#maybe America needs to change their plugs so they can have them

[oifaaa]

Reaction to American (microwaved) tea?

Americans don't have the voltage for a good electric kettle so I get it for convenience also microwaving tea and coffee isn't actually uncommon where I'm from its just usually not microwaved to make it and more to heat it up if you forgot about it and it's went cold

[imagineswriting47]

Running away

A/N: This is for the Anon who asked ‘ Hello! I saw that your requests were open, and I want to know if it’s possible to write a Dean x reader story where the reader has a dark/sad past ( maybe worse than the Winchesters?) that extends outside of America, like an international type of deal? Then maybe dean does something rude or finds something out and treats her badly, just something that causes her to run away? I literally have no plot to this! Thank you in advance! I want to apologize for this taking so long to get out.

Summary: When Dean finds out the truth about Y/N he doesn’t take it to well.

Parring: Dean/Reader

Warnings: None

Tag List: @akshi8278​

If you had told me ten years ago that monsters and demons were real, I would have laughed about it. I would be thinking that you were saying some terrible jokes. Now I know differently. Watching monsters kill my whole family changed everything. How I survived, I will never know. Running away from everything didn't solve anything, either. Flying to America, I hoped that I could leave monsters hunting behind and the British Men of Letters. I couldn't. Once a monster hunter, always a monster hunter. So when I heard about some strange killings the town over from where I had been staying, I had to check it out. Meeting the Winchesters was not what I expected. Nor were they anything like I had been lead to believe. When everything was said and done with the hunt, Sam asked if I would like to come along. I said, 'no.' I gave them my number to call if they needed anything anyway.

After meeting Sam and Dean, I started hunting again. I was meeting other hunters along the way as well. But somehow, the Winchesters and I kept crossing paths. Every time they would ask me to come along with them, I told them 'no.' But the more that I hunted with them, the more I found myself wanting to go with them. For the first time since I lost my family, I felt safe with someone. But how would they handle the truth about me? My past is not pretty. The things that I did for the British Men of Letters are things that I can't forgive myself for. They will hate me if they know the truth about me. But Sam, with those puppy dog eyes, how could I say no. Even when I got a room in the Bunker, I still kept my distance. I was doing my best to keep my past from them. They could never know how much I care about both of them. I fear that they could use it against me, or someone could use the brothers against me.  

The past, no matter how hard you run from it, will always find you. 

A simple hunt that turned out to be demons changed everything. Demons lie; everyone knows this. But these demons were not lying about me. And when the beast was dead, Dean asked if the creature was telling the truth. Did I sell my soul? My silence was answer enough for him. Then the yelling started. I was everything that he said. I was no better than the monsters that we hunted. While my soul was still mine, it was dirty and tainted by the darkness that is Hell. It doesn't matter to him that my soul is still mine and that I still have my soul. That I managed to get the demon who I sold my soul to break their end of the deal was a miracle. By breaking their end of the agreement, they were making the deal void. Dean didn't care about that, and the whole way back to the Bunker, Dean was silent after Sam got Dean to stop yelling and get in the car. A yelling Dean I knew how to deal with but a quiet Dean that was a bad thing. When the car came to a stop, I all but jumped from the car and went to my room.  Closing the door behind me, I sat on my bed.  Only a moment later, the door was thrown open by Dean.

"Were you going to tell us?" Dean spoke the quiet furry easy to hear in his voice. I didn't know what more he wanted me to say. What could I say? "You lied to me—your just another monster. I trusted you to have Sam, and I's back. I trusted you, and I should never have done that..." I don't hear anything after that; his words keep getting harsher and harsher. Seeing the chance when Dean stepped further into my room, I ran. Once past him, I let the tears fall down my face. When I felt like I ran into a wall only to have two arms wrap around me.

"Y/N?"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just so sorry." I whisper as I pull away from him. Running to the garage, I jump into my old car. Once out and onto the road, I drive. There was no destination in my mind; I just kept driving; my tears had long since dried, not having the energy go further. I pull into a little service road with the car off. The silence is defining. I did not realize how used to the boys always talking I had gotten.

Climbing into the back of my car, I lay down. Pillowing my jacket under my head, I let the blackness of sleep pull me under. Though my sleep was restless, I could not get more than a couple of minutes of rest. The sun shining in the car's window decided for me that it was time to start moving again. Sitting up, I rub my face trying to wake myself up the best that I can. Climbing back into my car's front seat, I turn the car over and get back out onto the road. I keep heading west following the sun, still with no destination in mind. I only stop when I get hungry or need to use the bathroom. Putting as much distance that I can between the Winchesters and myself. 

Just before nightfall, I find a small little town that has a cheap motel in it. Thanking my stars tonight, I pull into the motel parking lot. I was pulling out the little bag of clothing that I keep in the trunk of my car as a 'just in case kind of thing. The motel was reasonable but also dirty as most cheap motels come. Also, it doesn't look like any redecorating has been done since the eighties. After all the salt lines are laid out, I make my way to the shower. The water is thankfully hot, and I let it relax the muscles of my back. I was washing my body before stepping out of the shower. Towel drying my hair, I quickly re-dress and head out of my motel room. I am running into a small town looking for someplace to get something to eat. The town's dinner was little and '50s themed like much of all the diners I had obtained food over the years. Ordering my meal to go, I quickly make my way back to my hotel room. I eat fast, not even tasting what I was eating, knowing that I need to see what I had left in my car. At this point, I considered what had been left at the Bunker lost, and I needed to know what I needed to replace. The bags I felt had some weapons left in them but not enough to keep hunting for long. But I had left my phone behind in my room. 

Over the next couple of days, I manage to get some money for doing some hustling at the bars. With that money, I got myself some new clothing and a burner phone. By the end of the week, I move to another town. I kept moving like that week after week, hustling money as I went. Three months after leaving the Bunker, sitting in a small bar, I hear the door open. Sitting where I was, I could see the door and those that walked in, but they could not see me. Standing in the doorway are the Winchesters. I wait for them to get to the bar with their backs to me before standing up and making my way out of the bar.

Once back at my motel room, I pack up my things, cleaning up, making it as if I was never there. By the time I am finished, I can hear the Impala's unmistakable sound pulling into the lot. I wait to hear a door close than wait longer to be sure before stepping out of my room. I am quickly making my way over to the car. I set my things in the passenger seat before walking over to the office. Once checked out and everything paid, I make my way back to my car. At the same time, my attention was elsewhere. I failed to notice Sam stepping out of his room. Sam doesn't see who I am until I am standing next to my car with my head down. "Y/N?" I hear Sam say to me as he moves to be standing on the other side of my car.

"Hey, Sammy," I say as I look up to him. Only the Sam that I see is not the same Sam that I left at the Bunker. This Sam looks so tired like he hasn't slept in weeks; the dark rings under his eyes are so dark. He even looks like he has lost weight. His clothing seems to hang on him. "I can't believe it, Y/N. Dean and I have been looking for you." When he mentions Dean, I can't help but cringe back, Remembering Dean saying that he should kill me. "Y/N?" When I hear my name, I look up to Sam. I can see the concern in his eyes. 

 "I can't, Sammy. I'm sorry, I-I have to go." I whisper to him as I pull my car door open. Making a decision quickly, I pull out a piece of paper and write my new number on it for him. 'Don't tell Dean.' I finish off the note before handing it to him. Once in my car, I don't wait to see if Sam reads the message before pulling out of the parking lot. I'm not on the road long before I hear my phone start to ring. Wanting to put more space between us, I don't answer.

I drive for the rest of the day and all through the night. I don't stop until I cross over into Ohio. I stop at the first motel that I come across. Once in my room, I plug in my phone before falling into bed. I am woken up hours later to my phone going off.

Grabbing it off the table, I find that Sam is calling me. "Are you alone?" Are the first words out of my mouth before Sam could even say anything. "Yes." Sam and I talk for hours after that. Mostly it was just me telling Sam that I was okay. That no, I hadn't been hunting. Then he asked what happened the night that I left the Bunker as Dean wouldn't talk about it. So I start from the beginning by telling him everything. The secrets that I had kept from him, why I sold my soul, how I got out of it. What Dean said to me and how it scared me. 

Sam fills me in on everything that had happened since I left. I can't believe what Sam tells me how worried Dean got when he realized that I hadn't returned to the Bunker the next day. After a week, Dean was freaking out, calling everyone that we all knew to see if they had seen me or heard from me. At first, I thought it was because he was trying to follow through with what he had said in my room. Sam said that all he kept saying was that he needs to apologize. 

Sam and I keep talking for weeks after that first phone call. He keeps his promise and doesn't tell Dean about our conversations. But with each chat I have with Sam, I make my way closer to the Bunker. Sam doesn't know this, but I plan on seeing him again in the next couple of weeks. Sending a text to Sam when I get into town, I tell him where I am staying. He doesn't get back to me right away, but when he does, it doesn't take him long to show up at my hotel room. Once my door is open, I am pulled open into a bone-crushing hug. "It's good to see you too, Sam."

"Same to you, Y/N." When Sam pulls away from me, I can get a good look at Sam. He looks so much better than the last time than I saw him. The dark circles are gone, and he seems like he has been eating better. "You look better, Sammy. How's Dean?" What Sam has been telling me about Dean is making me worry.

"It's not good, Y/N. I don't know the last time he slept. I can't get him to stop looking; it's killing me not to tell him that you are okay." Sam sits on the bed in the room with his head in his hands.

"Do you-Do you think that it would help if I went to the bunker?" I whisper to him as I take a seat next to him. This was my plan when I came here, but to hear Sam talking is making me nervous to see him again. It's been six months since I have been back. "Would you?" I can see the hope in his eyes as he lifts his head and looks at me. Shrugging my shoulders, I stand up and hold my hand out to him, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go." I want to get out of the door before I change my mind. It doesn't take long before we are pulling up to the Bunker and making our way inside. Sam stays back, letting me walk in first. The Bunker is quiet, not much noise to be heard, nothing like it was before when I was living here.

"Sam, where did you go?" I hear a yell for the library turning, I look at Sam, and he smiles at me in pushing me to the library. Dean has his back to me when I first see him again. "It's not Sam," I say to him. I can see him freeze before turning slowly to look at me. "Hi, Dean," I say when I can see his face. His face is pale; he looks so tired and underfed. I don't get the chance to get a good look at him before I have an arm full of Dean. For Dean being so much taller than me, he seems so small in my arms. But what makes me the most surprised is when I can feel tears on my neck. I start to walk backward and out of the room, slowly making our way to his room. Dean doesn't seem to realize that we are even moving. He is shaking in my arms but not making any noise either. Once in his room and laying down on his bed, all he keeps mumbling is 'sorry.' I keep whispering soothing words in his ears, hoping to get him to calm down. Slowly he stops shaking, the tears stop falling, and his breathing gets deeper, letting me know that he has fallen asleep. Not long after he is sleeping, so am I. 

I don't know how long we are asleep, but I am woken up to the feeling of a hand on my cheek. Opening my eyes, I find Dean's green ones looking back at me. Looking Dean in the face, he looks better already; the dark marks under his eyes less pronounced his cheeks have color back in them. "You okay?" I ask him as I place my hand over his that is on my face.

"I should be asking you that Y/N," Dean whispers to me, his eyes closing as he says this. "I'm fine, Dean, I promise." I smile at him even though I know that he can't see it. Not knowing what to do, I move his hand off my face; turning my back to him, I sit up. "But I couldn't stay, Dean, not after everything. I-I'm not staying for long. I just thought that I would come and see you and Sammy." I can feel the bed moving behind me as Dean stands from the bed. He moves around the bed and stands in front of me.  Dean is turning on the bedside light before kneeling in front of me. 

"Y/N, I can never tell you how sorry that I am for what I said. I will never admit this outside of this room, but I was afraid. I sold my soul. I know what could have happened to you, and I don't want that for you. You are so beautiful and kind and everything that is good." Dean looks like he wanted to say more, but he doesn't. He takes a deep breath before standing up and turning his back to me. His shoulders fall.

"Dean, I'm sorry. But I couldn't tell you; I didn't know-how. I want to stay here. But I don't think that I can, not after everything. I know that I am better off on my own..." I don't get to finish my sentence before he turns back to face me, grabs my face in both of his hands, and kisses me. It could be barely be called a kiss more of a dry press of his lips against mine. "Please..." I can feel him whisper against my lips. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I lean up and kiss him. The kiss is rough, all teeth and tongue saying everything that both of us just couldn't put into words. I feel his hands on my ass before he is lifting me up. I warp my legs around his waist as he turns and presses me against the wall.

We kiss for what feels like hours about cant be more than a couple of minutes. "Don't leave me." I hear Dean whisper as he pulls away from this kiss. His head once again resting on my shoulder. I grip tighter to the short hair at the back of his neck before whispering, "There is nowhere that I would rather be."

With my feet back on the floor and the both of us cling to each other, I know that we have a lot that we need to talk about, and my past is one of them, but maybe this really is where I am meant to be.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please leave a heart and a re-blog. My requests are still open but it might take some time for me to get them out.

[ilikekidsshows]

One thing that pisses me off not just about the miraculous fandom but modern fandoms is fans inability to consume long overarching stories.

Like so many people are complaining about how long the reveal is taking or why haven't certain characters outgrown this trait yet or why is this character arc botched or abandoned. Like guys we just got the confirmation this show will be 7 seasons long PLUS like 3 tv specials. We're only roughly halfway through the series.

Once the reveal happens half the tension in the show is gone! I'm not saying leave the reveal till season 7 and make us wait 9 years this isn't HIMYM but miraculous is not a fast paced story. It's a long haul story. I just wish more fans would be patient. Miraculous is in the extremely fortunate and rare position that it will have a conclusive end and not be suddenly cancelled. That was and still is a huge problem for shows and cartoons with dedicated fans but networks pull the plug for stupid ass reasons.

So miraculous fans please chill the fuck out on things not resolving right away. We still have 78+ episodes plus the tv specials. If we get the end to certain things now it'll be so boring.

I think the concept of Instant Gratification describes the issue with many modern fandoms today. I hate to sound like I'm anti-technology, but the constant stream of quick and short bursts of entertainment allowed by the information age has made people more impatient. It's not about waiting for the climax to get a deeper sense of satisfaction, it's about getting that instant gratification right this instant. It's why one-shot fanfics are all over the place, when multi-chapter stories used to be just as common and popular, if not even more so, and it’s also why people are less willing to read a fic that’s still a work in progress. It's why people refuse to watch Youtube video essays even as they leave comments on the topic based on the title and thumbnail alone because, while they couldn't be assed to watch a 20-minute video (let alone an hour long one), they sure can spend that time calling the Youtuber names and making arguments the video actually already refutes. It's why a lot of online arguments happen only because one party read nothing but the first and maybe the last paragraph of someone's post and skipped all the explanation for their point of view (if I've ignored an counter argument for one of my posts, it was either because I missed it or because said counter argument did this. I have attention deficit issues so I do genuinely forget responses sometimes, but I'm also not writing a second essay for someone who's proven to me they won't read it).

Of course, it's only by constantly consuming only fast-paced content that you can become this impatient. People have different ideas about stories based on what stories they have encountered in the past.

Another thing that influences the Miraculous fandom in particular is that, while I love to show off exactly how much Miraculous has done to build up the overarching plotlines, Miraculous isn't really a show that's about a single story. It's easy to understand why people think it is one though: there's one main villain, we keep discovering more about the mythology, one of the main plot threads is the romantic relationship between the leads and singular episodes and plot elements tend to get payoff later. What is the purpose of a show if not to progress the story? Because the heroes aren't getting closer to defeating Gabriel or getting together, people think that the story isn't accomplishing anything.

I'll do a comparison to illustrate why these things aren't as clear-cut signs of a continuous storyline as people think. In the Spider-Man comics, you can pick any issue up and the chances are that the villain will be a part of Spider-Man's already established Rogues Gallery, who's back for more after who knows how many defeats, and those past defeats might even get referenced in callbacks to previous issues. It's also very possible that Peter and Mary Jane's relationship is the central focus with them not being together yet, having relationship problems or even having broken up (in really old issues the girl might be Gwen Stacy and short-term options have also always been available for romantic entanglements). Does this mean Spider-Man is a continuous story where the only point is that all the villains get put away for good and Peter and MJ live happily ever after? No, it doesn't. Spider-Man is designed to go on indefinitely, so there's no clear ending point. So, what is the point of Spider-Man then, if there is no Ending?

It used to be the single issue, because comic books used to have every issue be a stand-alone story about the hero and their supportive cast. These days it's more every three-to-six issues, because superhero comics are written to have short story arcs that can then be collected into trade paperbacks. A superhero series is not a single story; it's a series that functions as a story engine, meaning the series can generate several shorter stories where the hero helps fix a problem or solve a mystery.

In the superhero genre a villain will never get killed off or removed from stories permanently as long as the writers think they can still come up with stories to tell about them. The hero's romantic life will never be completely smooth sailing unless the writer is using other things to ramp up the stakes. Everything always allows for there to be another adventure.

I think the huge success of Avatar: the Last Airbender made people think that a series that is a single story is always superior to a series with multiple shorter plots. When I was liveblogging Sailor Moon, a viewer offered to give me a list of all the non-filler episodes because they genuinely thought I'd feel like I was wasting time on the show otherwise. This attitude is simply not based on fact. It's not fair to compare Miraculous Ladybug to Avatar, because they're both setting up to do completely different things. Miraculous Ladybug is trying to become a brand, like Batman or Spider-Man. It is part of the "Zag Heroes" lineup, a series of French-created superhero franchises to compete in the America-centric superhero market. This challenge is good for the genre, because Marvel and DC have started resembling each other more and more as these companies stew in their old ideas and copy everything that worked for the other one. The superhero genre needs new blood.

Also, Avatar: the Last Airbender first became popular by doing episodic plots for almost the entirety of the first season because it's actually not a wise choice to expect the audience to be willing to commit to a story that'll only give payoff later when working with an untested IP. Very often shows with longer story arcs start with the episodic format to hook people first, and sometimes the more linear plot is introduced specifically because the audience for the show is now expected to be both dedicated enough and older and capable of keeping up. Because, here's the thing: you can't expect little kids to remember every episode or even every character you've introduced in your show. I'm not sure if people are ready to hear that but I'm throwing it out there anyway. Kids are not dumb, they can understand more complex storylines, but many kids are still training their memory, so they might not remember the details of complex storylines that go on for too long.

