#my messy sketches though christ

[zetchrr]

Remember to give your sorcerer boyfriend a little kiss on the forehead for maximum efficiency in battle.

[passionatememes]

looooove working freelance for people who say with all sincerity that "science hasn't really caught up to everything that are in plants and how they can affect the body" or "herbalism really began in old england, nobody else was really doing it before them"

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I should be working but but but

It’s model time for Steve’s babygirl. Bucky gets his metal arm covered in pretty pink ribbon and Steve gets to sketch while Bucky humps his giant teddy bear. And since they both have that super soldier stamina this goes on for hours and hours as Bucky gets increasingly desperate because he’s not allowed to come.

He just has to keep rubbing his little dicky on his teddy while listening to the scrape of Steve’s pencils and sometimes Steve give suggestions like “how bout you fuck teddy’s face now, baby” and “take teddy from behind, yes just like that. You’re so beautiful when you top your teddy.”

And eventually, after the teddy’s fur is wet and matted and Bucky is whimpering as he pumps tiny thrusts into his Teddy’s belly, he says “Daddy, please let me come!”

And Steve shakes his head and says no, and “you know what to do if you get too close and you can’t stop yourself, baby.”

And Bucky does know because it happened twice the last time they had drawing time. If Bucky starts to come he has to lean back on his hands so his little dicky sticks out with nothing touching it, ruining his orgasm. And he can’t forget to turn his head and look at Daddy so Steve can capture his expression of desperation and despair. And then once it’s over he must go right back to humping teddy because daddy’s not done drawing and he needs his model to be a good girl.

When Steve is done he calls Bucky over and shows him the drawings and Bucky always turns bright red at how slutty and fucked out he looks. Then daddy asks if his baby wants to let his little dicky go down naturally to fit back in his cock cage, or if he wants ice?

Bucky always picks naturally so Steve spreads his legs and Bucky licks and sucks and nuzzles his cock until Daddy comes and then keeps holding Daddy in his mouth until his own little dicky is small enough to go back in it’s cage. It takes a while but Daddy doesn’t mind, just pets Buck’s hair while they wait.

I--

I have absolutely read and considered my fair share of stuffed animal humping pics, some of which have involved daddy kinks, yes, but, Jesus Christ, I don't think any have surrounded modeling. Now I wish they all fucking did.

Fuck.

Can you imagine the look on his face?

If Bucky starts to come he has to lean back on his hands so his little dicky sticks out with nothing touching it, ruining his orgasm. And he can’t forget to turn his head and look at Daddy so Steve can capture his expression of desperation and despair. And then once it’s over he must go right back to humping teddy because daddy’s not done drawing and he needs his model to be a good girl.

Oh, God.

I would pay too much money to see that. The way his eyes would start to roll back into his head, his eyelashes almost fluttering, but he's fighting it, he's fighting it, his eyes are watering, tears welling pathetically as he uses every bit of his brain that's left (which is hardly anything at all, it's gone like cotton candy dissolved in fizzy soda) to fight off his orgasm. Under those tears, there's nothing in his eyes. Empty-headed. He's gone.

He's trembling and weak under the satin, baby pink bows that cling to his body, glistening, dressed in bows, sweat, and a hot flush. His plush lips aren't pink now. They're red. Swollen and wet, he's given up biting them by the time he's so close, though. He can't. He can't muffle himself and fight at the same time. He's too weak. Moans and these sweet little choking sounds drip out of his mouth, messy and sweet, aching to throw his head back and bear his throat as he cuts hard enough to see hot-white sparks under his tightly shut eyelids. But he can't.

Not yet.

He's dripping and wet and so needy.

But he can't.

Quivering with denial, Bucky looks so obscene. It's not Steve's fault that he keeps him like this, drawing him when he's drawn out, stretched into a sticky, sweet candy mess; it's his own fault. If he didn't want to spend his time in the clouds, denied and achy, then he shouldn't look so fucking pretty when he's completely destroyed.

Anyway--

Thanks for that 😮‍💨😮‍💨 this idea Fucks

[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: so fun fact it’s actually my birthday today!! and as a little gift for all of you, here’s finally some more adult reader and nat!!!! i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: blackmail, death, mentions of suicide, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Thirteen - Wild Side

Chapter Thirteen - Wild Side

—-

2021-

As soon as you got the postcard, you though of Natalie. Then you cried and screamed and wondered for days what to about it.

Until you finally realized who it could be from. You took a sick day off of work, faking a fever, waking up early in the morning to drive over to New Jersey from the city. You kept the postcard bunched up in your fist the entire drive.

When you get the hotel room Misty had told you about, you’ve worked yourself up into a wild rage, a storm, the very picture of violence- you bang harshly on the motel door.

You can hear muttering from inside, but Natalie opens the door, dressed in a white t-shirt, her hair pulled back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you shout, barging into the cheap and messy motel room.

She can only stare at you in shock.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You hold up the postcard. “This! You obsessive, stalker freak!”

She rips it out of your hands, staring at it, the cursive “wish you were here!” and that stupid fucking symbol.

“Oh,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” you shout, putting your hand on your hip. “So, what? You just want me back and decided the best way to do was to try and and scare me? Have you ever heard about taking a girl out on a date, Natalie?”

“Jesus Christ.”

You turn toward Taissa, not even bothering to hide your groan.

She smiles. “Nice to see you too, Y/N. Lover’s quarrel? Want me to step outside?”

You roll your eyes and turn back to Natalie.

“Well? Have anything to say for yourself?”

She sighs. “I didn’t send you the postcard. I got one. Tai and Misty got one. I don’t know why you just got one now, but-”

“She’s not lying, crazy. I got one too.”

Taissa has never been a liar. And even after everything that happened- you believe her.

“If anything, I think you’re the stalker freak.”

“What the fuck-”

Natalie groans.

“Please, Y/N.” You want to storm out, your cheeks heated from embarrassment, but you stay where you are. Natalie shuts the door behind you. She gestures to a pile of pictures on a small table. “Look.”

“What is that?” Taissa asks, any remnant of amusement from your temporary psychosis gone.

“It’s the floor of the barn where they found Travis’s body. The police are saying it’s a suicide, but there were candles underneath him arranged like that. Someone burned them and took them away.

You take a step closer, and that ugly symbol rears its head again.

“Who would do that?” Tai whispers.

Natalie’s phone dings.

Taissa’s does too.

And after a moment, yours does as well.

All you can focus on is the symbol, sketched out in dashes and dots on your screen.

“Gather 50k cash and away further instructions. Do not discuss this with your teammates, I will know,” Natalie reads.

You sigh and sit on her bed. “Fuck this.”

“I’m calling Shauna,” Tai says, and you watch as she makes the call.

“Hey. I’m with Natalie, you need to get here, Travis is dead and- she says she already knows.”

“What? How?” Natalie asks.

“Misty called her.”

Natalie rubs her temples.

“That conniving, poodle-haired little fucking freak.”

“Shauna, get here now!” Nat shouts into Tai’s phone. “We’ve got a big problem.”

You sigh and fall back against the bed.

—-

The three of you stay cooped up in Natalie’s motel room until Shauna comes, which consists of you lying on the bed, feeling sick and horrible, until Shauna finally knocks.

Tai has long since taken out a cigarette.

“Y/N,” Shauna says when she sees you.

“Shauna,” you say, smiling softly. She laughs and little and hugs you- years apart feeling odd, falling right back into before.

“You look like shit,” Natalie says after you and Shauna pull apart.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, rolling your eyes.

“Back at you,” Shauna says.

“How’s Jeff? Is he still hocking futons?

“Okay, no. No. No. We’re not doing this, okay? Not after all the shit we’ve been through.”

You sigh. “Taissa always knows how to scold us.”

She ignores you. “We’ve got a situation here. We’re gonna deal with it. Together.”

“Okay, fine. What’s- what’s going on?” Shauna asks. The room is silent for a moment, until Natalie gestures to the pictures that you had spent hours looking at, trying to find another explanation. But it was the symbol. “Is that Travis?”

No one speaks, and Shauna has her answer. She sits down at the table, sighing.

“Someone strung him up and then tried to cover the tracks.”

“We think it’s the same person who’s blackmailing us.”

“What? Blackmail?”

“You didn’t get one?” you frown. Taking out the postcard from your purse. “I mean, at first I thought it was Natalie-” Tai mutters under her breath, “But then I got the text message asking for 50k. We all did, I thought.”

“What?” Shauna studies the cars you hand her. “No. What do they want? 50k?”

“Yes, then they’ll keep their mouths shut.” Taissa says. “We’re not exactly sure what they know, but… I sure as hell don’t wanna find out.”

“You all got one?”

“Misty did, too.” Natalie says.

“I mean, it’s gotta be someone from the team, right? Like, who else would know about this?”

“That reporter.”

“Jessica Roberts?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Natalie nods.

“Wait. I told you to take care of her,” Shauna says to Tai.

“I threatened a lawsuit. I told her to back off.

“Fuck this,” Natalie says, the drink in her hand swishing. She laughs slightly, grabbing something from her bedside table.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna bring Jessica Roberts- great fake name, by the way- to us. And I’ll just say, ‘Oh, I’m ready to tell my story.’”

“No, because then if it is not her, then we are just handing her the exact kind of story she’s looking for.”

“Yeah, Shauna’s right, Nat. Please. Just put the phone down. Stop it. Stop it!” Tai shouts.

“Natalie!”

Nat smiles, and you throw your head back, reaching forward to grab her arm- but you can’t.

“Natalie,” you say. She barely spares you a glance.

“Fucking put the phone down!”

“You know I don’t like it when you yell at me.” But, she puts the phone down.

“Can you get the money?” Shauna sighs.

“I’m working on it.”

“Once you do, we put a GPS tracker in with the cash, and that way we can follow it, and see who, what we’re-we’re dealing with. Together.”

Natalie smiles.

“I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but should we loop Misty in?”

“No. She could be part of this.” Tai dismisses.

“ Well, she did take me to see Travis. And Y/N. But first she fucked with my car. Still, she’s been helping me to figure it all out.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause naturally. Um, is there anything else I should know about? Or does the blackmail, Travis maybe being murdered, and this one playing buddy cop with Misty fucking Quigley just about cover it?”

Tai let’s out a sharp breath.

“Okay, well. I’m gonna go see if there’s any vacancies,” you sigh.

“I don’t think there are any-”

“Shut up, Natalie.”

—-

You knock on the door twenty minutes later, everyone left. Natalie opens the door, smiling smugly.

“Need a place to stay?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, that’s no way to talk to your savior.”

You roll your eyes. “Natalie.”

She opens the door wider, and motions for you to walk in. You sit on the bed, taking a pillow and putting it in the middle of the bed, before starting to shrug off your jacket.

“Seriously?” Nat asks, tugging off her shorts, slipping into the already unmade bed.

“Yes,” you say, providing no other explanation.

You’ve shared motel rooms with Natalie before, slept in her arms before, but seeing her drink today reminded you of why you left in the first place. In a world where all you knew was violence, you had chosen more. But now- in the modern, the real world- love wasn’t suffering. Love wasn’t watching her die.

You slip off your bra from under your t-shirt, imagining this is just your bed, just your bed at home, repeating it to yourself as you switch off the lamp and climb into bed.

Natalie turns on a talk show, so the voices in the background muter quietly.

“Can you not?” you groan, eager for silence.

She doesn’t speak for a moment.

“There’s a tree by the window, uh, it sometimes scratches against it.”

“Oh.” You stare up at the ceiling. You weren’t expecting her to forget it, but, still.

“We’re in New Jersey.”

“I know.”

And besides for the talk show, no one speaks for the rest of the night.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki @happysparklingshadows

[attaboy-art]

a (very crusty 👤) aggie.io sid and dex for your enjoyment..

[bitchassbucky]

Ｂｏｔｈｅｒ

📎Word Count: 2.2k

📎Warning/s: smut! minors DNI. mean!fuckboy!bucky x f!reader. unprotected sex. little to no foreplay, because, well, he just wants to get his dick wet. denied orgasm :( no aftercare too lol he’s an asshole in this one. messy facial! some heckin’ words.

📎A/N: jesus fuckiNG CHRIST okay this is one of my longer fics, i’m trying to get back into writing long fics again so, bear with me. fuckboy!bucky playlist to accompany you while reading this <3 

📎reblogs, likes, and comments are all welcomed! shower me with validation pls

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

The bass line and the drumbeat made your heart pump in sync. The room reeked of cheap drinks and expensive perfume—sweaty patrons swirling, mingling around, keeping their drinks cold, their hearts warm.

Chatter peaked when the band finished the song, a round of applause rising the frontman’s ego. The spotlight shone brightly on him, the stage lights hitting his back, lighting up his silhouette with pinks and purples.

He beams with adrenaline. All perfect smiles.

Slinging his stickered guitar to the side, he speaks into the mic, “thank you all for coming. We’ve been The Commandos. Goodnight!” The frontman flashes his million-dollar, megawatt smile and bows, earning another applause from the audience.

