#for when you need a quippy response on hand

[garbinge]

You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts:  Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone. 

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment. 

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture. 

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you. 

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him. 

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing. 

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.” 

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out. 

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified. 

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you. 

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded. 

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.” 

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?” 

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.” 

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face. 

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge. 

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction. 

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late. 

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day. 

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it. 

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes. 

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts. 

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?” 

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey. 

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice. 

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you. 

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him. 

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve. 

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you. 

“Italy.” 

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned. 

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls. 

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement. 

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face. 

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM. 

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20. 

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in. 

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud. 

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him. 

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake. 

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you. 

“What–what’re you doin’ here?” 

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms. 

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred. 

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper. 

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”  

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience. 

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip. 

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way. 

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears. 

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.” 

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you. 

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you. 

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.” 

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here. 

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere. 

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes. 

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self. 

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line. 

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat. 

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told. 

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready. 

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up. 

“Hm?” She hummed. 

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special. 

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same. 

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes. 

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.  

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone. 

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up. 

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences. 

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up. 

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth. 

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times. 

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your. 

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something. 

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you. 

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him. 

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.” 

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either. 

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports. 

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport. 

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked. 

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office. 

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything. 

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”  

[midnight-bay-if]

Hey!!

Curious question, what would the ROs do if Mc, who is always happy and makes fun of everything, simply appears in front of them crying? (I was a little curious, but you don't have to answer if you don't want to😊)

Bye!!

{Sorry if you hear any spelling mistakes, English is not my native language}

(Sorry this took a while. I decided to take form social media yesterday! And your English is perfectly fine! :))

S: Their heart aches when they see the tears well up in your eyes. It fractures a little piece inside of them. They guide you towards a couch, then prepare a hot drink for you as they patiently wait for you to say whatever is on your mind. "Tears don't make you weak, MC. They are the sign someone has been strong too long."

Rain: They're embracing you straight away. If you're a touch-averse person, they will step back, apologising profusely and ask, "How can I help?" They ask with desperation. "I'll make it go away if I can." If you're not averse to the embrace, they'll hold you for as long as you need.

Taj: As soon as Taj spots the tears, they're bristling. "Sit. Tell me," they order, kneeling in front of you as they wait for you to explain. If it's something they can fix, they will. If they can't fix it or make it go away, they'll stay. "You don't need to always be okay, MC."

N: For once, they're dumbstruck. They have no words. No quippy line, no snide remark. They feel lost. What is a demon to do when a human cries? Usually, demons cause the tears. They feel wholly inadequate. If it wasn't them that caused the tears, the one responsible better be prepared for a storm.

Umbra: They're afraid. They see the tears falling down your cheeks, and they're paralysed by them. What did they do? What didn't they do? How can they make it better? If someone else caused this... There wouldn't be a place left in any realm left to hide. With something akin to worship, Umbra falls to their knees in front of you, grasping your hand in theirs as they place it against their lips in reverence. "Please, MC, please let me take it away. I'll carry it for you."

[scentedstrangercreation]

An Indecent Proposal

Absolutely self-indulgent fluff. Fake proposal trope 🤡

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

The wrench slipped from Garrus’ hand, bouncing off the thanix’s compressors and sliding beneath the cannon.

“Dammit.”

He crouched down and sprawled onto his back to slide under the battery. The opening was too narrow for his carapace, so he could only lean against it and stretch out his arm. His talons just barely grazed the tip of the wrench, spinning it hopelessly in place. Garrus sighed, tapping his head against the cannon’s base. His omnitool pinged on the opposite arm. He turned his head and watched the red light blink in its slow, deliberate rhythm. There was no point in checking who it was from. He’d only just spoken to his father yesterday, and the message had been clear: It’s time to stop playing mercenary and come home. There was a position ready for him on Palaven, a good service role. One that would make his family proud. The past few years would be forgotten—the Normandy, his time on Omega, Cerberus. Even the battle at the Citadel was becoming a distant memory everyone wanted buried. The bottom line was that the council wanted to move on—and Shepard was becoming a liability. The light pulsed again. He wasn’t sure why he bothered putting off his response. Turians didn’t make requests. Garrus was being given an order—an opportunity—and there was only one answer. Yes, sir. The door to the battery hissed open. “Garrus?” Shepard entered the room and the door shut behind her. He tried to sit up, forgetting his arm was still jammed beneath the Thanix, and slammed into the steaming pipes, “Spirits,” he grunted, extracting his arm. “Sleeping on the job?” Shepard crouched down beside him. “We didn’t all get a palatial suite.” He squinted up into the light as Shepard came into focus above him. “How’s the face holding up?” she gestured around her jaw. Garrus sat up, touching the bandages around his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be pretty.” “Thank god.” She offered her hand and he pulled himself up, “Wouldn't want you scaring the children.” He should have laughed, said something quippy back, but he was out of practice. Instead, he just stared at her for a minute in silence. He still wasn’t used to it—to her. Shepard was here. She was alive. He didn’t like thinking about it too much. Part of him was worried that if he wasn’t careful, he might wake up. Garrus shook the thought from his mind and cleared his throat, “What do you need?” Shepard held up a data pad, “Just wanted to go over—” Garrus’ omnitool pinged three times in quick succession. “You need to take that?” “At some point.” he dismissed the messages without looking. She looked at him curiously, but didn’t say anything. “It’s—nothing. Just…” he’d have to tell her eventually. He just wasn’t sure when…or how. She tapped the data pad against her leg and tilted her head slightly. He could tell she wanted to say more. But at Miranda's request, she had been practicing her…restraint. He smiled. It was like she had to physically restrain each word before they bullied their way out of her mouth. “Actually, we can do this later.” She gestured with the pad, “Want a drink?” He waved her off, “I should probably get back to—” “If you say calibrations, I’ll vent the battery.” “Well, I won’t say it then.” “Come on, don’t make me beg.” She turned around and started walking as if he’d already agreed, “have a drink with me.” “It’s actually been more threatening than begging.” “Oh, good. Then you’ll take it seriously.”

Shepard’s cabin was garishly large. He knew she agreed. The fish tank held nothing but water and the entire back half of the room was left untouched. He suspected she didn’t even use the bed, with its corners pulled taut and undisturbed. The contrast against the couch was almost cartoonish. It was clearly a hive of activity, dwarfed beneath a mountain of clutter. There were signs of small, abandoned projects strewn about: stacks of tablets, an omnitool’s motherboard exposed and connected to a desktop by frayed wires, her sniper disassembled and half-polished. His gaze continued about the room before settling on Shepard, rustling around in a small cabinet. "Look what I’ve got.” She retreated from the cabinet, two glasses and a bottle of something dark in her hands. She tossed it to Garrus. He caught the bottle, twisting it in his hand to see the label and released a low whistle. “Guess working with Cerberus has its perks.” He joked, flaring his mandibles and holding the bottle out to her. “Guess so,” she took it back and filled up a glass, passing it over before filling her own. “To the perks,” she said, gently knocking her glass against his. Not hard enough to spill it, but enough to make a sound. A ‘cheers’ she’d called it before. It always surprised Garus how many casual little rituals humans had. They enjoyed the first sip in silence. She released a groan and sank back into the couch, “Don’t tell Chakwas, but this is so much better than brandy.” “Your secret’s safe with me,” he walked over to the empty tank. Even without fish, it was relaxing to watch the light move through the water. He almost forgot what he’d been trying to ignore when his wrist pinged again. He could feel her watching him. Now or never. “My father reached out yesterday.” She made a noncommittal sound behind another mouthful of wine. “There’s, uh…” he struggled to find the phrasing, “He asked me to come home.” “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, “He just thinks…it’s time.” He knew he sounded foolish. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to a human. There was so much context she couldn’t understand. He watched her reflection. Her expression was carefully neutral. She seemed relaxed, but her eyes had a slightly unfocused, calculating bearing. “Is that what you want?” She asked like there was an easy answer, missing all of the complexities that seemed so obvious to him. “My father—,” he turned to face her. “I don’t care about your father.” He laughed, “You two have something in common.” “You know what I mean,” she rebuffed his joke. “What do you want?” “It’s…complicated. It’s not about what I want.” “Why not?” “Because...Turians—,” He paced a few steps away, releasing a frustrated sigh and rubbing his head. He wasn’t going to explain the intricacies of Turian culture to her. He wasn’t sure he even could. “Garrus, this isn’t some teenage rebellion.” He didn’t understand the phrase but he let it go. “This is for the galaxy. Your people should be rallying behind you.” “The way your’s have rallied behind you? Shepard, we're working for a literal terrorist organization.” “With” she corrected, “...But your point isn’t entirely lost.” He could see she wanted to argue more, but had decided on a more tactical route. “So what’s the situation exactly? You go home or you’re what? Banished?” He laughed a little, “Not with quite so much flair.” It was hard to put words to norms he’d always just accepted, “I don’t know how to explain it. To put yourself before the family, before the colony, is…You just don’t.” “This is the opposite of putting yourself first.” He wished he could say that was true. That if it weren’t for her, he’d still be out here fighting the good fight—but he knew better. Sure, he believed in what they were doing, but he was here for her. And they both knew it. “This isn’t Blasto 6, Shepard. I can’t just ask the Turian Hierarchy to just ‘go with it.’ Even you know how crazy it all sounds: ancient machines culling the galaxy?” He paused but she didn’t counter. “As far as they’re concerned, humans have been the biggest threat to the galaxy since the Geth.” “How flattering.” She gulped down the rest of her wine. “And then, after the Citadel, after…you—you know…” he stumbled over his words, refusing to make eye contact. “Well, they gave me time to grieve, and now it’s time to get back to reality.” “Glossing over the fact that this,” she set her glass down and tapped on the table, “is reality. So, what? You don’t go home and it ruffles a few feathers?” He ignored the turn of phrase.

“It’s more than that. We’re a collective, going against the Hierarchy is…egomaniacal. It goes against everything my people stand for.” She still didn't seem convinced.

“It’s not even really about me.” He sighed, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m...not exactly a model Turian.” 

She raised her brows and tilted her head. He could tell she was fighting a small mirk, but she didn’t say anything. 

“I was a lost cause long before teaming up with the illustrious Commander Shepard—but my family?” Her brows furrowed and he tried to think of an example, “Say a Turian is demoted. It’s not really his fault. The disgrace lies with whoever promoted him in the first place. It’s the same principle in a family. They’re responsible for my actions as much as I’m responsible for theirs.” He thought he spied some semblance of understanding, “and since I’m not married, that means my father and sister would be—,” “Wait,” she held up her hand, “what does marriage have to do with it?” “It’s—,” He exhaled, annoyed by the tangent he’d introduced to the conversation. Shepard’s eyes flickered with a teasing curiosity, and for the umpteenth time since they’d met, he was grateful Turian’s didn’t blush. He rushed through the explanation. “Every Turian is completely tied to their family from birth. Your name, your reputation, your accomplishments and your failures. Everything is shared. That doesn’t change until you’re married. Then it sort of…” he searched for the right word, “transfers to your spouse?” He watched her carefully, trying to gauge her understanding. “Then, when you have kids, they’re tied to you and your partner until they marry—and so on.” 

He caught a flicker in her expression and stopped, “What?” “So you’re saying you’re twenty-seven years old, you’ve no money and no prospects. You’re already a burden to your parents and you’re frightened.” her words sounded strange. It took him a minute to realize she was using a different accent. He wasn’t sure what purpose it served, but he figured she was making a joke he didn't understand. “I guess?” He shrugged. She dropped it. “So if you were married—,” “It was a bad example.”  “No, no, listen. If you were married and your spouse—hypothetically—requested that you fight, I don’t know, the Reapers, you’d have to listen?” “Have you taken a psych eval lately?” She ignored him, “Then, even if the Turian Hierarchy comes knocking, it’s just about you and your partner? No kids, no dad, no sister to worry about.” “How romantic.” “Is that really how it would work?” She pressed. “You’re glossing over a lot of nuance and context—but on a basic level…yes? I guess.” He crossed his arms. How had the conversation gone so off-course? “Regardless, I still need to—” he stopped, “is something wrong with your leg?” Shepard was crouched down onto her knee. “What? No. This is how humans do it.” “Do what?” “Propose.” She said it so matter of factly he almost felt absurd for asking. “Shepard—” “Garrus—” “Shepard, don’t—” “You can just call me Jane now.” “Stop.” He pulled her up, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach. She wore a calm, level expression that frustrated and excited him. “I’m not joking.” Her eyes left his and began to drift across the room as she seemed to consider her words. “Listen. I…need you.” She let the words hang for a minute, as if testing the waters. Her eyes finally settled on a point just over his shoulder, mercifully avoiding his gaze. “We’ve been in this together since the beginning. I trust you and I can’t imagine doing…any of this without you.” She finally turned her eyes to his. Her expression serious. “You're my best friend, and if I’m going into hell, I want you at my back—If you’ll have me.” She added.