This is why the news that Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season was going to have a recommended viewing order originally had me concerned. Miraculous is being branded for kids. The plot requiring too much skill in memorizing story details will make it less accessible to kids and might put those two additional seasons at risk. However, it seems that the "constantly changing status quo" concept of Truth, Lies and Gang of Secrets was a fluke and the evolution of the show is more subtle, so they might not be cutting the amount of episodes for those final seasons because the show is getting too complicated for kids to follow all the important details.

Regardless, Miraculous Ladybug being an adventure cartoon TV show instead of a comic book or a more cheaper-to-produce TV drama does mean that Miraculous Ladybug isn’t expected to go on for decades like a superhero comic or a soap opera. Because of this, it can have evolution and changes and even a planned ending. The show is expected to end at some point, even by the people making money off of it, mostly because making a cartoon like this indefinitely costs a lot of money, and kids’ adventure shows tend to see a decrease in returns if they go on for too long.

[septemberadical]

Why is 50% the limit? Why not 40%, or 30%, what's the difference if they're all potential human beings? There is slight variation among our own genetic code, and surely it exists on a spectrum. And why do you get to decide what is a potential life and what is cast-off? Seems a little arbitrary. Also, if you're going to make the argument all cells with 100% human DNA are entirely human and deserving of all the rights afforded to a human person, I would think twice. We don't send people to jail for shedding skin cells. But I digress.

I feel like it's actually debatable whether or not we should show similar ethics to our relatives in the animal kingdom, even distant ones. You made the argument that a sperm being only 50% of our genetic code means it is excluded from human status, what does that make chimpanzees? Surely 98% human should be enough to include them? And, what about those that are a slight variation among human beings, 99.999% human, should they be included? But again, I digress.

Pregnancy is a unique situation because it's the only time someone is naturally entirely dependent on another human being to survive. A person does have an obligation to provide such bodily support to another human being when it is existing in its natural environment and has come to exist there through no choice of its own.

Why is it unique? Why is it any different than an organ transplant or my hypothetical scenario as stated above? Human infants are dependent on their parents, those with intense intellectual or physical disabilities are dependent on their caregivers, etc. We are all dependent on each other in different ways and we set limits on that dependence to ensure bodily integrity and autonomy. Why does a fetus, which for the sake of this argument is an entirely human entity, have more rights than a fully alive human person because it is a fetus? Surely the Nobel prize winner is also totally dependent on me, and he is in a natural environment (i.e. dying) through no choice of his own when I help him (or pull the plug, whichever one). What if I changed the scenario and argued that a newborn baby (maybe it's even my newborn baby, god forbid), also totally dependent and virtually indistinguishable from a late-term fetus, needed me to be hooked up to him for 9 more months or he would die? Does the baby suddenly get less rights than a fetus because... you say so? If you agree that I have the right to pull the plug on the baby when it's outside the womb, but don't have that same right when it's inside, you believe that the former constitutes an undue burden on me. Why do you think it does, but the pregnancy does not?

I understand you want the best for the fetus and the mother, but I believe that only the woman in her individual situation knows what's best for her and she should be allowed to make the choice. Abortion bans like the ones in America drastically increase mother mortality and the likelihood of infants dying after birth anyway (x). And unsafe abortion is the leading cause of maternal mortality worldwide (x). You can say all you want that it's ghoulish to argue for babies to die, but mothers and babies are dying, and your political stance translated into law is the reason why.

Abortion supporters are wild, because the only options for arguing their position are:

Denying that a fetus is human, which is an utter rejection of the most basic scientific fact that an organism with a unique human genetic code is human.

Denying that the fetus is fully human, even though historically all the people who classify some humans as less human than other humans are not the good guys.

Denying that the human fetus is a person, even though historically all the people who classify some humans as non-persons are not the good guys.

Agreeing that the human fetus is a person, but saying there are circumstances where it is morally acceptable to kill a helpless and innocent person, which is not a stance that allows one to maintain the moral high ground over people who believe innocent people should not be murdered.

Arguing that the human fetus is not innocent, because it has invaded the body of another person, even though the fetus had no choice in the matter and has been given no other options.

[lizamango]

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 3/?

 A/N: Hey everyone, sorry this took so long!! This chapter was kinda hard to write, I felt like there wasn’t much that I could add but I did my best! I wanna get to Bucky as much as you all do! 😭😩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp​​, @white-wolf-buckaroo​​, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies​

Word Count: 2098

​Masterlist

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~

Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: You and Steve run from HYDRA

Chapter 3: TOMORROW ISN’T PROMISED TO ANYBODY

I enter a shopping mall where I buy a hoodie for myself and a jacket, glasses and a hat for Rogers using cash. I pass by JD sports and see some Supra Vaders I know the Captain will just love so I go in and grab a pair, and get a pair of Nike Dunk Sky His for myself. I leave and meet him where he waits, away from any crowds and we put on our simple yet effective disguises.

“First rule of going on the run, is don’t run. Walk,” I say, recalling my operations training.

“If I run in these shoes they’re gonna fall off.”

I smirk. “Sorry, thought you’d be bigger.”

Ignoring my innuendo, Steve huffs. “They’re ridiculous, why can’t I lace them up?”

“It’s a fashion statement.” I glance at a map as we pass by. “Apple store’s upstairs.” We ride the escalator and enter the store.

Finding an empty laptop, I get to work. “The drive has a Level 6 homing program so as soon as we boot up, SHIELD will know exactly where we are.”

“How much time will we have?” he asks, surveying the area not so subtly.

“About 9 minutes from…” I insert the drive. “now.” I enter the coding commands to unlock the intel but something inverts each one… now comes in my training from the Academy of Science and Technology. “Fury was right about that ship. Somebody’s trying to hide something.” As I look through the coding script my inputs are rewritten to counter the commands. “This drive is protected by some sort of AI.”

“Like Stark’s robot voice? Can you override it?”

I raise a brow as I type away. “The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly. I’m gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can’t read the file, maybe we can find out its origin.” The map tracks a location and pinpoints it as we are approached by a store employee.

“Can I help you guys with anything?”

I react quickly and give him my best charming smile. “Oh, no. My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations,” I giggle, placing my hands on Rogers’ shoulders.

“Right,” he adds awkwardly. “We’re gettin’ married.”

“Congratulations! Where are you guys thinkin’ about goin’?”

I go back to the laptop and the state has been pinpointed.

“New Jersey,” the Captain reads aloud.

“Huh,” the employee lets out, surprised. “I have the exact same glasses,” he says after a pause.

“Wow, you two are practically twins,” I remark as I type away.

“Yeah, I wish!” he chuckles. “Specimen. Uh, if you guys need anything… I’ve been Aaron.”

“Thank you,” Rogers rushes out. “You said 9 minutes,” he checks his watch. “Come on.”

I shush him. “Relax… I’m working.” The screen reads Wheaton, New Jersey. “Done.” I look up at him and he has a frown on his face. “You know it?”

“I used to. Let’s go.” He pulls the hard drive out of the laptop and we walk out of the store. “Standard tac team. Two behind, two across,” he turns to face forward. “two comin’ straight at us. If they make us, I’ll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro.”

As he speaks I roll my eyes, this guy was definitely not meant for the spy world. “Put your arm around me and laugh at something I said,” I say.

“What?” he sounds utterly confused.

“Do it.” I feel his arm rest on my shoulder and he gives the most awkward laugh I have ever heard come from a person. “See, Captain? No need to make such a scene.” We work our way to the escalator and I spot Rumlow on the escalator coming up. I turn to look up at Rogers. “Kiss me.”

“What?” he says again, flustered.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“Yes they do!” he whispers.

I put my hand to the back of his neck and push him towards me so our lips meet and I feel his hand fall on my waist. I open my eyes and pull away slowly after enough time has passed.

“You still uncomfortable?” I ask turning and walking down the escalator.

“That’s not exactly a word I would use,” he murmurs and quiets down as we get to the parking lot.

“We could get bus tickets to New Jersey, think I’ve got enough cash for the trip,” I suggest.

“Keep a look out,” he says approaching a truck as I frown but do as he says. In no time I hear the start of an engine and whirl to look at him. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he says smugly.

I get into the passenger’s side and he starts to drive to the Garden State.

“Can’t believe Captain America can steal cars…” I say striking up a conversation.

He chuckles. “Kind of a necessary skill when you’re fighting a World War and you’re in enemy territory.”

I hum and he glances at me. “And it’s not stealing if we give it back so get your feet off the dash.”

“Bossy,” I remark but do as he says. “I like that,”

There’s a pink tint to his cheeks and his jaw clenches but he doesn’t say anything.

“So I have a question for you…” I start with a raised brow. “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, although no answer is an answer in itself so-“

“Get to it, L/N,” he interrupts authoritatively.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” I smirk.

“That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that!” I laugh.

“Well it kinda sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

“I was just… wondering if you’ve had practice… since going… into the ice,” for a super secret agent, that answer lacked finesse. “It’s just, I don’t know how you did it in 1945 but guys normally move their mouths for a long kiss like that,” I shrug.

“I don’t need practice.”

“Everyone needs practice.”

“It was not my first kiss since 1945. I’m 95, not dead.”

“Oh?” I say, curiosity piqued. “Who’s been kissing Captain America then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Someone special?”

He chuckles. “It might come as a surprise to you but it’s hard to find someone with shared life experience,” he says sarcastically.

“That’s okay, you just make stuff up.”

“What, like you?” I know he doesn’t intend for it to sound mean so I shrug it off.

“Not everyone can handle the truth, can they? I wouldn’t mind a few white lies to keep something good going… and you don’t need shared life experience, right? Not really… there’s that whole opposites attract notion, after all.”

“But it’s good to have someone who understands what you’re going through, right?”

I shrug… sometimes not knowing is better. Safer. “Maybe. But in this occupation…” I sigh. “Well I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“You’ve – you never had someone?” Looks like I threw him for a loop.

Shaking my head I turn to look out my window at the trees we pass by. “I don’t hate love or anything… it’s just dangerous to love someone like… us. Isn’t it? They’d either get hurt by people we go after or… ya know, if we don’t come back… it hurts them too.”

“But tomorrow isn’t promised to anybody,” he reasons. “So why deprive yourself of something as great as love on the off chance you die?”

“Because it’s easier.”

“For who?”

“Why the interest Rogers? You wanna fill that spot? Play a little house? Imagine we don’t have to save the world from domestic terrorists?”

He hums at my decision to not answer the question. “No, that’s not what I need right now.”

“And what do you need?”

“Just…” he sighs. “a friend.”

Of course. “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers…”

“Maybe we could start with not calling each other our last names?” he offers.

I smile. “Maybe.”

We arrive at the location the tracer indicated as the sun is setting.

Camp Lehigh is on a sign but it seems to be long abandoned.

“The file came from these coordinates,” I say as I pick the lock on the chained fence.

“So did I…” Steve says looking up at the sign in nostalgia. “This camp is where I was trained.”

“Change much?”

“A little…”

I wonder around, scanning the area for any thing to indicate a power source. “This is a dead end. Zero heat signatures, zero waves. Not even radio. Whoever created the file must have used a router to throw people off.” I tuck the scanner in my back pocket and the Captain looks up at me then shifts his gaze to behind me, frowning. “What is it?”

He starts walking and I follow. “Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks. This building’s in the wrong place.” He breaks the lock with his shield and we enter as it leads us underground.

I turn on the lights and it reveals the insignia painted on the wall. “This was SHIELD. The early days, after it evolved from the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” I say, recognizing the outdated logo.

We wander around, finding a wall of three portraits. “The three founders.” He looks at me. “What? The history is one of the things they teach at the academies. Colonel Philips, Howard Stark and Margaret Carter.”

“There are academies?”

“Three. Very tough admission.”

Rogers spots something and looks closer. “If you’re already working in a secret office…” he pushes the shelves apart. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

Using my SHIELD issued code breaking device I type in the code for the elevator which takes us down even further to a room of computers, monitors and servers.

“This can’t be right… this equipment is ancient how could it be used to make the files?”

There was one place that looked like it came from this century and I decide to take a risk and plug in the usb drive. The servers whir and more lights come on.

“Initiate system?” a computerized voice says.

Yes, I type. “Creepy.” As we wait for the system to boot up I smirk. “Shall we play a game?” I laugh at myself. “It’s from a movie that was really pop-“

“I know,” he interrupts. “I saw it.”

A camera moves to Rogers and a voice recites his name and year of birth. Then it turns to me and does the same.

“Is this the AI that was blocking my commands back at the mall?” I say looking closer.

“I may not be the man I was back when the Captain took me in 1945 but I am.” A photo appears on one of the other screens.

“You know this… thing?”

“Arnim Zola was a German Scientist who worked for the Red Skull.”

“He’s been dead for years,” I add, remember something of the history lessons.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive.” The robot voice recounts his end of life story and how he uploaded his consciousness into databanks.

“How did you get here?”

“By invitation.”

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value. Always thought they shoulda just locked them all up… we probably wouldn’t be in this mess if they did.”

“HYDRA would have died with the Red Skull.”

“Cut off one head… two more shall take its place,” I recite their mantra aloud.

“When history did not cooperate… history was changed.” A flurry of photos of the Winter Soldier in the back ground of significant political events appear on the screens.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” I say, moving closer.

“Accidents would happen.” News of Howard and Maria Stark’s car accident shows up next.

Rogers punches the screen as Zola provokes him.

Does that mean…? I don’t finish the thought as the mad scientist explains what the drive contains.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” I ask.

The doors begin to close as Steve is too late to throw his shield. A beeping comes from my communicator, detecting something. “Steve, we got a bogey. Short range ballistic 30 seconds tops.”

“Who fired it?”

“SHIELD.” I pull out the drive and Steve pulls a grate from the floor. I jump in and he follows, putting the shield up above us as rubble rains down on us. He strains against the weight of it all and the debris settles.

💖💖

Thank you for reading!

I'll be gone until Monday again but I'll try to write on my phone!! I have literally never been so busy throughout this summer until now!

Chapter 4

[rosy-cheekx]

Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

-

1.

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

2.

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

3.

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi, i am looking for a very specific johnlock case fic on ao3 with an au where they are in america and on the oregon trail, possibly traveling to wyoming, or probably just western america!lock in generally. thanks! :)

Hey Nonny!

Ahh, I don’t know which fic this is, but I have a few American AUs in my MFL list, maybe one of them is it? If anyone knows which one it is for sure, let us know!!

AMERICAN AUs (TO READ)

Gone and Changed by cwb (E, 4,617 w., 1 Ch. || Farm/Ranch American AU || Teenlock, Friends to Lovers, Angst, High School, Summer Vacation, Swimming, Hot Weather, Oral Sex, Car Sex, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Falling in Love, Mutual Pining) – John and Sherlock are best friends, until John goes and changes. Part 1 of the Just Like That series

At All Material Time by dizzylittlesunflowers (T, 7,029 w., 1 Ch. || 1930′s Farm/Ranch AU || One Shot) – When John Watson first met Sherlock Holmes, the dark-haired stranger had told him he'd never make the mistake of falling in love. Set in 1930's Southern America, the mysterious Holmes family move into the deserted house opposite John Watson's farm. Intrigued with the strange newcomers, the young farmer lets his priorities slip. But not without consequence.

How to Sleep with Your Enemy in One Semester by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 9,699 w., 6 Ch. || College / Uni Professors AU || Professor John/Sherlock, Enemies to Lovers, Rivalry, Bickering, Office Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Domestics, John’s Beard, Idiots in Love, Humour) – Visiting professors John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are longtime academic rivals — and now unwilling office mates — at a prestigious American university. When their tense arguments give way to an undercurrent of mutual attraction, their war of wits turns into something more personal — until it goes off course. A party, a phone number, and deserted office at night might just bring them back together.

The Rainbow Connection by honeybee_motorcyles (M, 13,161 w., 7 Ch. || Post-TRF, Autistic Sherlock, American Road Trip, Understanding, Communication, PTSD Sherlock, Regression, Aspergers, Angst and Fluff) – A Road Trip is the best cure for Sherlock and John's relationship.

Wild Skies by darkestbliss (E, 13,339+ w., 9/? Ch. || WiP || American Farm/Ranch AU || Age Difference, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Bottom Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Teen Sherlock, Summer Camp, Older John) – Sherlock Holmes, show jumping champion turned druggie, is sent to a small, remote ranch in Wyoming for the summer as part of his rehabilitation process. There, he meets John Watson, a beautiful and good-natured ranch hand who was raised by the West.

The Reawakening of John Watson by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (E, 20,463 w., 14 Ch. || Historical 1800s American/Victorian AU || Artist Sherlock, Writer John, Angst with Happy Ending, Bisexual John, Period Typical Homophobia, Sensuality, Experienced Sherlock, Pining, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, Flirty Sherlock, Frottage, Outdoor Sex, Trust Issues, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension, Colorado / London, Rimming, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs,  POV John) – Trying to escape his troubled past in England, John Watson has started a new life in the American West. When he meets the handsome artist Sherlock Holmes, a smoldering attraction is sparked, complicating his quiet, carefully guarded existence. Maybe taking a risk with Sherlock is exactly what John needs to feel alive again...

Learning Curve by thpontiacbandit (M, 41,422 w., 22 Ch. || Teacher / Parent AU || America, Fluff and Smut, Parentlock, Frottage) – John is a Kindergarten teacher. One of his students, a boy named Henry Holmes, refuses to speak in school. John is determined to get to the bottom of it, and that is how he meets Sherlock Holmes.