The rest of the band slinked out the back, bowing, giving out air-kisses and waves. Another band piles onto the stage, waving hello to the gathering crowd.

You sigh, the bottom of your shoes sticking to the dirty floor of the bar. The overhead lights of the bar a bright yellow contrast to the stage’s red hue. The beer in your hand condensing, the tips of your fingers damp in the process. The warmth of the place piling on your impatience.

Pushing yourself off the bar, you make your way to the back, one thing echoing in your mind. Familiar faces crowd your vision, sending a polite smile their way.

A door stands in front of you, the wood stained with stickers and posters and autographs. You knock twice before turning the knob.

“Where’s Bucky?” You say, leaning against the door frame. The door slowly swings open.

A blonde man, what’s-his-face, looks at you and puts down a pair of drumsticks, “‘Dunno what to tell ya, but he’s not here.”

Your roll your eyes, sending him a mirthless smile, “yeah, obviously. I was hoping if you could tell him to meet me tonight.”

Steve—you suddenly remembered his name—eyed you head to foot, a smirk plastered on his face, “Sounds important. Why don’t you hang out with us while waiting for him?”

A chuckle escapes your lips, “no, thanks. I’ll meet him outside.”

Steve makes a face, quirking a light brow to the rest of the group. All of them sharing the same look, “alright. Suit yourself.”

The clock ticks just ten minutes after 11, your patience growing thin as a needle. A gaggle of drunk patrons stumbles out the door when you spot him—leather jacket, distressed, ripped pants.

“Where’s my ring?” Without missing a beat.

Bucky’s lips quirk into a smirk, “whoa, baby, we fucked once,” he made you come thrice, “and you’re asking for a ring already?”

A shiver runs up your spine, whether it’s from disgust or something else, it wasn’t clear, “you know what I meant. I left my ring on your nightstand.”

“Deliberately, or…”

Your hands curl up in frustration, your left shin itching, “c’mon. Do you have it or not?” 

His intentionally undone boots scuffed against the floor as he stalks closer to you, his perfume invading your olfactory senses. Oh, he smells good. 

“D’you wanna find out?” His voice dropping a couple of octaves, whispering into the shell of your ear. His thick arms caging you against the bar and the wall. Fuck, he smells really good.

A feeble attempt to make room goes unnoticed, your breath hitching in your throat, “If you don’t have it on you, I’d gladly receive it through the mail.”

Bucky licks his tinged lips, a vein in his temple ticking—the lighting reflecting in his blue eyes, “why would I mail it to you when you can pick it up from my place?”

A rational voice in your head echoes, fighting with your impulse. The closeness of both of your bodies radiating warmth and electricity.

“Fine.” You relented, impulsivity is what got you there in the first place.

The drive to the place shouldn’t take too long, the little shit deliberately took the long way to his place. 

While you sit on the passenger side of his car, he keeps sending you amused glances. As if he couldn’t believe you’d willingly go with him tonight. Well, technically, it really wasn’t part of your plan.

“You wanna get burgers first?” He offers, lowering the music coming from the car’s stereo.

“I wanna get my ring back, Bucky.” You say, reminding him—and yourself—of what your agenda for tonight is.

He dismisses you, as per usual. And pulls over a drive-through of a local burger place, ordering himself a meal.

Instead of getting back out on the highway, he parks the car, rolls down the window, and eats.

“Jesus- fuck, Bucky!” You exclaimed in frustration, “look, if you want to waste my time, then-”

“Then, what?”

“Then go fuck yourself.” You left in a huff, swinging your legs and slamming the car door shut. Hoping that he’d go deaf in one ear.

Making sure that you’re well visible and in a brightly-lit place, you pull out your phone to book an Uber. Only to find Bucky making his way to you for the second time tonight.

“Hey!” Didn’t even used your name to call you, great work!

“I do have it, it’s really back in my place. By the lamp on the bedside table.” The truth lingers out on the night air, waiting for you to acknowledge it.

You meet Bucky’s statement with a wary squint, he meets your rightful doubt with a smile.

“No more stopovers.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky’s place is a liminal space for you. 

The familiar shadows and corners welcome you, the surfaces on where your bare skin sat hissed at you. You stood by the doorway, not wanting to prolong the journey.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s just me. Sit down.” Exactly, it is him.

You shake your head, leaning by the wall like a stranger, “I’m good. You’re not gonna take long anyway.”

But instead of retrieving your jewelry, his form retreats to the kitchen. A few seconds pass and you hear the crack and hiss of a beer bottle being opened.

“Y’know, I think I’ll just get it myself.” You toe off your shoes, placing them by the door. Your jacket still hanging off your shoulders.

You passed by Bucky, walking towards a love seat, two beers on one hand, “hurry up, then. Got a drink for ya.”

Hazy images play by memory the last time you were here, his damn cologne seeping into your nostrils.

Your head hanging by the edge of the bed as he laps your cunt like a man starved.

The headboard supporting your balance as you bounce up and down his thick cock.

Carpeting that gave your knees burn as he fucked you from behind.

Like an etch-a-sketch, you shake your head to get rid of the scenes that made themselves known.

A shining glint from the bedside table catches your eye, you swipe the ring and stashed it down your jacket pocket.

Coming out of the room with your ring, your slight smile falters as you saw Bucky lounging shirtless. As rightfully so, this is his home anyway.

You steeled yourself despite the heat that’s making its way up to your neck, “uh, I already got it. Thanks, Bucky.”

He shoots you a look—a lingering one. Like a predator about to pounce on prey. His stare chasing the goosebumps under your clothes.

“You sure you wanna go? It’s–” he glances at his phone for the time, “–past midnight.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” The setup.

“How about I take care of you for a change?” The trap.

And then just as sudden as your arrival, you find yourself pressed up against the wall. The agenda of the night has already been forgotten.

Bucky’s mouth finds its temporary home on your jaw, moving down your neck. His large hands already clawing their way under your shirt, the suddenness of the moment stirring the heat in your belly.

Rushed hands and panted breaths meet feverish lips.

The moment his tongue slipped into your mouth was the moment where you lost all inhibitions. Your hands fly to his nape, tugging his hair, effectively making him moan into your mouth.

“You know me so well.” He purrs against your lips. Hitching your legs up his hips as he presses you harder against the drywall.

“Lots of people know you so well.” You bite back, knowing for a fact that he sees others behind your back.

“True,” he’s murmuring against your pulse point and you sigh, “you’re my favorite though.”

Your jacket clutters against the floor of his bedroom, along with his pants and your shirt. A yellow stream of light emits from the living room.

Bucky tosses you on the bed, sending the pillows crashing on the floor. Though the room is darkened with curtains, your eyes adjust enough to see him as he pulls your ankles towards him.

His abs are chiseled like a Greek god, his skin tanned, decorated with tattoos. His left nipple adorns a stainless steel piercing. Like the last time, he grabs your hand, trailing it along his torso, letting you feel his deep v-lines.

A lewd moan escapes your lips as you cup his hardening cock through his boxers. Thick and heavy, a perfect fit.

“You like it?” Bucky taunts, jutting his hips against your hand. You squeeze him lightly, earning you a deep groan from the man above you.

His hand suddenly tightens around your throat, pulling your head towards him, “I asked you a question.”

Giving him a small nod and a meek yeah seemed to have sufficed until he flips you on your stomach and forces your face down the bed.

Your skirt joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Your panties do too.

“You’re so wet for me, aren’t ya?” Bucky taunts, one thick finger swiping the wetness between your folds. Spreading it around as preparation. A muffled confirmation made him chuckle as he pinches your clit with intention.

Taking his leaking cock out of his boxers, he swipes the bead of precum from his angry-red tip. He takes his sweet, sweet time before even thinking about pushing into your pussy.

Bucky drags the head of his cock up and down your fold, earning a needy moan from you—coating his entire length with your wetness.

After seemingly an eternity on your side, the sheets already imprinted their impression on the side of your cheek. Bucky finally, fucking finally, pushes into you. A short, white-hot burn shoots through your nerves, making you whimper.

His hand stays on the back of your neck, pushing you further down the bed as he moves. Your pussy lips gripping his dick like a vice, “so fucking tight. God.”

Bucky’s chest swelled up with pride as he notices your fingers digging into his sheets, “no one can fuck you this good.”

The bed squeaks with both of your weight shifting as he reaches around you, his fingers working around your bud. The pressure of his upper body makes you gasp with every thrust of his hips.

He continues to work you—his fingers circling tightly on your throbbing clit, his cock nudging the soft, spongy spot in you. Your toes curl with red heat as your orgasm begins to burn up your legs.

“I’m gonna-- ‘m so close,” your pleas fell on deaf ears as Bucky chases his own high. His balls slapping against your skin, his hips stuttering as his cock pulsates inside your velvet walls.

He curses, grabbing your shoulder and flipping you upside, kneeling before you. His hand pumping his dick continuously as it twitches—the veins even more prominent.

“Open your mouth, I’m gonna cum in it.” Bucky orders and you obey. Your fingers finding their way to your abandoned bundle of nerves—your climax threatening to fade away.

Thick ropes of cum shoot over your mouth, painting your lips and chin white as he misses.

“God, fuck, look at your mess.” Bucky sighs, he’s already tucked back into his boxers and handing you a shirt—presumably to clean yourself up.

“You got your ring? Anything else?” The annoyance in his tone is evident. The clock ticks half past midnight.

You dangle your purse in front of him as a gesture, the wind picks up and your shoes are loose on your feet.

“Alright, well, you could wait for your ride here, I guess.” Bucky dropped the act the moment he got his dick in you.

“Yeah, he’s just around the corner. Thanks for the, uh, ring.”

He hums, looking at his phone. His thumbs dancing over the keyboard, “Try not to bother my friends again when you wanna reach me.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or to smack the phone out of his hands, “yeah. Tried calling you but I’m pretty sure you blocked my number.”

A curt laugh echoes out from him, “‘m sorry. Out of habit. You know how it is.”

“Right.” And an awkward beat falls over the both of you.

A black car pulls up by the street and you silently thank the stars. By the time you turn around to at least do the right thing and bid Bucky goodnight, you find yourself facing a closed door.

[arixabala]

Manuscript search tag

Tagged again! Thanks so much @talesofsorrowandofruin! My words are garden, guide, graph, generous and garbled. 

Garden:

Yulia promised him more if he came by tomorrow, which began their routine lunch dates. Yulia made her closest approximations of the foods she recalled from Ganymede, and Slava told her all about the food he used to eat. It was such a pity that they had eaten so well, meanwhile the astronauts were currently surviving on freeze-dried goods. He had to get to work planning their hydroponics system. He hadn’t settled into his office yet, but every day over lunch Slava explained to Yulia what he knew. Talking about his home garden both assuaged and increased the nostalgia.

Guide:

Everyone on the ship, aside from Slava, wore glasses - a long-term side effect of gravity sickness. This sort of thing was exactly why his parents had planned to move planetside as soon as possible. Mik’s glasses were as thick as a porthole window, and when Slava tried them on, the world was so nauseatingly out of focus he thought he might fall over. He took them off and shoved them in his pocket.

“Christ! I wouldn’t need something this strong until I’m 80! Can you even see right now?” He waved a hand in front of Mik’s face. 

“Not a thing!” He squinted and grinned. “Keep ‘em. I bet you someone on this tin can has some spares hidden away.” He put a guiding hand on the wall and stumbled off.

Graph (cheating a little lol):

“Baikonur. It’s an old old launch site in Asia. They really don’t mention Nadezhda I and II out there?” Kelly looked so disappointed he was nearly pouting. 

He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint. Where is Asia?” 

Kelly sputtered apologies for not realizing that of course Slava would know nothing of Earth geography. He hastily sketched a map and named all the continents, and all the while Slava sat there wondering if he’d noticed Baikonur on the ESS shuttle schedule. He wanted to believe that he hadn’t, that if it had been on the list he’d have felt the homecoming call and gone there.

Generous:

Slava’s flightsuit was sleek, black, and form-hugging. Its sleeves successfully hit his wrists, and the legs reached the end of his. The piece was tailor-made for him, like a second and comforting skin. He wore his cleanest and slimmest pair of pants over it to make the look more professional - a look he stole from Jyotsna. Jyotsna was the more forward-facing captain - always the one making heads turn too - and he trusted her fashion sense. Slava felt cool, for lack of better words, like he was the dashing space captain rather than dating one. 

“Dashing” might have been too generous a description for Kelly at the moment, who wore dress pants and nothing else as he charged down the hall to retrieve the rest of his uniform. He narrowly avoided colliding into Slava, on his way to steal the bathroom mirror, and several steps later he stopped and turned. 

“You look nice,” he said, looking Slava up and down.

Garbled:

English felt like something Slava ought to understand better than he did. When Kelly spoke to him in slow English, many of the words weren’t that different from Issy - like he was listening to a sleep-garbled version. Every time Kelly repeated the phrase in his best attempt at Interplanetary Standard, Slava could kick himself for not having guessed the meaning. He corrected Kelly’s messy Issy as best he could, and then Kelly would curse and put his head in his hands because the correction sounded so right he should have known. They took turns trying out each other’s more fluent language, until English and Interplanetary Standard blurred together in a sort of patchwork dialect - plus a smattering of Slava’s native Cosmoyazik that accidentally slipped in. After several weeks of this they understood each other quite well, even though Dr. Xu found Slava’s English largely unintelligible.