“Now you’re begging.” She grinned but continued to push, “I’m serious. Nothing has to change between us. You just get a Turian hall pass to come save the galaxy with me.” It wasn’t that simple, but there was something there. “I feel like this conversation has gone from zero to 100.” He rubbed a hand over his face. He felt like he was watching himself, standing dumbly in front of her.  “Time’s kind of a luxury these days,” she shrugged. “Shepard, I don’t—this is crazy.” He shook his head. She stepped towards him and took his hand, “Garrus Vakarian, will you marry me?” He sighed and she laughed. He was confused, flattered—a little annoyed—and something else he couldn’t quite put his talon on. “I’m not taking your name.” He said, finally. She laughed again, and this time he smiled.

[munamania]

not to sit here and weave a story out of nothing like a little protagonist via my quirky online storytelling but i rekindled my friendship with sam who is such an interesting person there are just a lot of stories of all sorts and this is funny timing but truly we just fell into such an easy banter this past class so we were like omg lets hang right so. his roommate really is just like stupid hot right. i could get corny with it but i wont. a face sculpted by the hands of god though. all this prefaced i will now tell u an absolutely nothing story and i really mean that read at your own discretion ((A/N: trust and believe i yapped. putting under keep reading to be somewhat forgivable) (i am not in my best of states rn. okay.)

anyway so we're chillin in sams room im getting caught up on the latest construction projects and shit.. one thing abt sam hes always up to something. they've got an entire work desk #butchrealness. then i hear some singing out in the hallway but from where im sitting cant actually see anyone so convo just goes sam and roommate 'hey' 'hey' and then i peeked my little head out and waved and said hey and they stopped and set down their basket and said 'Hey' and then i did not introduce myself (flop) (combo of cramped room and sam talking and me being wildly awkward) (also keep in mind i dont know if this person has swiped left on me or not been on tinder or if theyd even recognize me anyway and hating that that's even a situation bc i hate that stupid app but just hoping worst case scenario i dont come off as an insane stalker but rather a victim of circumstance) but they just chatted for a sec abt whatever shelf sam needs to fix and that was that. and then they went back to humming which was cute or whatever

to set the next scene we're down in the kitchen and sams cooking and this is a while after we took his homemade gummies so im not rlly high per se but chillin and something about the noise and setup in their kitchen is so overstimulating for me lol when shes cooking im just like frozen. i always offer to help but he always just gets in a groove it's best i dont intervene. one time he had to tell me to go sit down in the other room bc i was freakin out a little lol

so im perched on this single high chair they have in the kitchen right next to their washer and dryer as sams whipping up some food and im kind of obnoxiously saying Unfortch in response to a story he was telling me and he gives me a look so im like UnfortunateLy. and then hes like 'psh i know unfortch i live with this guy' cue roommate strollin in with laundry and theyre just like Whaat and sam explains and theyre like Oh ofc you gotta know unfortch or whatever. forgot to mention that earlier in sams room they said three similar abbreviated words in a row just during a normal sentence and it caught me so off guard i wanted to giggle. so naturally my brain is going through Immediate social response of a semi awk laugh or quippy remark about that but also theyre literally like a foot away from me and im largely nonverbal atm lmfaoo so i just mumble smth to try and go along w the bit but then trailed off cause i was like wtf am i even saying. brain was overloaded

and then i was like um. i literally was just staring around doing fuck all like a perched bird or something but i was fighting a war in my mind of like ok do i introduce myself or look to sam to do so or do we not do that or is that rude idk but also they have headphones on one ear and are doing all their laundry shit and i once again dont want to be like overbearing but also well come on now we gotta feel out the vibe (and i do a great job here.) idk so im like Ok dont just look at them but dont Not look at them just behave like a normal person. you know. the usual. sam comes over to give me a bit of bread with balsamic vinegar and oil and i spilled it on my sweater fuck this stupid baka life (didnt really show. but still they were right there..)

and so after a min of this they were kinda like awkward laugh 'dont mind me' and i once again was very self conscious and had several things that wanted to come out 'not at all' 'dont mind me' 'it's your house' 'these all sound awful abby' then i got anxious that i was in the way the whole time but they were almost done and if i got into a weird apology thing well i would have had to kill myself so i just once again kind of uttered something that would have sounded like 'youresogoodicanmovetoo' and also 'sorry if i just keep like looking over at you' WTF IS THAT SHIT. FUMBLE BOOOOO and my follow up was essentially nothing cause i couldnt decide if i should say 'im just a bit out of it/high' 'im easily distracted (kys)' 'idk what to do w myself haha' 'im useless in the kitchen' (not entirely true) i mean just a few minutes before sam and i had talked about how ill just wander around peoples rooms and observe things to avoid feeling awkward and it's just how i am and so i was kinda just doing that due to the nerves of the sitch but there was only so much to look at. and i just sat there. offputting realness. whatever. so. straight face emoji. and that was mostly the extent of that i dont remember what they said in response just like a lil laugh or w/e. probably couldnt hear my stupid ass mumbling. so im thinking my chances of charming them at all are really stellar

if you read all this i want you to just take note that the events depicted here could not have been more than 3-4 minutes collectively. and yet the yap goes on..

for future reference, what did we learn? probably best to just continue convo with sam, excuse urself to br, or perhaps even attempt a conversation w them if ever in a similar situation again and they talk to you first again. also stop inventing complicated situations in ur head chill the hell out. idiot. says the bitch with the anxiety disorder. feel free to egg me on or tell me to fuck off ok xoxoxoxxo love u

[ftmtftm]

It does kinda seem that you put a whole possible group of people on blast for one kid's dumbass "joke". This is going to have repercussions that are a bit too harsh for the crime of being young and unfunny, as people are already making posts talking about sending them rape threats, suicide baiting them, and doxing them. Calling attention to this on your big blog probably wasn't the best move, even if you felt the need to distance yourself in a "its not me, its them officer" type move. This doesn't need anymore attention. It should've been handled privately with the user who originally made the joke, but I guess that's tumblr for you. Everything needs to be a circus.

I hope you're deleting any replies that are listing urls in your notes bc if you let that happen on your post, on your blog, and it goes too far, you'll have some perverbial blood on your hands too.

Hey, so first and foremost to address the very end of your ask: I have not seen anyone listing URLs in my replies or reblogs and if anyone has been doing that I would appreciate it being brought to my attention so I can delete it! I've scrubbed through the notes and my activity and cannot find anything, so if something has slipped through the cracks please tell me!

Secondly, and also related to the end of your ask, I really don't appreciate the guilt trippy nature of this ask at all! If you want to have a discussion about platforms and the way people use them, by all means we can have that conversation, but I'd prefer if it was had without the typical Tumblr accusatory guilt trip tonality. I'm addressing this upfront because addressing someone in the way you've addressed me really isn't how a productive conversation is had, but I wanna take the opportunity to try to have one. Let's just talk without trying to make each other feel bad to try to prove a point, okay?

I do agree that I should have put more thought into my post and also I should not have made it while I was on my lunch break at work. I had less control over the response to it than I would've liked and also left people in my DMs waiting on a reply in a way I'm sure was stressful. I'm not used to my posts gaining that much attention that quickly and that is on me for not having thought about that possibly.

I do think that I made it abundantly clear that I don't support the harassment of anyone, ever and that harassment and targeting individuals wasn't the goal of the post once I was able to. I do apologize that it wasn't something I was necessarily thinking about it the moment and that my comments were not soon enough to beat some of Tumblr's worst to the punch.

This is where I'm sure some people will disagree with me, but do I pretty firmly believe in openly, publicly talking about the failures of and issues within my own communities. I don't think there is anything to be gained from trying to shy away from it or trying to be quiet about it, especially when shying away or burying it just tends to lead to entire community collapse in the long run in my experience. That is why I made a post publicly about it in the first place.

I'm going to go more in depth into my reasoning for making a public post here, but if that doesn't interest you that's okay! The previous paragraph sums up my feelings pretty concisely, this next section is just expanding on it.

This is a new~ish blog, but I've been active on and off in Tumblr discourse spaces since I was about 16 so I'm looking at this informed by about a decade of experiences. The thing I've seen that happens most often is once people who aren't used to a giant influx of attention get that attention, especially if it is negative, things tend to get extremely sour extremely quickly. Usually this results in taunting, feeling like you need to get the last word in with a quippy remark, slippery slope-ing, and a lot of assumptions and poor taste comments that come from very real upset and distress. Those responses then get used as more fuel for the fire and it just continues and continues and continues really until someone deletes or abandons their blog. That's absolutely not to discredit the very real distress that is happening, but instead to call attention to this cycle that happens all the time.

I personally partially attribute the nature of this cycle to the fact that no one on the internet (especially on Tumblr) really knows how to healthily disengage because the internet is a culture all about engagement (especially negative engagement), but that's a topic for another post. The reason why I bring up the cycle is because in all of that individuals tend to get mean, defensive, and deflective and say things they might not actually mean or reflect extremely poorly out of context.

That's what has been happening with multiple people I follow the last few days, not just with one or two individuals. When a culture like that begins to take shape I think it's important to openly address the ways in which it is manifesting, especially when it includes a public joke about the oppression of another marginalized group. Like I said earlier, I do think I should have gone about it better in the ways I've already described but what's done is done in that regard. I also would like to address the fact that I explicitly, intentionally did not name individuals because there was already a harassment campaign happening and I did not want to directly contribute to that. Again, I see the failures within that especially given my own personal timing, I just want to give context for anyone reading this ask.

Again, you're more than allowed to disagree with my feelings or my responses/lack of response due to other constraints and you can extrapolate as much ill will and negativity from it all as you'd like. I can't control the thoughts and actions of other people. I do, however, know myself and I know how I feel and while I do believe I should have been more thoughful about my timing and wording I don't have any issue with openly addressing actions I disagree with in communities I'm in. Especially ones like that. That's not really going to change because of an anon slippery slope-ing about proverbial blood on my hands in my askbox.

I also want to add on the end here that I don't particularly like the accusation that I'm a "big blog" when before I made that post I had under 200 followers. Sure, I'm vocal, I've got a decently put together mobile layout, and I speak like I know what I'm talking about, but I'm that doesn't make me a "big blog" - I've just been on Tumblr for a decade and know my way around most of the time (though, as I think this shows, I'm also still human and have my own blind spots like everyone else).

[procrastinating-panda]

“Sorry about eye candy and the bikini cops” 〜John Hart

Plot: After “Children of Earth” Jack needs some company. 

Warning: Mentions a bar but direct mention of alcohol. The word “Arse” Mentions of pre-Miracle Day Gwen Cooper.

Pairing: Jack x John (comfort)

Requested by: @thelittlemisssassypants (Sorry this took so long)

In a bar out in space, Jack sat alone trying not to think about Torchwood, his grandson or Ianto but drowning his thoughts in alcohol isn’t an option with his abilities. So instead he sits silently and politely rejects anyone who tries to talk him up. A strong hand grabs his shoulder and swings him around, he sees who it is and his face is filled with disdain.

“I’m really not in the mood for you.” Jack then gestures at the bartender that he’s done.

“Too bad you’re in my territory now.” John notices that Jack is avoiding his gaze.

“Then I’ll leave.” Jack pays his tab and walks out of the bar. Following behind him “Hey, just because I”m your ex doesn’t mean you have to be so cold.” John awaits a witty retort but doesn’t receive one as Jack continues to walk away.

 “Where are you going? Back to eye candy and the bikini cops!” Before he could react Jack had John up against a wall with his hands around his throat.

“Now that’s more like it!” John obviously exhilarated by his current position winked at Jack, who instantly let him go to John’s disappointment.

“Come Jack let’s have some fun!”  The irritating time agent baited. In a moment of vulnerability, Harkness mumbled “They’re gone.” With a bewildered look on his face, he asks,

“Who? Bikini Cops?” Jack looks away to hide the pain on his face. “What, All of them?” Harkness takes a deep breath and then responds. “No… Gwen is ok, pregnant actually.”

“So the one that punched me is still alive!” Hart said then immediately regretted it. In fact, his face soon mirrored Jack’s misery. “I’m sorry about your team.” Giving him the quippy retort he craves Harkness responded. “Gwen only punched you because you held her hostage, you deserved it and more.”

The two shared a laugh and left for where John was staying. When they arrived John confessed “I know that I was always a pain in the arse and you’d always put up with me, thank you. Obviously, your team meant a lot, you can stay here as long as you’d like, I won't bother you.”

Captain Harness looked around the room Hart had put him up in, he decided it had an empty and lonely feeling so he turned around “Stay don’t be a pain in my ass” He chuckled.

“Just stay.” Accepting his invitation John runs his hands threw his hair and then held the burly man who practically collapsed into his arms.

“We can talk if you like, I’m not just a shoulder to cry on you know,” Jack chuckles and John feels like he has accomplished his goal of cheering up his friend. Jack’s only response is to kiss John on the cheek.

Hart reciprocates with his lips as well on Jack’s forehead. Those two weeks stuck in a time loop were well spent as Hart seemed to know exactly how to relax Jack.

He seemed to know caressing Jack’s face, massaging his hair and holding him as tightly as he could would make all the loss he’s suffered weigh a little less on his soul.

The captains kissed, cuddled and reminisced about equally chaotic but happier times.

[hannieween]

part 5 teaser: city lights series | h.js

✮ pairings: joshua hong x afab!reader ✮ genre: smut mdni you'll get blocked ✮ aus: rock singer joshua, neighbours with benefits ✮ wc for teaser: 3k

↣ click here to read previous parts – click here to read my other fics

₊ nsfw tags under the cut!!