The Bone Fiddle by htebazytook & Vulgarweed (E, 61,167 w., 13 Ch. || American Historical 1970′s AU || Appalachia, West Virginia, Vietnam War, Watergate, Murder Mystery, Case Fic, Drama, Humour, Romance) – In November 1973, Vietnam vet John Watson returns to his family's old home in Arthel County, West Virginia, deep in coal country. His low expectations include recuperation and boredom. Instead he finds a ruined landscape, a series of grisly murders, and one of the world's weirdest neighbors. Part 1 of the The Bone Fiddle series

Next Right: Welcome to Westbound Rest Area 818 by elwinglyre (E, 73,618 w., 16 Ch. || American Unilock AU || Bunk Beds, Anonymous Sex, Homophobia, Closeted John, Roommates, Angst with Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Music, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt John, BAMF John) – Sherlock Holmes dreams of escape from his smothering family and space to breathe. Studying chemistry at the University of Michigan, he's almost far enough away to fill his lungs. Almost. While John Watson dreams of being a doctor, he also dreams of being with another man. John knows that with hard work and study, he can make the first a reality, but he's certain the second can never be. Until a secret encounter in the dark at Rest Area 818 changes everything. When Sherlock meets his new roommate, John Watson, he sees a man in the closet. Sherlock hides from no one. Except from his own family, a detective inspector who wants his evidence returned, and his secret encounter at Rest Area 818. Setting late 1970s, Michigan, USA. POV third person alternates between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock, P.I. by Callie4180 (E, 83,264 w., 11 Ch. || Magnum P.I. Fusion || Past Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Stalking, Creepy Moriarty) – For the Fall TV Sherlock fusion project. Sherlock, P.I. is an American television show that follows the exciting adventures of genius private investigator Sherlock Homes and his friends as they live their lives on the beautiful island of Oahu in Hawaii. Sherlock solves crimes as he wrestles with the ghosts and demons of his past.

Boyfriend Material by PoppyAlexander (E, 151,282 w., 58 Ch. || American Hockey AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Closeted John, POV John, Pining, Casual Sex / Hook Ups, Rom-Com) – Boston Brawlers' team captain John Watson longs for two things: a championship before he retires, and a boyfriend. Assigned to room with goaltender Sherlock Holmes--known around the league as both a genius and a "weird dude"– on Brawlers' roadtrips, John discovers the things they have in common that lead to an easy friendship and a convenient arrangement.

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 175,094+ w., 35/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

Just Like That Series by cwb (E, 201,462+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || American Teenager / Farmer AU || Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Angst, High School, Summer Vacation, Swimming, Friends to Lovers, Car Sex, Mutual Pining, Falling in Love, Kissing) – John and Sherlock are best friends, until John goes and changes.

The Devil's Blaze by DulcimerGecko (E, 296,121+ w., 25/? Ch. || WiP || American Cowboy / Rodeo AU || Vet John, Case Fic, Texas, Slow Build, Manipulative Sherlock, Masturbation, Developing Relationship, Dancing Lessons, Drunk Sherlock, Safe Sex, Blow Jobs, Horny John, Cowboy Sherlock, Cowboy John) – Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only Consulting Equestrian Expert, is the individual called when horse owners are out of their depth. At the behest of his elder brother, Sherlock travels to Amarillo, Texas, to investigate why a valuable bucking stallion has seemingly gone berserk for no reason and killed his trainer. The local authorities suspect the owner of fraud and possible animal abuse, but Mycroft sees parallels to an unsolved case from the 1980s wherein a racehorse killed a groom. Complicating the situation is John Watson: bronco rider, rodeo veterinarian and one of case’s primary suspects... Part 1 of the The Devil's Blaze series

[marleyrose17]

Almost Paradise ( Owen Patrick Joyner Fic )

Hey everyone! This story is gonna be a Owen Patrick Joyner story and I will be pairing the reader with Owen, so I’ll put Y/N anytime the main character is mentioned or is talking. This is my first story since high school so please bear with me as the writing will slowly become better the more I write. I hope all you fellow Owen simps like myself like this story. FYI this story takes place if COVID 19 never existed. Please check out my best friend Sydney ( @imsydneywalker) for cute Charlie Fics. Love Yall.

Summary: Y/N just turned 22 and decided to make a spontaneous trip to L.A California USA from Dieppe,New Brunswick, Canada to visit her best friend Charlie Gillespie for her 22nd birthday present to herself. He doesn’t know she’s coming, hence the surprise. But little does she know would she get a little surprise of her own on her way to America.

Chapter 1: Someday

House outfit: https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2814065

*Week before Reader’s birthday* 2021

Y/N’s thoughts: It has been forever since I’ve last seen my best friend Charles Jeffrey Gillespie or how I like to call him Arlo *as I hold onto the necklace he gave me for my 15th birthday*. Weird nickname I know, but I’ve been calling him that since kindergarten and I’m not changing it. It’s almost my 22nd birthday so I felt like I should treat myself to a present of seeing my best friend for a little while. Momma bear doesn’t know yet but I don’t think she’ll care as much since she loves Charlie as one of her own kids, so just taking a trip cross country shouldn’t be too hard to tell her. Right? Let’s find out.

*Y/N walks down to the kitchen from her bedroom*

“Hey mami,” Y/N says as she sits on one of the barstools, popping a green grape and dipping it into nutella into her mouth.

“Yes Y/N nickname?” Y/N’s mom says in a what do you want tone, while finishing cleaning up the kitchen after dinner.

“What?” Y/N asks.

“I already know you want something. You never come back downstairs after dinner unless you’re getting a snack or you want something. I’m your mother, remember.”

“Damn, that predictable huh? Anyways, yes I wanted to ask you something or more like tell you something. So I was thinking for my 22nd birthday I could possibly fly down to America and see your adopted son for a couple weeks. You know I’ve been wanting to move down to L.A so why not go for my birthday. I’d obviously stay at Arlo’s, money shouldn’t be an issue since I’ve been saving plus birthday money from past years. Sooo?” Y/N finishes saying while looking at her mom with puppy eyes.

“You already bought your plane ticket didn’t you?” your mom says while staring at you with one eyebrow raised.

“.... maybe…. no actually, I wanted to see what you’d say first before splurging.” Y/N  says while looking down at the bowl of grapes and looks up again to smile cheeky at her mom.

Your mom rolls her eyes and laughs. “ Sure, why not. Do you want me to call Maman J so she can tell Charlie?” your mom asks.

“No no, I want it to be a surprise. It’s kind of a birthday present to myself since Arlo decided to be like “ I wanna be an actor and blah blah blah”. You say mimicking him.

“Alright, well as an early birthday present, I’ll buy your ticket. Should I make it a round trip or a one way?”

“Ummm make it a one way trip, I’ll let you know when I want to come home. You know Arlo, he always has some random hiking trip he wants to take, and knowing him he might drag me to one of those trips” you say rolling your eyes.

“No problem. You better go upstairs and start packing.” your mom says.

*You dip one last green grape into nutella and pop it into your mouth before you hop off the bar stool to give your mom a kiss* “You’re the best mami!”

*You run back to your room and start planning the whole trip*

*5:30pm One day before reader’s birthday and your flight*

*you're sitting on your bed finishing up some last minute packing, when you hear a knock at your door.*

“Come in.” Y/N says without turning around.

“Hey hun.” your mom says.

*you turn around to face your mom* “Hey mami, whats up?” *you say while sitting on top of your luggage trying to close it*

Your mom chuckles, “Here is your plane ticket for your flight, it's at 5:55am, you have a connecting flight to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma which will have a connecting flight to L.A.X.”, your mom says handing you the tickets. “So you better finish packing and get some rest.”

*You reach for the tickets while trying not to fall of your luggage* “Awesome, thanks mami.”

“No problem, just get some rest ok. I will drive you to the airport.” your mom says while walking out of your room.

“Ok!” you yell through the door. *You finally got the luggage to close* “YES!” you say standing up on the edge of your bed but then proceed to fall off your bed in the process which leads to a loud thud hitting the floor. “I’M OK!” you yell before your mom asks.

You place your luggages and carry ons by your door and start getting ready for bed. You look into the mirror one last time and stare at the picture of you and Charlie at the waterfront, ( https://www.instagram.com/p/B-suC_WF8Cu/) ( just pretend its yall, I know its like his cousin or friend)

“L.A.X I’ll see you tomorrow.” you say to yourself before walking to bed.

*Reader’s birthday* 3:00am

Airport Outfit: https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2813992 (girl on the left is what your hair looks like)

*your phone goes off at 3:00 am with the song I See Fire by Ed Sheeran playing from your phone softly.*

*You groan annoyingly wondering why you’re up so early, when you realize it is your 22nd birthday and you have a flight to catch in two hours. You spring out of bed, pop your airpods in and blair The OtherSide from The Greatest Showman and begin getting ready for your long day of flying*

*Dancing towards your bathroom, you turn on your shower to warm up and start brushing your teeth. You lay out the outfit you will be wearing to the airport on your bed, take out your headphones and head into the shower.*

*20 mins later. You hear a knock on your bathroom door*

“Almost done sweetie?” your mom asks.

“Yes, I’m just finishing up, I’ll be down soon.” you say through the door.

*Because you’re going to the airport you didn’t put too much makeup on, just enough to make yourself look kind of awake on the flights. You put your hair in a messy bun, put on your jean jacket, take one last look in the mirror before you shut off the light and head out.*

*You look around your room to make sure you grab any last minute items for your carry on. Especially making sure you have your Beats, charger, spare hair elastics and gum. You go to grab your luggage when you realize your mom already did and placed them in the car. Best mom ever. You grab your guitar case and your bag and head out.*

*Skip the car ride, you’re already at the airport*

“You’re sure you have everything right?” your mom asks while taking the stuff out of the car.

“Yes, I promise, I have everything I need. If I forgot anything important I will call you and have it shipped to Arlo’s.” you say while closing the trunk of the car.

“Alright, have a safe trip hun, please be safe and try not to get Charlie in too much trouble ok?” your mom says while hugging you goodbye.

*GASP* “ HEY! I’m a good noodle, Arlo’s the one who dared me to jump in the fountain at the mall. You know me I could never pass up a good dare.” you say while breaking the hug.

“Haha, yes I know which leads you to getting sick. Remember, it was winter.” your mom retorts back.

“ Yeah yeah I know, I’m still a good noodle though.” You chuckle while grabbing your stuff again.

Your mom shakes her head, “Go before you miss your flight silly.” She says while turning you around.

“Ok, ok I get it you want me gone.” You say laughing while walking towards the automatic doors.

“OH SWEETIE!” your mom calls out.

You turn around. “Yes?” you ask

“Happy Birthday!” your mom yells in front of everybody.

You stare at her like really. “Thanks mami. I love you too”

*You walk inside the airport and walk towards the check in line to check in all your luggages.*

*Skip to you’re already on the plane before take off.*

*You check your phone for the time, plug in your Beats, place them on and hit shuffle before. You look out the window watching the sun just barely starting to rise before you close it and begin to read your book, for the next 4 hours.*

*4 hours later*

*You finish up one of your books, you pull off your headphones just in time to hear the pilot announce that you guys are about to land. You place your book and headphones back into your bag and prepare to land.*

* You get off the plane and check the time on your phone to notice that your connecting flight is almost here and you begin to panic. You check your ticket and realize that of course your flight is on the other end of the terminal, so you begin to run and book it to the other end, hoping you’ll make it on time.*

“Excuse me! Sorry! Sorry! Excuse me!” you say as you weave through airport traffic.

*Half way through your running spree you look down at your phone again to make sure you didn’t miss your flight when you feel your arm get tugged from behind you. You notice one of yours and someone else’s luggage clipped each other by the wheels and they both go flying. “Sorry, my bad.” you say as you grab a luggage, not even looking up to see who you collided with and go back to your sprinting.*

“Yes!” you say to yourself as you make it to your gate. The flight hasn’t boarded yet so you take a seat and wait for your row to be called. You get to your gate, hand the lady your ticket and proceed to board your flight.

*You place your carry-on luggage into the overhead bin and take your seat, when you notice a very sweaty guy just barely making it onto the flight. You chuckle to yourself.*

*3 hours later*

“Alright passengers, we will be landing very shortly. The weather today is 89 degrees, partly cloudy, and 40% of humidity. Welcome to Los Angeles, California passengers.” the pilot announces over the intercom.

*You place your headphones back on, and calmly this time walk off the plane and head towards baggage claim*

*As you’re waiting your favorite song Someday by Max Schneider starts to play. You begin to sway back and forth, humming to the tune when you then feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see who it was and begin to stare at him weirdly wondering why you can’t hear the guy talk*

“Oh shit, my bad. Forgot.” you say as you take off your headphones to actually hear what the guy was saying.

“It's cool, all I was saying was that I was sorry for colliding with you back in Oklahoma. I wasn’t paying attention, I was in a rush and didn’t see you. It wasn’t until after that I noticed that the gate was in the opposite direction.” A dirty blonde guy explains to me.

“Oh no, it was totally my fault, I should have been looking up instead of on my phone. I guess we were both in a rush. But hey, I like your jean jacket. Pretty dope.” I say to him.

“Right back atcha.” he retorts.

*Awkwardly stands next to each other waiting for your luggage to arrive*

“Welp, that's my luggage. Have fun in L.A.” The guy says as he grabs his other luggage and heads towards the exit.

“Thanks, you too crash buddy.” you say back.

*you grab your luggages from the conveyor belt and pull to the side so you’re not in the way of people. You go to open one of your luggages to make sure nothing spilled on the flights/crash over, when you notice that the things in one of the luggages isn’t yours.*

“Shit, I must have accidentally switched luggages with that guy back in Oklahoma.” you say to yourself as you look around to hopefully see if he is still around.

*You close up the luggage, and begin to gather your things and head towards the exit, hoping the guy hasn’t left the airport yet. You get to the exit, head outside and don’t see the guy you bumped into.*

“Damn it!” you say defeated, “How will I ever get my stuff back? What a way to start off my birthday.”

*You get an uber and head towards Arlo’s place*

[theonewiththefanfics]

Touch (one-shot)

Synopsys: There was a time Bucky hated touch. He hated to be touched and to touch. Not anymore. Now things are different. And as the snow slowly covers New York, Bucky thinks of how he got to that point.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluffffff, lil bit of angst as insecure and guilty Bucky

Warnings: swearing, suggestive stuff, Bucky feelin low at points and insecure (yes, that is a fucking warning)

Word count: 5517

Bucky loved touch.

          He used to hate it, given how any time for the past seventy years touch meant harm, excruciating pain and torture. And not just it being inflicted upon him by his captors. Sometimes he was on the delivering end.

         But he loved it now, just like he loved the early mornings of New York when the city still somewhat slept, and he could just watch the twinkling lights flicker through the pale curtains. 

         Now, everything was covered in a layer of snow. The sky looked lighter, despite the fact that it was 5 AM, but each flake reflected the beams of the city, encasing it in a warm white blanket.

         He loved the touch of snow. It was cold, but not an angry cold. It was the kind of cold that reminded him of her feet stuck under his back in the middle of the night or the kind of cold that he felt on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her frigid nose. It was a safe cold. A loving one.

         It hadn’t come easy though – getting to the point where he didn’t wince when someone clapped on his shoulder, or be the one to seek out someone’s hand, let alone initiate a hug or bring her in for a kiss. 

         It was Tony’s funeral of all places where everything had started. Sam was talking with Steve as his best friend passed on the mantle of Captain America. In a way, Bucky was glad it hadn’t been him. He didn’t feel like he deserved it, nor did he feel like he could carry such amount of responsibility. Not then at least.

          He turned around, head tilted downwards as he watched pine needles crunch under his feet when another pair came in view. Bucky instantly recognised her.

          Y/E/C eyes met his blue ones, and although there wasn’t much physical resemblance of her father, Y/N carried herself in the same suave way, and her gaze always glinted with knowledge and mischief. Now her eyes were rimmed with red.

          “I uh,” she started before clearing her throat. “I wanted to say thank you for coming. He’d… he would’ve really appreciated it.”

          Bucky almost choked on the sudden tears, and he shook his head. Throughout the whole funeral, he’d barely kept it together, as waves and waves of guilt rolled around. “Y/N, I don’t think anyone would want the murderer of their paren-“

          She shook her head in dismissal not letting him finish the sentence. “He forgave you. A long time ago. In fact, I don’t think you were the one that hurt him the most. Dad was a lot of things… but despite what many believe, when he found out he was wrong, it wasn’t hard for him to admit it.”

          Bucky swallowed hard. He should be on his knees begging for forgiveness and mercy, he should be begging her to believe how truly and utterly sorry he was. 

          “I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t come up with anything else. Because there was nothing else to say. Nothing he’d do would ever bring Tony back, and nothing he’d say would ever bring Tony back. He was just stuck in a loop of grief, guilt and sorrow, and would never get out of it.

          Maybe that’s what he deserved, Bucky thought to himself, maybe that was his punishment for Tony sacrificing his life only so he could live.

          “Anyway, I found this while going through his stuff…” Y/N handed him a little flash drive taking Bucky out of that wallowing pit. “I really think you need to see it.”

          Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Y/N as she wiped away tears. “What’s on it?”

          She shook her head. “It's not my place to tell,” and gently she took Bucky’s still open palm and closed his fingers around the little device. “Please,” Y/N sniffled looking from their clasped hands back up at him and gave Bucky a tight smile. “Don’t be a stranger. I’d love to get to know you.”

          And then she left. Her black trench coat billowed around her in the soft spring wind. He watched as she picked her sister up in her arms, and Morgan’s little legs and hands wrapped around Y/N in a secure hug. Brown eyes met Bucky, and a little hand raised in a wave. He waved right back.

          That night he went to the hotel the Stark’s had so generously placed everyone who had been decimated and newly brought back or who had arrived at Tony’s memorial. Most of them didn't have a place to stay. Bucky was one of them.

  ��       He felt Sam approach before his strong hand clapped on his right shoulder. 

          “You gonna be okay?”

          Bucky nodded. “It’s just been a long day.”

          A deep hearty chuckle, that had an underlying layer of exhaustion reverberated through the quiet hallway. “You can say that… If you need anything just knock. I’ll probably be up until whenever…”

          Sam wasn’t one to really talk about his emotions, but Bucky knew he felt just as much guilt as he did. Maybe not as much, but he could see that emotions and words left unsaid, weighed on his friend’s shoulders. 