Tagging @did-i-do-this-write, @i-can-even-burn-salad, and anyone who’d like to do this. Your words are phantom, taut, fissure, free, and frame.

[bakugoukatsuki-rising]

I'm. The new covers, op. The new covers. Gosh. Both of them hold so much symbolism. And technically they both are canon, they are both original ideas that could perfectly be valid. Horikoshi simply found something better. But anyways, I'm going to go ahead and ramble about it because Im- Op, prepare for a long ask! Hope you like it!

So!

On the one where Katsuki's the one in the picture, he's not on his knees like he is in the other two covers. Instead, he has his face down, body forward, one hand on one leg, the other one holding out for something...He's bowing. Bowing in Japanese culture is a pretty big deal. Hes not just tilting his head a bit, his head and body are on full on commitment.

Such a tilted bow means a LOT, specially from THIS guy, Mr dont let anyone walk in front of me. Even more when hes not just bowing, but accepting such an open display of given help, Mr shonen anime lone wolf. Accepting something he always has trouble admitting to. Accepting the past, accepting the wrongs. Accepting Izukus help means so much, and that's what these three covers have in common.

His hand is sctretching out. He's ready to say yes to that hand out in the air.

(Ps. I wonder if he's watching his own reflection on the water in this panel, as well?)

Hes in middle of the picture with those childhood friend at the back, which means audience. It means letting people see what hes done, what he's sorry for. He is being open and exposed and vulnerable. That's no fighting stance.

Remember guys, in case you haven't noticed before, Horikoshi puts lots of metaphorical value in his manga and on his covers. Sometimes you've got to dig in deep and think to get the bigger picture. And in this case, the bigger picture screams regret and wanting to make things right from the start.

This cover occurs in the past, at the moment where everything started, and Katsuki fully remembers this. Katwuki has thought of this, is thinking about this. He's had eye bags for gods sake, he's clearly troubled by all of what it means.

These three covers are the visual explanation of what's going on inside Katsuki's head, because this is clearly focused on him and his perspective.

(Ps. Rivers symbolise the massage of time. If that doesnt add to everything else, I dont know what to tell you.)

So! Next!

Wow, if this isnt one of my favourite things ever. Okay. Christ.

I have two options here. Scratch that, three options. Scream into the void, scream into this post, or actually make a good presentation of my inner turmoil. I'll have to go by the third option. (Haha. Just like horikoshi did. Dont # me, I'm funny in my head.)

This cover melted my insides, froze them all over, and hit me with them like a hammer.

I know they're kids, but let me get this straight-so kids seriously look at their friends with these looks in their eyes and think "ah, yes. This is my very good friend. This gentle smile and kind look I'm giving him as if he was my whole world? Well, hes just a very good friend."

I looked at my childhood crush this way, I dont know what to tell you.

Anyway, let's actually jump to the information at hand.

This panel seems like it's making a reference to what Katsuki wishes could have been. And if that's not absolutely soul-crushing...this cover is Katsuki's feelings, guys. These are probably his very thoughts. This scene has gone through Katsuki's head at some point.

We've got Izuku in his stuck up pose all over again, in just an awkward angle. It's like katsuki isnt looking AT this katsuki right now, but at the spot where the actual past Katsuki, at some point, was. As if this Isuku is frozen in time. Dont believe too much in this paragraph, I still have my doubts about that, but I feel it's a possibility. Izukus eyes seem to be focused on the water, while Katsuki is just the tiniest bit back, reaching for Izukus hand. And gosh.

I dont think I've ever seen older NOR child Katsuki have this look plasted into his face before. He's...sheepish. Kindly, awkwardly sheepish. No hate, no anger, no shame, no nothing. His face is clear and sweet and has this "Whoops. You got me. But thanks." kind of expression on.

The hand behind his head, just the tiniest but embarassed? That little smile? It's all so soft.

Rambling about softness though- I really liked the hand scene in this particular panel. If you close up your view, you realise that theres no effort to pull anyone out of nowhere. In this panel, they are simply holding hands in frozen time for no purpose at all.

Katsuki has his hand around Izuku...simply holding there.

Again, because the angle is awkward, it's kind of messy, but you get the point.

It's all simply beautiful. Horikoshi clean likes give me life.

And lastly. The actual cover.

I screeched so hard when I saw this. My first instinct when seeing this for the first time was to straight up go trigger happy fingers and write about it to my friends. Christ.

Everything is so...SOft. horikoshi made a good decision by mixing both previous drawings in one. We have parts of the two covers in one, which is amazing. In this one, Katsuki isnt alone, as Izuku's there too. But we dont have the audience either. Probably because the main focus on this panel is no one else except them two.

Again, Katsuki looks like he's bowing, but instead of looking all the way down, he's in the middle. Not looking at Izuku nor looking at the ground, like it shows in the previous covers. Instead, Horikoshi found a middle ground. He's looking at his hand. At the gesture.

Hes not holding hands quite yet, but his hand is there. At arms reach. Not close enough but there. Wanting.

Theres so much regret and again, softness.

Again, like you Op said a bit bad, the angle is off here. This is present Katsuki remembering his past. The angle is off because this Izuku isnt holding out for our Katsuki. This is a memory. A wish. Katsuki's wish.

(Ps. Izukus trousers drenched in the rivers water. This detail was so nice. It's a subtle action that describes Izukus characterization so much. Izuku went in the river with Katsuki in mind, not caring if he got his clothes soaked in the process too. For Izuku, only Katsuki was there. And for Katsuki, only Izuku is.

As a plus, I can't believe the cover of this is literally called Bakugou Katsuki rising. They named the entire thing after that one chapter. Actually, I very much, totally believe it. It's the moment so many people have been waiting for, after all. The moment so many scenes have been amounting for, little by little.

*dreamy sigh*

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little thing, I had to get it out of my system and dont want to bother my dear friends anymore than needed.

Have a good day, OP! I'll stay updated!

You kinda just...took my heart and curb stomped it, not gonna lie. Your observations are so beautiful and so accurate. The sketch with little Bakugou taking Izuku’s hand is so...raw, and yeah, that expression is definitely one of love. Those eyes, the way he is HOLDING Izuku’s hand, not TAKING it. He isn’t taking it to stand up, he is literally just...holding it. 

That isn’t the way you take someone’s hand when you’re trying to pull yourself up. It’s an awkward angle and just...wouldn’t work right. No, he is literally just holding his hand, and that’s exactly what Bakugou wishes he did all that time ago. He wishes that he not only took Deku’s hand, but held onto it. Held it as if it were something precious, something to be cared for and protected. 

These are Bakugou’s true feelings expressed in these drawings, and I think Horikoshi released them on purpose, to show us more of what he wanted Bakugou to be feelings through all of this. Since after all, we know that Bakugou expresses himself in action, not so much words. And because Horikoshi is an absolute genius, he thought to give us these other glimpses in how he feels through these actions. 

And the other sketch with him bowing his body to Izuku, and the way the log looks like it’s on his back with his ‘friends’ on top of it. 

The pressure of needing to be the coolest, the strongest, the best. Those kids put that kind of pressure on him, even if they never realized it. They encouraged his behavior and fed his ego, and it never allowed him to see how he was wrong. But now he is realizing it, and he is bowing himself in light of that acknowledgement. He is lowering his head and putting his pride away, so he can get back what he lost all those years ago; the opportunity to take Izuku’s hand.

To take the hand of the only one of those kids that ever loved him unconditionally. Who never pressured him or expected him to be invincible. Who saw all of his flaws and was completely prepared to support him despite all of it. The only one. 

I’m just a mess over all of this, and I am so incredibly thankful to Horikoshi for creating this beautiful relationship. AND IN A SHOUNEN MANGA, NONETHELESS!!  

Thank you friend, for your beautiful thoughts. I think they’re spot on, and I am so emotional all over again because of this. 

[lovelylogans]

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun. 

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds. 

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day. 

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy. 

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy! 

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.” 

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball. 

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies. 

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle. 

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted. 

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.” 

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

[calmlftv]

4 a.m. - m.c. blurb

description: a fight brings you out on a late night drive, and forgiveness finds its way to you. 

word count: 1.7k

warnings: VERY brief scenes/flashbacks involving yelling/hurtful words, a lil bit of angst but a happy ending 

w/n: i wrote this while feeling some things during lockdown so pls enjoy! 💕

taglist: @spicycal @castaway-cashton @irwinkitten​ @n-ctarinenga​ @notinthesameguey​ @blackbutterfliescal​ @ashtonsos​ @loveroflrh​ @bestyearssos​ @treatallwithkindness​ @bestyearslftv​

****

“What did you just say to me?”

You winced, the painful sting of Michael’s words hitting you again as you pressed your foot against the gas pedal, shooting down the road your home was on as you escaped the mess you had left behind. The way Michael’s voice deepened as his volume rose stuck with you, his words making your ears ring as you had fought back tears, silently grabbing your keys and slamming the door on your way out. 

The night air was much colder than you had expected but you left your windows down anyway, the chilly air drying the tears as they fell from your face. Your car was deadly silent, the only sound being the wind whipping through your windows as it covered the sounds of your sobs that shook your entire body, the heaves in your chest making your lungs ache as you wept over your steering wheel. 

It had been obvious from the way Michael stomped around the house that he was upset, the more obvious sign of him locking his office door after you had gone in to bring him lunch only solidifying the thought in your mind as you sighed. Throughout the day you still tried to reach out to him, texting him to ask if he wanted tea or to play a game together to try and cheer him up, only to be left on read every time, a frustrated sigh escaping you as you finally just left him alone. He only appeared again when you were cleaning up from making dinner, the shuffling of his feet against the floor alerting you to his presence. When you demanded a reason for his mood he snapped, voice rising as he looked at you. It only got worse from there, the two of you screaming at each other until your throats were raw and you were on the verge of tears, leading up to this very moment where you pulled off the road and followed the lightly made tire tracks to your look out. 

When you got out of your car you leaned against the door, your eyes taking in the sight of the city lights cutting through the darkness, the neons meeting your eyes as you stood up straight and closed your door, settling on the hood of your car as you tucked your knees against your chest. You wrapped your arms around your legs as you just sat there, staring blankly at the city as you lost yourself in thought once again. 

Michael’s face was tinted pinkish red, eyes bloodshot behind the black rims of his glasses. His jaw was clenched and locked, the muscles moving as his hands tugged on the hem of his shirt, the fabric bunching up when he released it and repeated the action. You could tell he wasn’t going to stand down so you took a breath, hands flat against the cool countertop as you exhaled. 

“Michael just tell me what’s wrong-” 

“Why, so you can be overbearing like always?” He snapped, his voice low now as his shirt went slack again. “Stop trying to fix me, y/n, I’m not some broken project you can piece back together!” 

You felt an angry blush cover your cheeks, the feeling moving down your chest and over your body as you spoke, tone sharp and voice loud. “I’m not trying to fix you, asshole, I’m trying to fucking help! I’m your girlfriend, I’m allowed to be worried-”

“I never fucking asked you to worry about me!” He yelled, spit flying from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, you’re just as bad as-”

“What did you just say to me?” 

Pain radiated through your body, the ache in your chest returning as you let out another sob. Your face buried against your knees, hating the words you said to him and the ones he said to you, resenting the way your voice shook and rose as you got more and more upset. Your fights were always few and far between, but when they happened they were a messy explosion of emotions, typically ending with the two of you tangled under the sheets of your shared bed as you owned up to your mistakes and gained forgiveness. 

This time, though, there was something different radiating from the two of you; maybe it was the stress of the lockdown order getting to you, maybe the amount of time you’ve been forced to spend together was finally taking its toll. Maybe a mix of both, along with the stress of working from home and whatever else could be affecting your love as he was forced to stay away from his friends and family. You knew this was taking a toll on both of you, but you didn’t know it could get worse like this. 

You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a car door closing, the sound startling you as you quickly wiped the tears from your eyes. Familiar footsteps came up from behind you as you stared ahead, refusing to look at this person joining you. 

“This spots kinda sketch,” a soft voice stated, the phrase being something you’ve heard hundreds of times as Michael walked up beside you, his hands in his pockets as he stood next to your car. The headlights from his Tesla were still shining over you, washing everything in a yellowish tint as it disturbed the pitch darkness around you. 

Silence enveloped the two of you as you didn’t answer, still not looking at Michael as he sighed. You sensed movement as he lifted a hand and scratched the back of his neck, his hands tugging down his sweater sleeves until they rested over his palms. He always hated colder nights, a very miniscule pang of sadness hitting you until you brushed it off. 

“Petal,” he said softly, his eyes trained on you as you just stared ahead. His heart broke into a million tiny pieces when he saw your puffy eyes, knowing he was the cause of the tear stains on your shirt and jeans and the numb feeling on your shoulders. 

