fist in the air like he does when telling Leo a story. “This is their Castle, and we’re very lucky that we have such strong friends up here in space,” he crouched down next to him and rubbed his back.
“You’re a princess?” He asked quietly staring at Allura. She giggled and crouched in front of him alongside Coran.
“Yes, I am,” she replied holding out her hand which he took with a look of pure wonder. “I welcome you to the Castle of Lions,”
“Thank you,” he answered shyly shuffling his feet. He looked up at her hesitantly, glancing at her face then back at the ground again.
“What is it?” she asked grabbing his attention.
“Can I be a princess too?” He finally asked, a blush lighting up his face. Allura looked startled for a second before she let out a series of laughs. Leo looked glumly down at the ground thinking she was laughing at his question. He looked up when he felt something go around his head. He brought his hand up to feel the metal of Allura’s tiara now resting comfortably on him.
“Anyone can be a princess, Leo,” he said giving him a sweet smile which he returned. She ignored the worried, helpless expression that was on Lance’s face and waved him away when she saw that he wanted to return it to its owner.
“You make quite a lovely one as well!” Coran stated giving the boy a low bow. Lance sighed and gave up, opting instead to finish his introductions.
“This is Uncle Hunk,” he said picking him up again and carrying him to the yellow paladin who could barely contain a squeal at the sight of the child. “He can fix anything, or cook anything you could possibly want, and he’s daddy’s best friend,”
“Hey there, Leo,” he said quietly raising his hand in greeting. Leo hesitated a moment before raising his hand too and waving. “I was just making you something to eat, do you wanna try some?” he asked with a grin. Leo hesitated and looked up. At Lance’s nod, he looked back at Hunk and gave a firm nod.
“Yes, please,” Hunk turned back to the counter and grabbed one of the cookies that came out of the oven and finished cooling. He held it out to the boy who took it with a thinly veiled look of disgust, it wasn’t hard to tell it was because the outside was dark green with what looked like bright purple grass on top of it.
“Thank you,” he said anyway, even though it looked like he wanted to drop it right there.
“Don’t worry buddy, it tastes way better than it looks, I promise,” Hunk said crouching a bit in order to be at eye level with him. Leo looked into his eyes as if weighing his options. In the end, he bit into the cookie and immediately his eyes widened and he looked at the yellow paladin in complete wonderment.
“Wow! That’s really good!” He cheered giving Hunk a wide smile. Hunk stood and puffed his chest out in pride. “Can I have another one?” Hunk was about to answer and give him one but Lance cut in first.
“You can have another one after dinner, okay buddy?” Lance answered looking down. Leo gave a short pout but nodded sullenly. Hunk ruffled his hair and Lance turned to face Pidge.
“This is Aunt Pidge,” he introduced her. Standing in front of her, she and Leo were standing at the same height. She gave a nervous wave not moving to do anything else. Unlike with Hunk, Leo didn’t need a second thought to be comfortable and immediately gave her a happy wave and a cheerful hello. “She’s super smart, she’ll be able to answer anything you ever ask her, she’s a super great friend too!” Pidge blinked and smirked proudly before pushing her glasses up.
“Wow!” Leo stared at her in amazement. “Can you really?” She looked at the starstruck expression on his face and felt her heart melt a little bit.
“Of course I can, I’m the smartest one on this ship!” She exclaimed putting her hands on her hips. They all gave a slight snort of amusement before he started approaching Keith.
“Don’t worry champ, in a year, you’ll be taller than her,” he stage-whispered to Leo who gave a light giggle in response.
“This is Uncle Keith,” Lance said ignoring the cry of indignation that came from Pidge. He had his arms crossed and only gave a short nod to the boy, who tilted his head in confusion. Lance gave a snort of amusement.
“Ignore the bad boy outside Leo, he’s actually a big softy and would protect you at all costs. If you ever feel scared for any reason; go to Uncle Keith, I promise that he would do whatever it takes to protect you,” he said earnestly bumping his forehead with his son’s. Keith looked on with shock at hearing Lance describe him. Although he just found out about and met Leo, it was true that he would never let anything happen to him while he was with them.