✮ tags: joshua's pov, smut with plot, big dick joshua, thigh grinding while joshua is on the phone (i know it's very cliché but i love it let me be), fingering (f), unprotected sex, cowgirl, creampie, pet names: pretty, baby, bunny, sweetheart, princess. | this is a wip, so it is not fully edited and is subject to change in the actual full part (> '–' <;)

more tags will be added in the full chapter

part v — teaser

"I'm happy for you, Joshua," you told him with a small smile.

"Yeah, baby?" he purred and he could feel your legs tense up on his lap when he called you that.

"Yeah," you breathed sweetly.

"How happy are you?" he smiled, noticing that you weren't listening anymore.

"So happy," you whispered idly now, leaning forward to capture his lips with your own.

The kiss was brief but soft, your lips were the softer he's ever kissed, and he couldn't get enough of the softness. Joshua released your wrists and your hands instantly slid up his abdomen, a shudder ran down his body when your hands reached his chest and you were taking his tank top off.

"So, so happy," you muttered again dazedly. You landed a few kisses on his lips and then your attention was drawn to his neck, where you started placing open mouthed kisses.

A low laugh resounded in Joshua's chest. "You're not sad I'm leaving?"

"Yes I am," you replied, again, almost in a daze.

"You're sad you won't be fucked this weekend, bunny?" he dared ask, feeling like he was crossing multiple lines.

"What?" you blurted, that seemingly snapping you out from your trance. "Joshua!"

He chuckled when he heard your high pitched voice reprimand him. "Answer the question."

"No, Joshua! I will miss you," you replied with a nervous tinge in your voice.

"Why?" he bit his lip.

Lately, he had been crossing the line of being just your fuckbuddy. And he knew that. But something troubled him and every time he tried to press about it, you'd get nervous and brush him off.

"You-you're my friend, you-," you frowned, stopping suddenly and slapped his shoulder harder this time. "Stop playing games, Joshua Hong!"

The tone your voice acquired whenever you chastised him was amusing to him, he even threw his head back a bit as he laughed at your reaction.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop," he said finally. "I'll miss you too, bunny."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Yeah, right."

He didn't get a chance to respond, your lips were on his when he tried to say some quippy response.

He meant it though—although he wasn't sure what exactly he would miss. It was only a weekend.

His fingers found the hem of your t-shirt and yanked it off your body, his train of thought fading to the back of his mind when he realised you weren't wearing a bra.

"Can I mark you again?" you asked eagerly after his hands started cupping your breasts.

"Yeah, go ahead," he replied, not really caring that his skin was healing from the other darkened spots.

You sighed softly in his neck when his fingers toyed with your nipples. "Fuck," you breathed and pressed your hips against his.

"You're swearing more often," he pointed with a smile.

"Sorry," you mumbled back shyly, kissing the spot below his ear.

"Fuck," he tensed up when you sucked his skin on the sensitive area. "Don't worry," he giggled softly.

"Maybe I need to stop hanging out with you," you mumbled jokingly, he could even feel you smiling on the crook of his neck where you landed another lovebite.

"Mmm yeah, maybe," he replied aloofly.

"Would you like that, Joshua?" you asked and for a moment he liked that you were asking that question with the same intonation he uses when he asks you things while fucking you.

And to think you almost call him 'baby', too.

"No," he replied shortly. "I wouldn't."

Your lips reached his collarbones and he muttered more cuss words.

"You're so sensitive," you teased against his skin with a tinge of fondness in your tone.

Joshua couldn't make a reply again, feeling like it was self explanatory: his body liked you. Everything you did to him felt a million times better than anything ever did before.

You pressed your core down on his hardening cock and he groaned louder.

"Do you want me to take my pants off?" you asked sheepishly, batting your eyelashes at him.

"Fuck, yes, please," he muttered with a sigh.

You said nothing about him completely forgetting to dom you, instead, you smiled sweetly at him and stood from his lap. Your fingers played with the band of your sweatpants and when you stepped out of them, his mouth parted a little.

Joshua loved how confident you had become. When he first met you and slept with you, your body language was down right timid, which was totally okay to him, he also found it cute. He found it cute to see your fingers would tremble and the stutter was a bit more prominent. But now, you were more playful with him, even flirty sometimes.

"I like that on you, baby," he muttered when all you wore was a pretty lacey thong. "Did you wear it for me?"

"Yeah," you replied coyly.

Joshua swallowed thickly. "Can you show me?"

You silently nodded and slowly turned around to show him. He smiled through a soft sigh when you displayed your nearly naked body to him.

Then, much to his disgrace, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Ignore it," he mumbled. "It's probably Jihoon again."

"What if it's important?" you asked.

"You're right," he replied and fished his phone out of his pocket. "What is it, now?" he growled into his phone when he picked up Jihoon's call.

"Damn, why are you pissy again?" Jihoon said. "I'm calling you to tell you something about the setlist and dynamics because I think we need to rehearse more," he begun.

"Can't this wait?" Joshua groaned and threw his head back in the couch.

"This is important," he pressed. "We only have a few days to prepare. Then, who knows what we'll be able to do."

Joshua closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Be quick."

Jihoon started rambling. That was all Joshua could hear, essentially. Just babbling about stage dynamics, setlist order, specific details about lyrics, everything.

Something soft landed on his bare thigh and he opened his eyes to find you rolling his shorts up uncovering his thigh. Then you pressed a knee in the couch beside him and then you sat your pretty, wet pussy on his thigh and your hips started swaying back and forth.

At least you could have some fun through this, he thought.

He felt torn between Jihoon's voice telling him important things about the upcoming weekend's two-night concerts and you riding his thigh. His eyes landed on your forgotten thong lying on the floor and he smiled.

"Are you there? I'm telling you something important," Jihoon reprimanded, getting annoyed.

"I'm here," he replied flatly. His hand slid on your hip to press down on you, indicating that you could go harder on his thigh. Your eyes found his, you looked flustered and hot.

Your eyes widened, your pouty lips and your brow slightly furrowed as you continued riding his thigh.

He moved his hands from your hip and gently teased one of your nipples with his thumb and pointer finger. You bit your lower lip and pressed your pussy harder on his tensed muscles of his strong thigh.

"Are you there?" Jihoon said. "I'm thinking of changing Dawn to be the closing song."

"Mmm, no. I think it's best if we end with a bang, don't you think?" Joshua replied expertly, not caring that he barely heard what his bandmate was saying before that.

"Yeah, you're right. We're playing for a bigger crowd and opening for a heavier band. So maybe we should include more of our old songs, since those are a bit heavier."

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds great," Joshua muttered. His eyes trained on you, a few strands of your hair had stuck on your wet lips and when you exhaled softly, they fell at the side of your face.

"And what about our new songs?"

Your hands were anchored in his shoulders, fingers digging on his skin so hard it hurt him a bit.

But he didn't care, he knew you were close because you started to sway your hips harder and with a certain rhythm, not exactly fast but your mouth was parting the same way it always does when you're almost there.

"What about them?" he replied, trying not to hang up in that minute and help you out.

His thumb started to rub one of your nipples, making your hips stutter in their sway a little and you started twitching on his lap, coming on just grinding against him.

His big eyes lifted to yours, a pleased smile drawing on his face as he watched you came.

"When should he play them?" Jihoon asked with an obvious tone.

"They should be the first songs of our set," Joshua replied flatly, seeing you come silently on his leg until your hips stopped swaying.

His hand grabbed you by your hip, motioning to move a little and you stilled on his lap, pulling back so that you weren't sitting on hips lap.

Then a moan escaped you when he slipped his fingers inside your wet cunt.

"What was that?" his bandmate asked slowly.

"What are you talking about?" Joshua asked back, feigning innocence with mastery.

"I thought I heard—whatever, I'm going crazy," he sighed.

"You and me both, man," Joshua said through a breath, although it was evident to him that they weren't talking about the same thing.

You started riding his fingers and he knew you were enjoying being heard because you started moaning more frequently, small groans fell from your soft lips, your eyes fluttering close when he started palming your clit as you rode two of his fingers.

"So, that would be the setlist. We need to rehearse man, a lot," his bandmate told him reproachfully. "

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, Jihoon," he muttered absentmindedly.

"Now, about the transportation of our things."

Joshua groaned out of frustration and you smiled at him. He looked so cute to you, his pouty lips and furrowed brow. Joshua decided he was going to spice things up a bit, so he introduced a third finger.

"Oh god," you muttered and his palm pressed harder on your clit. "Fuck, that's good."

Jihoon was discussing details about the transportation of their instruments. The tour production of the band they were opening to actually provided them with the sound equipment so he wasn't too worried he had to rent something. So he didn't listen to what his bandmate was saying.

Because you started moaning again, your face telling on your second orgasm. You were determined on making yourself cum again, the movement of your hips changed and you were practically pressing on his hand so hard it started to go numb.

"God, Joshua," you breathed and started moaning, over and over again, cumming loudly on his fingers.

"Is that—are you watching porn?" Jihoon finally asked.

"Nope," Joshua muttered simply.

"Why does that sound like porn?" he sounded scandalized.

"I'll call you later, Jihoon. Bye," Joshua tossed his phone to the side and his free hand pulled you from the nape of your neck to kiss you hungrily as your pussy clenched his fingers hard.

"Having fun, princess?" he asked gruffly on your lips, then he nibbled your lower lip softly with his teeth.

"Mmm yeah," you replied sweetly, smiling playfully at him. "What was your call about?"

"Nothing that important," he said dismissively. "He might've heard you though."

"Oh, god. Really? Did he mention something?" your eyes widened.

"He thought I was watching porn," he smiled amusedly at you.

"God, that's so embarrassing," you replied, biting your lip and then you stood from his lap.

Joshua stuck his soaked fingers on his mouth, licking your slick off of him with a pleased groan. You were standing between his spread legs, so he just grabbed you by your hips to place soft wet kisses on your tummy.

"Can I—can I ride you?" you asked with a tiny voice as your fingers tangled in his dark hair,

"Yes, baby, fuck yes," he groaned and sat back when your hands gently pushed him by the shoulders.

You grabbed the waistband of his shorts and briefs and pulled them down together, undressing him completely.

"Fuck, baby. You're really needy today," he muttered in amazement.

"I was thinking of you today," you explained with a shrug as you sat back on his lap, straddling him on your couch. "Couldn't get you out of my mind."

"Why, what were you thinking of?" he asked, grabbing you by your hips again as your hands found his shoulders again to help yourself not lose your balance.

"I was thinking of doing this," you nodded to his naked body sitting on the couch.

"Mmm so you were fantasizing while writing your book?" he asked as your hand wrapped around his big cock and stroke his shaft.

"I couldn't even get work done," you nodded with a sigh. "It's driving me crazy."

Your thumb rubbed the precum gathering on the tip and he swallowed thickly as he processed what you just said to him.

You propped yourself on your knees, his hands guiding you down as you held his cock for you to ease yourself down on it.

Joshua groaned, his hands involuntarily clenching on your lovehandles. You also moaned loudly, shuddering hard on top of him as you bottomed out on his cock.

"So big," you sighed tiredly.

Joshua let out a faint laugh, his hands moving your hips back and forth slightly, urging you to move.

"Okay?" he muttered, his voice already strained.

"Yeah, 'm okay," you nodded, anchoring yourself with your hands on his marked chest.

"Fuck," Joshua swallowed hard and threw his head back slightly, his fingers trying to dig holes into your skin.

You started riding him faster, his hands shifting from your hips to your ass, following your movements as you practically bounced on his cock.

"Joshua," you whimpered. "Let me kiss you."

That was a bit of a problem to him.

It took him some moments to realise it at first, but when you dipped your had to lock your lips with his own, he moaned. He was just so weak for you, he usually found it so hard to contain himself when he was with you, but when you started landing kisses on him, he just couldn't resist.

You blinked and locked eyes with him, a frown appearing on your face when Joshua pulled his head back with a guttural groan. His hands grabbed your hips and forced them to stop, retracting your wet, throbbing pussy from his cock abruptly.

"Fuck, sorry, fuck. I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, clenching his jaw hard and screwing his eyes close.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reading his face desperately.

"Shh," he shuddered slightly.

You understood what was happening, and when Joshua opened his eyes again, he found you smiling.

"What's wrong?" you asked again when allowed to you ease back down on his cock.

He licked his lips and shot you a brief look. "Almost came," he muttered shyly.

"From kissing me?!" your voice shot up an octave higher.

He groaned and threw his head back again on the couch and nodded wordlessly.

"Why?" you pried.

Joshua's hands were kneading on your sides, trying to get you to move a little faster, since it seemed that you had forgotten to continue riding him.

"I like it," he replied and his eyes shot you a dark look when you laughed.

"Sorry. I shouldn't laugh, 'm sorry," you tried to regain control of yourself but a big smile spread on your face, you even looked teary eyed for a second.

But Joshua smiled too despite himself. "You find that funny, princess?"

"A bit, yeah. It's cute," you muttered, suppressing a moan when you found a certain angle that you liked, you leaned forward a bit, taking his cock in your walls slowly.

"Cute?" Joshua snorted.

"All this time I thought—I was so dumb," you sighed and smiled to something only you appeared to be knowing of.

"What?" he pressed.

"Nothing," you shook your head and started riding his cock faster, earning a groan from him.

Then your hand sneaked in between you and him and started toying with your clit using your fingers. Joshua's eyes trailed down to where your bodies joined and saw your pretty fingers swirling around your swollen bud.