          Sam's door clicked shut, and only then did Bucky turn to his own, swiping the key card, and letting the small happy beep announce that it was open. He stripped off his jacket, combat boots and jeans. Unlike Y/N, he didn’t think Tony would have wanted him there, that’s why he wasn’t in a suit. It had been a last-minute decision when he realized there would never be a time, he’d be able to apologize to the billionaire. Not anymore. So, the least he could do was show respect by supporting the people he’d loved more than anything. 

          In a black tank top and boxers, Bucky plopped down onto the hotel bed and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. For a good couple of minutes, he stared at it, trying to find answers to unanswerable questions, but once he figured, unless the walls started talking there would be none, he grabbed the jacket and pulled out the flash drive Y/N had given him. 

          Not only had the whole Stark family been generous enough to grant him a place to stay until they figured out further accommodations, but they’d also given him anything he wanted or needed. A computer had been one of the things. He hadn’t requested it, but Pepper refused him refusing. 

          “If only to quench the boredom,” the redhead has smiled and slipped the slim rectangle in his hands along with a phone, credit card and a notebook. The last thing was already almost half-filled. 

          There was no password necessary as the computer camera scanned his facial features and granted him access. He plugged the flash drive in. Only one file resided on it.

          With bated breath, he clicked on it. The second he saw Tony, Bucky sat up straighter.

          “Hey… Hi… Bucky… I don’t know if you’ll ever see this because… well, because you’re dead,” Tony let out a bitter chuckle. “And I should be happy about it. I feel like I should. But I’m not. I’m not happy about any of this. There’s not much to celebrate nowadays." There was a slight pause as Tony bit his lip and smiled. It looked like he almost didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself. In a moment, Bucky understood why.

          “My daughter was born today. My second kiddo. Her name’s Morgan… probably the greatest day of my life… it would be the second greatest had I been able to see Y/N be born, but I gotta do with what I’m given.” 

          He shook his head and waved a hand around, “I guess that’s why I’m making this. Also, because my therapist said it might help, but I think it’s because of what happened today… I don’t want to live with all of this weighing on me. Ever since that whole thing in Siberia, this has been the one thing on my mind I haven’t been able to push away into some dark corner with the rest of my problems…” he looked up at the camera as if he could see Bucky. “You can’t blame me for how I reacted. You can’t tell me that I was wrong in how I dealt with everything… but you can tell me that I should’ve given you a bit of time to explain yourself.

          I know this will sound like an excuse, but the only thing I was thinking was – he already took away the people I love, so I won’t let him take what little I’ve got left… I know how unfair it is… was… but I hope you understand…”

          Bucky let a tear freely flow over his scruffy cheek as he nodded. He did. He’d do the same if he had a family. Without. A. Question.

          “But here’s the thing,” Tony sighed and looked to the side. “I can’t change the past… not what happened with my parents, not what happened with Thanos… I can’t do anything to bring you all back. And then I started thinking – what if I could go back far enough that I could save you?”

          The super-soldier almost felt his heart stop at the thought of Tony risking his life just to save his. 

          “What if I was able to save you before any of this happened? And I pondered it for quite a while. All of those what-ifs and such… and I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t. And I know it sounds horrible, but here’s the thing, if I did – I wouldn’t have become the man I am today. There would be no Iron Man, no Stark Industries as they are now, and I wouldn’t have Pep or Y/N or now Morgan… I would've never have become an Avenger if things were even remotely different. I’m not saying it’s easy to come to the terms that it wasn’t you who did that… but I’m saying that every single piece has led me to where I am now. And that also includes you. And if you’re even a little bit like me, which from dad’s stories, I think you are, I know how you’re feeling, so I just want you to know that I forgive you, Bucky. For everything. I read some of your file and yeah…” he dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck man… I get it… I understand it…”

          Bucky could see in Tony’s face that he truly did understand. He had been kidnapped and held captive as well. He knew what it was like to do things against his own will and be betrayed by humanity. Hell, he had been betrayed by someone he had considered family.

          “And I want you to know I’m sorry too. It’s hard. Knowing everything you ever thought is a lie. I blamed my dad for most of my life for what happened when instead I should’ve been blaming someone else... HYDRA fucked us both over, didn’t they?” 

          Bucky choked back a sob. “Yeah, they did.”

          The high-pitched wail of a child cut through Tony’s words, and he looked at the camera with a soft and genuine smile. “I gotta go, Maguna’s calling. But yeah… I guess that’s all I wanted to say. But if I could ask of you one thing – if you’re watching this, most likely I’m not there to tell this to you in person, so just… take care of them, please. My girls. They’re the one thing in this world that I have left.” And with a delicate smile Tony said ‘bye’, and the screen turned to black.

          Bucky cried that night and the following morning. He curled up in his bed and sobbed until he couldn’t breathe, and then he took a warm bath and cried some more with his knees pulled up to his chest and hands in his hair. 

          That day he cut the long tresses off. It was sloppy and uneven, but it felt good. Like he was letting go of all of the guilt and pain, and he was finally forgiving himself. Sam wasn’t half bad at evening everything out. 

          That same day he went over to the lake house Pep and Morgan still resided in. As did Y/N.

          “She’s in the basement,” Pepper nodded towards a set of stairs and readjusted how her daughter sat on her hip. “She’s been working on one of Tony’s unused patents. Something with nanotech and neurology.”

          “Smart girl,” he mumbled and tickled the little sock-clad feet of Morgan, who giggled and tucked her face in her mother’s hair. 

          Pep laughed and patted Morgan's back. “Just like her dad. Hasn’t even taken a break since last night… would you be so kind and maybe bring her lunch? I just made some lasagna, which you’re more than welcome to as well.”

          Without a second to spare, Bucky plated some food, ready to bring Y/N the much-needed fuel. He would’ve left without taking a bite for himself, but Pepper’s disapproving gaze told him he didn’t have a choice. 

          “No, DUM-E!” he heard her exclaim as he balanced the two portions in his hands. “Fuck, why do you even have that function? You do that again, and I’ll donate you to a community college. Dad didn’t go through with it, but I will; mark my words!”

          Metal elbow knocked against the glass door, and it made her spin around.

          “Sorry for interrupting,” Bucky apologized in a quiet voice. Rock music had been turned on a low hum, and goggles sat perched on Y/N’s nose before she removed them and beckoned him inside not even glancing in his direction. He heard the band sing something about teenagers and having the living shit scared out of them by them. He chuckled, thinking that teenagers were the least horrifying things on the planet.

          “Don’t worry. It’s not something that can’t wait a bit,” she pulled off two heavy-set gloves and threw them onto the table, and immediately stumbled back a bit as her eyes befell on Bucky. “Sorry, I just... you look very different without the uh,” she waved at his head.

          “Yeah, I uh, cut it off.”

          Y/N snorted and turned back to whatever she had been fixing, pushing a piece of paper away. “I noticed. Oh, shit, sorry,” she motioned to how he was still holding the food and took one of the plates. “You made this?”

          “Uh, no. Pepper did. Said you hadn’t eaten in ages and asked to bring you down something.”

          She rolled her eyes but gave him a small smile as a thanks and put the plate on the table. “I’m not that bad. I just got carried away.”

          He did it without a warning. Bucky just stepped forward as she rambled on about finding some clean forks when he grabbed her by the writs and pulled the woman in his chest. It was the first time he made the first move to hug someone. He pulled Y/N against him and pressed his face in the crook of her neck, muttering never-ending apologies and promises to keep her, Morgan and Pep safe just as her father had asked him to do. She didn’t respond, just wove her own hands around his shoulders and soothed him until he could form a coherent sentence.

         Thumbs roughened by battles she should've never been involved in and manual labor because, just like Tony, she always had to be tinkering with something, wiped away tears. “It’s okay,” Y/N whispered. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

         He pulled in a shuddering breath. “I just needed you to know.”

         “I do,” Y/N smiled at him. “And so does he. Now… food?”

         After that, he really kept his promise. He didn’t have any external threats to really worry about that could harm Y/N, Pep or Morgan, but Tony’s eldest daughter could be a menace to herself, so Bucky was sure to supply her with water and food and overall company.

         They talked about everything under the Sun. Mostly everything beyond the Sun, as he was a huge space nerd, and even in her contacts Y/N had named him ‘Bonky-the-space-Boi’. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t flutter every time she sent him a meme or a NASA article while sitting right beside him. 

         “Maybe you could ask Carol to take you with her when she visits next,” Y/N suggested, chowing down on some duck gyoza and soy sauce. “See the universe for yourself.”

         And Bucky had thought of it. He’d met her at Tony’s funeral as well, and had fallen in a two-hour conversation with the woman because there was going to be no meteoroid left unturned. Not when he had the expert available for him. But he shook his head.

         “I don’t think I’d be able to stay away for that long.”

         “From what? Earth?” Y/N quirked her eyebrow up.

         “No, Earth I could live without…”

         “Then what?”

         “You.”

         It was so simple, a single word, yet it held so much weight to it. And at first, Y/N was going to say, if it was because of that promise he’d made to her dad, Bucky had nothing to worry about, but she didn’t. Because in his eyes she could see - that wasn’t it. She could see that when he said ‘you’, he meant that he wouldn’t be able to live a day without her. That any moment she wasn't in his life, was dull and bleak.

         Y/N cleared her throat, put down her chopsticks and took Bucky’s hand in hers, slowly intertwining their fingers. “Well… if you do uh decide to visit space someday… I wouldn’t mind going with…”

         Bucky swore when she looked at him, all the stars dimmed in shame from just how much her eyes sparkled.

         He had asked her out that evening. With half-said words and pieces of rice still stuck in his throat, he had mumbled out something along the lines of ‘would you ever consider going on a date with me’, and Y/N had shaken her head and returned to her food with an ‘I already thought this was a date’.

         Still to this day both of them continued to argue when did their relationship truly start – the evening in the basement when they’d confessed their feelings, or the following week when he’d taken her to a quaint little Italian place in Brooklyn; where they’d sat in a corner booth and shared two pizzas.

         Bucky said it was the latter. Because it was also the evening when they’d first kissed. She had been the one to initiate it. They were on their way to the Avenger’s tower which had been rebuilt in the memory of her father and to house the new generation of Earth’s mightiest heroes as well. It was also where Bucky resided.

         “Do you not want to kiss me?” she asked, chuckling before he could even say a thing. He could hear there was no hurt in her tone, and his breathing evened out a bit, knowing she wasn’t offended. “’ Cause I see you keep glancing at my lips, and I’m just waiting for you to make a move, but any time I try to look at you, you look away.”

         Bucky gave her an apologetic smile and squeezed the hand he was holding in his won. “I don’t think it’s too shocking if I say I haven’t kissed anyone since the forties, so ‘m sorry that I’m a bit nervous.”

         “Hey, it’s okay.” Y/N brought one of her hands to his cheeks, and he practically melted. “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous. I’m nervous too. You just gotta talk to me, ‘cause your eyes are saying one thing, but you’re doing another. I just wanna know if we’re both on the same page… I don’t mind waiting.”

         Bucky’s eyes softened at her words. “Really?”

         “Of course,” she scoffed as if him doubting that, was the most offensive thing in this world to her. “I want this to be enjoyable for both of us, and putting you in a situation you don’t wanna be in, is not how to achieve that.”

         With every passing second, Bucky’s heart beat harder and harder, and despite him giggling, he was terrified to the core. “So, if I said I wanted to kiss you now?”

         Y/N shrugged as if she wasn’t about to leap out of her skin from the anticipation. “I’d say I’d be more than up for it. I did say I don’t mind waiting, not that I want to.”

         Bucky’s core was shaking as he leaned in. He rested his forehead against hers; her beanie scratched against his skin, but he didn’t mind it much. He didn’t even mind the first flakes of snow that covered the November swept Central Park. 

         “You gonna kiss me, Buck, or just stare into my eyes?” Y/N teased him, her breath fanning over his face in a white cloud. It smelled of the sweet red wine both of them had drunk. He couldn't wait to taste it on her lips. Never in his life did he think he'd be jealous of a wine glass, but that night he had been.

         “I could stare into your eyes forever.”

         She snorted. “You’re such a sap… but I kinda like it.”

         Bucky smiled as wide as his cheeks would allow before slipping one of his hands to rest on Y/N’s waist and the other cupped her autumn-air touched cheek. 

         The kiss was more than he ever could have hoped for. It was sweet and short, but it filled Bucky’s soul to the brim. He didn’t know if he believed in souls or God, not after what had happened to him, but what he did believe in is that there was a person out there that was meant just for him.          

 Not a soulmate that would complete him like a missing puzzle piece, but someone that made him strive to be a better person, someone that would bring only the good out in him and the bad parts… they’d accept and help him find a way to shape them into something worth living for. With that one kiss, Bucky was one hundred percent sure he’d found her.

         Y/N pulled back, eyes still closed and a wide smile on her face, and Bucky watched her face intently. “Not bad,” she muttered, “for someone who hasn’t kissed anyone in like eighty years. But you could use some practice.”

         Bucky’s whole chest exploded with warmth. “Yeah. And are you offering to be the teacher?”

         She opened her Y/E/C eyes and gazed at him; lips pulled in a teasing smirk. “For a good price.”

         “And that would be?”

         “Another kiss,” her mouth skimmed over his. This time Bucky was the one to press his lips against hers first.

         Now any time he wanted affection he’d gently come to Y/N, though never if she’d slipped into work, and he’d lean down to her ear and whisper his wish. He wanted to be respectful of her space and boundaries much like she was of his. Sometimes he still whisked his hand away from her if she touched him a bit too quickly and unexpectedly. Once he’d realize what had happened, he’d inch his fingers along Y/N’s forearm and intertwine them.

         ‘Sorry,’ he’d say with a squeeze of his hand.

         ‘Me too,’ she’d squeeze right back with an apologetic smile. 

         So, he always had to make sure she wanted his affection.

         “Bucky, you never have to ask if you can kiss me or hug me,” she responded one late evening as she pecked his lips and rested her back against his chest. Brooklyn Nine-Nine played in the background. “I always want to kiss you and hug you.”

         And although he tried to settle it in his mind, that he needn’t question whether she wanted him, because for some weird (in his mind) reason Y/N wanted him in every way, there was a thing he wanted a solid confirmation on.

         “Can we sleep together?” his question came out as an uncertain whisper, voice trembling.

         Y/N chuckled as Jake Peralta smashed through the window from a zipline and busted the bad guys. “Of course,” she said. “I kinda expected you to stay over. It’s snowing like crazy right now.” And it was. Behind the window of her house, an actual blizzard raged on. Pep and Morgan were out of town for that weekend visiting her side of parents. Y/N had insisted they stay over there and had actually threatened Happy if he tried to even sit in a car. She wasn’t going to let anyone get hurt. Besides, Christmas was in two days. They’d all make it back just in time.

         “I wasn’t gonna let you drive in this kind of weather,” Y/N said, trying to reassure Bucky that he was more than welcome to snuggle up with her and spend the night. But it wasn’t what he was asking.

         “No, I meant can we… sleep together?”

         Instantly, her head went to the side only to see him looking at his lap. Her heart stuttered in her chest, not just at the thought that Bucky wanted her in that kind of a way, but because he asked. Because he wanted to know if she was ready to be intimate with him to the highest degree. 

         “Bucky,” she lifted his face so their eyes could meet. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

         There was no judgement of having asked that question, there was no mockery of him being shy and scared to bring it up. All he could see was Y/N making sure he was certain in what he asked. He fell a little more in love with her. 

         “Yeah,” he breathed out. “I think – I know, I’m ready. I wanna be with you… in every possible way… do you want to?”

         She nodded her head maybe a bit too eagerly, but there was no shame in it. “As long as you’re completely sure.”

         Bucky knew there was nothing in this world he was more certain of. 

Y/N switched off the TV and rose from the couch, her hand extended for him to grab. Both of them were filled with nerves and excitement as she led him through the house, up the stairs and to her room. Fairy lights had been left on just so she wouldn’t have to walk inside a pitch-black room, but unintentionally it created the perfect mood – gentle, kind and trusting.

         “Guide me, Bucky,” she kissed right below his ear and wove her hands around his middle. “I want you to tell me and show me what you like.”

         His touches started out trembling, slow and unsure, but soon enough, as he moved Y/N’s hands and allowed himself to show her mouth where he liked to be caressed the most, they became greedy and demanding.

         They demanded to feel more of her, so he removed the shirt that had been covering her body, they were hungry to roam over her skin, so both flesh and metal slipped across every curve and dip in their way, eagerly memorizing how she shuddered and responded, how she became pliable in his fingers.

         He didn’t know that it was Stark who years ago had sent over to Wakanda his nanotech patent, so Shuri could one day implement it in his arm. He didn’t know Y/N had been doing the final tweaks before Bucky was called over to the other country on the same day he’d made the promise to keep her safe. He didn’t know it was because of Tony he was able to touch and feel and relish in being touch and felt. But the day he found out about it, he swore all over again to never let go of his word.

         Their first time had been soft and tender and filled with reassurances and breathless love confessions. When Y/N had touched the shoulder where his metal arm connected to real flesh, Bucky almost started crying. Her nails were digging into the scarred flesh much like his own had at one point, but they weren't trying to pry that horrid silver appendage that he once owned away. HYDRA had had to restrain him in the chair and sedate him to repair the damage he’d done to their newest weapon. Bucky had practically ripped his arm off anew that time leaving his skin in bloody scraps. But Y/N was holding onto him like if she didn’t, she’d be the one to fall apart, that somehow someone would rip her away from him, and there was no way she would allow that to happen. She bit down on the joint as she came soothing the sting with her tongue.

         That night (or rather that morning), after they’d tried every possible position before Y/N had exhausted all of her energy, Bucky watched her sleep on his chest, her right palm cradling his left shoulder. She let out a small snore and furrowed her eyebrows. Whatever she was dreaming about, she was not agreeing with it. Bucky huffed and pushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead. Instantly the lines between her brows disappeared.

         “I’m in love with you,” he whispered as the Sun slowly rose. He thought his only witness had been the quiet of her room, but the small ‘I love you too’ proved him wrong.