He quietly climbed on the hood with you, leaving space between you as he settled in. It was quiet again, this time for much longer as he joined you in looking over the city, the sounds of the night surrounding you both in the warmest hug despite the obvious chill. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael stated, voice a bit shaky now as he took a breath. “I crossed a line and...projected my feelings about everything on to you, and that’s not fair. You didn’t do anything wrong, I shouldn’t have used you as my verbal punching bag, and I’m really really sorry.” 

You were silent as he finished, taking a minute to mull over your words before you found your voice again, lips parting to speak. 

“Am I overbearing?”

Michael paused, not exactly expecting you to ask a question. He chewed the inside of his cheek, weighing his own words before he spoke again, honesty dripping like honey from his tone. “Sometimes you are. But it’s how I know you care.” He paused again, chirping insects filling the gap. “If you were to ever stop checking in and worrying about me, that’s how I’d know I’ve lost you forever.”

More tears threatened to fall at his words and you pushed them away, knowing he always brought you honesty when you asked him questions like that. You took a deep breath and let it out through your mouth, the sound of your own breathing calming you down enough to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” you said simply, voice still raw as you winced at the ache. “I know I should have given you some space instead of checking in so much. You would have come to me when you were ready to, and I just kept pushing until you broke.” A slow sigh escaped through your nose before you continued, your eyes moving to Michael as he looked at you. “And I forgive you. But can we talk through things like this? My throat kind of hurts.”

A smile broke through Michael’s face, his teeth shining as he slipped an arm around you and pulled you close. “I promise I’ll talk more. I never want to yell at you ever again.” 

You smiled in return, his lips pressing sweet kisses to your forehead as he pulled you into his lap, arms keeping you as close as possible while he bundled you against his chest. Another silence fell, this one much more comfortable as you both watched the city move below you, cuddling on the hood of your car as Michael’s body warmed you up. 

After a while Michael yawned, releasing his arms from around you as he stretched them up. You sat up a bit and shivered, the air quickly stealing away the warmth you had just experienced as you started to stand up. 

“Probably should head home,” you mumbled, Michael nodding along as you both scooted off the hood, eyes scanning it for any dents or scratches before you moved to your cars. His hands held the door open for you, kisses being stolen before you got into the driver's seat and started the engine, immediately cranking the heat to get warm while Michael went to his, quickly moving out of the way as you both drove back home. Your dashboard clock alerted you the time, the 

The drive home was quicker than the drive out, your favorite Mowgli’s tune blasting as the two of you pulled in, both of you getting inside quickly as the dogs bounded over to you. Moose whimpered at Michael’s feet and he chuckled, reaching down to scratch her ears as South sniffed around your feet. 

Before you could pick him up for cuddles Michael’s hands were on your hips, tugging you close against him again as he pressed his lips to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his squeezing your hips as he held onto you, unwilling to let you go as you stood in the entryway of your home. It took everything within both of you to pull apart, breathless as you held on to each other for dear life. 

“I love you, baby,” you said softly, your eyes meeting the beautiful mixture that up your boyfriends, a smile tugging on the corner of his lip as he pressed a kiss to your jaw. 

“I love you, too,” he said sweetly, lips moving to your ear. “Maybe I can show you how much in our room?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, nodding as he took your hand and led you to your bed, tangling under the sheets again and again until you both finally fell asleep. 

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (8)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A brief flash of sexy times and angsty intrigue.

A/N: Several people messaged reminding me that adding links kill searches (Tumblr is utterly ridiculous), so I’ve taken those out. If you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

That last chapter murdered my heart, I hope it destroyed all of you as well! This week, Bucky gets cockblocked and the mysterious circumstances that brought him back to her take a strange turn. 

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

Previously...

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

MISSION REPORT

SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT ESTABLISHED. AWAITING RESULTS.

He thinks to himself.

What will he do when he sees the whites of her eyes?

He grinds his teeth, breathing hard through his nose.

What will he do?

*****

After he came back, Bucky’s therapist encouraged him to ask questions. Anything and everything, the more the merrier. Nothing was off limits. At first, it felt strange, asking someone else to share the basic tenets of his life, but he grudgingly persevered. It was the only way he knew how to get the answers he needed.

The very first time they sat down, Bucky flipped his notepad open to reveal 27 pages, front to back, loaded with questions.

Some were simple.

“What was my favorite color? How did I take my coffee? When did I have my first kiss? What was my favorite book? Who was my favorite ball player?”

One after another, he fired the questions and Steve answered every single one, down to the most boring, insignificant detail. With every response, Bucky turned the words over in his head, testing them on his tongue and repeating them back. Committing them to memory so he could sketch out the simple outline of who he used to be.

Some here harder.

“Why’d I get drafted instead of signing up for the war? Why didn’t I get along with my father? Was I very religious? Why not?”

Those answers were thorny, not always nice and, but Steve replied with full and frank honesty, because there was no one else in the world knew Bucky Barnes as well as Steve Rogers.

It became a common sight, Bucky clutching the bright pink notepad Natasha gave him, carefully writing answers while Steve spoke; Steve was always willing to drop everything to talk.

Now, he recalls one question where Steve stumbled a bit more than usual.

“Did I want to get married?”

An oddly devastated sadness had rearranged Steve’s features, before he offered a vague answer.

“When we were younger, no. During the war, you changed your mind.”

“Why’d I do that?”

“It happens.”

“People usually have a reason. What happened?”

“War happened. And you know, stuff.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird, I’m just - look, you, um, you met - someone.”

“Who -“

But before he could dig further, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Bells started ringing, lights flashing, an Irish voice coming through the ceiling as FRIDAY announced they were summoned for a mission. Snapping his mouth shut, Bucky tucked the notepad in the waistband of his jeans and leapt to his feet, the question forgotten.

Later, Steve tried to bring it up again, casually mentioning Bucky’s girl and some letters she wrote to him, but by then it was too late. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Bucky was exhausted and frustrated and close to tears, and he had no desire to remember someone else he’d let down.

Hurtled back to the present, Bucky sits up in the dim light of her bedroom and throws a knee across her hips, boxing her in beneath him. Palms anchored to the bed beside her head, he looks down at her face. Anxious fear flashes through her, something he can’t reconcile. All he knows in this moment, is a desire to smooth it away.

“I don’t - why didn’t you say something sooner?” Bucky whispers. “Why - “

But he stops. He stops, because he knows why.

“Oh,” he says softly, disappointment filling his throat. “No, okay. It’s okay. I get it.”

She watches him glance at the metal arm, his shoulders sagging as he tries to pull away. Her hands fly up, gripping his arms tight, keeping him in place.

“No. You listen to me Bucky Barnes - this was not about you or anything you think you’ve done.” Bucky stares hard, clearly desperate to believe her. “I wanted to tell you, I just - couldn’t hold you to a promise we made seventy years ago. We were different people then, I know that. You have a whole other life now. I don’t expect anything, I don’t - expect you to still want that.”

The sharp ache that hits him whenever he sees her sadness tightens his chest. The words come easily, and he answers without a second thought.

Because really, he doesn’t need to think. They’re the most honest thing he knows.

“Darlin, you listen to me - I said it then, I’ll say it again. This kind of love, it never leaves. I meant that. Even if I don’t remember saying it, I know I meant it. I know I did.”

Hope fills her eyes at his insistence, that fragile kind he could smash with a single word.

Which he never plans to do, as long as he lives.

“Really?” she whispers, brushing her knuckles over his fuzzy cheek and he turns, pressing his lips to them.

“Really,” he says hoarsely.

Curling her fingers behind his neck, she pulls his mouth down and her kiss is soft and sweet and everything he’s been missing his entire godforsaken life. Bucky lets himself drown in her for a brief moment, before breaking the kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, pulling back. “We were gonna get married and I just fuckin’ left you. I left you. God dammit, I’m - fuck, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she says immediately. “It wasn’t your fault, Bucky. None of it was your fault.”

Those magic words, he’s heard them a million times, in a million variations, since the day he came back. They’ve always meant nothing, hollow assurances he actively scorned. He knew better. But now, lying here with her while the dim light of a fresh mountain morning begins to flood the room - he finally lets them soak in.

Maybe he even believes them.

“We were gonna get married,” he says instead, wonder filling his voice. “You were gonna marry me.”

“I was,” she says, and her tentative smile is like the sun. “And you were going to marry me.”

Bucky considers her for a moment before he surges forward. Nothing about the move is coordinated, it’s a messy tangle of tongues and teeth clacking together, a kiss bubbling over with frantic need, as though the world is ending and this is the only way to prevent its demise.

His kiss is frantic and passionate and so utterly Bucky, she can barely breath. Everything he does to her, it kicks her heart into a crazy tailspin and she kisses him back ferociously, drinking up the tiny sounds he makes, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers. It’s enough for forever, the way he spills over so full of life and happiness and love.

And she knows, it’s all for her.

When his hands squeeze her ribcage, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, his lips move up to her ear with the question she’s been waiting for, and she shivers.

“Can I?”

“Yes, please,” she breathes, and Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

Slipping his hands beneath her shirt, twin sighs of relief come at the feel of skin on skin. For the first time in decades, that feeling of absolute and total desire crackles through her and she arches into his touch. Sliding his right hand up, gently cupping her breast, he kisses her again and she moans into his lips when he thumbs over her nipple. His left hand hesitates on her belly, hard and cold, but then she grips his wrist firmly and tugs his hand up, placing it on her other breast and hooking her ankle behind his thigh.

Rocking himself against her, Bucky kisses every inch of skin he can find; that smooth space behind her ear, the delicate tendon down her neck, the sharp collarbone above her sleep shirt, his hands teasing relentlessly until she’s breathing fast and hard, pushing herself back against him.

Swallowing his nerves, his fingers drift down. Finding the waistband of her shorts, circling the edge, working up the courage to dip his fingers inside, he takes a deep breath and -

His phone buzzes. Loudly.

“Shit,” he rasps, jerking back. Reaching over to the bright screen flashing on the nightstand, his lust-addled brain fumbles repeatedly and he hits the ignore button three times before it goes silent. The spell is momentarily broken, the room quiet. Breathing hard, he gives her a crooked little grin and kisses the tip of her nose. “Sorry. Way to kill the mood, huh? Where were we?”

“Right here,” she murmurs, pulling his face back to hers and slipping her tongue between his lips. Bucky melts into the touch, feels himself growing painfully hard against her, feels her fingers stroking down the hard planes of his stomach, sliding dangerously close to his -

His phone buzzes. Again.

“Motherfucker,” he growls. Snatching it up, he flips the phone to silent again and throws it across the room for good measure. It lands with a soft thump in the corner and he dives back in for a kiss, feeling her shake with silent laughter.

The laughter turns to a breathless whine when he tugs up her shirt, his mouth finding the soft skin of her belly, sucking and kissing a path higher and higher, licking at the swell of her breast, so close, and god he wants to -

He wants to understand why life can’t just go his fucking way for once, that’s what he wants.

His phone buzzes. Again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky announces, sitting up on his knees. There’s only one person who has the ability to bypass the silent mode he’s put it on and he’s gonna thoroughly enjoy strangling him next time he sees his stupid face.

Bouncing off the bed, he stomps over to the corner and picks up his phone, pressing the answer button so hard he’s surprised the screen doesn’t shatter.

“What, Steve?” he snaps, frustrated desire turning his voice into a snarl. “What could you possibly fucking need right now?”

“Morning sunshine. Sorry to bother, but we need to talk.”

“I’m incredibly busy at the moment,” Bucky grits out. Watching her snuggle deeper into the blankets, she gives him a lazy smile and he slams his eyes shut so he can focus. “I’ll call you later.”

He tries to hang up, but Steve’s voice is calling out “Wait!”

Bucky vows then and there to steal Steve’s shield when he gets back and brain him with it.

“Jesus Christ fuckin’ fuck. Hang on,” he growls. Stamping down the irritation, he shoots her a look of exasperated apology. “Give me two minutes, okay?”

“It’s okay. I’ll go make coffee,” she replies, crawling out of bed and Bucky feels the overwhelming desire to tackle her and make her to stay put. A whine of dissent slips out and she bites back a smile at his frustration. “Come downstairs when you’re done, maybe we can finish this.”

And then she winks and tiptoes out of the bedroom.

Bucky forces himself not to bolt after her. Instead, he irritably adjusts the situation between his legs and waits until she’s out of earshot before flipping the screen to video. Steve’s semi-apologetic face comes into view.

“This better be real fuckin’ good,” Bucky sighs.

“It’s that signal, up at the Hydra base. It’s gone off again.”

Anger evaporating, Bucky’s eyes narrow. “It’s what?”

“It went off again,” Steve repeats. “I thought you disabled it?”

“I did,” Bucky says slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Tony triple-checked it.” His face morphs into serious Captain mode. “Real talk. Do I need to come out? Is it possible there’s something else happening?”

Bucky thinks back, recalling the layers of dust, the cottony white spiderwebs, the echoes of ancient violence stuffed in that cavernous base. Once upon a time, it contained nightmares, sure. But there was nothing there now. He’s sure.