He might've come from the sight alone. He was biting his lip, watching you bounce on his cock, completely naked, making soft noises with your mouth as you appeared to be reaching your release again.

"Oh, Joshua—I'm close," you mumbled, pushing your forehead against his. Your pussy was clenching harder and you stiffened a moan. "Fuck, so close, Joshua."

"Do you want me to cum with you, baby?" he asked, his fingers teasing your nipples softly.

"Yes, god, yes. Please, Joshua," you whimpered.

"Want me to cum inside too?" his voice was low and strained.

"Yeah, oh god, Joshua. Ah'm there," your hips pressed down him and your cunt squeezed him hard.

"God, fuck baby," he muttered and his hands grabbed you to help you keep moving on his cock as you went completely languid, succumbing to your third orgasm.

You leaned down and pressed your forehead on the crook of his neck, muffling the sounds of your whimpers and cries of pleasure as you came. Soft wet kisses and nibbles on his skin made him moan and cuss, the tip of your tongue swiped a line on his neck to his earlobe and that tipped him over the edge.

Joshua pushed his hips forward, thrusting his cum deep inside you, riding both your orgasms in a frenzied craze, he screwed his eyes shut while you continued to place lovebites in the crook of his neck, your body almost convulsing against his.

He was breathing hard, feeling like he almost passed out right there on your couch, his cock still inside your walls. What kept him conscious was the fluttering sensation on his chest, your heartbeat banging so fast against his that for a second he thought of asking you if you were feeling it too.

Fuck, he would miss this. Even if it was only a weekend.

₊ tagging: @aaniag @dkluvrsclub @zezedoesshit @purediva @lleercy @vivibelov3d @spiderlingh @kiwimash12 @mawwnsterr @cottoncheol @f3v3rs @kyeomooniee @amoryeonjun @hooniewnderland @jwirecs @scoupsjin @honglynights @neofixcs @mental-hollows @dr3aluv5 @yogurttea @hearts4faey @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @ycvcfbs

hey lovelies!! i hope you liked the teaser!

i'll post full part a soon as it's finished!!

bye!! ヾ(•ω•`)o

[somnambulants]

yelena requests you say? can i throw in my hand and ask for something with yelena telling you she loves you for the first time? 👉🏼👈🏼😌 thank you in advance!

open up those blinds

Word count: 1.3K Warnings: BW spoilers

Yelena knows she isn’t good with love. It doesn’t come easy to her. Not anymore. There was a time in her life that she remembers the words I love you had fallen from her lips quicker and with more ease than breathing.

It’s very distant. Very far away in her mind, like she was a whole different person and she kind of was.

But she remembers.

To be fair, she’d also been six and thought she’d been saying those words to her mother, her father, her sister. Her family. None of it had been real. Not even her love and especially not theirs.

Except Natasha. Her sister. But Natasha, her sister, was --

Either way, Yelena now can’t recall a time since where she’d told someone she loved them.

Not genuinely anyway.

In the years since escaping the red room, she’s had multiple relationships – multiple flings, she would call them actually and all of them had ended more disastrously than the last.

She’d been slapped by a lover scorned a lot more times than she’d admit but it was what is was in her mind. Life went on.

She doesn’t do love. Love is for children, as far as she’s concerned. She doesn’t need love. She has Fanny and all she really needs is her dog. And to her own slight wariness still; she will pick up Alexei and Melina’s calls when they do reach out.

But that’s it. She doesn’t need anyone else.

She’s not a total recluse though, she likes people — the normal ones — most of the time and she knows she’s charming. She can have anyone she wants. She just doesn’t care enough to keep them.

Not until she meets you.

That’s when it all changes.

It’s such a clichéd way to meet; like one of the rom-coms she secretly enjoys but would never tell anyone she enjoys.

She’s walking Fanny one day and all of a sudden, her dog – the Houdini of dogs – escapes out of her collar and lead and is running off down the street like something’s chasing her.

“Fanny, come,” she calls out after her, exasperated. It’s futile. Fanny keeps running, too fast for her to catch up so she has to jog after her, still calling out as her dog disappears entirely from sight.

She growls under her breath while she follows. “You ungrateful dog,” she mutters to herself. “Never giving you treats again. Or belly rubs. Or letting you sleep in my bed. See how you like it.”

As soon as she turns the corner, she finds Fanny, no longer running. And then you, the reason she is no longer running.

You’re on your knees on the ground as Fanny stands over you, paws on your shoulders, licking your face as you laugh and pat her on the head gently.

“Fanny,” she barks again to no avail. She might as well be invisible for all the attention she’s getting from her dog.

“Nice dog,” you call out to her, as Fanny gives you another lick on the check.

Still on the ground, you have to look up at her as you say it. You’re covered in mud and dirt, clothes dishevelled and covered with Fanny’s pawprints, and before she knows it, Yelena’s falling, falling, falling.

“Thanks,” is all she says, at a loss for words. Something that never happens to her. Normally she’d be saying something quippy and borderline obnoxious by now, while she flirted with you shamelessly.

You grin and hold out your hand to her. “Y/N.”

--

The first time you tell her you love her, she stares at you, wide-eyed and silent for long enough that your face starts to fall before you force a smile that probably wouldn’t even convince Fanny, who is sitting in the corner, paws over her eyes like she can’t bear to watch the train wreck in front of her.

Yelena wishes she could do the same.

“It’s okay,” you tell her, expression taut as you try to smooth away the hurt she can see plainly. You turn away as you say it but Yelena doesn’t miss the way your lip trembles; the way this is clearly not okay. “It’s okay. I’m going to go have a uh, shower, okay?”

You don’t come out of the bathroom for hours. Yelena sits on your shared bed and silently cries to herself, wondering what the hell is wrong with her.

She loves you. She loves you so much. She knows she does.

She just can’t say it.

That night, in bed, Yelena stares at the ceiling still thinking, or more aptly agonising about it while you flick through your emails beside her.

You’d returned from the bathroom eventually, your eyes red and not quite meeting her own but you still had given her a kiss on the cheek that she felt in no way deserving off.

You haven’t broached the topic again – haven’t so much as gone near it and things between you have just settled uneasily. Like it’s an elephant in the room neither of you can bear to address.

Fanny is curled up by Yelena’s side, nose pressed against her thigh. She’s looking up at her with her big doleful puppy eyes, as if she can sense Yelena’s despondency. Every so often, she’ll lean in to lick her on the arm.

Eventually, you’re the one that gives in and breaks the awkward tension between you both.

“You’re quiet, tonight,” you say, finger hovering over the keyboard as you scroll. She can hear the anxiety in your voice and hates that she put it there. “Everything okay?”

It’s clearly not. You both know that but it’s your way of giving her an out; a way to put this behind you and pretend it never happened if she says ‘yes’. It makes her love you — and hurts a little — all the more that you’d do that for her if she wanted you to.

Yelena doesn’t answer you for a long second, chewing on her nails as she continues to mull over what she can do to fix this.

She doesn’t know how to do this; no one prepared her for this. For you.

The silence stretches on long enough that she starts to panic. It pretty much bursts out of her. “I do. Love you, you know that?” she blurts out, stumbling over the words. It’s definitely not what she was planning on saying but now she’s talking she can’t stop. “So much. I’m just not… good… I’m not good at love. I don’t want to ruin this.”

Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of its chest as you pause, your eyes no longer flicking across the screen, just staring at it blankly now. She wonders briefly if she’s having a heart attack. It feels like it.

She watches your brows furrow a little as you digest her words. Trained from a young age, Yelena is an expert at deciphering body language; and even more so with you so she knows by the look on your face that you’re trying to figure out what to say.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

Gently, you close your laptop and turn to her, shifting so you can pull her into your arms. Yelena doesn’t think she’s breathed out this entire time and so air comes out of her in a rush as she eagerly leans into you.

“I think you’re pretty great at love, actually,” you tell her quietly after a long stretch of silence, your voice careful but still completely sincere. She can feel your lips pressed against her temple as you speak. “And I love that about you. You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready yet.”

She can tell you’re being honest. There’s no inflection in your tone that indicates untruthfulness. And even if she wasn’t trained to spot lies, you were not a particularly proficient liar even on your best days.

In response to your words, she finds that she can’t speak and instead just twists around so she can kiss you.

It’s less co-ordinated than usual but she kisses you fiercely, hoping you can feel how much she loves you as she does.

The way you smile against her lips tells her you do.

[moonbeamwritings]

hi maeve!! can i request something a little angsty? how about jotaro making up with his s/o after they argue and s/o is hurt?

hey! you certainly can! hope you enjoy! <3

making up after an argument w/ Jotaro

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t know, Jotaro,” your tone was biting, frustration evident in your voice and in the furrow of your brows, “anything, to be honest. You’re never home and when you are, it feels like you want nothing to do with me! I don’t think I’m asking for a lot here!”

The words left Jotaro’s mouth before he could even think to stop them, raising his voice slightly to match the confrontational tone you’d taken. “Maybe if you weren’t so damn clingy it wouldn’t be an issue.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply, to shoot back that again, you weren’t asking for a lot, that this wasn’t how relationships were supposed to work, but the words clung to the inside of your throat, refusing to budge from their place at the tip of your tongue.

Jotaro watched as your eyes glistened, tears clinging to your eyelashes as your bottom lip wobbled. 

Oh no.

His heart began to ache as you broke down, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with your head hung low and face obscured by your trembling hands.

In hindsight, he could’ve said quite literally anything else to ease the frustrations that had been building up in your mind in his absence: “I love you,” “I’m sorry,” “I’ll try harder.” 

Anything. Anything but the quippy remark he hadn’t even meant in the first place.

Jotaro felt like a fish out of water, uselessly flopping around on a boiling hot ship deck as he struggled to pull in a breath, lungs on fire with the effort of it all.

“Listen, I’m-”

“Can you just get out?” The words stung, it felt as if you’d just struck him with a fierce backhand. He could hear the small sniffles and the tired sigh that passed your lips before you continued. “Please? I just... I can’t do this right now, Jotaro.”

His throat constricted even further, tightening and making it hard to swallow. “Let me just-”

He had to force the words out, though he supposed it didn’t really matter. You’d already moved, curling in on yourself on the bed, your back facing the door, facing him. “Just go.”

With a sharp inhale, Jotaro left the room, closing the door behind him as he went. After a moment spent trying to collect himself just outside, he finally moved to collapse into the desk chair in his office, face illuminated by the soft glow of his computer in the otherwise darkened room.

He resigned himself to the silence he found there, hunching over his desk as the conversation played over and over in his mind. Without realizing it, Jotaro began to cry, salty tears racing down his face and hitting the papers that littered his desk, splattering the ink and blurring their words. He didn’t have it in him to care.

He was an asshole; the same pathetic little teenager who was mean to his mom and aloof to the very people he considered friends. A man destined to walk the Earth tired, miserable, and alone.

And after all this time Jotaro even had the audacity to think that he’d changed, that with you in his life the stress in his shoulders would ease and he could finally, finally, allow himself to be vulnerable. But he just had to go and fuck it all up for the sake of what? His own pride? A feeble attempt at saving face when he knew you were right?

He hadn’t been home and if he was, he was slaving away in his office until the early hours of the morning, hunched over his desk in a way not too dissimilar from how he was sitting now. Of course you’d taken that personally, how could you not? Jotaro kicked himself for not realizing your feelings sooner.

He needed you and he’d be damned if he didn’t attempt to fix what he’d broken.

On wobbly knees and with tears still drying on his cheeks, Jotaro made his way back down the hall to land a light knock against the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

When he was met with no response, he pushed the door open anyway, maneuvering over to the bed to fix himself along the edge, keeping his distance.

“I thought I told you to get out.”

You didn’t even sound angry anymore just tired. The thought sent Jotaro’s mouth into a frown. “I wanted to apologize. I can’t leave you in here like this.”

His eyes met your back as he spoke and he allowed the silence to sit for a moment, giving you the opportunity to interject if you wanted. When you didn’t, Jotaro sucked in a deep breath and willed himself to continue. He needed to be vulnerable. For you. “What I said before was cruel and untrue. You’re not clingy. I just-”

A sigh passed his lips and you shuffled beside him. “I didn’t want you to tell me I wasn’t caring for you like I should be. I didn’t want to hear it because I knew it was true.”

He paused for a moment, blinking a few times as he swallowed. “I’ve been an asshole the past few weeks. I’m sorry.”

You rolled over to meet his gaze, staring up at him with a frown of your own. “You really hurt my feelings and you’re going to have to do a lot more than apologize to make it up to me.”

“I know.”

“Breakfast in the morning is on you. And I expect at least an hour to cuddle in bed before you disappear for the day. And we’ll talk about this more.” You tucked yourself close to his chest, not exactly how you’d usually cuddle up to him but he relished in your warmth all the same.

Jotaro smiled at your words. “Anything you want.”

“Well,” he could hear the teasing smile in your words, “don’t say anything. You’ll spoil me.”

He brought his lips to the crown of your head. “You deserve it... I’m sorry again.”

“It’s okay, Jotaro. I’m sorry I dumped it all on you. I should’ve talked to you before it got to that point.”

“Don’t apologize. You were right.”