         Bucky had never been the white-picket-fence kind of a guy, not even before the war. And he wasn’t one either now. But he did want a family, he did want to belong somewhere... with someone. And he’d found that with Y/N.

         What had started off as a promise to her father, had morphed into a vow to himself. Bucky looked over to his left where Y/N had her head resting on a white cloud of a pillow, Y/H/C hair sprawled all across it.

         Three years later to the day, with Christmas fast approaching, they found themselves in the exact same position as they had been in her house, this time, in the Avenger’s tower. Their frames were covered by the fluffiest and warmest duvet ever known to humanity. Bucky wouldn't allow anything less. ‘I’ll keep her safe,’ his thoughts rang, ‘because I love her’.

         It was as if she could feel him thinking. Two Y/E/C eyes blearily blinked open, trying to focus in on Bucky. “You okay?” she whispered sighing and rolling closer to snuggle deeper into his chest. She shivered when his metal hand trailed down her naked spine. “Nightmares?”

         “No.”

         “Then why are you up at,” she leaned over to his side where the clock sat, “5:30 in the morning?”

         “Jus’… thinking.”

         She raised her eyebrow but didn’t pry. Bucky would tell her in his own time. “You should get some sleep,” Y/N rested back into his side. “You won’t be able to get any until he turns eighteen.”

         Bucky let out a soft laugh and allowed a warm hand to weave away from her waist to her stomach. “I think you’re the one that needs sleep the most.”

         Instantly Y/N winced and glanced down. “Yeah, well I woke up because you woke up, and now I’m up because someone likes to fucking assault my bladder. I swear he already loves you more than me.”

         Bucky chuckled and slipped under the covers. If he wasn’t dead tired, he would’ve taken Y/N for another round, especially as he gazed over her bare chest. But he didn’t. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her round belly and addressed the person growing inside there. “Hey, Anthony, please let your mom sleep. You know she needs it. It’s how she’s keeping you safe and strong.”

         “You do too,” Y/N whispered holding Bucky’s cheek in her palm once he emerged. “We’re both in this together, you know.”

         If this had been the first time, she’d ever said those words, he was sure he would’ve cried. He had cried. Nobody in his life had trusted him to the degree Y/N did. Not to love or keep or hold or touch.

         “You already do, Bucky,” she had wiped his tears away the day she told him he was going to be a father. “Every day you keep Pep and Maguna safe. You keep me safe… you’ve kept your promise… you’ve always taken care of us… what makes you think this will be different?” a small laugh escaped her when he finally smiled. “We’re in this together. You and me. We’ll figure it out. You'll keep them safe too.”

         They still hadn’t grasped everything, not fully at least; every day was filled with new challenges and obstacles, but if there was one thing Bucky always had, it was Y/N’s touch to guide him.

         With a hand on her huge stomach and a kick from their boy against Bucky’s palm, he fell asleep cocooned in the warmth of their bed with the soft winter layer protecting New York.

         Y/N laid her palm over his. Yeah, Bucky loved touch.

         P.S. Thirteen-years-later Bucky could finally understand why teenagers were scary.

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A/N: woo, am I on a roll! All this Seb content is giving me life! I might have something for Star Wars with Kylo Ren/ Ben Solo that I’m thinking of writing since I’ve seen the movie now :)

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. my tags are always open :)

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Ch. 1

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you're in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family's past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn

A/N: This is also posted on ao3 under @allie_win. I’m transferring it over here, pls let me know if you like it! I love your comments! Just a note that any italics means thoughts.

(series masterlist)

~~

An incessant buzzing woke you up to the image of a dark ceiling. You turned over onto your side and shut off the alarm that woke you up, before standing up from the couch you were sleeping on.

When you slept, you were finally able to take out your wireless earbuds without fear of hearing something you wished you would be able to forget. However, as soon as you woke up, you plugged them back in deciding that it was too early to hear others’ thoughts.

You stretched until you heard your back crack; it ached from sleeping on a less than comfortable couch for the past three days. You trekked around the room quietly, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it down quickly. Your small gray cat jumped onto the counter as you drank, begging for pets. You pet him for only a moment before you grabbed your phone that had been charging on the coffee table and started playing music.

Seeing that you were more often than not wearing earbuds, you spent a decent amount of your time arranging playlists that you would listen to repeatedly. Your morning playlist started with calmer songs that you could stretch to before slowly picking up to get you energized for your morning run.

You slept in your sweatpants and sweatshirt so you only had to put on a sports bra before walking out to be greeted by early morning, the sun only beginning to rise. Hues of pink and orange were beginning to fade away, being replaced by light blue color. A dusting of clouds lingered around the rising sun. You quickly began your stretches, making sure your body was warm before walking out of the patio and into the public.

Not many people were out and about quite yet, but some people began their commutes early and were already heading towards the subway station. You preferred to run at this time because the streets were considerably less crowded. It was a precaution you took to have a peaceful run even though the earbuds and music helped to block out other’s thoughts.

You jumped a few times in place, shaking out your hands before beginning your jog, letting the playlist take you away. You only ran this route a few times at this point, so you were a bit more conscious, making sure you went the right way, but you still cherished the time alone. Only your music and your thoughts.

Today was your first day going to your new school: UA High School.

However, it was also your mom’s first time attending such a school. She was specifically asked to come to UA High School to help with the hero courses. Her ability to control the elements placed her as number 1 hero in America and UA asked for her to come help with students who quirks also revolved around elements.

As of now, her stay was only supposed to last 3 months depending on how essential they found her in the months to come. However, before she accepted the position, your mom made it clear that you were to come with her to UA High School. All your siblings graduated and moved on to hero work and she did not want to leave you with them when you were “only in your second-year and still needed your mom around to help you!” Or at least that’s how she put it.

As of now, you were sleeping on the couch of her apartment right outside of UA. Mr. Principal didn’t want you to move into the second-year dorm rooms until you met the class. He told you that you would be starting in class 2-A based on your place in your old school’s ranking as well as your mom’s achievements. It slightly frustrated you to be given special treatment because of your mom, but you were well aware of your power and assured yourself that Mr. President was one of the smartest people alive and knew where you belonged. However, he also assured you that if your teacher, Aizawa, did not think you fit well in the class, then you may be moved into a class that could utilize your skills more.

You still remember your mom laughing at that, noting how there was no way you wouldn’t fit into the 2-A class.

Turning the corner to run back home, you wondered how your first day would go. You knew very little about your classmates, seeing that you only knew them from the sports festival from last year. They were all very strong and determined people and you were not looking forward to hearing their thoughts. You could put on your earbuds when introducing yourself, but even then, strong thoughts could pierce through the rubber and plastic.

Maybe it would be good not to wear your earbuds, then you could see who wants to be friends with you. Or see who hates you.

You walked up the small staircase to your front door, opening it to see your mom cooking breakfast. The aroma filled your nose and made your stomach growl.

“Good morning!” She greeted you in English.

Her Japanese was far from perfect, but you excelled in the language. It was pertinent that you understood a language in order to understand someone’s thoughts. You knew Japanese quite well before you heard you would be transferring, but after you heard the news, you spent most of your time studying the language as much as you could.

“Ohayo.” You corrected her. “It’s important to practice Japanese around people who won’t laugh at you.”

She smiled at you before turning back to her cooking. Even though you had earbuds in, you still knew she was grateful for you. Sometimes she thought about how your generation was too serious about hero work. She often reminded you to make friends throughout your high school career, something you typically ignored.

Your cat walked in between your legs as you tried to carefully step around him and into the kitchen.

“Are you excited for today?”

“More nervous.” You stripped yourself of your sweatshirt and refilled your water from earlier.

“I’m sure everyone will love you!” Your mom encouraged you.

Not many people loved you back home. No one really liked being friends with someone who could read thoughts and manipulate emotions. But you didn’t say that aloud.

“Thanks.” You drank half the glass of water. “I’m going to shower before breakfast.” You finished the glass and trotted upstairs to the single shower. You turned on the water and got undressed. Once warm, you took your earbuds out, put them into their case, and placed them next to the sink.

You stepped inside and allowed the water to wash off the cold sweat from your body. You finished quickly, drying off, placing your earbuds back in, and changing into UA’s school uniform. You pulled at the skirt, not sure where to let it rest on your hips. You wished it was just an inch longer, but you pushed the thought away, thinking it would be better to adapt to your surroundings. It would make you a better hero.

You smiled at yourself in the mirror once you were satisfied with your outfit. You spent a few moments fixing your hair, making sure you looked good on your first day. It’s important to make a good impression when first meeting everyone.

You came downstairs to see your mom was just finishing with breakfast. You grabbed plates, chopsticks, and glasses from the cupboard before sitting down at the small table. Once your mom sat down, you smiled.

“Itadakimasu!” You spoke while grabbing the chopsticks from the table. Your mom repeated what you said, albeit a bit slower. “You cooked, so you can just respond with ‘Hai!’”

Your mom nodded, looking down as if to commit the action to memory. She grabbed her chopsticks and started eating. You followed her actions. You both sat in silence before she spoke up. “Mr. President says we should both come to his office a little before school begins so I can get the tour and Aizawa can take you to class.”

Aizawa sensei, you thought, making sure to be prepared for the overload of Japanese you would be experiencing once in school.

“Why aren’t I getting a tour?” You asked, looking up from the food to meet your mom’s eyes.

“Mr. President says he wants one of your classmates to give you the tour.”

You nodded. You looked at the clock to debate when you should leave. Classes started at 8:30 so it would be safe to arrive at 8. That meant you needed to leave in less than 20 minutes. You gulped down the lump that quickly formed in your throat.

Suddenly, your mom’s warm hand was on yours and your nervousness was replaced by a calm and soothing feeling. Not only could you hear people’s thoughts, but you could also control emotions. When touching someone, you could experience their feelings, change their feelings, and even make people become so relaxed they fall asleep.

You smiled up at her, appreciating her help.

Once done eating, you cleaned up the dishes while your mom finished getting ready. Once done, you grabbed your things and scrolled through your phone waiting. She came downstairs, dressed in her hero outfit. Her suit was rather simple, consisting of stretch materials that were resistant to heat and cold. It sparkled purple and yellow, her favorite colors. She smiled at you before grabbing her back and ushering you out the door.

UA was only a 5-minute walk from the house so neither of you worried about starting a conversation. Only a few people were at the campus now, most of them spending their time chatting with others or getting ready to go into their classrooms. Your mom didn’t really get much attention even in her uniform, because most people in Japan didn’t know her.

You noticed a couple of students pointing and whispering and pulled out one earbud to hear their thoughts. Your suspicions were proven to be correct when they both thought about whether or not your mom was Lady Elemental. You put your earbud back in, satisfied with your findings.

You quickly arrived at Mr. President’s office and knocked on the door. The door opened and you were greeted by 3 men. You recognized Mr. President and All Might, seeing as All Might was the man that actually recommended your mom for the position. Next to them was a pale and tired-looking man. He was wearing all black apart from the white scarf around his neck and looked like he might actually be asleep.

“Ah, welcome in!” Mr. President greeted. Your mom and you bowed, something you reminded her to do on the way to UA.

Your mom’s bad Japanese accent was quite clear, but no one seemed to mind. You opted for staying in the corner, waiting for someone to bring you up. Eventually, Mr. President introduced you to the pale man.

That was Aizawa-sensei. Otherwise known as Eraser Head.

Your mom, Mr. President, and All Might chatted away, talking about certain students your mom would be working with and occasionally about your own skills as a hero-in-training. You tried to drown out their compliments about you to your mom but were too afraid to play actual music in fear of disrespecting them.

At 8:30, Aizawa looked at you before mentioning it was time to get to class. You nodded and said your goodbyes, thanking everyone for their kind words, before following Aizawa through the halls. He explained to you that he would introduce you, and would purposefully not tell the class your quirk. He wanted them to learn by showing them.

“It’s important that they learn to figure out someone’s quirk during a battle, especially if it’s more hidden like yours,” He commented. Even though he was talking very clearly in the office to your mom, he began slurring his words around you.

Wait, battle? Does that mean he wants me to fight someone on my first day?

Your thoughts were interrupted when he stopped in front of a door that said 2-A and turned back to you. “I’d prepare you for what you are about to see, but it’s hard to describe.”

At that warning, you quickly pulled out your earbuds, deciding it was best to hear their thoughts. Aizawa turned back and slid the door open. As you walked in, the class quickly went silent and all the eyes in the class turned to you.

Most people were just wondering who you were, some putting it together that you must be a new student based on your uniform. You made eye contact with a small boy with purple balls on his head. His thoughts were not one you hoped to hear much of in the future. Disgusting.

You stopped by Aizawa, wondering if you should introduce yourself. Before you could speak, Aizawa-sensei began speaking. “Class, this is L/N Y/N. She is joining our class as of now.”

A tall student with glasses, you recognized him as Iida Tenya, stood up, “Excuse me, Sensei, but why is she joining our class? We have a perfect 20 students, and aren’t we supposed to be the top class? Wouldn’t this be unfair to the other classes?”

You squint your eyes at the student, knowing his intentions were pure, but his mouth was unfiltered. A few people’s minds raced with similar thoughts and couple students nodded in agreement.

“Y/N’s mom is now teaching here so she is joining us. She’s placed in this class because her mom is Lady Elemental,” Aizawa responded.

Your eyes connected with a green-haired boy who stared at you before rushing to pull out a notebook and began writing. He was the only person in the class who knew your mom and you knew him as Midoriya Izuka from the sports games last year.

“Why should I care about some stupid hero I’ve never heard of? I’m probably stronger than Lady Ele-whatever!” Another person said. His hair was ash-blonde and he had his feet up on the table. Bakugou Katsuki.

You scoffed at his comment, knowing your mom could wipe the floor with his ass anyday.

Aizawa looked at Midoriya who was sitting behind Bakugou. “Midoriya? Care to answer for me?”

The boy looked up from his notebook and smiled brightly. “Lady Elemental is the number 1 hero in America!”

That got people’s interests. Your head pounded and ached with all the new thoughts and you discreetly placed your earbuds back in, making sure not to grab anyone’s attention as they whispered about your mom.

“So?” The grumpy boy opened his eyes to look at you and you met his crimson eyes with a glare of your own. He spoke again, “That doesn’t mean she’s good! Half-and Half’s dad is famous, but I can still beat him in a fight.”

“Thank you for volunteering, Bakugou” Aizawa spoke again. “I want the class to see Y/N’s skills first hand and was hoping someone would be willing to spar with her.”

So I was right! He does want me to fight someone!

That thought was quickly forgotten when you saw a smirk form on the boy’s face. “My pleasure. It’s just another person to beat.”

“LIke you can beat me,” You mumbled, but only a few people closest to you heard.

“Good. Everyone, go to the sparring field. Bakugou, you can go change into the sparring gear, not your uniform. Ashido-san, can you show Y/N the way?”

“Hai!” Everyone responded, before slowly getting up and making their way out of the class.

A girl with pink skin, pink hair, and two small horns walked up to you smiling. “Hello, I am Ashido Mina!” She greeted you in English. Her accent was heavy, but ultimately cuter than it was bad.

You smiled at how bubbly and outgoing she was. You introduced yourself back and gave her a small bow, thanking her for taking you.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure!” She waved you off. “So, what’s your quirk?”

You followed her out of the class, “Um, Aizawa-sensei told me that I shouldn’t tell anyone.”

Ashido frowned. “Aww! Well, if he wants it to be a surprise then I’m sure you are going to kick Bakugou’s ass!” She made a couple punching motions, as if hitting Bakugou herself. “He sweats nitroglycerin and uses it to make explosions in his hands and is kind of a prick because he thinks he’s better than everyone.”

You nodded, “I know, I watched your sports festival.” Honestly, you thought Bakugou’s anger was more passionate than anything when you watched the games. Your brother even teased you because you looked Bakugou Katsuki up after the obstacle course to learn more about him.

Ashido smiled and began talking to you about the festival. She turned right, away from the class, and brought you to the changing rooms. She grabbed a pair of new clothes and handed them to you. “Here, change into these. You can put your clothes in the locker here. It’s mine, but I don’t know which one is yours so this will do for now.”

“Thanks,” You replied. Ashido turned away so you could change in private and began to tell you about her quirk as you got dressed.

Seeing that your quirk wasn’t very offensive and more defensive, you spent a lot of your time perfecting your skill with knives and swords. You had a knife attached to each arm, ending where your wrist met the palm of your hand. You could discharge the knives and put them back easily so it helped during battles. You also wore boots with spikes in them. If you stomped once, a knife would come out the tip and if you stomped again, it would retract. If you stopped twice, spikes would come out all over your boots. You left the weapons on after you changed, thinking they would come in handy when you tried to show the class your worth.

Once done changing, you walked around to greet Ashido. She smiled at you, stopping what she was saying and taking you through a door. Once open, you found that you were now outside. There was a small set of bleachers to your left and a large circle right in front of you.

Bakugou was already done changing and was jogging around the circle. Probably to store up sweat, you thought. Ashido was already sitting the bleachers with the other students once you looked up at them.

Aizawa stood up and you and Bakugou both moved to stand opposite each other in the circle. “This match is a basic sparring match. If you can’t move, are knocked unconscious,” Aizawa looked at you. He must know you can put people to sleep with a simple touch, “Or are pushed out of the circle, you lose.”

Bakugou smirked at you and flashed a few small explosions as if to scare you. “Prepare to lose, idiot!”

Two could play at that game. You put your hair behind your ears and slowly pulled out the earbuds one at a time. You placed them into the case and put the case into a pocket on a belt you always wore. You quickly moved your hands to activate your knives. They were suddenly in your hands, and you posed, ready to take his hits. “Bring it on!”

“Stop,” Aizawa commented. “No weapons or help of any kind.”

You sighed before standing up straight again, You let gravity do the work to have your knives slide back into their cases. You took off the holders and tossed them to the side. You then knelt down and began untying your boots.

“What are you doing?!” Bakugou yelled at you.

“I’m taking off my shoes, idiot! They have knives in them!” You stomped to prove your point before stomping again to retract the small blade. You took off your socks too in order to make sure you wouldn’t slip.