“Really?” Leo asked amazed looking at the red paladin. He reached out a tiny hand which Keith took gently.
“Thanks, Uncle Keith,” Leo said with an open-mouthed smile. Keith couldn’t help the widening of his mouth and returned the smile full force.
“See, I told you! Total softy,” Lance said with excitement, happy that his son got along with Keith even if he couldn’t.
He was excited to introduce Leo to Shiro; as it turns out Lance wasn’t Shiro’s biggest fan, not when Leo was around. It was a feat in itself that he hadn’t noticed him yet; patiently waiting at the edge of the group, enough to stay out of the way but still be engaged with what was going on.
“Okay buddy, I know that you’ll know this guy,” he said still facing Keith who gave him a look of confusion. He turned to the man and his son let out a gasp when his eyes caught onto Shiro’s face. He wriggled enough that Lance had to put him down and he ran to Shiro’s feet. He didn’t say anything and just stared up at the man. Shiro chuckled and lowered himself to crouch on one knee in front of Leo.
“You’re Takashi Shirogane,” he breathed in amazed. Shiro quirked his brow when he pronounced his name without flaw and looked to Lance who gave a shrug in response.
“Yup, that's me,” he said holding out his left hand instead of the prosthetic right. “Its very nice to meet you,”
With stars in his eyes, he rapidly shook Shiro hand with both of his own. Leo began babbling about how much he loved Shiro and his piloting, and how cool he thought he was when he went to space and that he was sad when they said he was gone. Shiro closed his eyes and grinned feeling blush flush his cheeks in embarrassment. The frenzied speech suddenly came to a halt and he opened his eyes in confusion. He sucked in a small breath of air when he noticed that Leo was staring at Shiro’s Galran arm with curious eyes.
“Oh, um,” he stuttered trying to come up with a lighthearted excuse for the boy.
“Are you okay?” Leo asked quietly looking up at the baffled leader.
“Um, yes?” he replied. Leo just nodded before touching the metal of the arm and looking up with a small smile.
“That's good, you look even cooler than before,” he admitted. “Your hair and the mark on your face makes you look cool too!” he patted Shiro’s where his scar ended on his cheeks. Shiro felt a bit of water build in his eyes as he looked at Leo, so amazed by someone as broken as him.
“Wait,” he said suddenly pausing in his exploration. “Are you my uncle too?!” he asked excitement overwhelming his face. Shiro chuckled again and pushed his hand through his hair.
“Yup, Uncle Shiro,” he confirmed. Leo gasped and looked back at Lance who was almost cackling at the sight of the two. Leo practically hopped back to Lance with glee and he swept him into his arms to cuddle him to his chest. The paladins looked on with a newfound sense of hope in their chests. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as rough as they thought.
“Let's go see the lions, Leo,” Lance suggested nuzzling their noses together. Leo let out a tinkling laugh as they walked towards the door. He looked over Lance’s shoulder and waved to the team as they walked out of the kitchen, a giant smile lighting up the entire room. There was complete silence as they stared at the door.
“I would die for that child,” Allura deadpanned after a moment.
“As would I Princess,” Coran said beside her completely serious.
“He’s an angel, an absolute angel,” Hunk cried from where he began cutting vegetables again.
“I can’t believe that came from Lance,” Pidge stated bluntly as she stared at the door.
“If anything ever happens to this kid, I’m going to kill anything that gets in my way. Except for Lance, I’m not letting him lose his parent again,” Keith announced to them. “But, anything else. Dead,” the others nodded in acceptance while Shiro sat frozen in the same position as before, but now with tears of happiness streaming down his face and his hands covering his mouth.
“I’m the cool uncle,”
Part 1
Stories Masterlist
#voltron#vld#voltron legendary defender#lance mcclain#lance#hunk garrett#pidge gunderson#takashi shirogane#keith kogane#hunk#pidge#shiro#keith#allura#coran#dad!lance#teen parent#single father#fluff#fanfic
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