Silence fell in the room though this time it was far from stifling. Jotaro felt like he could finally breathe again, with you at his side and willing to talk. Overwhelmed by the feeling of love blooming in his chest, he brought a hand up to rest against your head and placed another kiss to your forehead.

Closing his eyes, he focused on the quiet sound of your breathing. “I love you... so much.”

“I love you too.”

Jotaro knew this would only be the first in many stumbles on his way to vulnerability, on his way to loving you unrestrained by hesitation and pride, but with your weight on his arm and his hand smoothing over your hair, he knew it would all be worth it in the end.

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Missed Opportunities | Helmut Zemo x Reader

Here's a little something I cooked up. Not sure what I want to do with it, but it was bugging me to be written. For better or worse.

This is a little Helmut Zemo/Female Reader moment. It has Sam and Bucky too. It's not fully developed, but hopefully you all can enjoy it for what it is.

OOOOO

You were in Germany when you got the call from Sam. He needed help locating the Flag-Smashers, and was hoping you could offer some assistance.

He just happened to call at the perfect time, because as it turns out, the person you went to visit was no longer around. So, since you had essentially made a trip across the ocean for nothing; you figured, why not? Might as well make something of your travels abroad and not make it a total loss.

Sam gave instructions to meet him at a residence in Riga, Latvia. He mentioned very little other than that. Technically though, that wasn't entirely his fault. You're pretty sure he intended to provide more information, but Bucky was shouting, "Hellos.", "You've been missed!", and her personal favorite, an exasperated, "Please save me from my tormentor."

After Bucky's outburst, Sam had seemed to have forgotten about you on the phone; so you were just listening to constant bickering in the background. All you could do was shake your head and laugh at this point. Truly, Earth's greatest defenders were simply children at times.

It was good to hear their laughs. It had been too long and the world was still recovering.

We all were.

Bucky, Sam, and you all disappeared when Thanos snapped his fingers, wiping out half the universe. When you all returned, there was love and there was loss all around, but it bonded the three of you in a friendship deeper than any of you could imagine.

Okay, perhaps, that's a slight exaggeration. You became extremely good friends with both James and Sam; however, the two of them are a different story altogether. They won't admit to their friendship, but you know they'll both come around one day. They're just being stubborn idiots. God, she missed those two guys. It's been months since she had laid eyes either one of them.

So, here you are, standing right out front the door Sam gave instructions to meet at.

You fiddled with the arm of the backpack strapped across your chest. You didn't think you'd be this nervous, but a combination of excitement and adrenaline had caused you to be a bit jumpy. You tried to shrug it off as you raised your hand to knock on the door.

Not even 10 seconds after you knocked on the door you heard the shuffle of footsteps, accompanied with the ever present response of, "I got it."

Only the footsteps halted abruptly and muffled discussions were faintly heard through the door. You couldn't make out what was being said, only that no further movement had been made to answer the door.

I swear to God, if they are simply having an argument about who gets to open the door, I am going to murder them both on the spot.

You were about to knock on the door again a bit more insistently, but you never got the chance as the door abruptly swung open to reveal Bucky.

As you stared back at one another, you couldn't help but noticed his tense appearance, which is not all that unusual for him, but it was a more strained posture. You assumed it had something to do with whatever was being talked about just moments prior to answering the door.

It couldn't have been too serious because seconds later he dropped all pretense and gave you a heartfelt smile before sweeping you up in his arms for a hug.

He all but dragged you inside, it only caused you to chuckle at his enthusiasm. Yeah, you had missed him a lot.

The hug continued to linger on, and you could hear the door behind you close. You were about to motion to Bucky to release you from his hold when you heard Sam pipe in highly amused, "Buck, give her some room to breath."

You could feel the glare James was giving Sam, but he did let you go eventually.

Upon the release from your hug, the sleeves of your blue hoodie had drifted past your hands; you pushed them up a bit where you could grab James's hand and squeeze it in silent thanks.

After letting go of Bucky, you turned around to face Sam, shaking your head and grinning at him with delight, "Never a dull moment around here is there?"

"Never," Sam replied. "It's my turn, now," holding his arms out, he smiled pulling you into a softer embrace, but no less enthusiastic.

You huffed out a laugh and hugged him back with equal fervor.

A few moments had passed, and you reluctantly untangled yourself from Sam. More pleasantries had been exchanged and small talk had filled up the space as you walked fully into open living space.

You did a turn about the room as you headed towards the kitchen area with the guys trailing behind you. You had grabbed the strap of your backpack and had lifted it over your head.

You were about to place your stuff on the kitchen island when you heard soft footfalls make their way from the outer hallway towards you.

The unexpected noise caused you to hesitate; you turned your head towards Sam and James with a puzzled expression on your face. You had opened your mouth with the intention to ask them who else was in the safe house with you, when you saw him.

The backpack you were holding had fallen out of your hands and onto the floor with a thud, but you couldn't tear your eyes off the man standing across the room from you now. Your face had gone completely slack jaw and eyes had widen in shock leaving you speechless.

You would normally have said something quippy in this moment, but your brain had stopped functioning.

The silence was finally broken from Sam's response to the situation.

"Okay, I know what this looks like. We can explain him," Sam cautiously said. "Actually, Bucky should be the one to share this story, since it was his idea."

You could hear the words Sam was saying, but they never really registered. You assumed he thought you were shocked because the man who stood in front of you once tore your friends a part. Because he was supposed to be in a prison in Germany. Any other number of reasons could potentially be listed. What Sam didn't realize, was that the man standing before you was the last person you saw before you disintegrated before his eyes, and this was the first time since that chaos you had seen him again.

Other than Sam's calm reply, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Perhaps it was because the same look of shock and awe was reflected on Zemo's face.

You tried to form a response, something, anything to say.

Neither Sam or Bucky knew you used to visit Zemo after he was imprisoned. Whenever you travelled to Germany, you would tell them you had a contact that only agreed to provide information face to face. They never put two and two together, but they also trusted you implicitly; so they had no reason to ever question your motives or who exactly you were going to see. You actually saw Zemo a fair amount of time. More often than not, it was always to learn about the inner workings of Hydra. While they may be diminished in capacity; they still had not been completely eradicated. And you were determined to locate and destroy every remaining Hydra base, and dismantle them once and for all. They took your parents from you, and you were going to make sure they couldn't hurt anyone ever again. So, Zemo had been the obvious choice to help gain as much information as possible in your quest.

So, over the course of 2 years, you had made several trips to see him. You could almost say you were on friendly terms, but mostly, you believed his kindness and willingness to provide information was a benefit to him. To interact with someone on the outside to remind him he's not completely alone in the world.

The last time you saw each other was a day like any other you would come to visit. You'd lean outside his glass cell and just talk. The prison only allotted an hour's visit. So you always had to make your time worth while.

This particular day was colder than usual for the time of year. And being left outside the prison hallway where Zemo's cell was located only caused the draft to further lower the temperature with the concrete walls. You had involuntarily shivered as a cold draft had blasted in from one of hallways. Zemo had taken notice and unzipped his hoodie, passing it off to the guard to hand over to you. In that moment, the realization came that things were no longer black and white between the two of you. When you asked him why, he simply shrugged and said it's what any gentleman should do. His expression had softened though and was no longer outwardly indifferent. You had put on the blue garment and zipped it up; tugging at the sleeves as the hoodie was much larger on your frame than his.

There was only about 30 minutes left of your visit when alarm bells started going off. Zemo had pushed himself against the glass to look down the closest hallway to try and see what was going on. You had tried to remain calm, but when the guard standing nearby had disappeared right in front of you both, you knew something was dreadfully wrong.

With visible panic on your face, you had whispered out the word Thanos to Zemo. You'll never forget what happened next or the expression on his face. There was a hitch in your lungs and a strong tugging sensation drifting through your chest. You stumbled into the glass and fell to your knees in front of Zemo. You had slumped onto your side trying to concentrate on what was happening to you. You peered up at Zemo as he had slid himself down the glass to your level gazing at you in concern. You could hear him shouting for help, but there was no one around. You placed your hand on the glass to get his attention, and only then did you realize, you had tears in your eyes.

He brought his hand up on the other side of the glass and placed it against where yours was. Funny how an instance can change everything between two people. You saw his eyes widen and that's when you noticed the right side of your body started to turn to dust. All you had time to say was, "I'm sorry," before you completely disintegrated before him, leaving him, no doubt, alone once again.

You would have laughed at the expression on his face now if you knew it hadn't been the first time he's seen you since....what happened. But there was nothing really funny about the situation.

You weren't quite sure what to do, but your feet made the decision for you as you slowly made your way to stand directly in front of Zemo.

It's the first time you've stood together without any glass between you both. He's a bit taller than you, but not by miles; you're chin roughly comes up to his shoulder.

You see him swallow as if he's also thinking of something to say, but instead you see him raise his hand up and start to reach out to touch you, but stops before actually doing it. Internally, you make your choice for him and reach up with your hand and grab the one he's left hanging in the air. It's just a light touch, almost as if you're both worried the other might not be real.

Zemo glanced down at you holding onto his hand and back at you briefly. He squeezed your hand gently and then you heard him release a harsh breath before gripping your hand tighter and yanking you into his arms.

You barely had time to think about what was happening before you were enveloped into the most emotional hug you've ever felt.

The reaction was unexpected, but then so were the circumstances you were in, so nothing should really surprise you, but you were. Your arms were slightly hovering over his back, not entirely sure at that moment what you wanted to do, as you were still in shock. But, after a brief pause you brought your arms firmly around his body and hugged Zemo back with just as much care and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. You heard him mumbling words into the side of your head, but couldn't understand what he was really saying.

Time could have been standing still for the infinite period we were latched onto one another. It wasn't until the clearing of Bucky's throat that jarred us out of the moment. The noise wasn't loud, but the room had been so silent until then; it sounded like a freight train.

Realization must have hit us both at the same time that we weren't alone in the room, and we jumped apart as if lightning had struck us both.

At this point, you were looking at anything in room, but Zemo. You started playing with the ends of your sleeves in nervousness when Sam spoke up in a very slow and deliberate manner, "Would you care to explain to us, what is going on?"

"I thought you were going to have Bucky explain to me, why Zemo's not in prison!" you say back, not ready at all to try and explain things. You still needed to wrap your own head around it, before attempting to share your brief history with Zemo.

"Oh, no doll. This can wait," James answered. You could tell he was not happy, but maybe more confused than anything by how he responded.

Both were assessing Zemo to try and figure out if this is some sort of game to him. Bucky had reached out to grab your arm and pulled you gently away from the criminal mastermind and closer to them to instinctually protect you from him.

You outwardly sighed, knowing there was a long conversation about to happen.

Zemo took a step forward and James took a step back bringing you with him. Sam seemed perturbed over the entire situation, but Zemo spoke up first.

"Is that, what I think it is?" he said. Zemo cocked his head to the side and eyed you with amusement.

You silently shook off the hold Bucky has on you and raise an eyebrow at him to not try that again. You swiveled back to Zemo, placing your hands on your hips. Confusion was written clearly on your face as you answered him back, "Could you be a little less vague?" A small smile graced your face in reply.

Zemo pointed at your midsection and a smug expression appeared on his face.

"I must say, you look quite fetching in my clothes."

You were physically startled by his comment. You had forgotten you were wearing his hoodie. It's why you went to Germany. To return it to him, but when you found out he was no longer there, you realized you were going to have to either keep it permanently or track him down. Sam's call came in before you could make that decision. Fate really is something else.

Your hands grabbed the fabric of the hoodie as you closed your eyes and ducked your head. You could feel the embarrassment threatening to turn your whole face red.

You started to shuffled away knowing an immediate outburst was coming from both of her friends. What Zemo just said, implied so many different things. So, of course Sam and Bucky would start shouting without having any context to the situation of how you acquired a piece of his clothing.

If the floor could have opened up at that moment, you would have appreciated it.

Sam and Bucky were both visibly upset and clearly about to start a fight with Zemo, but thankfully Sam, being the more even tempered of the group, stopped Bucky from doing anything. He had shrugged off Sam and stared at you with hurt on his face.

You exhaled shakily as things started to calm down. You dared to catch a glimpse of Zemo, and of course, out of everyone here, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy causing the chaos he wrought with his sly comment.

If looks could kill, he would have been flayed alive.

"Enough," you said to everyone. It was time to clear the air. "Let's all just take a seat."

You had gotten exasperated by the entire situation and turned to Bucky and Sam, "Do you automatically have to jump to conclusions? Do you not think there is a perfectly logical explanation, somewhere?" You had slapped your hands down by your sides and turned to Zemo. He looked as if he were about to say something, but you cut him off pointing a finger at him.

"And you. Big trouble. Don't even get me started."

As you stared at Zemo; he at least had the decency to appear somewhat contrite at your scolding. You could still tell he was mildly amused about the whole situation.

You saw Sam had taken a seat and started to wave you over to where he and Bucky were.

"Start talking," he said.

"I'm not sure where to start," you answered, pacing back and forth.

"How about the beginning?" Bucky parroted out arms crossed in front of him, he was clearly still a bit defensive.

"The beginning. Right. Sure. I can do that," you stopped to think about how to start, but everything just seemed to be as if you were actually hiding something from them, when you weren't. It just never came up, and The Blip was emotional for everyone.

Truth be told, you would like to avoid this conversation at all costs. For many reasons, some you're not ready to deal with.