You stood up and tossed your shoes where your knives were. You finally took off your belt, even though it only held the earbuds and not the sword that accompanied you with your costume.

“If she has to remove her weapons then this battle is going to be too easy!” Bakugou yelled, trying to boost his ego. Holy shit, he actually thinks knife work is your quirk.

“I guess you are right,” Aizawa responded and you wanted to laugh. You got back into position and Aizawa quickly said, “Start!”

Bakugou was quick to send an explosion your way, it was much louder than you expected, but you knew it was coming and you knew it was a distraction for him to get closer to you and hit you straight on. Quickly, you knelt down and pushed yourself forward, meeting Bakugou faster than he expected. You pushed yourself up, punching Bakugou in the chin.

The small contact you made gave you a small glimpse and the anger and determination Bakugou had inside him.

You quickly moved aside to make sure Bakugou couldn’t hit you back. You only saw him fight about a year ago and knew he must have gotten even stronger since then. Your punches weren’t as strong as his could be and knew he was already thinking about a counter move. He was shocked though and you knew it. In fact, you were tempted to end the battle here, one more touch and you could make him sleep, ending the match.

However, you also knew Aizawa wanted the students to be able to figure out your quirk. If you ended the match here, people would just think it was dumb luck that you could move faster and predict Bakugou’s moves.

Bakugou yelled before sending another blast towards you, this one smaller and faster. As soon as he released it, you were already moving, running across the perimeter to stand where Bakugou started at the beginning of the match. Unfortunately, when you moved away, the explosions went straight towards the bleachers. You watched as a few students moved away and one red-haired boy stood up to take the blow.

You knew he was thinking about being manly and proving his strength, but pushed the thought aside because you heard Bakugou’s thoughts.

She’s looking away, now is my chance to get her! <1> Bakugo sent about 5 explosions your way by the time you looked back at him, loud enough to stop you from hearing any thoughts for those few moments.

The last one picked up the concrete with it, a move he used against Uraraka at the sports games. How unoriginal. You didn’t have time to move left or right, because of the attack taking up more range than you could run in a few seconds, so you ducked. Only a few pieces of rubble hit you, but you knew that Bakugou was charging so you span around to the right, keeping low. He noticed you moved just in time for him to stop himself before running out of the circle.

He yelled something you couldn’t quite hear because of his slurring but based on the swears he was thinking, you were sure it wasn’t very nice. You knew he was thinking hard about what to do next, but no thought crossed over his brain that you could read his thoughts.

“Idiot,” You mumbled.

“What was that?” He yelled back, testing you to say it again.

You slowly moved father from him to allow yourself more range of response time. “I called you stupid!” You responded.

“And why am I stupid?” He growled back, sending a few explosions your way. You knew he wasn’t advancing so you simply ran out of the way. You counted 20 explosions in total, each one following you as you ran away from the last. You knew that as he fought, he got sweatier and gained more explosive power. You needed to make sure he didn’t move too much during this battle.

Suddenly, you heard Midoriya’s thoughts pierce through your own: I can’t believe she’s beating Kacchan without even using her quirk!

“Because you still don’t know what my quirk is… Kacchan.” You knew it would drive him mad, but also hoped it would clue him into your quirk.

You heard Midoriya gasp. He figured it out, but Bakugou only growled, not realizing why you knew his nickname. You heard Midoriya whispering to some people about it, while others began to figure it out on their own.

Out of pure anger, Bakugou rushed you, hoping to blast you in the face. Not much thought went behind the action, but speed was something you constantly worked on so you were able to slip by his grip at the last second.

You ran across the circle to gain more range once more.

Stupid idiot! Why can’t I land a fucking hit on her? Maybe I can blind her with the sun!

Bakugou used his explosions to shoot himself into the sky. You looked up at him, using your arm to block the sun. He had a wicked smile on his face, making him look insane.

I’m not going to lose! You both thought as he attempted to pounce on you. This time, you made sure to move last second so he couldn’t adjust his landing spot soon enough to counter.

As Bakugou contemplated what just happened, you rushed to the other side of the mat. He was catching his breath as you thought about how to get him out of the mat using his own explosions.

“Y/N,” You looked to the left to see Aizawa-sensei in a yellow sleeping bag.

What the fuck is he wearing?

“You can end it.”

You smirked, happy to know you could finally end this match. You knew Bakugou was only getting madder. He yelled and sent more explosions your way, ending it with a big explosion. Obviously, you saw this act coming and you ran to your right so you would be facing opposite to Bakugou. None of the explosions hit and he groaned in anger.

You knew Bakugou was debating what you do next and you took this opportunity to run at him. By the time he noticed you running, you were already close enough to jump up. You jumped as he sent an explosion your way that wasn’t even close to hitting you. You placed your hand on his head before rotating around and using your momentum to push him face-first to the ground. You used your empath quirk to pull all the anger from him and make him relax. Before he was even close to the ground, you yelled out your command, “Sleep!”

You knew he fell asleep because of his slow heart rate and you no longer heard his thoughts. You gripped at his spiky hair as he slammed to the ground, making sure you were still touching him to prevent him from waking up.

Everything was silent, people were not thinking as they stared in shock as how easily you beat their top fighter.

Aizawa stood up, announcing the fight was over. You let go of Bakugou and got off of him. He woke up slowly, blinking a few times before standing up, ready to fight.

“What did you do?” He growled at you.

“Bro!” The red-haired boy ran up to him. “You fucking lost!”

Another boy followed behind him, his hair was bright yellow and it seemed like a smile was permanently glued to his face. “She kicked your ass!”

Before Bakugou had the chance to yell at you, you ran over to Ashido and the other girls, who congratulated you and ‘awed’ over your quirk. Aizawa ushered everyone inside and told you and Bakugou to change. You grabbed your shoes, knives, and belt before heading back into the changing room.

You worried for a moment about whether or not you were going to know how to get back since Ashido went with her friends back to the class. You sighed, deciding you could probably figure it out. You put your earbuds back in and changed back into your school uniform. You neatly folded your clothes and left them in Ashido’s locker. You could get them later and she seemed nice enough that she wouldn’t be bothered by this.

You exited the room, just in time to see Bakugou turn the corner. You chased after him, asking him to wait up. He didn’t stop, but eventually, you caught up to him.

“Good match today!” You smiled at him, genuinely meaning it. Bakugou could become a promising sparring partner if he learned a bit more about how to avoid your quirk.

“Shut up. You just won because I didn’t know your quirk.”

You decided to boost his ego, knowing it would be better not to anger him. “True, but Aizawa told me not to tell anyone. It’s more realistic in battles that you won’t know someone’s quirk so it’s good practice.”

“Tch,” He responded. “Just don’t go reading my thoughts, okay? I don’t like it.”

You pulled aside your hair to show him one of your earbuds. “I can’t really hear them with these guys in.”

He looked at you for a second before looking back forward.

“We should spar again soon, I could show you ways to avoid my quirk,” You offered.

“Like what?” He asked. You couldn’t read his thoughts, but you knew you grabbed his attention with that comment.

“Like if you made a bunch of small explosions, just in your hand to create noise, I wouldn’t be able to hear your thoughts as well. It would give you some time to think.” You responded. You stopped quickly, almost hitting Bakugou in the back.

He quickly opened the door to the classroom and walked inside, you following soon after. You smiled brightly. Without him seeing, you took out one of your earbuds so you could hear him think as you told him your idea.

Fuck, she’s right.

[afoolandathief]

Word find tag catch-up

Catching up on my tag games, so here we go -

I got a few tags and some of these excerpts are pretty long, so I'm putting these below the cut:

TWs for swearing, food and drink, alcohol, blood, needles, vomit, death and violence, mentions of sex, and a slight reference to body image:

Tagged by @thegreatobsesso to find shine, shade, trust, and life:

Shine

“You should try exercising, Caz,” she said, switching to her other arm. “You’re not going to stay young and thin forever.”

“Believe me, Amelia,” he replied from underneath the blanket. “My body is not going to change much for a very long time.”

“Well, it may help that you don’t eat anything.”

He poked his head out from the blanket.

“I eat,” he said.

“I never see you eating, Caz.”

He grinned.

“Well, I guess that’s because, when I’m with you, I’m only hungry for -”

“If you say you’re only hungry for me — or a certain part of my body — I’m going to kick you,” she cut in. “Anyway, I should be back in at most 30 minutes. Hopefully it’ll be sub-20.”

“Enjoy the sunshine,” he said, ducking back under the blanket and falling asleep.

Shade

“Juni,” Caz said weakly. “Didn’t think I’d see you again tonight. Back for more?”

“I’ve had my fill,” the prince said.

“You sure about that?”

“Where is it, you bloodsucker?” Juniper demanded while turning a shade of emerald.

“Um, where is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, it’s not that cute.” The prince gritted his teeth and continued, “Where is the armband?”

Trust

“You’re a vegetarian?” Jade asked.

“Yeah, always a little weird growing up on a farm and not eating meat, I suppose.”

“I don’t know why people would care, but then, I’m used to people with weird diets,” Jade swallowed. “Not that I think your diet is weird!”

Violet laughed her tinkling laugh again. “You’re fine.”

“Is it bad if I still order the chicken panini?”

“Not at all. Though I’m sure all those chickens that died might mind,” Violet stared at Jade.

Jade didn’t say anything for a moment. “Oh shit," she finally said. “You’re messing with me again.”

“Yup," Violet grinned. She handed Jade a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “You want to try our mango juice with that? Grew the mangoes myself.”

“You’re messing with me again, you can’t grow mangoes here,” Jade said.

“I have a greenhouse.”

“Still, you couldn’t easily grow a mango tree.”

“Trust me, I can grow anything,” Violet said, her eyes flashing the same way they had the other night. She poured a pitcher of the bright orange liquid into a plastic cup and handed it to Jade.

Jade took a sip. “Good as always. Which reminds me, I still owe you for the lemonade.”

“Consider that paid for by keeping me company, if only for a short while. In fact, consider it the same today.”

Life

She turned her keys in the ignition. The engine sputtered, but refused to start.

“With double the pay, you could save up for a truck that’s not a piece of shit,” Caz retorted.

Jade turned the keys again, this time revving the gas until the engine roared to life.

“This is a good truck,” she said. “I just need new spark plugs.”

Tagged by @pertinax--loculos to find travel, needle, depth, weather and save:

Travel

Marie and Caz were huddled around a phonogram.

“I can’t believe you have a recording of Buddy Bolden,” Caz said. “I thought there were none left.”

“I managed to hold onto a few records after I left New Orleans,” Marie said.

“So you were in New Orleans right when jazz was taking off?” Caz asked. “Wow, I should’ve come to America a lot sooner than when I did. I didn’t get to New York until about 20 years after Bolden was around.”

“You were in New York during the heyday of jazz,” Marie said. “Not to mention where a lot of great minds were meeting then. I wish I had been there.”

“I figured you would have traveled there yourself.”

“Well, I stayed in Haiti for a bit after the revolution,” Marie said. “But I went to Florida to help the Seminoles in their fight a little while after, and then New Orleans. I just kept traveling around the south and west after that.”

“I’ve never been to Haiti, actually,” Caz remarked. “The closest was when I went to Cuba a few times for, uh, work reasons.”

“It’s a beautiful island,” Marie said. “I miss it a lot.”

“You grew up there?”

“I did.”

“How old are you exactly, if you mind me asking?”

“Just about 250 years old.”

“Ha! I’ve got you beat by about 350 years,” Caz said. He rubbed his neck, narrowly missing a hanging plant with his elbow. “Um, guess that’s not really something to brag about.”

“Well, you are blessed with being forever young,” Marie smiled softly. “Witches eventually do age, albeit slowly, myself included.”

“True,” Caz sighed.

Needle

“You’ll sleep upstairs with the other girls, but let’s get you outfitted first. I’m interested in trying a sample of you myself.”

Renner tied off her left elbow and began searching her arm for a vein.

Jade felt the sting of the needle and looked down to see it attached to a vial not too different than the one that had been sticking out of Arravich’s arm in the hospital. Renner attached a long winding tube to it, placing the end of it in a wine glass. He pushed down on the vial, sending a dark red stream through the tube into the glass.

“Just a small amount, Renner,” Valfierno said. “I don’t want to overindulge.”

He began to take a sip just as a knock was heard at the door.

“Go ahead, Renner, I’m curious to see who would be at our door at this hour.”

Renner opened the door to reveal a shocked-looking Caz.

Depth

“What was up with you and that one kid, anyway?”

Jade realized Caz was talking to her.

“Who, Matt?” she asked.

“I mean, he was alright to look at, but,” Caz paused to hiccup. “He had the depth of a — what do you call it in English? — ah, right, the depth of a tide pool.”

Jade tried to track Caz in the mirror, but he had leaned down to slurp loudly from Derek’s neck.

“I just figured,” he continued, getting up to lean against Jade’s seat like he was maneuvering on a ship at sea. “That you preferred someone with a little more class and maturity.”

He proceeded to belch almost directly in Jade’s ear.

“‘Scuse me,” he said in a swinging tone. Then, as if realizing the irony, he burst into high-pitched laughter as he fell back into his seat.

“What is wrong with you?” Jade snapped. She wrinkled her nose at the acetone scent on Caz’s breath. “Are you — are you drunk?”

“No, I’m just,” Caz paused long enough to answer Jade’s question. “I’m just a little bit buzzed.”

Weather

In his six-hundred-and-seventeenth year of being on this earth, Casimir Jozef Mraz had come to a realization.

He was absolutely, hopelessly in love.

Of course, Caz fell in love at least once every decade. But this time was different, he thought, as he lay in bed, not used to trying to sleep at night. It had to be; he couldn’t find a damned thing wrong with this girl, even her name.

Amelia.

It was old-fashioned, and he liked that. Speaking it felt warm and familiar on his lips.

Lying next to him, Amelia’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, before going still as her breathing evened out and she fell even deeper into sleep. Caz heard her heartbeat slow to steady rhythm.

He leaned closer, cradling his arm around her, taking care not to catch the gold strands of hair that seemed to change texture with the weather, curling up in wiry spirals.

Caz watched a shadow falling across her ski-jump nose twist and morph as she shifted slightly. She looked almost like porcelain now, blue veins painted on her neck and chest like delft tile. She sighed again in her sleep.

So many people he had been with had wound up dead or forgotten over the years. Caz was determined this time would be different.

Save

Jade had gotten herself lost in a thought, again.

Usually this occurred when she was at her kitchen table, trying to piece together a spell; or when she took apart her laptop so it no longer sounded like a jet engine. It wasn’t supposed to involve Jade charging forward into the next room of a crowded party, ignoring all instincts to run outside and take a deep breath of cool night air.

Maybe it was hearing that someone else could get hurt. But that didn’t make any sense. Don’t try to save the world. Just focus on the next step in surviving. That was what she lived by.

No, she realized. For the first time in a long while, Jade was actually afraid.

Tagged by @diphthongsfordays to find space, scream, soft and scare:

Space

He jumped to his feet and ran towards the space between Jade and the alleyway.

Then he was falling to his knees and dry heaving.

“What the hell?” he gasped. He looked around at a circle of white surrounding him, a series of sigils carved into it by Jade’s knife. “What is this?”

“Table salt,” she said. “Combined with a few wards. Vampires are pretty susceptible to threshold magic, aren’t they?”

Caz choked back some bile and rose unsteadily to his feet.

Scream

“Lila, you seem to have calmed down a bit,” Caz said, stroking an ear larger than his hand.

He held the wolf back by the nape of her neck and leaned towards the other vampire.

“Sai cosa, Giuseppe? Non avevi torto riguardo alla tua supposizione,” he said, a small, wicked smile playing on his lips.

He released his grip on Lila.

“Ma devi capire quanto fosse stupido ferirla se mi sentivo in quel modo.”

Caz walked away from the alley, a strange and familiar feeling of satisfaction growing in the pit of his stomach as he heard Valfierno’s screams behind him increase in pitch and desperation. It was a sensation he hadn’t come across in years, and it felt good. He looked up at the full yellow moon and grinned, his teeth flashing in the light.

Soft

She looked up at Violet.

“Do you think we could each carry one of them?”

“If you can maintain a levitation spell for the whole length of the walk back,” she replied. “But your arm looks pretty bad, Jade.”

“Hmm,” Jade furrowed her brow. “I vote we leave Amelia.”

“No,” Caz whined softly into the stone. “Don’t leave my girlfriend behind.”

“Caz you’re currently bleeding out from where she carved into you. I don’t think she’s your girlfriend anymore.”

Scare

She was getting closer to him. Caz could smell that scrape still bleeding from her wrist. He was already faint from hunger. He needed to get her out of here.

The best method, he decided, was to scare her.

“So what if I am?” he asked, before smiling his widest and sharpest smile. “And if I am, may I remind you you’re currently backed into a corner by someone much stronger and faster than you, Jade?”

Mistake. You made a mistake, you fool.

He knew it as soon as the words left his lips. Don’t ever piss off a witch. His left ankle left the ground first, carried upward by a root looping around it, followed by his right.

Tagging, if you'd like: @drippingmoon, @authortango, @author-a-holmes, @avian-writes & @faelanvance to find calm, lake, ivory & estimate.

[sabbaticallife84]

Second Day in Vienna, Gotta see it all

I got up in the AM. I had a nice long talk with my aunt. We had a great time, we talked, laughed and shared. It is incredible how much she and I are alike. 

  I was going to get going earlier to try to beat the heat a little, it was supposed to be like 95 degrees that day in Vienna. But of course, I was chatting and so my start was a bit later than I planned. I didn’t get out until 11:20 AM, and it was hot already. I walked to the D tram stop to take it to the Belvedere Hotel where I was going to get to see the real live painting, ‘The Kiss’ by Gustav Klimt. I was so excited to see this painting. I also got to see a sculpture by Rodin and a painting by Van Gogh, and more paintings by Klimt. I got to see his painting: ‘Judith’. It was an awesome painting, really beautiful and a little haunting. 