“No, there was nothing there. I’m sure. Stay home.”

Sky blue eyes scrutinize him through the small screen. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Fine.” Steve pauses. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

“Nope,” Bucky answers promptly.

“Sure?”

Exhaling a long-suffering sigh, Bucky gives him a pointed look. “Actually yes. You’re a nosy little shit. Why is that?”

The stoic expression fades and Steve grins. “Probably ‘cause I’m used to your dumbass needing my help all the fuckin’ time.”

Shooting him a mocking glare, Bucky shakes his head. “Fucking hell. What’s the press gonna say when they hear Captain America has such a fuckin’ potty mouth?”

“Expect they’ll blame it on you. Just like my Ma did.”

Bucky snorts. “Touché. I’ll go check it out. Call you later. Dick.”

Steve gives him a goofy, open-mouthed smile and a thumbs up. Bucky presses the end call button hard. Silence blankets the room, and he rubs the heel of his hand in his eye, pushing down a sudden wave of tiredness.

Someday, maybe, just maybe - he’ll be done with this shit.

*****

Rifling through the tidy pile of his clothes folded in the corner of her closet, Bucky dresses quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt, a vest, his white tac pants. Pulling his semi-clean, but still slightly bloody, white coat from a hanger, he shrugs into it. Looking into the mirror, he fingers the two bullet holes in the chest, twitching at the memory of them punching through his flesh.

Opening his backpack, he pulls out his cache of weapons. Chooses his favorite Glock, the old Sig Sauer, his second favorite Glock, his third favorite Glock, tucking them all into their designated holsters. Sheathing a couple knives comfortably in his boots, he ties his snarly hair back and fits the white balaclava over his head.

Standing in front of her mirror, he fixes his mouth into that trademark smirk that normally accompanies a mission outfit and tries to psyche himself up. Clear his mind. Sharpen his nerves.

It sort of works. Except that miserable slump of his shoulders - that refuses to change. Grimacing at the visual, he gives up.

Was he always this tired?

Steeling himself, he heads downstairs, clearing his throat and treading loudly to announce his presence. He doesn’t want to scare the shit out of her, stomping around like the abominable snow monster with weapons coming out his ass.

Standing in the kitchen, she wears her silky cotton sleep shorts and a loose t-shirt. The sight of her pouring two steaming cups of coffee, while the sun begins to fill the cozy little cabin, is almost enough to break him. Say fuck it and tell Steve to come do it himself.

But of course, he won’t. He never does. Because here comes Bucky Barnes. He always makes the shot. He always saves the day.

He sighs.

When she looks up, her budding smile instantly fades. She goes still, the only movement the tight clench of her jaw. She sets the coffee pot down with a quiet click.

“Before you ask,” Bucky starts, “I’m not leaving. Steve called, I gotta go back up to the base. That fuckin’ signal’s going haywire again.”

A spasm of alarm floods her face and she grips the edge of the counter. “Someone’s there?”

“We don’t think anyone’s there,” Bucky assures her. “There’s nothing to indicate that, we think it’s just the tech. Guess I didn’t finish the job last time, so I need to go fix it.”

Considering him for a fleeting moment, she bites her lip and thinks; appearing to make a decision she nods and walks toward him, heading for the stairs.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, catching her arm. “You won’t. It’s nothing to worry about. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Please.”

Squaring her shoulders, she tugs her arm gently from his nervous fingers and Bucky braces for an argument. But then she simply traces the bullet holes in his jacket, examining the torn edges of white fabric. Contemplating his comment. She meets his eyes and gives him a small smile.

“If it’s nothing to worry about, then it doesn’t matter if I come. Unless you’re saying goodbye for good, I’m not letting you go alone. Is it goodbye for good?”

Even the thought of leaving her makes his breath catch.

“No,” he breathes. “Never.”

Reaching up, she tucks an errant strand of dark hair into the balaclava. Cradles his hot, scruffy cheeks in her cool palms, and kisses his lips.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Should he argue? Probably. Will he? Probably not. Because having someone love him like this - it just feels too nice.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Get dressed.”

*****

Any roads leading to the base have long since grown over. The only way up is an overgrown trail, accessed through a steep hike. Parking her old, now slightly blood-stained truck to edge of the path, they start to climb. Bucky takes it slow at first, until he realizes she’s waiting patiently for him to go faster.

“Altitude sucks,” he pants, pausing to put his hands on his head. “Think you might be in better shape than me.”

“No,” she replies, offering a hand to pull him up. “I’m definitely in better shape than you.”

Barking out a surprised laugh, he squeezes her fingers.

Ninety minutes later, the entrance appears. Grey on grey, the door blends seamlessly into the mountain rock, it’s curved handle set flush against the heavy metal. On his first visit, it was rusted shut, wind and weather and age an effective deterrent; it had taken him nearly an hour to bust through.

Before they enter, Bucky turns to her and unlatches his favorite Glock from the side holster.

“Guess I don’t need to tell you how to use it, since you’ve already saved my ass,” he watches her tuck her gloves into her coat and take the handle of the gun, double-checking the safety. The fluid gesture twists his gut. Looking up, she gives him a wane smile.

“No. All good.”

It bothers him. Clearly, she knows how to protect herself - he wasn’t there to do it, she had to learn - but he despises the fact that violence has touched her. That he’s tainted her with it himself. He doesn’t want that part of his life to be something they share.

Then and there, he makes himself a promise. If he gets a future with her, he’ll do everything in his power to build her a life free from the sadness that seems so adamant to cling to her. Loving her that way, forever and always - it’s the least he can do.

Pulling off the balaclava, he welcomes the bite of cold air against his sweat damp neck. Reaching into the depths of his white coat, he produces two small flashlights, handing one to her and clicking the other to life, and with a shouldered shove, he opens the door. It swings easily, clean and oiled from his last visit.

Holding the flashlight aloft, he balances his gun on his wrist, rolls his shoulders and starts forward, eyes cautiously sweeping the entrance, as she steps carefully behind.

The hallway twists and turns, snaking deep into the bedrock of the mountain. The air warms as they walk, the depth of the mountain keeping the cold from penetrating; the dampness in the air increases though, negating any warming effects and cutting deep.

Damp cold was the worst kind. It always soaked into his bones. Held tight, refused to leave.

Heavy iron doors hang from broken hinges along the walls, frozen in place through a potent combination of old age and powdery red rust. Bucky’s already rummaged through the small rooms lining the hall, turning up nothing more than a handful of paperclips and a couple broken rifles; as he runs his light up and down the doors, the rooms reveal nothing new.

A good thing, he thinks. A very good thing.

Their flashlights illuminate the narrow hall, the enclosed space muffling their footsteps. On and on they plod, until the click of Bucky’s boot makes a new sound, echoing up into the soaring ceiling of a new chamber. They’ve reached the control room now, and there it is.

In the blackness of the cavernous room, he sees a blinking red light.

What the fucking hell?

He starts toward it, super soldier eyes navigating through the darkness. Just before he reaches the light, a startled hum of electricity crackles around them, a generator bursting to life. Whirling around, finger hovering over the trigger, he finds her standing by the wall, her hand wrapped around the t-shaped handle of a giant light switch.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, using his shoulder to wipe away the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Scared the shit out of me.”

Above the switch, he notices a water-stained Hydra propaganda poster depicting a faded red skull, tentacles reaching into a black pit of writhing, silhouetted bodies. Christ. He remembers those posters. They were tacked up around the bases back in the early 1950s. Some lousy intern’s job, he supposes. Hydra marketing for a summer job.

Assholes.

“We can’t all see in the dark,” she reminds him patiently, brushing the dust from her hands.

“Fair enough,” he says weakly, heart still pounding.

In the dingy light, the control dashboard looks as dirty and untouched as his last visit, coated in a thick layer of filth that only exists with decades of neglect. But in the right-hand corner, the red light blinks steadily.

Bucky’s perturbed. Is he missing something? Is there something else going on?

Right there, the first flash of fear prickles up his neck, lodging sharp claws into his skin.

Scanning the dashboard, he sees the breakers he flipped before, cutting power to the control center. All of them are still clearly locked in the OFF position, so he breathes a sigh of relief - just like the light switch she found, there must be some kind of secondary power source.

He debates the complex panel, searches the buttons and keys and slides and comes up empty. Unless Hydra gave him explicitly detailed instructions, he was never good with tech shit like this. What’s he supposed to do? Dismantle the entire dashboard? Search for a general power source?

In the end, he chooses a slightly different route.

“Cover your ears.”

She looks warily at him, her hands slowly rising to her head.

“Here goes,” Bucky mumbles to himself and with a swing, he smashes a metal fist straight through the dashboard. The sound explodes through the room, pieces of grey plastic and black metal and glass bulbs ricocheting off the wall. Jerking his hand back, he comes up with a fistful of electrical wires and the blinking red light goes dark.

“Problem solved,” he turns to her, the wires dangling like a handful of snakes.

The sound of his blunt dismantling still reverberates through the room, and she stands tense and frozen.

“What else was here?” her voice is low. Unlike Bucky, she seems afraid to make much noise.

“Not much,” Bucky admits, tossing the wires aside. “Searched it last time, nothing useful. Looks like it was abandoned sometime in the ‘50s.” He motions back to the far wall with the gun. “There’s a small office over there, we can have a look around if you want.”

There’s no reason for it, but something about the place puts her off kilter. Following Bucky’s direction, she moves toward the office, unsure what she expects to find, but inside is exactly what he said - nothing. A small desk and file cabinet on one side, a pair of broken metal folding chairs against a brick wall, a pile of crumpled papers on the desk.

“Went through it all,” Bucky confirms, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. “Desk was empty, file cabinet had a few papers, looks like office inventory. Doesn’t seem like they left anything behind.”

She hums in agreement, peeking into the file cabinets and finding nothing but more dust and the moldering remains of a dead mouse. She turns in a slow circle, eyes tracing the angles of the small room, and she finds nothing. Breathes easier.

Although - wait.

Stepping closer to the wall behind the desk, she runs her fingers lightly across the brick, touching here and there. Bucky watches intently, the way her hands move in random patterns. Several minutes pass in absolute silence, until suddenly she stops. Pressing against a single brick, she wiggles it, crumbling white mortar shaking loose to the floor, and then the brick pulls free.

Behind is a deep, hollow space.

“What - ” Bucky says, coming closer. “How? How did you know?”

There’s an emptiness in her face when she looks at him. “I’ve been hiding things in floorboards and fireplaces and - walls, most of my life.” Her voice sounds infinitely tired, like the years have finally caught up. “I know what to look for.”

Bucky shines a flashlight into the dark space and they see a fat bundle of paper. Reaching in, she tugs gently, the rough brick unwilling to reveal its secret so easily. When it finally pops free, they find a folded envelope. Brushing away the layers of dust, the faded scrawl of cursive handwriting is splashed carelessly across the front, with two words:

VERSION 2.

Wordlessly, she looks at him and Bucky shakes his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I don’t know what it means.”

She runs her fingers beneath the envelope flap to pull it open, but Bucky stops her, glancing over his shoulder.

“What?” she asks, immediately on alert. “Did you hear something?”

“No, but can we wait until we get home? I just - don’t want you here any longer.” He says the words without thinking and flinches. When we get home? You idiot, you’ll scare her off with that shit. It’s not your home, it’s hers.

But while Bucky frets over his word choice, he notices something. That look of exhaustion and sadness filling her eyes - it disappears. Like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. She reaches for his hand, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him close. Tucking herself against him, she hugs him tight and Bucky holds on fiercely.

“Okay,” she agrees softly. “Let’s go home.”

And just like that, Bucky Barnes has a home.

Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he squeezes her hand and they walk toward the door, ready to leave this depressing world behind.

His brain is already plowing ahead, remembering warm blankets and the smell of hot soup and the sound of a crackling fire, all things he now associates with her, associates with happiness. His brain and his heart want it so damn badly, he nearly misses it.

Just before they pass through the door, a strange gust of air, ice cold and smelling of snow.

He stops so fast, she bumps into him. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he turns to the blank wall, eyes roaming over the faded brick.

“Did you feel that?” He glances over his shoulder. Her mouth is turned down and she rubs her nose when it smacked his shoulder.

“Yes,” she says tightly.

Stepping closer, Bucky runs his hands over the brick, searching for the source. Bending down, he freezes, seeing something new, something he knows wasn’t there before. He recognizes it instantly, an unfortunate currency he dealt for decades.

Blood speckled across the brick. A small piece of human skin embedded in the mortar. Dried, but no more than a few weeks old.

Someone was here.

“God dammit,” he hisses, jumping to his feet. “Fucking fuck!”

She kneels beside the wall, absorbing the gruesome details. “That’s new?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” he says shortly.

She looks around the office, back in the control room. Remembers Bucky describing the welded shut door at the entrance. “You said the entrance was sealed shut when you first arrived. Could this be the same person? How would they get inside in the first place?”

The icy whistle of wind hits his face again. Leaning into the wall, he pushes, testing a few different points. “Please don’t be a secret door,” he mutters under his breath, but with a sudden grating rumble, it slides back.