Zemo had spoke up while you were deciding how to broach the subject at hand.

"If I may," he spoke.

The three of us had answered him simultaneously, "No!"

Yeah, it was going to be a long day.

OOOOO

[amethystpath-writes]

Loose Grip

‘They’re on the edge, Hero. You might want to step up your game.’

Civilian. Civilian was so close- just three, maybe two steps, and they would plummet. Hero knew it, but…but he couldn’t stop it. Not with Villain taunting him, breaking his focus, making it impossible to channel all his power into Civilian’s mind, impossible to make them take even a single step back.

‘Villain, please. You can’t do-’

Hero’s breath caught as they lost grip on Civilian. He watched them take a step forward. Saying something to Villain was stupid, he thought. Averting his focus to anyone or anything other than Civilian would result in that loose grip.

‘That was a close one. I almost thought I was going to see a flash of cameras for a second. A pity that you regained your senses.’

Stifling the need to rebut, Hero blinked, maintaining all thought for keeping Civilian’s body still at the edge of the edge of the dock.

Maybe he would be able to keep Civilian’s body afloat even if they were to fall in the water…No. No, that wouldn’t work. Making Civilian stay still would be easier than trying to make them swim, to move all those limbs- and with just the right timing…it would be impossible.

For Villain, the actions would be easy; she was accustomed to using these powers, this mind-control. Hero, on the other hand, was much less adapted, as he’d never had any need for mind-control. There was no use for it, except to cheat at school. To stick around after class while the teachers were grading papers. Instead of writing a ‘D’ Hero could have made them write an ‘A.’ But that wasn’t who Hero was. He wasn’t a cheat, wasn’t a liar. Villain, though…she was a different story.

‘Aw, come on. Don’t you have some quippy response?’

The way Villain laughed- all high-pitched and…and loud- in Hero’s head made him groan and squeeze his eyes shut, causing him to lose his connection with Civilian once again. Thankfully, they didn’t move. Was Civilian even aware that they were being controlled by two different people at once?

‘I’m not even pushing all the way, but’ -Villain laughed in Hero’s mind for a second squealy time- ‘I can tell that you are. How sad it is that you’re not capable of saving just one person.’ A sigh. ‘I expected more from you. You know that? I actually had high expectations for you of all people.’

‘Stop,’ Hero sent back, quick and easy.

‘Oo. Very good grip that time. How about you try to send more than one word at me this time?’

An image of Villain smiling flashed across Hero’s mind and he flinched, stumbled back a step, yet somehow still managing to maintain balance. He didn’t respond to Villain this time.

‘I’m being easy on you, Hero,’ Villain said, voice all sing-song. ‘I could end this little miserable wretch’s life any second. Wouldn’t be fun that way. I need you to try harder, make them take a step backwards, yeah?’

‘This isn’t a game!’

‘Isn’t it?’

Hero hated that girlish giggle, that maniacal one that had no mind. How could someone like Villain possess such a powerful ability? It wasn’t fair, not to anyone.

‘Come on, push. Make them move.’

What was this? Why this encouragement to act? Villain wasn’t helping Hero; he knew that much. It just didn’t make sense for Villain to be helping when she was so clearly hell-bent on destroying innocent lives for the fun of it. She knew as much as Hero that he would never ‘join the dark side.’ So why was she doing this? A sense of false hope, maybe? Whatever it was, Hero hated it.

Villain said, ‘If you don’t push, I will. Only a single step further and your little civilian will fall right through the water.’ She gave a hum. ‘Say, they look rather built, huh? I heard fat floats better than muscle. Unfortunate for them; they might drown, and those little teenage magazines say you never learned how to swim. Think I can kill two birds with one stone?’

‘Stop. It.’

Another sickening laugh. Hero was getting sick of this whole ordeal, but he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t say more than he already had. If what Villain said was true- that she wasn’t pushing as hard as she was capable of- then Hero was in trouble because…because he was pushing as hard as he could, putting absolutely all of himself into this one person.

‘Back to one word responses.’

‘Actually, that was two.’

‘And that was four. Did you see Civilian’s shoulder twitch?’

Now, another image appeared in Hero’s head, a moving one of Civilian’s feet touching the water first, and then their head. It happened so quickly, so shockingly fast, Hero put a hand to his mouth. He would have taken a step back, but he couldn’t.

Hero thought, It’s just an image. It’s- it’s fake. Villain’s doing this to me, making me see something that isn’t real. But then…why couldn’t he move? Why was he staring at an empty dock?

A hand dragged across Hero’s shoulder, then another, and before Hero knew it, Villain was sliding into his vision, replacing the dock.

“Such a shame,” Villain said, and…and it wasn’t in Hero’s head this time. This was real. The dock, Civilian stepping in- it was all real. “I’m disappointed in you Hero. I expected so”- her voice dropped- “so much more from you.” A pause. “You watched them die, Hero, and yet I’m the one they call a villain.”

[imogenkol]

" a bed? who needs a bed? i can think of thousands of different places before we'd ever need a bed... " + imogen/bix>:3

First writing I did for them this year and it’s a quickie in the Huntress smh. NSFW (18+) Under The Cut!!!

words: 1.7k warnings: possessiveness, fingering, light choking

Imogen found it rather amusing how little she seemed to matter to Bix while the mechanic worked. In fact, the entire galaxy suddenly held no importance, save for whatever problem needed to be solved by her hardened hands. Perhaps Imogen should have felt offended to have to compete with her own ship for the attention of her lover, but that only made her affections all the more irresistible to chase. 

And something about the way Bix looked in moments like these always seemed to stir all sorts of urges – both innocent and not. 

Bix craned her neck to get a better view within the open service panel and the slender slope of her throat made Imogen desire to caress her lips up from the base of her collarbone to the well defined line of her jaw. At the same time, the loose strands of hair that framed her gorgeous features caused Imogen to feel quite smitten with her. She wanted to take a strand in between her fingers and gently tuck it behind her ear, perhaps even lean in to whisper something that would prompt Bix to call her sweetheart. 

“You’re staring again,” Bix said in a deadpan tone, not sparing Imogen a glance.

Imogen wondered when she would speak up about it. The mechanic always sensed her gaze, regardless of whether or not she stood within her line of sight. Almost as if Bix could feel her through the Force. Imogen only smirked. “Am I not allowed to admire what is mine?”

The mechanic sucked on her teeth and shook her head as she rearranged some wires. “See, I always knew you had a thing for this ship.”

Imogen didn’t bother to hold back a laugh at the quippy retort. “If you do not wish for me to indulge in your visage, you need only say so.”

“I have,” she replied with increased exasperation. 

“No,” Imogen corrected smugly. “You either throw an indignant look my way or simply announce the fixed point of my gaze. You have never once told me to stop.”

Bix finally pulled her attention off of the panel and turned. The heated intensity in her eyes had a slight playfulness as one of her brows quirked up. It caused the bounty hunter to inhale a short, sharp breath through her nose. “If you want to take me to bed, Imogen, you need only say so.” 

Imogen attempted to play it off like Bix hadn’t made the type of bold move that turned her heart soft. “A bed? Who needs a bed?” she mused and feigned interest in the toolbox beside them as Bix tossed one of her gadgets in it. “I can think of thousands of different places before we’d ever need a bed.”

“Let’s hear a few,” Bix urged, now amused. 

With a scoff, Imogen said “I admit, I have no list. I would simply take you wherever and whenever I see fit to.”

The sound of a pleased hum graced Imogen’s ears as if the very breath of her lover tickled her skin from feet away. Her voice sounded just as silken. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Permission, Imogen thought. Her gaze snapped back towards the mechanic to see an enticing challenge written across her features. Lust ignited Imogen’s blood as it raced through her veins a little quicker in response to the uptick of her heartbeat. 

She stepped into the mechanic’s space and assertively grabbed her by the hips to move her away from the exposed inner workings of the ship. For a moment, their bodies connected and swayed together like water, their lips hovering barely an inch from each other. Then Imogen pushed Bix back into a separate wall and pinned her there. 

It took a lot of willpower not to immediately pitch forward and drown herself in passion, but Imogen leaned back to regard her lover in one slow, shameless sweep of her hungry steel gray eyes. “Do you have any objections about where my gaze lingers, darling?”

Bix did not have a verbal answer. She ran her hands up the bounty hunter’s arms until they gripped the collar of her coat and tried to pull her in. Imogen resisted and one of her hands shot up to lightly wrap around Bix’s throat like the jaws of a beast before they clamp down for the kill. She kept her sights on the lips she desperately wanted to kiss and felt deep satisfaction once she saw the small upturn at the corner of Bix’s mouth.

“How about now?” Imogen murmured in a low tone, enraptured by the heavy pulse against her fingers. The rhythm of its beat fell in time with her own and she felt the Force between them mesh like two rivers joining into one powerful stream. Imogen felt Bix’s thrill as her own – felt each of her beloved’s uneven inhales fill her own lungs and expel through their parted lips in tandem. 

The mechanic’s grip on Imogen’s coat retreated, but only to explore downwards in a purposeful caress until her fingers hooked underneath the bounty hunter’s utility belt. “Look me in the eye, Imogen.” 

Imogen’s striking gaze shifted to lock onto the bright shine of the other woman’s dark colored irises. That look halted the breath in her chest, but the sensation of Bix undoing her belt is what made Imogen completely freeze. Imogen remained still as she slowly unfastened the waistband of her pants and slipped her hand in and down between her legs. 

A gasp of relief released Imogen from her stasis at the warm touch. Her grip squeezed around Bix’s throat as their mouths finally crashed together in a fierce cadence. The mechanic teased her with the tips of her fingers and Imogen rocked her hips forward in response, molding their bodies together against the wall of the Huntress. Their eager kisses felt as deep and infinite as space itself once the soft, wet heat of their tongues greeted each other passionately. Imogen slowed them down for a beat just to explore the vastness of their shared desire, only to soon be spurred on by the way Bix touched her. 

Imogen kept Bix in place while her free hand pawed at the layers of clothing separating her from the warmth of her skin. Meanwhile, the mechanic maintained an achingly slow stroke between Imogen’s legs, not yet venturing inward. It drove the bounty hunter mad. She tried to hold back the rut of her hips, but once the touch passed over the most sensitive part of her, she whined like some pathetic thing and rolled her body into Bix’s hand for more friction.

In an effort to regain her control, Imogen broke away from their kisses and seized Bix by the jaw to turn her head to the side and expose her neck. Her skin was far too bare for Imogen’s liking. Parted lips fulfilled her earlier fantasy and lightly traced the upward curve of her lover’s neck, letting her stuttering breaths tickle her skin. Bix shivered, her pace faltered slightly, but she held onto Imogen tighter and hissed as she felt her teeth bite down just below her jaw. 

With an ever deepening gratification, Imogen made a point to mark what was hers without any reservation. She nipped and sucked bruises here and there. A sound of pleasure vibrated in Bix’s throat and against her mouth, stealing the breath out of Imogen’s lungs once more by entering her all the way up to her knuckles.   

Imogen’s control was an illusion, Bix was the true conductor of this symphony as it sang within every cell of her body. Control always has been an illusion when it came to Bix, Imogen conceded. What better way to let go? 

Steady thrusts made Imogen grow weak. She leaned into it and panted into the crook of Bix’s neck, soft whimpers and moans breaking loose as she struggled not to buckle under her lover’s influence. Absent-mindedly, Imogen’s grip fell from her neck and wrapped around her lower back in a desperate need for stability, both pulling Bix closer and keeping herself upright. The fast buildup of pleasure approached its peak point and the need for relief eclipsed any thought of composure or restraint. 

“I love it when you’re like this,” Bix murmured into her hair as Imogen braced one hand on the wall and writhed in time with her thrusts.

Imogen wanted to command her not to stop – wanted to plead for it, but the pace of her breathless gasps didn’t allow for much more than the primal noises of her pleasure to echo around them. A sudden tremor shot up her spine when Bix curled her fingers just right, making her jaw drop and release a high pitched whimper. Something within Imogen started to crack like a thin layer of ice. Any moment, it would shatter and she would fall through with a shock.  

“Is this what you fantasize about when you watch me?” the mechanic said in the same, smooth tone that nearly tipped Imogen over the edge on its own. “Or is it reversed? How badly did you want to fuck me like this?”

There was no shortage of creative ways that Imogen craved to ravage her. Yet, at this moment, her mind drew a blank. She could think of nothing else but every divine touch, every inch of contact, every shallow breath that completely consumed her body and soul. Not until it all came crashing down on top of her in one magnificent moment of utter bliss. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bix said in response to her pitiful cry of release.

The praise coaxed another twitch from Imogen’s trembling muscles while she gradually drifted down from the high in her arms. With exhausted breaths, Imogen placed weak kisses up and down Bix’s neck and sighed mournfully at the loss of her touch as her hand retreated. 

“Do you ever fear the day I grow tired of your self assurance?” Imogen asked with a smile, not yet having fully regained her steady footing. 

“Never,” Bix answered without hesitation.

[docholligay]

Holligay Loves Western Movies!

Ah, the Western, my love!

I was first captured by the Western when I was a small thing, only about eight years old, and my Mom was watching Tombstone. It's strange to say that a Val Kilmer vehicle changed the course of my life, but it did. I suppose anything can.