‘The Kiss’ was amazing! The painting looks very different from different angles. There is real gold, silver and precious metals in the painting. From one way, the painting looks dull and lifeless. From the other side it is sparkling and precious. I can’t believe my aunt lives 15 minutes away from the real Kiss, the painting, that work of art. It’s like living 15 minutes away from the Mona Lisa. The Belvedere Palace was much bigger than I thought. I thought my walking tour guide had told me it was a hotel and the painting was on the upper level of it. It was not a hotel, it was a palace and it had a lot more art than just the Kiss. 

The other night, when I was walking, I thought about ‘Whistling Vivaldi’ But I couldn’t remember who the composer was in that story, I just knew it was “Whistling something”... Then I walked by St. Karl’s Kirche and they had posters up, showing they would be having a Mozart concert there and a Vivaldi ‘Four Seasons’ concert there. Then I realized that Vivaldi was from Vienna. He was born in Vienna.

13:37: I was sitting down to eat. I was going to be eating more delicious Austrian food. I couldn’t wait! The food I got was this sliced meat thing, one of their menus called it meat loaf (in the English translation). But it’s more like thick bologna, maybe. It’s called leberkäse, which means liver cheese. I don’t think it has either thing in it. But it’s cooked and can be baked or fried. Maybe kind of like spam? I don’ know. My meal was leberkäse, sausage and German potato salad and it was delicious. When we lived in Germany when I was little, my mom hated leberkäse, so when my mom went to the hospital to have my little sister, Dad would could us this yummy dish. 

  I had like 5 museums on my agenda but the walking to different museums in the 95 degree heat was a little daunting. I didn’t have a great map and was trying to find stuff without my GPS, that I am addicted to. So I remembered what my walking tour guide had told us about this Habsburgs burial place, under a church, in a crypt. It was under ground. When I got there, they even advertised that they were a cool 20 degrees celsius (or whatever temperature) and out of the hot hot sun. I have been getting a bit over heated when I walk around too much in the 90 degree weather days. My body was meant for cooler climates, I think. 

15:10: the crypt and the many metal boxes show that life was hard in the 1500, 1600, and 1700′s. These real families that had all the money, land, power, and would still lose baby after baby, child after child. Few queens and kings made it to 50 or 60. It was crazy what mortality was like. Several of the women’s coffins said they died during child birth, one was 17 years old, one was 40 yrs old, one woman’s inscription said her baby son was buried with her. The women and men had no birth control, or weren’t supposed to use any, if they did have some rudimentary form of it. One woman had as many as 18 children that she gave birth to, many lying in metal boxes that died their birth year or the next year. (Don’t count on me for real Habsburg history, here. I am hopelessly ignorant about them, and I hope to read a book about their family, because they sound fascinating.) Count on me, the nurse, to find the macabre side of the Habsburgs. 

I went from the crypt to the Cafe Central. I wanted to see the beautiful pillars and stone inside. My city tour guide had told us about this cafe. It was a famous haunt of writers, painters, etc back in the early 1900′s. It was part of the Vienna coffee culture. He said that if you wanted to go in, you could sit with one cup of coffee all day and they wouldn’t bother you. He said, if anything, you would need to track down the waiter to order. He warned us of the snooty Viennese waiter, they are down right rude, he said. He said there was no point in complaining to try to change it, cause it wouldn’t change. 

The waiter greeted me, he was confused why I was vaccinated so long ago.. I told him that I had been a nurse in the US. He immediately looked at me with new interest and kindness in his eyes. He asked me if it had been very hard. He said he was so happy it was getting better, slowly. We got to talking. He was so kind and concerned for me. He said he was so glad I was taking a break from the hospital. He was the opposite of what my tour guide said to expect at the Cafe Central. He came back to to chat later. I could hear him tell his coworker that I was a nurse from America. He asked me which state I was from. He also wanted reassurance that we were almost out of this thing. I told him we will see what the fall brings. The staff were so kind, they helped me plug in my almost dead phone into the wall behind the bakery counter with tons of heavenly cakes and pastries on display. 

16:55: I left Cafe Central. I entered the U-Bahn and breathed a sigh of relief. It was so cool and breezy down there! I could have stayed there all day! I love that weird basement (Keller) smell of musty and wet stones. All in all, it was a great day! 

[avengerscompound]

Catch and Release - 11

Catch and Release: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2024

Rating:  E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ - Science Experiment

Warnings:  Smut (Bi MMF threesome, light d/s, light bondage, ice play, wax play, riding crop use, anal sex, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: When you overexert yourself on a mission with Steve and Bucky, the boys admit to having fantasies that involve you.  Fantasies that you share.  But with one Super Soldier needs intimacy and the other is still dealing with being touch starved, exploring those desires without anyone catching feelings is a little tricky.

Chapter 11: Classical Conditioning

Steve took a deep breath, his bare chest rising and falling slowly as he looked up at you.  You carefully bound his wrists to the bedhead above his head using a long red ribbon.  It stood out against his pale skin, and each time he flexed his arms, the ribbon bit into his skin.  Bucky sat on the other side of the room.  His back was rigid and his jaw twitched as he clenched it.  The tension radiated off him but he watched on closely.

It had taken a while to get to this point.  So much so that outside the bedroom the Avengers had started to change.  Tony had moved out with Pepper.  Four new people had moved in.  Peter Parker had been one of them.  He’d lasted exactly two weeks before leaving again.  With the increase in threats around the world that were not easily handled by the New York team, there was talk about opening a west coast branch.  Personally, you’d decided to go on a few dates.  Avoiding them based on the fact you were messing around with your friends was something you decided was more harmful than good.  You hadn’t clicked with anyone yet, and you hoped that wasn’t because you were being too closed off.  Still, putting yourself out there was important so that Bucky and Steve firmly stayed in the friend column of your brain.

As far as how things had been going with Bucky and Steve went, you’d been sleeping together quite a lot. Not all the time, but Bucky really wanted help to get to the point that you were right now, with Steve bound on the bed below you, looking up at you with needy, lust blown eyes.  Steve had been wearing the ribbon during sex every single time.  So much so it had started to create an almost pavlovian response in Bucky.  If he saw the ribbon he’d light up and turn into that flirtatious little shit that was reserved solely for Steve and lent out to you on occasion.  It wasn’t just when you were there either.  They’d been wrapping the ribbon around Steve’s arms alone too.  It was now just called the sex ribbon.

Together, the three of you had been solely focussed on getting to now.  You’d been using a lot of praise and been very demanding.  You’d added light spanking.  Not over your knee but you’d give Steve’s ass a sharp smack when he wasn’t listening. You would hold his hands over his head while you rode him.  Or you’d make him watch without touching himself while you fucked Bucky.  Each step had been fine for Bucky and they’d said they’d incorporated a lot of it into their own sex lives.  Not always, even though this was something Steve wanted to explore, he really was just into making love with the man he was in love with.  That was the cake and the frosting.  This was just some sprinkles to make it a little more interesting.

You finished tying off the ribbon and looked over at Bucky.  “You want to come over and check?”  You asked as you ran your hands down Steve’s arms.

He flexed his fingers and the plates shifted on his arm.

“We can stop,” you said.  Bucky shook his head but he didn’t move.  You ran your fingers along Steve’s clean-shaven jaw and over his plump lips.  He opened his mouth and you pushed your thumb into his mouth and he sucked on it.

“Such a dirty boy,” you purred, looking down into Steve’s eyes.  He moaned softly and his hips bucked up under you.  You spanked his thigh.  “No, Steve.  None of that.  Now, show Bucky that you can get out.”

Steve snapped his wrists to the side and the ribbon snapped easily.  You looked back at Bucky.  “Okay?”  You said.  “He’s holding his hands up because he likes it, don’t you, Steven?”

“Mm… yes, ma’am.”  He groaned as you started to bind him in place again.

“You can come over at any time, Bucky,” you reassured him.  “And if you need to stop, just say so.”

“I’m okay,” Bucky said, flexing his hands.

You turned your attention back to Steve.  You picked a piece of ice from the bowl on the bedside table.  You had laid out everything you thought you might use tonight with them.  An array of condoms, lotions, ice, plugs, and a low heat burning candle.  You’d included a few things that you thought might border too much for Bucky like a crop and nipple clamps, but you thought if he could handle the rest fine, you could maybe push his limits a little.

You ran the ice over his lips and down his throat as you ground down on his cock.  He groaned and flexed under you, his muscles straining, but he kept his hands high above his head.  You moved the ice down leaving a trail of droplets on his skin.  Steve ran hot and the cube melted quickly, yet the super-soldier shivered slightly as you ran it along his sternum.  You grabbed another piece of ice and swirled it over his nipples.  They hardened immediately and he groaned, his mouth falling open as his eyes closed.

“You like that, Steven?”  You purred, grinding harder on his cock.  He was hard and each grind of your hips made his cock rub at your cunt through your lace panties.

“Mmm, yes.”  He hummed.  Bucky stood and seemed to crane his head to see what was happening.

You picked up the candle and held it high above him, tipping it so red wax dripped down onto his chest.  He hissed as it hit, his skin turning pink around the wax.  The hiss turned into a groan and his toes curled as he resisted the urge to buck up under you.

“Steve?”  Bucky asked softly.

“‘M good, Buck,” he groaned.  You poured more wax on him and he gripped the headboard, moaning loudly.

“It’s not that hot,” you assured Bucky.  “You want to feel?”

He came over to you and you drizzled wax onto the back of his hand from a slightly higher level than you had been doing it to Steve.  “Oh.”  He said and looked back at Steve.

He picked up a piece of ice and ran it over the wax.  You drizzled more on him, adding heat to the cold.  Steve groaned loudly and his arms trembled as he forced himself to keep them still.

“So good, Steve.  So well behaved.”  You praised as his skin became stripped in red.

You put the candle down and picked up the lube and one of the plugs as you climbed off Steve.  It was large and metal.  You knew he could take it though.  Bucky leaned down and kissed him deeply as you slicked the toy and teased it over Steve’s asshole.  Steve spread his legs wide and lifted his hips.  You slowly eased the toy in and Steve moaned into Bucky’s lips.

You grabbed the crop and ran it up the inside of his thighs and tapped it gently on the underside of his balls.  His cock jumped and the moan got louder.  It was clear how much he was getting out of this.  Handing over control. Trying to please.  That line that rand between pleasure and pain being touched upon without being stepped over.

Running the crop up his side as you crawled back up so you were straddling him.  You took his cock in your hand and grabbed a condom, tearing it open with your teeth as you jerked his cock slowly.  You rolled it on and moved your panties to the side before you slowly guided him inside you.  Bucky pulled back and looked down at Steve, watching him closely as you rode his cock slowly.  He ran his hands down Steve’s arms, tracing his fingers over the ribbon.  He continued down, over his biceps and down his sides.  He moved them to his chest and pinched his nipples. Steve moaned and balled his hands into fists.

You started moving faster, bouncing on his dick.  Bucky moved behind you and wrapped his arm around your waist and started to rub your clit.  Heat built inside you, burning through your veins and swirling in your core. You flicked the crop, snapping it against Steve’s side, making him buck up into you.

“Sorry,” he gasped.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”  You hummed.  “Keep going.  Fuck me, Steve.”

He started snapping his hips up into you and you moved with him, riding him hard.  Sweat beaded on your skin, and your moans began to drown out Steve’s.  Bucky pinched your clit and you seized up hard, coming on Steve’s cock.

You slowed your pace as you rode out your orgasm.  Bucky’s fingers slowed too and he ran his hands up your sides.  “Can I?”  He asked.

“Please,” Steve mewled, jerking in his bonds.  “Please fuck me, Bucky.”

You climbed off Steve and gestured to him.  “Be my guest.”

You moved to the sofa chair while Bucky slicked his cock and slipped the plug from Steve’s ass.  He took the condom off Steve’s cock and tossed it away before he pushed the blond’s legs back, lined himself up and pushed deep into Steve’s ass.

You watched as Bucky thrust into Steve.  You’d never been the spectator yet, and seeing them together, you could see the thing they had with each other that they didn’t with you.  They loved you, it was true. But they were in love with each other.  It was deep and familiar and built over so many years you wondered if you’d ever feel that kind of love from anyone.  Bucky looked down into Steve’s eyes with a burning intensity and Steve gazed back at him with such a deep look of love, completely surrendering to Bucky and relaxing back into the bed.

Bucky ran his hands over Steve.  Caressing him, and brushing the solidified wax from his skin.  Their moans and grunts got louder and more frequent until Steve snapped the ribbon and wrapped his arms around Bucky and held onto him until his whole body shuddered and he came all over his stomach.

Bucky was not far behind and with a loud groan and a jerk of his hips, he came inside Steve.  They whispered something to each other and kissed deeply as you got up and came over to them.

Steve put his hand on your hip and pulled you a little closer before breaking the kiss with Bucky.  “How was that?”  You asked gently as Bucky slipped from inside Steve and sat back on his knees.

“Good. Fuck.  I really… I’ve never let go like that before.”  Steve said, his voice was soft and floaty sounding.

“Good.  And you Buck?”  You asked.

“Yeah.  I wasn’t sure, to begin with.  I really hate seeing him tied up.  But he was enjoying it so much and I knew it wasn’t really holding him there.  He was.”  Bucky said.

“Alright.  So… I’m gonna go draw you both a bath so you can relax with each other and clean up.  I’ll get you a drink and change your sheets and get rid of this wax.  How does that sound?”  You said.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve said.

You leaned down and kissed his cheek.  “It’s all part of the service.”

Bucky laughed and pulled you into a hug.  “You’re good value for money,” he teased.

“Mmm, you know it.  Five-star service, one-star price,” you agreed and kissed his cheek.  “When I’ve cleaned up and you’ve had some time to relax we should talk it out.  It’s important to do that.”

“Okay,” Steve hummed.  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You nodded and headed into the bathroom.  Seeing them together was something you really needed.  It reminded you what this was for you, which was fine.  They were your closest friends and that was enough.  It might be time for this arrangement to end.  Maybe not quite yet, but soon.  You’d all gotten a lot out of it.  It was time to move onto other things.

// NEXT

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark (19)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 2352

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of horrible parenting

Author’s Note: Y/M/I= Your Middle Initial

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

Walking back through the front door, you’re hoping you can get back up the stairs without your dad spying you, but apparently your luck has run out. “Y/N Y/M/I Stark, living room now.” Your dad’s voice is stern, but not as harsh as you expect it to be. You take a breath before walking into the living room. Both Tony and Pepper are waiting for you, which shouldn’t really surprise you since it’s almost six on a Wednesday night, but still, a disappointed or angry talk from both of them is going to be worse than if only from one of them. Your dad is pacing the living room, while Pepper is just sitting on the couch. “Sit.” He points towards the couch. Pepper rolls her eyes at your dad’s mood, but pats the seat next to her. 

“Hello to you too.” You tease only slightly as you sit down next to her. 

“Hi sweetheart.” She says having not seen you since this morning.

“We can do niceties later. Right now we’re dealing with the bullshit that is her running off and telling FRIDAY not to tell me where she went, not telling Happy where she went, and oh right not telling her parents where she went.” 

“But we aren’t going to talk about how you were in a shit mood and decided to take it out on me? I’m the only one in the wrong here? That’s some real bullshit Tony.” You call him by his real name, not feeling like he’s acting much like a father right now. “You keep acting like it’s a huge threat being your kid, but honestly, I think you just like being controlling more than anything else. You lock me up in a tower like a Disney Princess, choose what I’m allowed to eat, where I’m allowed to go, and who I’m allowed to be friends with. I don’t think you ever wanted a kid. You wanted a robot you could control. Well guess what? I’m not a fucking robot. I’m a human being, with feelings and emotions. And what I’m feeling right now is that I’m done with your bullshit.” You scream at him before storming out of the room.

“Couldn’t have kept your cool for two minutes Tony?” Pepper asks, looking off in the direction you ran away.

“Me? Did you not hear her monologue attacking my entire personality? Apparently I’m no better than Howard so…” Tony shouts before storming off towards the garage. Pepper knows that there are two hotheads in her life, but seeing as Tony is most likely going for a drive, she’ll tackle you first. 

Pepper knocks on your door, waiting to hear the reply that never comes. So she opens the door to see you curled up under your blankets, headphones plugged in, staring at the ceiling. Pepper sees the same stubbornness she’s seen from Tony time and time again. Making her way across the room, she sits on the edge of your bed. You try to not make eye contact with her for a few moments, but eventually pull your headphones out and look her in the eyes.

“I’m not coming down to apologize.”

“He’s not even down there right now.” Your eyebrows pull together as you take in what she said. “Like father, like daughter. He stormed out of the room a few moments after you did.”

“Was that when he was yelling? Something about Howard?” You ask. Pepper doesn’t know how much you know about your grandparents, but it’s clear you heard at least some of what your dad yelled, so she nods her head. “When he’s talking about Howard, he means my grandfather, right? His father?” Pepper nods slowly. It’s not really her story to tell you. “Was my grandfather a bad person?” You ask before adding, “No one will tell me about him.”

“Your dad and him didn’t see eye to eye. It really should be your dad to tell you the story.”

“That’s what Aunt Nat told me too.”

“But, what I can tell you, is your dad loves you very much. Is he overprotective at times? Very. But does he love you? Very much. However the two of you are more similar than you are different. And that comes out in your tempers more than anything.” Pepper runs a hand over your leg. 

After cooling off, you decide to get your homework over with. You don’t have that much for a Wednesday anyway. It takes you barely an hour and you end up on your bed, scrolling through social media and texting Peter and friends, when a noise interrupts your music. 

Tony knocks on the door, opening it slightly. “Can I come in kiddo?”

“Are you coming in to yell at me again?” You ask, not looking up from your phone, not wanting to look at your dad yet.

“No.” He opens the door more, walking towards you. He notes the sweatshirt you’ve put on- a black shirt with white writing that reads ‘I Suck At Apologies So Unfuck You Or Whatever’. “Pepper was right that I should have kept my cool earlier instead of yelling at you when you got home.” Tony wants to sit on your bed, like he’s done a thousand times, but decides to sit on your desk chair instead, so that he doesn’t invade your space entirely. 