Revealing a secret door. He hates secret doors.

Stark would love this.

A long, dark tunnel appears. Tapping anxiously against his leg, he debates - he doesn’t want her to follow, but he’s sure as hell not leaving her alone. He turns around, but she settles it instantly.

“Just go. I’m coming with you.”

Propping the flashlight on his wrist again, Bucky clicks it on and positions the gun. Starting forward, he hunches over, bending to fit his tall frame beneath the low ceiling. For ten minutes they walk, encountering nothing more than ice slicked walls and a hard-packed dirt floor. Finally, the darkness begins to fade, a dim grey light crawling into the spaces around them. Turning a sharp corner, they find the source.

A large metal door sits askew, propped open and allowing slivers of light and cold air to filter through. Coming closer, Bucky discovers the door hinges are unscrewed, a little pile of broken metal and stripped screws littering the ground.

Wrapping a metal hand around the edge of the door, he looks back to her. “Be ready,” he murmurs, nodding to the gun. She raises it, her hands steady and returns his nod. With a rough jerk, Bucky pulls the door fully open, the grate of rust and metal screeching around them.

On the other side, they find a thin fissure in the grey rock of the mountain. Protected from the drifts of snow outside, wide enough for someone to fit through - but hidden well enough that no one would ever think twice.

And there, lying next to the door, is a black wool glove. Threadbare, with an unraveled hole in the thumb, it looks perfectly clean. Clearly a recent addition. Bucky picks it up, that sinking feeling in his chest now bubbling like acid in his throat. He shoves the glove furiously in his pocket.

“You fuckers,” he growls to himself. Turning around, he meets her wide-eyed gaze, panic clear in her face. She still has the gun raised, but now he sees the hint of a tremble in her fingers.

He’d give his entire life to erase that look.

“Hey, come here,” he murmurs, and she steps quickly into his embrace and once more, he holds tight. Holding her this close, he smells the faint, calming scent of her lotion. “Let’s go home. I need to make a call.”

*****

“Anything?”

Once again, Steve Rogers is eating giant globs of peanut butter straight from the jar. Wasting no time, Bucky gets straight to the point.

“Someone was there. Found a back entrance they must’ve used. Assume they turned on the signal.”

Steve swears and the spoon clatters to the kitchen counter.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky snaps.

“What the fuck did they want?”

“I don’t know.”

“No possible scenarios?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky grits out, pissed with Steve’s exasperated sigh. “I’m fuckin’ working on it. Give me a minute to think.”

Steve rubs his forehead. The expression on his face morphs, an odd mix of frustration and enforced calm, with a sprinkle of suspicion.

“The other reason you’re there,” he asks carefully. “The reason you’ve stayed. Whatever that is, could it have anything to do with this?”

Bucky opens his mouth to refute that possibility, because fuck you Steve, of course not - but then he pulls up short. That’s the thing. He doesn’t know. She still hasn’t told him her ability and why it ever allowed her to know the scope of Hydra’s brutality. This is one big piece of the puzzle that remains hidden.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Looking out of the bedroom, his gaze grows thoughtful. “But I’ll find out.”

*****

Downstairs in the cozy little cabin, she opens the dusty envelope.

Inside, she finds 14 photographs. They’re old, a sepia toned mix from the 1940s and 1950s, their occupants slightly blurry and peeling around the edges. On her kitchen counter, she lines them up in two straight rows.

She stares.

She begins to shake.

“Darlin, can we talk about something?”

Bucky’s voice is low and soothing, meant for comfort. Walking up beside her, he peers curiously at her profile. Slowly she turns, and the look on her face cuts him to the bone.

“Bucky - “

Cold sweat fills the palms of her hands where they lay flat on the counter and a shudder ripples through her, rattling her entire body. He moves quickly behind her, pressing himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her, surrounding her in that blessed heat.

“Hey, hey, what is it?”

Over her shoulder, he sees the images.

There are two group photos, each showing four men posing. Three of the men are dressed in white lab coats, horn-rimmed coke bottle glasses perched on their noses. The fourth stands a head above them, dressed head to toe in black, his white-blond hair gleaming even in the faded photo. Bucky’s lip curls in disgust - an SS officer, from the looks.

Until he looks closer. Something about the man’s arrogant sneer and icy stare sparks a long-forgotten memory. Bucky squints.

“Hang on. I think I remember him,” he says slowly. “He was there my first few years, but then he disappeared. Deserted, they said.”

“Deserted,” she repeats. She gives a hollow laugh. “I doubt that.”

Bucky should interrogate that comment, but he sets it aside for a moment. Returning to the pictures, he looks at the second row. The images are consistent, six full body pictures of a naked male, each accompanied by a close-up headshot - twelve photos in total. A small postcard is clipped to each pair of photos, block print letters with details.

This is familiar. Not the men themselves, but the visual and the information. Familiar, because long ago, the former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes started with a file just like this.

Name. Country. Rank. Skills.

In the beginning, he supposes his was just as simple and basic. Until the graciousness of cryofreeze carried him through the decades, turning his paper-thin file fat with Hydra accomplishments. Assassination, murder, torture. All those details that made up the shadowy outline of the Winter Soldier.

Suddenly, he gets it.

Version 2.

Bucky knows that while he may have been the first successful super soldier Hydra created, he was by no means the only experiment. Proof of that assumption is lined up on the table before him. Soldiers and special skills categorized alphabetically in what he realizes is evidence of Hydra’s original super soldier trials.

The information is massive. He needs to call Steve, but there are shallow, panicked gasps bleeding from her throat, and he refuses to set that aside, because she is his priority - he turns her firmly to face him.

“Look at me. Darlin’, look at me. What is it?”

Wild eyes search his, so full of despair. Sweat slick fingers point to a pair of photos, depicting a tall, thin boy with curly black hair and vacant eyes.

Bucky looks closer and sees the information listed on the card.

NAME: Lewis, Henry.

COUNTRY: United Kingdom.

RANK: Lieutenant.

SKILLS: Espionage. Technology.

“I know him,” her voice cracks. She pauses and corrects herself. “I mean, I knew him.”

More than anything, he wants to ask about her past. Who she was before she found him broken and bleeding that day in her village. What she went through all those years ago that shaped her into the wary person she became. What secret she carries that weighs so heavily on her soul.

But he promised he wouldn’t. He knows the pain of having other people digging into his past, what it feels like to feel like to reveal your darkest secrets. He knows he needs to tread lightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks carefully.

“No,” she whispers, staring down at her hands. “But I need to.”

He takes her chilly fingers in his and rubs, quick friction warming them.

“Okay,” he encourages. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

She stares at their entwined hands and curls her finger tight around his silver thumb.

“I don’t think you’ll like me very much. When you know.”

Bucky feels a hysterical desire to laugh. Not like her? Absurd. How could he not love her? Smiling wryly, he brings their hands up and leaves a kiss on her knuckles.

“Between the two of us, my track record will always be worse. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind, so don’t worry about that. Just tell me.”

Gathering her courage, she looks up to meet soft blue eyes.

And she talks.

“When I was 12-years-old, a group of men came to my home. The - blond man. He was looking for me. They arrested my Father and I ran. As far from Berlin as I could get.” Closing her eyes, the memory of that black night burns fresh. “I made it to the coast and bought the first ticket out of Germany I found. In March of 1929, I got to London.”

Bucky imagines her as a little girl, alone, penniless, mourning her father and hiding from an unknown horror. It makes him want to raze the world for her.

“That was brave. You were really brave,” he tells her, still rubbing her skin, but she shakes her head.

“That’s where I met him.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

[lovlieziam]

Hi, my lovely Brooke! 22. if you're up to, for my poor soul 🌻 Bonus points and my unconditional love if it's said by Z to Liam 😁 ly ❤❤

Mara, I’ll probably do anything you ask tbh. Your wish is my command 💜💜

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

It was nearing midnight, and the party was in full swing. Zaynhad been roaming around for the past couple of hours, forcing fake smiles andpolite conversation, all while wishing desperately that he was anywhere buthere.

The friends he came with had disappeared a while ago—he’dbarely been here fifteen minutes before they all scattered, leaving Zayn tomingle with people he barely knew. He had seen a few familiar faces, but he hadyet to see the one face he wanted to see.

Liam had said he was coming, yet Zayn hadn’t caught so muchas a glimpse of him. It was a little irritating, if he was being honest.

Zayn did another quick sweep of the room, hoping desperatelyto catch a glimpse of those short, messy curls. He came up empty handed againand was just about to give up and head outside for a smoke break when he caughtsite of Louis chatting someone up across the room. Zayn hurried over, pushinghis way through the throng of people and not caring if he was being a littlerude—he definitely was, there was no polite way to shove someone out of theway.

If anyone knew where Liam was—if he was even at this stupid fucking party—it would beLouis.

“Louis,” Zayn panted, interrupting whatever flirting washappening. Louis turned an annoyed expression Zayn’s way, obviously more than alittle peeved at being interrupted. Zayn was past caring.

“What?” Louis spat out. “’m a little busy here, mate.”

Zayn rolled his eyes—he was well aware, thanks.

“Have you seen Liam?”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up his forehead, his face morphing intoutter disbelief. “You interrupted me…to ask about Liam’s current location?”Louis’ voice rose towards the end, high enough that he practically squeaked outthe last couple words.

Zayn heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Hereally didn’t have time for Louis’ dramatics. He was just flirting, for Christsakes. He could do that after he answered Zayn’s question.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn said, huffing out an impatient breath.“Y’know, the quicker you answer my question, the quicker you can get back toflirting or whatever—”

Louis let out a squawk, but Zayn continued nonplussed.

“Louis, seriously. Have you seen Liam?”

Louis rolled his eyes before crossing his arms. “No,” hereplied. “I haven’t seen lover boy since the start of the party.”

Zayn shot Louis a dirty look at the nickname, but Louiscontinued before Zayn could comment.

“If I had to guess, though, I’d say he’s up pouting on theroof.”

Zayn’s glare dropped off his face, a look of confusionslowly slipping over it.

“Why’s he pouting?”

Again, Louis raised his eyebrows in Zayn’s direction.“You’re kidding, right? You’re not seriously asking me that question?”

It was Zayn’s turn to roll his eyes, so he did beforehuffing out a short whatever andturning around, heading towards the stairs. Liam had always had a habit ofdisappearing at parties, but normally he took Zayn with him. This time hedisappeared before Zayn had even gotten a chance to see him. He was decidedlynot thinking about why that made something unfamiliar and bitter rise in histhroat.

Zayn jogged up the steps, pushing through the door to theflat roof of the building. Liam had always had a habit of sneaking up onto anyrooftop he could, sitting and sketching the city in front of him. Part of Zaynunderstood it—the city was something breathtaking at night, and even Zayn’s ownhands twitched with the desire to put the sprawling lights to paper—butanother, bigger part of Zayn was terrified at Liam’s habit. It was always sofucking high in the air. It made Zaynmore than a little jumpy, made his pulse more than double.

Still, he always found himself on these Godforsaken things withLiam. The things he did for his best friend.

Zayn found him sitting cross legged a couple feet from the edge,his sketchbook open in his lap and his hand idly tracing over something on thepage with a soft smile curled on his lips. Zayn was pretty sure Liam hadn’theard him come up, too lost in his own thoughts to be too aware of hissurroundings.

Zayn would probably yell at him for that later—it was dangerousenough up here, so high above the city—but for the moment he used that to hisadvantage, sneaking up on Liam.

He got right behind him, about to put a hand on his shoulder, whenthe open page in Liam’s lap caught his eye. The outline was achingly familiar,and Zayn felt his breath catch in his throat.

Liam wasn’t sketching the city, he was sketching Zayn. His pencil formed around Zayn’sjawline, darkening it so carefully, and Zayn felt an involuntary noise escapehis throat.

Liam jerked around at the noise, slamming his sketch book shutbefore Zayn could fully take in all the details Liam had included. He turnedhis startled gaze to Zayn’s face, his shoulders forming a tense line as herealized who it was standing behind him.

“Zayn,” Liam said, his tone impossibly tight. Zayn hated that tonea lot.

“Um, hi, Li,” Zayn murmured, still practically frozen to the spot.His brain was still trying to process the fact that Liam had been sketchinghim, unprompted and so focused—that soft smile curved over his lips as heconcentrated on the page, like thinking about Zayn, sketching him, made Liam happy somehow. It was mind blowing, iswhat it was.

“What are you doing up here?” Liam’s voice was still strained, hisshoulders not having relaxed the slightest bit since Zayn’s sudden appearance.That, more than anything, kicked Zayn into action, propelling him forward tosit next to Liam, close enough that he could feel the warm press of Liam’sthigh against his own. Liam relaxed slightly when Zayn nudged his shoulder withhis own.

“Was lookin’ for you,” Zayn began. “You disappeared. Couldn’t findyou.”

Liam let out a long breath, finally tearing his gaze away fromZayn’s to stare at the skyline in front of them.