The Western has been a lot of things over the course of its tenure in American media, and I think maybe the greatest thing about it is that it can reflect so much of what it’s needed to be over the years. Cowboys and the American West are such an American part of world history--you can find bits and pieces of similar cultural touchpoints in a handful of places, most notably the Australian Outback, but they are rare indeed--the it almost becomes part of the defining aspect of America. But you didn’t ask me about American history, you asked me about Westerns, so yes, continue.

The Western movie is allowed to show all our virtues and all our ills. In early days, you had these lovely white hat/black hat Westerns* that existed almost in the same way as pantomimes, or opera, these things that intentionally sketched in broad strokes and provided some of the tropes we know and associate with Westerns even today. Then we moved to, especially post WW2, this idea of the hero charging in and saving the day when a town could not save themselves. In the 80s and 90s they very much became simple action movies with quippy heroes and villains, reflective of American prosperity but also thoughtlessness. In the last twenty years, you’ve had this idea of Westerns as meditations on morality, probably best represented in Unforgiven, which I think does a better job than most.

What I love the most about Westerns is because the reflect current American anxieties, you can watch how they change. The old Magnificent Seven is about Americans going into a foreign land to essentially protect the people from themselves, which reflected all the feelings about Communism and American responsibility. The new one is about the unchecked power of billionaires and the ability to hire their own military, be their own law, and how little we can do in the face of it. They are VASTLY different movies, because what Americans fear, what we hope to stand in the face of, is so different that you could not possibly make the same movie. I think the old Magnificent Seven really doesn’t connect or hold up with modern audiences because we cannot LIVE in 1960, we don’t know what it was to be a person then.

I would make a similar argument about the old and new True Grit, except it’s quite simply that the old True Grit, uh, sucks.

And that is what I think is great about the American Western, is you can look at them over a timeline and take the goddamn temperature of America. Even the relative dearth of Westerns being made now speaks to an American anxiety about OUR OWN IDENTITY, and what it now means to be an American in this global culture. How do we grapple with the American West now? Is there a way forward? I would argue there is, but you have to have some discernment, and this essay is about to go vastly off the rails and I’m gonna start ranting about whipping boys and King Leopold, so I’ll withhold, but I find the Western both enjoyable, and fascinating.

*This is actually where the term comes from. Hackers picked it up, but it comes from the very old westerns where the hero always wore a white hat, and the villain a black. It was then actually picked up by lawyers. I have no idea how hackers got to be the defining aspect of this, but they did not invent shit.

[fanficsandfluff]

Lights Out, Nobody Home

Fandom: Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Characters: Sam Wilson (Falcon), Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

Words: 1,766

Okay here you go lmao. Bc @bigirlgiggles and @ticklingmood showed interest. Unfortunately, loves, I forgot to mention there was zero tickling in it *cries*

The tone is so bad, it’s bordering on offensive hurt/comfort..... I wrote it in a sleepy daze I just needed to write something. 

We go deal with that, and when we’re done, we both can go on separate, long vacations and never see each other again.

... and never see each other again.

I like that.

"I like that?" Bucky muttered to himself aloud in the back of a cab that was taking him home. Did Sam... No, he couldn't have known. He can't be feeling the same way as me right now. That's why he said that in the first place. But why did he have to give him that answer? That curt response that he didn't at all mean?

Bucky unlocked his apartment door and stepped inside, the whole place oddly quiet and dark. He left the lights off as he roamed around, getting himself a drink. And drink he did.

Bucky had the news on the television, not often changing channels. He wasn't the sitcom-at-midnight kind of viewer. With no inkling for sleep in mind, Bucky finished the pack of beer he just bought (and dammit was hoping to save and spread out because now he needed more).

Never See Each Other Again.

Bucky's eyes burned. No. No no nonono...

Could Sam see in his eyes how clouded they were in that police interrogation room? As they were forced to stare at each other, legs intertwined. Did Sam pick up on his moment of weakness?

Bucky heard his phone make its ringing sound and he looked down at the coffee table at it. Area code could've been Sam's... He didn't flick the phone open, just put it back down and let it ring.

"And you agreed... You sorry sack of shit--Fuck!" Bucky had shattered the final beer bottle he held in his metal arm, and it surprised him. He whisked off the dripped residue from his arm, brushing off any broken glass from his thighs. Fucking knew it, Buck. You knew to get cans instead of bottles, but they were out of cans, so we settled for bottles and look what the fuck happens.

His eyes were still burning, and he kept them that way for so long his sinuses were starting to get sore.  He moved slowly and calculated, cleaning up the glass shards in the dark apartment. The flickering TV didn't illuminate enough, it seems, as a forgotten piece sliced into his palm when he went feeling around between the couch cushions. Without much of a reaction from him, he pulled out the shard and tossed it away like the others.

A ring of his doorbell happened next and Bucky went into full alert mode. "God dammit..." he didn't think he was mentally ready to act as a functioning member of society right now.

Bucky tiptoed to the door and looked out the peephole, actually sighing out loud when he saw Sam and his raised eyebrow. Then he knocked.

Bucky cracked the door open and before he could get a word out, Sam said, "Woah... we living in full darkness over here? I feel like I'm actually entering your physical mind right now. Electricity bills must be cheap."

Bucky moved to close the door but Sam's hand reached in, "Hey! Hey, Buck, I just want--"

"Don't call me that."

"You're right, I forgot. I'm sorry," and Sam meant it, "Can I come in?"

Bucky took a few beats, and Sam let him have them, before he threw open the deadbolt and let Sam inside. Sam immediately flicked the light switch on.

When Sam did that, Bucky went to the windows and shut all the blinds and pulled the curtains fully tight, wincing when the cut in his palm was slid through the rope attached to the blinds.

"I thought we could talk," Sam started speaking again.

"Haven't we done enough of that today?"

"Without Nurse Ratched supervising," Sam looked over stained spots on the couch and all the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. It made him frown. Bucky was staring at him already and he looked back.

"I think we both made our points," Bucky said and he made the move to clear all the bottles out of the room once he picked up on Sam observing them. That's when Sam caught sight of the red palm.

"You good?" he moved forward, instinct taking over to reach for Bucky's hand. Bucky pulled that arm to his chest and took several steps back, "I'm perfect."

Sam's brow furrowed and he scoffed, "Shit, man... did anyone ever tell you you're stubborn?"

"Several people, yes."

Sam let the silence hang after the mild snarky comments, and he gathered up three of the bottles in his hand, taking them to the kitchen recycling. Bucky took the rest and he stayed in the kitchen to wash out his hand. Sam watched him and then he watched Bucky's face as he let the water run over his wound.

"Now who's staring?"

Sam smiled, "You know, you always look like you're one comment away from crying." He said it. He said that and he meant absolutely no teasing or malice from it. Sam tried in the most earnest way to reach out to the ex-Winter Soldier.

Bucky hardened his jaw and he turned the faucet off. He grabbed a paper towel and carefully shredded it from its group, holding it in his human hand. In this instant, he was afraid to stare. He was afraid to meet Sam's eyes for fear of actually breaking down into tears. But then he challenged that thought and shared eyesight with Sam.

"Wh-What do you want?" ah, fuck. He fucking stuttered.

"The comment I made. The closing statement. I said it to get us out of that room and out here so we can help," he paused to think of what to say next, "It worked. Right?"

Wrong way to say things, Wilson. Bucky skirted himself around Sam to walk back towards the living room.

"I've read people's faces for a living, Bucky. Faces like yours. What I said about us never seeing each other again, I saw what it did to you. As hard as you try to hide it," Sam followed him, watching Bucky take a seat on his couch.

"I'm waiting for an apology."

"Well, then you'll be waiting for a while because I'm not giving one. I'm explaining myself, since you didn't want to listen in that room--"

"I listened. I asked questions that I wanted answers to. Steve wanted--"

"Bucky, Steve ain't here anymore," Sam sat down besides Bucky on the couch, facing him, looking at him with a caring intensity, "He's not. I made the choice I thought was right, I don't know how many times I have to say it. I told him it didn't feel like mine, I told him I wasn't ready. Tell me you haven't ever felt like that in your life... unprepared for a burden you knew would be fucking monumental. I donated the shield. I didn't vote to create a new Cap. Bucky..." Sam's voice wavered and dropped to a whisper when he saw tears trickling down Bucky's cheeks.

Bucky scrunched his face up and turned away from Sam. He didn't make much noise. He just sat and let the hot tears run down his face. This had to be a lesson in bottling emotions... don't fucking do it otherwise you'll explode like a fire hydrant with tears all at once.

Sam didn't move, didn't think to make a move. He heard Bucky sniffle once to get an intake of breath and he reached out a hand and placed it on the other man's shoulder.

"I... I'm touched you feel that attached to me. That you want to make this work, and you couldn't live without me, because hey, I don't blame you--"

"Oh, just shut the fuck up," Bucky sniffled again, now wiping at his nose that was threatening to run.

Sam started to laugh and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Bucky's arm as he let his laugh out. Even Bucky wasn't immune. He was looking anywhere but at Sam, wet eyes darting around, but he was kind of smiling. It was a small one and the tear streaks and red eyes weren't helping him out there. Bucky shoved Sam off his arm after a few seconds, "Get off."

"Are we gonna be able to get to work on this?"

Bucky nodded, now wiping his eyes. Sam quickly got up and retrieved another paper towel for Bucky to use to clean off his face as opposed to swiping his cold metal appendage all over it.

"You still love me?"

Bucky eyed Sam and saw that cheeky bastard revel in what he asked, "No."

"I'm hurt."

"Good."

"Buck."

"I said don't call me--"

"...yyyy. Buckyyyy. Yo, you didn't even let me finish, you're so angry all the time. Oh--oH! Oho, now he's clamming up again! Did I hurt your feelings?"

"You are so rude, did you know that?"

Now Sam was laughing again.

Bucky continued, "I'm over here crying and pouring my heart out and you just keep..." he mimed a stabbing motion in midair, "... keep twisting that knife. You're never satisfied. I'm your asshole punching bag for anything quippy and-- Sam," Bucky was staring at the man nearly losing it from laughing at him so much, "This isn't funny, I'm being serious. I'm opening up to you, you dick. This is what your problem is."

Bucky was frowning, but he knew inside he felt no hate. Was this growth? Maybe. He was just insatiably annoyed by the fucking Falcon.

"You're a dick," Bucky said again, and Sam had quelled his laughter most of the way. Bucky reached out with his metal appendage and tweaked Sam's side.

"Hehey! Don't you try tickling me! You know what you're gonna get?"

"Get out of my house. Time to leave."

Sam was being ushered towards the door.

"Hey, I take back what I said," Sam leaned against the front door with Bucky ready to push him through it, "About the long vacation. I can't leave you alone for long. So, it looks like we're stuck together."

Bucky stared, studied.

"Thanks for coming over. You're so fucking annoying, though," and Bucky even flashed a smile when Sam giggled again.

"I'm glad I came. I watched you go through a whirlwind of emotions I didn't even know your android brain had."

"Goodnight, Sam," Bucky reached across the man and opened the door for him.

"I'll see you tomorrow so we can get to work."

Bucky nodded. He shut the door, clicking the locks back into place. Hmm... couples therapy might be the key.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Thin Line

Summary: You’re wild and free. She’s strict and trained. You and Natasha are polar opposites and it drives her crazy. Each move you make annoys her to no end. But, there’s a thin line between annoyance and adoration.

Rating: 18+ Violence, Mentions of Death, and Smut

Chapter 2

The next week passes uneventfully, minus you being on edge. You hadn’t forgotten the red head’s words. Being benched is not at all what you wanted. 

If anything you wanted to impress the infamous Black Widow. The team loves working with you and you enjoyed your time with them. When you got assigned to work with Romanoff you just knew you’d win her over, resulting in the whole team liking you. That didn’t happen however. 

Instead you pissed her off doing the one thing you’re good at: kicking ass.

Now though, you try distracting yourself by training. Each time your fist connected with the punching bag or your muscles tightened you felt the tension roll of your shoulders. 

But that lasted all of an hour, the ringing of your phone pulls you from your distraction.

“Y/L/N.” You answer breathless. 

“Agent Y/L/N Director Fury is requesting to see you.”

Knowing better than to protest, despite your nerves, you agree and immediately get ready.

With the help of one of Tony’s fancy Audi′s you make it to Fury’s meet up spot in no time. 

The mysterious man leans against the only table in the empty warehouse, leveling you with a stoic expression.

“Well if it isn’t the big boss man.” You smile and approach him.“ To what do I owe the nondescript meet up.”

He crosses his arms,“ you made quite the impression with Miss Romanoff.”

You have to reign in your expression, not wanting to appear afraid to the man in front of you.

“Well they say first impressions are everything.” 

His expression doesn’t change.

“She’s not happy with you and when she’s not happy the team notices which effects team morale.” He speaks again before he can reply.“ Which means you need to fix things, now.”

“Yeah, and how am I supposed to do that? Miss Stone Cold Assassin doesn’t exactly want to befriend me.”

Nick’s eye narrows,“ try toning it down Agent.”

Sending a shocked gaze to Nick, you reply,“ toning it down isn’t my thing. I get the job done more than satisfactorily and I have fun while doing it. How about I just keep my distance from Romanoff and you only assign me to work with the boys. They get me.”