“Yeah, well according to Pepper, we’re both hotheads.” You say, not disagreeing with him, but not agreeing either.

“Sounds like something we both got from our pops.” He says, not letting anything else out. You want to ask more about the grandfather you don’t know, but you know it’s not the time for it. “Can we try having a civil conversation about everything now? Or we can have Pep come be a mediator if we need it?”

“I think we can be calm if we try?” You suggest.

“I’m not trying to make your life a living hell.” Tony says after a moment of thinking. You set your phone down and turn to look at him, sitting cross legged. “I promise you that. And I’m sorry. I know it feels like I have a bunch of rules but I’m trying to do the best for you and by you. Part of it is about your safety. That’s the parts that may not seem like a ton of fun and we had a conversation about it when you first moved in. If I could change it to be less strict and more fun I would. But I’m literally being the least strict I can be while still ensuring your safety.”

“Really?”

“Really. The food stuff, maybe,” he grimaces, “we can try and be a little more lenient. But I’m also trying to ensure that you have stuff that’s going to make your blood sugar good. So can we try to come up with a compromise on everything?” You nod. “And on the friends, the only people I keep away are the ones who could be safety issues. Normal humans, that’s on you to decide who you want to be friends with. And I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations about Peter out on you. But, the biggest thing, I one hundred percent want you, just the way you are. I don’t want a robot. If I did, I’d make another one. I have plenty as is. But you? I love having you. And I wouldn’t change who you are.” You stare at him for a moment, not sure what to say. “Did I miss any part of what you were mad about?” 

You try and think back to what all you yelled at him, and what he yelled at Pepper before leaving. “You didn’t miss anything, but I’m sorry too.” Tony looks at you in confusion. “I wasn’t trying to attack who you are-”

“Ah, you heard me yelling at Pep.”

“Maybe I did, but I did honestly attack who you were which wasn’t fair to you either.”

“Maybe not. But also I was still pissed off when I was yelling at her. Which gives me another person I need to apologize to, because let’s be honest, I don’t deserve her.”

“She’s the best you’ll ever get.” You say honestly.

“Very true.” Tony agrees. “But, I should have just removed myself from the situation instead of saying anything.”

“We both should have.” You can’t help but admit.

“True.” Tony walks over to you to give you a hug. “Even though we’re apologizing, I do have to tell you, you are grounded. One month.”

“Yeah, you told me on the phone.” You lean into his hug, but bite the bullet and ask the question that no one is willing to answer. “Dad?”

“Yeah kiddo?”

“Why will no one talk about your dad?” You feel your dad stiffen, but then he takes a deep breath as he pulls away from the hug. 

“Well I should have expected this to come up eventually. Who all mentioned him?”

“Well you mentioned him earlier, but Pepper did because I asked and Aunt Natasha did a while ago.”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story. You sure you want it?” You nod. “Ok, then scootch over.” You slide to the left of your bed and your dad sits down, wrapping an arm around you. “My dad was older when he had me. He was uh... fifty two when I was born. And he was of an older generation. So when I was growing up, he tended to be somewhat harsher. He didn’t believe in praise and tended to live by the motto that ‘Stark men have iron in their veins’. Made for harder times trying to impress him or just having him show affection. Growing up it was easy to feel like my father never wanted me, or that I was nothing more than a name to carry on the Stark legacy. As time went on, nothing I did was ever good enough. How could it be, when he helped create Captain America? All I heard growing up was Captain America this and Captain America that and it was easy to believe that Captain America was the one that could have been a better son for my dad, even though they were only a year apart.”

“So did your mom not step in?”

“Mom believed that Dad was showing his love in the ways that he knew how to. She showed her love in the ways she could. Which was better than Dad. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t have her faults either.”

“So did you just disown him as a father or something? Is that why I haven’t met them?”

“They’re, uh, dead. They were killed when I was seventeen.” You look up at your dad’s face, looking for hurt or something but seeing not much of anything. “Mom would have loved you. Would have told me I was getting all the karma for all the years of partying by having a daughter that I now need to protect from all the boys and girls out there.”

“And your dad?”

“I can’t say. I’d want to say he’d see you and hopefully see past his past mistakes, but I can’t promise you that. But I know your grandmother would have loved you- just the way you are.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“You can ask me anything, always.”

“When Aunt Nat was telling me about him, it was because she was telling me about your reaction about finding out about me. I wanted to know back when I first moved in. And she said you didn’t want to be like Howard.”

“I’m waiting for the question kiddo.”

“Well and then earlier you yelled at Pepper that you were no better than Howard.”

“Again, still no question.”

“What did I say that made you feel like you were no better than him?”

“Kiddo, we both already said that we said things we probably shouldn’t have-”

“You said you’d answer anything-”

“I said you could ask anything. Never said I’d answer it.” Tony says jokingly, trying to let humor cover the stuff he doesn’t usually talk about.

“Dad, please?”

“Fine. Um, Howard was always really controlling growing up. He made decisions about whether I was allowed to go places, who were the right kind of friends, and other things along the same lines. Honestly if I hadn’t gone off to college at 15, I don’t know if I would have gotten out from being under his thumb so early.  That’s not to say that others didn’t try to take his place after his death but still. When you said I was treating you like you were supposed to be a robot I could control instead of a human, it reminded me of too many fights I had with him and Mom.” You can’t help but wrap your arms around him and hug your dad tightly. 

“I really didn’t mean those ones. You’re honestly a really good dad. And you and Pepper show me all the time that I’m loved. Far from a robotic situation.” You try to eat the words you spat out earlier, knowing you can’t take back words once they’re said. 

“You might not say that once I take Homecoming away.”

“I honestly wasn’t even sure if I was going to go. I haven’t been asked to go. Plus it’s the same weekend of all the moving stuff so Happy will probably be dealing with all of that so,” you shrug, “just seems like a busy enough weekend already.”

“Then I guess taking it away is pointless. However, if you go anywhere without Happy again, the forehead of security will be a 24/7 thing, not just a to and from school thing, got it?”

“Ok, ok. I get it.” He pulls you in close for another hug.

“Did you two kiss and make up?” Pepper asks from the doorway.

“We’re all better.” You say, still leaning into your dad’s arms.

“Good, because dinner is ready, and I wasn’t going to let the two of you continue your fight at the table.”

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[thekillerssluts]

The Story Behind Every Song On Will Butler’s New Album Generations

Will Butler has a lot on his mind. It has, after all, been five years since his solo debut, Policy. A lot can happen in half a decade, and a lot has happened in this past half-decade — much of it quite dire. Butler was in his early 30s when Policy came out, and now he’s closing in on 40. He’s a husband and father. And he’s shaken by the state of the world, the idea of being an artist and a soon-to-be middle-aged man striving to guide his family through the chaos.

At least, that’s how it comes across through much of Generations, his sophomore outing that arrives today. Generations is a big, sprawling title by nature, and the album in turn grapples with all kinds of big picture anxieties. Mass shootings, the overarching darkness and anxiety of our time, trying to reckon with our surroundings but the system overload that occurs all too easily in the wake of it. Then there are more intimate songs, too, tales drawn from personal lives as people plug along just trying to navigate a tumultuous era.

Butler is, of course, no stranger to crafting music that seeks to parse the cultural moment and how it impacts in our daily lives. Ever since Arcade Fire ascended to true arena-rock status on The Suburbs 10 years ago, they have embarked on projects that explicitly try to make sense of our surroundings. (Not that their earlier work was bereft of heavy concepts — far from it — but Reflektor and Everything Now turned more of a specific eye towards contemporary ills and trials.) But as one voice amongst many in Arcade Fire, there is a cinematic scope to whatever Butler’s playing into there.

On Generations, he engages with a lot of similar concerns but all in his own voice — often yelping, desperate, frustrated then just trying to catch a breath. Butler leans on his trusty Korg MS-20 throughout Generations, often giving the album a synth-y indie backdrop that allows him to try on a few different selves. There are a handful of surging choruses, “la-la” refrains batting back against the darkness, slinking grooves maybe allowing someone the idea of brief physical release amidst ongoing strife.

Ahead of Generations’ arrival, Butler sent us some thoughts on the album, running from inspiration between the individual tracks to little details about the arrangement and composition of different songs. Now that you can hear the album for yourself, check it out and read along with Butler’s comments below.

1. “Outta Here”

I think this is the simplest song on the record. Just, like, get me out of here. Get me fucking out of here. I’m so tired of being here. No, I don’t have another answer, and I don’t expect anything to be better anywhere else. But, please, I would like to leave here.

I can play plenty of instruments, and can make interesting sounds on them, but kinda the only instrument I’m good at is a synth called the Korg MS-20. That’s the first sound on the record. It makes most of the bass you hear on the record. It’s a very aggressive, loud, versatile machine, and I wanted to start the record with it cause I’m good at playing it and it makes me happy.

2. “Bethlehem”

This song partly springs from “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats:​ “What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” Like a lot of folks, I woke up after the election in 2016 mad and sad and scared and exhausted. This song is born of that emotion.

My bandmates Jenny Shore, Julie Shore, and Sara Dobbs sing the bridge, and it’s a corrective to my (appropriate?) freaking out — this isn’t the apocalypse. You’re misquoting Yeats. Get your fucking head on straight. History has not ruptured — this shit we’re in is contiguous with the shit we’ve been dealing with for a long, long time. But still, we sometimes do need an apocalyptic vision to make change. Even if it’s technically wrong. I dunno. It’s an ongoing conversation.

There’s a lot of interplay with backing vocals on this record — sometimes the narrator is the asshole, sometimes the backing vocals are the asshole. Sometimes they’re just trying their best to figure out the world. This song starts that conversation.

3. “Close My Eyes”

I tried to make these lyrics a straightforward and honest description of an emotion I feel often: “I’m tired of waiting for a better day. But I’m scared and I’m lazy and nothing’s gonna change.” Kind of a sad song. Trying to tap into some Smokey Robinson/Motown feeling — “I’ve got to dance to keep from crying.”

There’s a lot of Mellotron on this record, and a lot of MS-20. This song has a bunch of Mellotron strings/choirs processed through the MS-20. It’s a trick I started doing on the Arcade Fire song “Sprawl II,” and I love how it sounds and I try to do it on every song if I can.

4. “I Don’t Know What I Don’t Know”

This makes a pair with “Close My Eyes” — shit is obviously fucked, but “I don’t know what I don’t know what I don’t know what I can do.” I’m not a proponent of the attitude! Just trying to describe it, as I often feel it. In my head, I know some things that I can do — my wife Jenny, for instance, works really hard to get state legislatures out of Republican control. Cause it’s all these weirdo state legislative chambers that have enormous power over law enforcement, and civil rights, and Medicaid, and everything.

The image in the last verse was drawn from the protests in Ferguson in 2015: “Watch the bullets and the beaters as they move through the streets — grab your sister’s kids — hide next to the fire station…” It’s been horrifically disheartening to see the police riot across America as their power has been challenged. I’ve got a little seed of hope that we might change things, but, man, dark times.

More MS-20 bass on this one, chained to the drum machine. This one is supposed to be insanely bass heavy — if it comes on in a car, the windows should be rattling, and you should be asking, “What the heck is going on here?” Trying for a contemporary hip-hop bass sound but in a way less spare context. First song with woodwinds — rhythmic stuff and freaky squeals by Stuart Bogie and Matt Bauder.

5. “Surrender”

This song is masquerading as a love song, but it’s more about friendship. About the confusion that comes as people change: Didn’t you use to have a different ideal? Didn’t we have the same ideal at some point? Which of us changed? How did the world change? Relationships that we sometimes wish we could let go of, but that are stuck within us forever.

It’s also about trying to break from the first-person view of the world. “What can I do? What difference can I make?” It’s not about some singular effort — you have to give yourself over to another power. Give over to people who have gone before who’ve already built something — you don’t have to build something new! The world doesn’t always need a new idea, it doesn’t always need a new personality. What can you do with whatever power and money you’ve got? Surrender it over to something that’s already made. And then the song ends with an apology: I’m sorry I’ve been talking all night. Just talk talk talking, all night. Shut up, Will.

Going for “wall of sound” on this one — bass guitar and bass synth and double tracked piano bass plus another piano plus Mellotron piano. The “orchestra” is about a dozen different synth and Mellotron tracks individually detuned. And then run through additional processing.

6. “Hide It Away”

This song is about secrets. Both on an intimate, heartbreaking level — friends’ miscarriages, friends’ immigration status, shitty affairs coming to light — and on a grand, horrible level: New York lifting the statute of limitations on child abuse prosecutions, all the #MeToo reporting. There’s nothing you can do when your secret is revealed. Like, what can you do? You just have to let the response wash over you. If you’ve done something horrible, god-willing, you’ll have to pay for it in some way. If it’s something not horrible, but people will hate you anyway, goddammit, I wish there were some way to protect you.

This song has the least poetic line on the record, a real clunker: “It’s just money and power, money and power might set them free.” But it’s a clunky, shitty concept — the most surefire protection is being rich and knowing powerful people. But even then, shit just might come out. Even after you’re long dead.

Came from a 30-second guitar sample I recorded while messing around at the end of trying to track a different song. I liked the chords, looped them to make a demo. And the song was born from there. This is the one song I play drums on. Snare is chained to the MS-20, trying to play every frequency the ear can hear at the same time on some of those big hits.

7. “Hard Times”

[Laughs] I sat down and tried to write a Spotify charting electro-hit, and this is what came out: “Kill the rich, salt the earth.” Oh well. Written way before COVID-19, but my 8-year-old son turned to me this spring and asked, “Did you write the song ‘Hard Times’ about now, because we’re living through hard times?” No, I didn’t.

In Dostoevsky’s Notes From Underground, the narrator is a real son-of-a-bitch—contrarian, useless. Mad at the strong confident people who think they’ve got it figured out. And they don’t! And neither does the narrator — but he knows he doesn’t, and he at times yearns for some higher answer, and he’s funny, and too clever, but still knows he’s a piece of shit. I read Notes From Underground in high school and kinda forgot how it shaped my worldview until I sat down with it a couple years ago. The bridge on this song is basically smushed up quotes from Notes From Underground.

I was asking Shiftee, who mixed the record, if there are any vocal plug-ins I should be playing around with. He pointed me toward Little AlterBoy, which is basically a digital recreation of the kind of pedal the Knife use, for instance, on their vocal sound. It can shift the timbre/character of a voice without changing the pitch. Or change pitch without changing character. Very fun! Very much all over this track. Tried to make the bridge sound like a Sylvester song.

8. “Promised”

Another friend song masquerading as a love song. I’ve met a handful of extraordinary people in my life, who stopped doing extraordinary work because life is hard and it sucks. People who — I mean, it’s a lottery and random and who cares — could be great writers or artists, who kind of just disappeared. And it’s heartbreaking and frustrating. I don’t blame them. Maybe they weren’t made for this world. Maybe it’s just random. Maybe they’ll do amazing work in their 60s!

We tracked this song before it was written. Julie and Miles came over and we made up a structure and did a bunch of takes, found a groove. Which I then hacked up into what it is now! The bed tracks are lovely and loose. Maybe I’ll put out a jammier version of this song at some point. The other big synth on this record is the Oberheim OB-8, and that’s the bass on this one (triple tracked along with some MS-20).

9. “Not Gonna Die”

This song is about terrorism, and the response to terrorism. I wrote it a couple weeks after the Bataclan shooting in Paris in 2015. For some reason, a couple weeks after the shooting, I was in midtown Manhattan. I must have been Christmas shopping. I had to pop into the Sephora on 5th Avenue to pick up something specific — I think for my wife or her sister. I don’t remember. But I remember walking in, and the store was really crowded, and for just a split second I got really scared about what would happen if someone brought out a gun and started shooting up the crowd. And then I got so fucking mad at the people that made me feel that emotion. Like, I’m not gonna fucking die in the midtown Sephora, you fucking pieces of shit. Thanks for putting that thought in my head.

BUT ALSO, fuck all the fucking pieces of shit who are like, “We can’t accept refugees — what if they’re terrorists?” FUCK OFF. Some fucking terrified family driven from their home by a war isn’t going to kill me. Or anyone. Fuck off. Some woman from Central America fleeing from her husband who threatened to kill her isn’t going to fucking bomb Times Square. You fucking pieces of shit.

In November/December 2015, the Republican primary had already started — Trump had announced in June. And every single one of those pieces of shit running for president were talking about securing our borders, and keeping poor people out, and trying to justify it by security talk. FUCK OFF. You pieces of shit. Fuck right off. Anyway. Sorry for cursing.

I kind of think of the outro of this song as an angry “Everyday People.” Everyday people aren’t going to kill me. Lots of great saxes on this track from Matt Bauder and Stuart Bogie.

The intro of the song we recorded loud, full band, which I then ran through the MS-20 and filtered down till it was just a bass heart-pulse, and re-recorded solo piano and voice over that.

10. “Fine”

I kind of think that “Outta Here” to “Not Gonna Die” comprise the record, and “Fine” operates as the afterword and the prologue rolled into one. An author’s note, maybe. It was kind of inspired by high-period Kanye: I wanted to talk about something important in a profane, sometimes horribly stupid way, but have it be honest and ultimately transcendent.

In the song, I talk semi-accurately about where I come from. My mom’s dad was a guitar player who led bands throughout the ’30s and ’40s. In post-war LA, he had a band with Charles Mingus as the bass player. Charles Mingus! One of the greatest geniuses in all of American history. But this was the ’40s, and in order to travel with the band, to go in the same entrances, to eat dinner at the same table, he had to wear a Hawaiian shirt and everybody had to pretend he was Hawaiian. Because nobody was sure how racist they were supposed to be against Hawaiians.

Part of the reason I’m a musician is that my great-grandfather was a musician, and his kids were musicians, and their kids were musicians, and their kids are musicians. Part of the reason is vast generations of people working to make their kids’ lives better, down to my life. Part of the reason is that neither government nor mob has decided to destroy my family’s lives, wealth, and property for the last couple hundred years. I tried to write a song about that?

Generations is out now via Merge. Purchase it here.

https://www.stereogum.com/2098946/will-butler-generations-song-meanings/franchises/interview/footnotes-interview/