“Yeah,” Liam muttered. “Sorry, I just. I needed to escape for abit, clear my head.” Zayn nodded as Liam spoke, turning his own eyes to thesight in front of them. It really was something.

“I get it, Li,” Zayn said. “It’s always ridiculously peaceful uphere, even if it is ridiculously dangerous.” Zayn couldn’t stop the grimacethat filtered across his face as he thought about how high they were right now, no walls to prevent them from hurtlingoff the edge. Never mind the fact that they weren’t even by the edge of thebuilding.

Zayn kept his head turned forward as Liam’s eye fell on him again,but he didn’t miss the way Liam was looking at him. He could still see the softexpression, the way his eyes crinkled up—not from the size of his smile, butfrom how much fucking affection wasin it—the slow, upward slope of his mouth as he smiled at Zayn. Those lookswere intoxicating, Zayn knew, but there was one problem with them: Zayn hadnever seen them directly. They were always fleeting—given out in moments whereZayn isn’t looking at him, but every time he turns to study that expression upclose, Liam either turns away or masks it in the blink of an eye.

It’s frustrating because Zayn has a feeling he knows what thoselooks mean, but he can’t ever catch Liam looking at him long enough to fullyprocess them. And maybe at first they had terrified Zayn—the thought of hisvery best friend having feelings for him? There was more than a littlepotential for disaster there, especially since Zayn had convinced himself hedidn’t feel the same—but it didn’t take long for Zayn to realize that thoughtwas absolutely ridiculous. He didfeel the same; he’d fallen for Liam a long time ago, it just took him a whileto pull his head out of his ass.

Zayn took a deep breath, finally turning to look at Liam. Justlike he’d expected, Liam turned his head back to the city, his expressionslackening into something less soft, less affectionate.

Zayn felt that familiar rush of frustration surge up his throat,threatening to spill out in a rough growl.

Well, maybe it was time for Zayn to take matters into his ownhands.

“I’ve seen it, y’know?” Zayn murmured.

Liam tensed up beside him, his eyes dartingnervously to the sketch book by his thighs, and Zayn wanted to laugh. He wasn’ttalking about the sketches—though he had definitely taken notice of that,too—he was talking about those fucking looks.

“Seen what?” Liam gritted out, his jaw clenchedso hard it had to be painful. Fuck, but Zayn was fucking this all up. Liamwasn’t supposed to be this tense, he wasn’t supposed to look like he was fivesecond away from bolting for the door. Zayn wanted to take it back, to sayanything besides what he was about to say. He wanted to erase that look fromLiam’s face—the panicked, painful expression that had Zayn’s heart aching inhis chest—and pretend like maybe he hadn’t seen the sketches, the looks. But itwas too late to back down now.

“I, um,” Zayn started, trying to force his nervesdown by shaking them out. He looked down at his laps, his own nervesthreatening to clog up his throat. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when youthink I don’t notice.”

If possible, Liam tensed up even further. Zayn was pretty sure hewas going to tear something with how tight his shoulders were bunched up, howstiff he was holding himself. He looked absolutely miserable, and Zayn wantedthat look to go away more than anything.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispered, his expression still so hopelesslywretched, and—what?

Why was Liam sorry? Zaynwas so hopelessly confused in that moment that all he could do was squeak out aweak—

“Sorry?”

“Yeah,” Liam croaked out as he dropped his face into his hands andhis shoulders slumped. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly muffled fromhis hands. “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious with them.” He let out ashort, humorless chuckle. “I figured they would make you uncomfortable, and,well, obviously I was right.” Liam scrubbed his face in quick, rough movementsbefore dropping his hands back to his lap. “I’d make them go away, if I could.”His statement was followed with a self-depreciating shrug, and, well—

Liam was still refusing to look at him. And Zayn, well, Zayn wasstill a bit confused.

“The…looks?” Zayn asked, voice perplexed. “You’d make the looks goaway?”

Liam looked up at Zayn then, his own confusion clouding over hisfeatures. “What?” Liam gave a slight shake of his head before, “No, Zayn. I-Imean, yes, the looks, but I meant my feelings. For, um,” and Liam looked awayagain, picking at his own fingers as he continued. “For the feelings to goaway.”

“Liam,” Zayn started, “I don’t want—”

“I know,” Liam interrupted. “I know you don’t want me like that,Zayn. I do, and that’s why I’ve tried so hard to keep a lid on all this shit. Ididn’t want you to find out, to make things weird between us by going andfalling in fucking love with you.” Liam turned to Zayn again, his eyes wide andpanicked. “I promise I’ll work on it—o-on the looks, on making sure that I’mnot doing anything dumb with my face, just please don’t stop being my friend.Please, Zayn.”

Liam turned towards Zayn more fully, his legs coming mostlyuncrossed and his hands reaching forward until Liam immediately drew them back,holding them to his chest like he’d been burned.

“Please, Z,” Liam croaked, his voice trembling. “I-if you needspace, I get that, I really do. I’ll give it to you, just please. The lastthing I want is for my stupid feelings to take away my best friend, and I knowthat they have to make you uncomfortable, but I promise I’ll do everything Ican to make sure that they don’t show ever again and I’ll—”

“Liam,” Zayn cut in, his heart breaking as Liam kept talking. Liamcut off immediately, his mouth snapping shut and his posture slumping. Probably preparing for rejection, Zaynthought.

“There’s nothing stupid about your feelings,” Zayn continued. Zaynkind of wanted to laugh—Liam was so insistent on his feelings being stupid, soset in his belief that Zayn didn’t return them or want them, that he’d never even stopped to consider that maybe Zayndid. Even if his own revelation hadbeen recent, it didn’t mean it was any less powerful. “Not unless that meansmine are stupid, too.”

Liam’s eyes widened, his jaw slackening a little as he processedZayn’s words.

“W-what?” He asked, and Zayn couldn’t help the small, slightlygiddy chuckle that escaped him.

“Li, you’ve been giving me those looks for months, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t exactlybeen complaining about them.” Zayn shrugged, leaning forward to wrap Liam’shands in his.

“I kind of, um, actuallyreally like them,” he murmured, lowering his gaze to their joined hands. “I,um, I think I’d like them more if you stopped hiding them from me?”

Since Zayn wasn’t looking, it took him by surprise when Liampressed forward, connecting their lips in a breathless kiss. Zayn felt hisshoulders tense, trying to process what was happening, before he melted intothe kiss, untangling their hands in order to grip Liam’s shirt and keep himcloser for longer.

Maybe Liam had been in love longer, maybe Liam had been lesssubtle, and maybe Liam was the only one who was awful at hiding his feelings.All that just made Zayn love him a little more.

[revengeworld]

Journey

Artist! Kylo x Reader Modern AU

Words: +3.900

Warnings: a bit of Angst and a bit of fluff, who can say no to that

AN: Slowly getting back into writing again! :)

MY MASTERLIST - Can be found in my Bio if you´re interested in more of my work!

Since month Kylo was succumbing to this madness that was suddenly torturing his mind. Letting his brush run over the big canvas in front of him, before he threw both of it down onto the ground.

He was supposed to show is new works in a museum in just a few weeks but the only thing he could draw was one thing.

The young woman that was haunting his dreams and clutching at his creativity. Kylo had never seen her in his life and at first he had thought that it was just a small imagination until he couldn't stop drawing her. Every little detail he could see in his dreams, her shimmering eyes, how the light fell on her shining her, how her smile always made his heart flutter. At first, it was small appearances in his dreams but now, even awake, he couldn't stop thinking about her, when he closed his eyes he could see her so clearly before him but as soon as opened them again she vanished and it was driving him crazy.

He just knew she belonged to him, but how would he ever be able to find her, if she really existed.

Picking up the canvas he had thrown through the room, he looked at this gorgeous face that was haunting him. He placed it back into its easel before pushing his hand into red paint, slapping his hand on the ride side of the canvas with a swift motion he dragged his fingers over her eyes.

Hearing the door open behind him, he immediately glared at the person that intruded. It was his manager Phasma, who looked shocked around at all the paintings of the same face.

“I´ve been trying to reach you for days and this is what you have been up to?” she started to scold him when the tall woman came out of her surprised state, while the Artist in front of her only scoffed.

Phasma knew he could be a bit obsessive with a motive from time to time, but she never had seen him obsess over a model so much, especially since he was sending every model she had send him away in the last few weeks until she recognized this innocent face.

“You have met Y/N?” looking over to Kylo who leaned over a table in exhaustion, the blond woman was confused about how they would even know each other.

“Y/N?” he asked, his ears perking up.

“You know her?!” in an instant he was standing in front of his manager, eager to know more about this Y/N.

Confused her brows knitted, how could he draw her so much and not even know her name?

“She has taken over her Grandfather's little Art Supply Shop in the old Part of town. How can you not know, if you ...”

“I only saw her once on the street.” he lied quickly and the blond woman suddenly smiled.

“That means you finally got your muse back! These are good news!” while she was excited about this new development, Kylo seemed completely on edge.

“I can introduce you to her, I get most of your art supplies there anyway. We can go later on if you want.” she of course noticed the intrigument in his eyes when she mentioned it and not a half hour later they were sitting in the car.

As soon as he got out of the car, he could already see the woman called Y/N who was tending to some customers.

Finally being able to see her up close and personal, made his heart flutter immediately that it almost pained him.

Turning away from the shop he leaned against the car and brushed his hair back.

“I can't … not like this...” he mumbled to himself and his Manager looked confused at him.

“Then how do you expect on meeting her?” she asked frustrated.

Grabbing his sketchbook, he ripped out a piece of paper and wrote something down on it.

“Tell her to come here by Friday. I need her to model for me!”

Phasma only shook her head at his request.

“You are unbelievable. How am I supposed to tell this sweet girl that a man she never has seen before wants her to come to his villa in the snowy mountains where she will be alone with him!” stomping with her foot Kylo only shrugged his shoulders.

“I pay her of course.” not understanding the Problem, Phasma buried her face in her hands.

“I can't with you … fine. But don't actually think she would show up with this suspicious request.” while Kylo sat back in the car, his hand clutched in his shirt while his beating heart wouldn't calm down, Phasma made her way into the shop.

Looking down on the piece of paper, Y/N wasn't sure if the Taxi Driver really dropped her off in the right spot. She was in front of a large stone fence with a wide metal door.

For a moment, she tried to find some sort of bell or an intercom, but nothing like this was around besides a metal plate with the name Ren on it.

So at least she was in the right spot.

Feeling her heart flutter at that name, she took a deep breath. When Phasma had stated the request from her boss, she was first reluctant to go until she had gotten a small glance of the man that was waiting in the car. Suddenly it felt like the right thing to do.

And now here she was, stomping along a beautiful, snowy path until she could see a warm light coming from the big house between some trees, a frozen river right beside it.

While she waddled through the last few meters of snow, she needed to admit that this place was extremely beautiful and calming, hopefully she was able to explore it a bit in the week she was supposed to stay here.

Holding onto the strap from her bag, Y/N had finally made it to the front door. When she reached up with a shivering hand, the door was suddenly ripped open, a tall man standing right in front of her as if he had forgotten something and was now trying to rush somewhere.

“Mister Ren?” she stuttered a bit too excited by the sight that was been giving her.

The painter was a bit out of breath, only clothed in a tank top and a sweatpants, his hands stained with charcoal. One wide black streak was going right over his forehead, probably from brushing the hair that had fallen out from his ponytail, out his face.

Not even answering her question, the tall man suddenly cupped her face and inspected it closely while leaving black hand marks on her skin.

Her sweet and gorgeous face was flushed from the cold weather and for a moment Kylo regretted that he had forgotten to pick her up at the gate.

But now she was really here, right in front of him as beautiful as he had seen her in his dreams and his heart was beating faster.

“Come with me!” grabbing the bag she was holding in her hand, Kylo grabbed her wrist and pulled her along to the second floor into his atelier.

Like Phasma had already warned her, Kylo Ren the most admired artist at the moment was quite the eccentric man.

“Sit here...” pulling a chair right in front of his easel, he gently pressed her down into it.

“I… I'm not … I couldn't even make myself ready...” she mumbled, nervous that he wanted to sketch her right here and now, with her hair messy from the wind and bare faced.

“No need, you're perfect just like that ...” he whispered concentrated.

“But if it makes you more comfortable you can take of your coat.” putting the bag that he had taken from her on a table, she took the time to take off her coat and brush through her hair with her fingers, before she sat back down, letting him adjust her posture how he wanted her to sit.

“If you need anything just tell me, but for now just stay like you are...”

Since her face was facing slightly away from him, Y/N was only able to look outside the big window next to her instead of watching Kylo draw which she had been more anticipating, but for now, she sat as still as she could and waited instead.

The sun was already setting when she heard a relieved sighed from Kylo and the last bit of charcoal fall onto the floor.

Daring to take a look, she saw the young man smiling at the canvas so proud and satisfied that her lips curled up as well.

“Come here… ” stretching his hand out to her, she quickly left her place and took his hand.

With a gentle pull from him, she was standing in front of him and he rested his hands on her hips while she was too astounded to say a word.