“Oh the boys get you do they?” His tone is completely sarcastic and his expression alone tells you he’s done discussing.“ That’s cute, except I don’t care.You and Natasha have just been assigned.”

Your eyebrows raise,“ come on Fury,” you groan,“ give me a break. You saw how unhappy she was with our first mission and I’m almost positive you know she ripped me a new one when we got back to the compound. Just,” you sigh,“ I don’t know, assign Clint instead.”

“It sounds a lot like you’re trying to give me an order.”

You stiffen instantly. No, you aren’t scared of Nick Fury, but you do respect him. What you just did, wasn’t all that respectful. 

“Alright, I’ll work with Romanoff.” He raises a brow.“ And I’ll tone it down.”

With a quick smirk, he nods, hands you the mission file, and sends you on your way. 

You know Natasha knows because the second you enter the compound she’s waiting for you. 

She leans against the back of the couch clad in a tank top and the yoga pants, a sheen of sweat sitting on her skin. Most definitely just came from training.

You can’t help but take in her figure, eyes lingering on her exposed midriff and down the curve of her hips.

For those few seconds you can’t possibly deny how stunning she is. Obviously, right? It’s Natasha Romanoff. The one woman who could pull off look, as far as you were concerned. 

By the time you refocus, it’s too late.

“Typical that you’re not listening.” She scoffs, eyes rolling and arms crossing.

It’s the hardest thing ever to not be distracted again as her arms push her breast up.

“Sorry I was distracted.” You frown.

Her eyes narrow,“ and what exactly has you so distracted?”

Right, cause you’re just going to admit that her body is what distracted you. She hates you already, pretty sure that wouldn’t play well.

“Nothing.” You run a hand through your hair.“ What were you saying?”

She’s silent for a moment, eyes searching yours. Painted in those green eyes is irritation, toward you obviously. But there’s the faintest hint of curiosity in them. She wants to know what distracted you, just as much as she wants to hit you for ignoring her.

“Wheels up in twenty.” She finally says, turning and leaving.  

After you’ve finished packing you head out your room to the waiting Quinjet. 

Natasha isn’t there yet, so you take a moment to read over the mission file. 

The more you read the more anxious you get. 

While there is no exact time stamp on the file, it’s clear this is going to be more than an over night type of mission. If previous missions like this told you anything, you know you’re going to be staying with Natasha for a stint of time.

Just as your thoughts start to linger on the idea of being with Natasha closely overnight, she comes up the ramp of the Quinjet. 

For some reason you expect her to be in uniform but she’s opted out of wearing the black Kevlar, instead choosing a pair of black joggers and a matching hoodie.

A quippy remark instantly readies itself in your head, but you refrain from saying it. Deciding to just read as much of the mission file as possible. 

The entire flight is silent. 

You never thought silence could be overbearing but it is. It looms over you and makes you feel uneasy. 

It was never like this with the guys, you would chat with them about almost anything on the flights. Hell, when you were with Tony or Clint it’s safe to say you had a jam session, music blasting through the Quinjet as you guys prepared for the mission. 

This though, this was awkward. It’s like Natasha didn’t even want to look at you. 

She placed herself at the pilot’s seat long before take off and hadn’t moved, even after she turned on autopilot. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air when the jet lands in a clearing. The second the doors open you’re stepping out. 

The clearing provides the perfect coverage for the jet and a quick glance around clarifies that you two will be walking a bit before you get to the safe house.

On the walk over, you don’t allow an awkward silence to settle.

“So, uh,” you pause,“ I wanted to uh, apologize-”

“Save it.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” You chuckle in disbelief. 

“You’re only apologizing because Fury told you to. You’re not actually sorry for your actions which means that apology is useless.”

Just like that, despite your efforts, awkward silence ensues. 

It even carries into the safe house, which is just a covertly placed cabin in the woods.

A really nice cabin at that. Under extremely different circumstances you’d have called it romantic. 

You and Natasha go to your temporary bedrooms and you reemerge before she does. 

With the late hour you decide to make dinner. Courtesy of Tony Stark, the kitchen is fully stocked and you use the expanse of ingredients to make the one dish you perfected: spaghetti. 

The scent alone intrigues the Russian red head and brings her out of hiding. Despite the stoic expression on her face, you see the intrigue in her eyes the closer she gets. 

You notice in this moment that she’s not all that great at hiding her emotions. Or at least she hasn’t been with you. Or you’re just good at seeing behind the mask she puts up with everyone.

Making two plates of the pasta, you slide one to the spot Natasha is standing at and then set a glass of water next to it.

She eyes the plate and then looks at you.

“What?” You raise an eyebrow, then decide to jokingly ask,“ water not fancy enough? Would you prefer a Sparkling Water or a glass of wine instead?”

Green eyes narrow at you,“ do you have wine?” Her sultry tone accompanies a raised brow. 

You stumble over a response, as you don’t know. But you go in search of wine, and find it. But what else did you expect from one Tony Stark then to have wine at a mission safe house. 

“Surprise surprise. Apparently Tony knows what you like.” You comment, grabbing a wine glass and setting it beside the water.

Moving slowly, as if she were debating whether to stay or not, Natasha sits. Her gaze follows your every move.

Each second she watches you, you feel more and more flustered. 

Part of you wonders if her eyes are watching dangerously, sizing you up in case she has to ‘otherwise incapacitate you’. The other part of you wonders if her eyes watch you as your eyes had watched her earlier, taking in your appearance and loving every bit of it. 

You can admit that both parts in whole feel like prey. 

Shaking it off, you pour her wine and then grab your own plate. 

Much like every other moment with her today, it’s silent. Words aren’t spoken and apart from forks clashing on plates there’s no sound.

That’s a stark contrast to how the next morning goes. 

The mission required recon. Simple recon. Check out the enemies base, size up the threat, figure out the best possible point of entry. All things were supposed to be covert.

Supposed to be.

Honestly, neither you or Natasha are sure what happened. One second you were hidden on a nearby hill, out of sight, out of mind. The next you were fighting through a barrage of enemies.

The outside of the base was littered with bodies. Unsurprisingly it got easier with each take down.

“So, our covers blown, what’d you say we finish this up now.” You jab a fist straight into the throat of the nearest bad guy.“ Get in, get the data, get out. I think we could handle that.”

For a brief second you make eyes with Natasha across the field and quirk in eyebrow in question.

You hear her sigh, followed by the grunt of the guy she took down,“ fine. But we go in the way we planned.”

“I hope you don’t mean covertly cause losing these guys is going to be a pain in the ass.”

“Get your ass to the roof Y/L/N.”

After handling the nearest guys, you and Natasha make quick work of getting to the roof and into the facility. That’s where things took a turn for the worst.

At first it was easy enough, you got in, got the information, but there were more bad guys than you expected. 

It worried you instantly and for the first time in your career you doubted your decision. No because you aren’t skilled enough, not because this is new to you. You doubt yourself because you’re not alone. 

This time around there’s someone else to worry about. Someone who, despite not having known her long, you care about.

“Hey Nat you-” you’re cut off when a bullet whiz pass you, leaving a very noticeable gash across your forehead.“ Ass.” You grunt and shoot him, twice for good measure. 

“Now’s not the time Y/L/N.”

“No, I was gonna say, maybe we should-” Once again you’re cut off, but this time it’s because of Natasha.

Her grunt of pain followed by quick breaths in.

Your eyes survey the area and you don’t find Natasha. You do see the influx of bad guys headed in a particular direction. 

Moving as quickly as possible, you get to her, eliminating the immediate threat as quickly as possible. 

You see the blood before you see the wound, yet and still, your heart drops when you take in the bullet wound.

“Shit, hang on Nat.” The nickname slips from your mouth with ease, so much ease that you don’t pay any mind to it.

A couple more bad guys later and your kneeling beside the bleeding red head, applying pressure to her injury. 

Those green eyes start to droop and you curse.

“Natasha, hey, keep your eyes open alright.” Your voice is starting to sound panicky. 

Blood leaves her wound rapidly and it makes your heart pound in your chest. You nearly rip your jacket off, removing your shirt, and wrapping it around Natasha’s torso. Once it’s tied tight enough you put your jacket back on and turn to handle the last of the threat.

There’s only a few enemies left, which you can handle, but you’d much rather be tending to Natasha. 

You run out of bullets just as the last guy comes charging at you. He’s much bigger than the other guys. 

“Oh fuck off.” You groan and charge him. 

Jumping up, you kick your feet straight into his chest and he stumbles and falls back. You take that quick second to throw a knife between his eyes. 

Chest heaving with uneven breaths you hasten over to Natasha. Her eye’s flutter as she struggles to keep them open. 

“Alright pretty girl, let’s get you outta here.” You mumble and scoop Natasha into your arms. 

You instantly feel her blood against your skin, already having soaked through your shirt. It makes you move faster, the worry doing wonders to your adrenaline.

By the time you make it back to the safe house Natasha is completely unconscious and the second you lay her down you search for a pulse. Luckily you find one. It’s weaker than it should be, but you know she won’t die. 

You make quick work of cleaning, sterilizing, and dressing her wound.Then moving her into her bed and pulling a shirt over her body. 

The adrenaline wears off the second you step out her room. Your shoulders sag and you can’t help but stare at the blood on the floor. Natasha’s blood. 

It’s in that moment that you understand completely why Natasha is so pissed at you. Your actions are stupid and reckless. 

What you did today got her hurt. 

As you clean the mess of her injuries you instill in yourself at that moment to never ever be the cause of her hurt. Because you hated seeing her like that. She looked so fragile, paler than usual due to blood loss, and broken. 

Your thoughts finally quiet as sleep creeps up on you. Worry still plaguing you, you slip back into Natasha’s room and slide on to the floor beside her bed.

“You better wake up Romanoff.” You mumble before allowing yourself to sleep.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Well, now talking about Harry. I Think The Fandom don't give him enough credit either. yeah, maybe His pov Is nothing Of The Other World, but actually I Think he has layers (less visibles). He's stereotypical? yeah, but for Some reason he resonates with me in The way that I have Fear Of being Someone I don't want to be. Having Fear Of Not controlling your destiny. I Think That's Why he was so antagonistic towards Slytherin, because it reminded him of things he Never would want to be, His Panic when Others tell him “You might be a Good Fit for Slytherin” I can feel it in my soul. Sorry for rambling audb

Harry is so underrated. I can understand why people tend to assume that he has an everyman personality, because the general narration follows his point of view, and Daniel Radcliffe does play into that. He doesn't have nearly as distinctive a personality as say, Katniss Everdeen. But that doesn't mean he's dull. He's the sassiest kid in that entire school. It's not something he develops over time, either, although he does grow as a person for sure. But from the beginning, he was mouthing off to Dudley, and later to Snape. The Boy Who Lived had more quippy remarks in his arsenal than Chandler Bing. We all remember "There's no need to call me sir, Professor." That became legendary. But it's not like that was his only burn. When the Dursleys demanded to know why he was watching the news again? "Well, it changes every day, you see." When Rita Skeeter wanted to have a quick word? "Yeah, you can have a word - goodbye." I appreciate this character more and more as I get older.

But there are so many layers to him as well. It's the kind of stuff that the books don't really talk about directly and so they're easy to gloss over if you're not paying attention. But Harry has a total hero complex. His "saving people" thing, as Hermione calls it. His life experiences lead to him developing a very "life or death" mindset. It never even occurs to him that Gabrielle Delacour won't die just because Fleur didn't save her. That's honestly....pretty sad. What's more, the first four years of his life at Hogwarts consistently teach him to take matters into his own hands. That adults cannot be trusted to solve the problems, and when he, Harry, puts himself in danger to do something about it...well, it usually works. He doesn't like it, but he accepts it. And Dumbledore nurtures it, too. Instead of expelling Harry for going after the Philosopher's Stone, he buys Harry's loyalty by overruling the House Cup standing to let Gryffindor win when they were in fourth place. It isn't until Sirius dies that Harry's hero complex is shattered. Because he tried to save the day and it all went disastrously wrong. Ron and Hermione warned him, they could see the holes that Harry could not. But he was ready, instantly, to fly off to the Ministry. Because it always worked before. They had a routine worked out. And in the wake of realizing that he is just a kid, and can't save the day...he learns about the Prophecy. That saving the day is in fact, his responsibility.

OOTP is just one big wave of depression, systematically crushing Harry's ego to bits. It is no accident, and it is so important, that he witnesses Snape's Worst Memory for the first time. That the pedestal he put James on is completely shattered. God I could write a whole essay about how Harry's parents guide his character, but the main point is that he is emotionally chained to them and is never able to let go of their deaths, until the very end. Harry...has a death wish. I don't say this lightly. But there are clues everywhere. His reaction to the Mirror of Erised is not unlike that of an addict. In POA, he considers just letting the Dementors get close to him so he can hear his parents' voices again. That is not heathy. In OOTP, when Voldemort tries to make Dumbledore kill Harry, Harry himself is all for it, because the pain is just unbearable, and "I'll see Sirius again." In DH, Harry mentions the idea of living with dead people, and it visibly frightens Hermione. Deep down, Harry wanted to die. Because he wanted back the people, and the life he had lost. That is why his Hallow of choice was the Stone. Why it is so important that he decided not to go looking for it at the end. Why his decision to go back, rather than board a train, is the peak of his character arc. He finally lets his parents go. He lets the past go.

But hey, those are just my wild hot takes.