“What do you think?” his breath was hitting her neck, while he whispered those words into her ear which made her shiver.

“It's so lively even though it is just black and white. I … I can't believe that's me … It's astonishing.”

He had even included his black handprint on her neck and it just gave the drawing it's final touch.

“No, it's perfect.” he chuckled lightly before leaning his head gently against her shoulder.

Finally, it felt like forever ago when he was satisfied with the work he had put out. She was the one who would bring him out of this creative hole he had fallen in.

Feeling her carefully lean against his chest, his arms automatically wrapped closer around her waist. Both of them felt so comfortable and safe in the other's presence that the worries Y/N had beforehand seemed so ridiculous now.

If she could help him create such wonderful things by just posing for him, she would gladly do so.

“You are probably pretty exhausted from the drive … oh for christs sake! I'm so sorry I completely stained your shirt.” he apologized when his eyes had sawn what his hands had done.

“Oh please don't worry about it. One wash and it's fine again, when i fill up the pastels at the shop it happens often enough, but maybe i should help you clean up.” she chuckled softly at all the streaks on his face.

With a smile he pulled her towards the big sink in this room, where a lot of used art brushes and glasses were standing.

When she had dampened a clean wet cloth and foamed it with a bit of soap, Y/N gently took one of his hands before she started to clean them.

While she was occupied with that, Kylo couldn't stop staring at her beauty. Every little thing on her seemed perfect to him and if he could he would draw her day and night and with a bit of luck Y/N would even consider it.

Gently laying one of her hands against the side of his face, she tried to brush carefully away the black streaks on his forehead.

Closing his eyes, he just enjoyed her soft touch for now. After cleaning the last bit of charcoal off of him, Y/N smiled satisfied before washing the now dirty cloth.

“Here, let me...” laying his hand gently onto hers, Kylo took the cloth from her, to clean his handprints of her neck and jaw.

“God, you are so beautiful...” he suddenly whispered and Y/N immediately started to blush and averted her eyes shyly.

Without noticing the two had hooked their fingers together and stood so close that she could feel his breath fan against her face, while he leaned his forehead gently against hers.

Laying her free hand against his chest, Y/N took all her courage to speak up.

“I had dreams… about you… Even though I had never seen you before … and suddenly I couldn’t forget your face anymore.” she let her fingers wander up his neck before brushing over his cheek.

“I know it sounds ridiculous ...” when her eyes met his brown ones, Y/N quickly looked away.

“No it doesn’t! It was the same for me...Y/N.” Kylo wanted to hold her closer until a ringing interrupted their tender moment.

“Sorry I need to take this. You can feel right at home, pick a room that you like.” laying his hand against her neck for another moment, Kylo soon rushed down to the living room, to answer the call.

Taking an excited shaky breath, she bit her lip for a moment. God, she was so nervous. It felt like her heart was ready to burst out of her chest.

Opening up her bag, she placed the small package with new paint brushes and colours onto the table that Y/N had brought as a present.

Since she could still hear Kylo talk downstairs, she slowly made her way through the upper floor and looked inside the rooms. There were three guestrooms, Kylos seemed to be the big one at the end of the floor. Every room had it´s own bathroom and she couldn’t wait for a nice hot bath this evening.

Taking her time to make herself a bit more presentable, Y/N changed into a new top after brushing her hair. With a quick wash, her dirtied shirt was as good as new and she could let it dry for now.

Quietly making her way down the stairs, Y/N found herself soon in the kitchen, where she took a glass and filled it with tap water.

Her cheeks still felt like they were burning and when she laid her hand against one of them she could feel how hot she was and probably how red her face was.

“Sorry, I needed to answer this call.” he mumbled apologetically while approaching her.

“Please don’t worry about that, Mr. Ren.”

“Oh please, Kylo is enough.” the painter waved dismissively with his hand.

“I thought we might could go out for dinner. You’re probably hungry. If you want we can...” but suddenly he broke off when his eyes fell on the snowstorm that was unfolding outside. Kylo wanted to have a nice evening with her in a fancy restaurant and now his plans were suddenly destroyed by nature.

Hearing her soft and cheerful chuckle, he looked back at Y/N who tried to hide her smile.

“I think together we could cook us something special with the things we have here.” she encouraged him and he looked down at her hand that was gently brushing over his arm.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” without thinking twice, Kylo laid his hand on her lower back.

Phasma seemed to have thought of everything when she prepared his trip. The cabinets were filled with enough food for at least two weeks and it made him wonder why she had sent so much up here.

Taking their time, Kylo and Y/N decided on a simple meal and each took a part in the cooking. While she was standing at the stove, to make the sauce for their cooking spaghetti, Kylo finished the salad. At least he tried.

Even now he couldn’t hold himself back to stare at her from time to time.

While they were eating, their conversation drifted from one topic to another, which even surprised Kylo then he was not someone who was very good at holding conversations up. But with her everything felt so intimate and natural.

Even hours later they were sitting together on the couch with a glass of fine just laughing and talking. Y/N was slightly leaning against him, while Kylo had his arm rested behind her, his hand gently brushing over her shoulder.

When he noticed that Y/Ns head was suddenly leaning against his arm, he smiled gently for a moment.

“Maybe we should go to bed. It was a long day.” he whispered into her ear and she nodded tired.

“Go on, rest. I will clean this up.” watching her slowly wander up the stairs, Kylo spilled the last bit of wine from their glasses into the sink, before placing everything neatly in the dishwasher.

After checking everything a last time, Kylo went back into the Atelier to look at the first real painting he made of her. One that wasn’t influenced by pain and frustration, but rather with excitement, anticipation and devotion.

Turning of the light, he made his way down the hall before he saw a light coming from under the doorway.

With two small knocks he announced his presence and waited until Kylo could hear her soft voice, allowing him to come inside.

“If there is anything you need, you can find me in ...” lifting his gaze, he suddenly forgot the rest of his sentence.

Y/N was sitting on her bed, her hair still a bit wet from the bath she had just taken, clothes in a red silk robe while she was applying a lotion to her skin.

Seeing his dazed look, Y/N could smile again.

“Judging from your look, you really want to sketch me right now… correct?”

“Would that be alright?” he swallowed hard.

“Go on, get your sketchbook.” as soon as she spoke those words he was already sprinting back to his atelier.

Grabbing his sketchbook and a few pencils, Kylo could feel his heartbeat in his chest. He was happy to draw again, something very different from the feelings he had before.

Painting just became a chore at some point, there was no excitement nor satisfaction anymore, but now … Y/N gave him the inspiration that he needed. She was his muse and maybe even more…

Returning to her, Kylo started his rough sketch immediately and after one hour he was already done, to give Y/N her deserved rest and privacy.

“Good Night...” he whispered with a smile since she already was drifting off into a deep slumber.

His eyes wandered to his own bedroom door until he turned to the complete other direction, back into his atelier.

The next morning, Y/N awoke to the snowflakes faintly falling down the sky and against the window in her room. Brushing the sleep out of her eyes, she was already excited what this day might bring.

After she had washed up and after taming her hair, she wanted to make her way downstairs to prepare a nice breakfast until she noticed a hunched figure sitting against the easel.

Quietly making her way towards the atelier, Y/N couldn’t hinder a little shake with her head before she smiled.

“Oh Kylo ...” looking at herself as an Acrylic painting, from his sketch last night, he wasted his whole night to finish this.

“Come on I will bring you to your bed...” she whispered, not to interrupt his sleep to harshly.

Laying one of his arms over her shoulder, both of them stumbled to his bedroom.

When she had finally placed him under his blanket and onto the soft mattress, it was time to make a nice breakfast until he would wake up.

Turning around to leave again, she suddenly felt his hand wrap around her wrist.

“Don’t go...” he started to mumble and she gently brushed the long strands of hair out of his face.

“I’m not going anywhere.” she promised. Carefully climbing next to him, she gently held onto his hand while watching this exhausted man sleep.

Of course he apologized immediately as soon as he awoke from his slumber, which only made her smile even more.

Y/N already started to make some delicious and wide range breakfast while Kylo could slowly wake up with a nice cup of hot coffee.

“What do you think of a walk outside today. The weather seemed to have calmed down and I don’t want to hold you in here like a golden cage.” suddenly feeling her lips against his temple hi eyes widened for a moment.

“I would love that, the area here seems so beautiful and calm.” the rest of his sentence she just ignored, while placing his full plate in front of him. Grabbing her hand for a moment, he pressed a small kiss against her soft skin.

The rest of the week it was mostly the same. After breakfast they would wander through the snowy landscape, Kylo sometimes sketching her right then and there or just enjoying each others company and the wonderful view they had. After that, he would mostly start working on the paintings with different materials while she quietly watched him. It was fascinating how much work he would put into just little details and how his eyes shimmered with excitement while he was working.

Sometimes he would call her over, just to inspect her face again with a tight grip around her jaw and at some moments Y/N thought he might just kiss her, but he never did. Maybe out of respect towards her, or maybe because he just saw her as an inspiration and nothing more.

In the evenings they would cook together and have hour long conversations.

”You can’t tell me that you are selling art supplies and not even tried to draw once.” he chuckled on the last evening they would have together.

“Well I just did and it is true!” she laughed, trying to hide her smile behind her hand again.

“Besides you also didn’t tell me that I would be the only model for your whole collection that will be displayed in an art exhibition.”

“Fair enough. And since all of them are finished...” he whispered ominously while he stood from the dinner table.

“We have enough time for one last one. Yours.” gently pulling her along, Y/N seemed confused for a moment.

“Right now?”

“Right now.” sitting her down in the usual bar chair he used, Kylo placed a fresh canvas on the easel, before standing closely behind her.

“B...but I don’t even know what to draw...” she immediately stuttered and felt embarrassed in front of such a big artist.

“That’s fine, we’ll work our way in… slowly.” holding out his hand, Y/N gently took it.

Soon both of their hands were covered in paint. Kylo was guiding her over the rough canvas, helping her create whatever she was imagining and together they created something so intriguing and passionate that they both needed a moment.

Slowly turning around to him, Y/N just cupped his face, staining his skin with every colour she had drawn with, like the time he left his handprints on her the first time they finally saw each other.

Pulling him gently down towards her, she just took the risk and let her lips brush over his plum ones.

In an instant, Kylo grabbed Y/N by her hips and picked her up only to sat her down on the table. Letting his hand run over her neck, he pulled her closer only intensifying this kiss even further.

Leaving paint all over the others bodies, both of them soon needed to separate from each other before they started to chuckle.

“All these months ago… I never would have thought that this might be the end of this journey.” he sighed, laying his head gently against her forehead.

“Oh Kylo, this is only the beginning.” stealing another kiss from him, they only smiled at each other.

[clubdolan]

Noah + Youtuber

Just like Noah dating a youtuber and being used to her vlogging. There’s pictures in here too.

“This is a vlog, I am Lucy and this week I am doing things.” The video went to an intro screen, a black and white sketch of her popped up and winked as -VlogLucyVlog- was written at the bottom.

“Hello everyone, it’s Lucy, I am power walking through LAX because I just got back from Fiji and I have to get ready, film with someone and get to Noah’s movie premiere in four hours so I am stressed.” She took off running as the camera and her camera person (her editor/assistant, Kelsey) chased her.

Two people stopped her as she rushed out, she took quick pictures and ran around the luggage carousel to find her bright red polka dot bags and wait on her uber.

“James said it’s fine to go to his apartment now, he’s set up to film.” Lucy kept tapping on her phone, “And Brandon is bringing my dress choices there to pick from.”

“Do you want any food? I’ll post mates.” Kelsey offered waving down the SUV that came towards them. 

-

“I can’t believe it’s time for his movie to come out, I think I’m freaking out more than him.” Lucy said, sipping on a  drink while James did her eye makeup. 

“Have you seen it?”

“Yes! I also read the books once he got the role. It’s the cutest and everyone will fall in love with the characters. And everyone will love Lana who plays Lara Jean, she is the sweetest and funniest person. Ugh, I love her.”

James and Lucy kept talking as he painted her face. A simple eye with a glossy, light brown lip. He ended his video thanking Lucy for coming over which she thanked him back for even offering. They were good friends, they hadn’t collabed in a while and she didn’t want to be stressed doing her own makeup in a  rush.

Her stylist, Brandon, had outfits laying out down James’ couch and Lucy scanned them, picking two to try on. She held up the mirror selfie Noah had taken of himself; navy suit and different muted greens on the shirt underneath. She scanned the outfits again and put one down and grabbed another.

Lucy shook out the bottom of her hair that Kelsey had helped put half up before straightening up her appearance in the mirror and taking a picture.

Lucy: TATBILB READY 🤗

Noah: Wooooahh woahh WOAH 😍 

Lucy: Also not wearing heels, prepare to look two feet taller than me.

Lucy: AND I’m 20 minutes away from your hotel.

A twenty minute Uber drive (that should normally take three minutes) and she practically ran into the hotel towards a group of familiar people with Kelsey filming on her heels.

“Peter Kavinsky, is that you? THE Peter K?” She laughed, wrapping her arms around Noah. “Are you excited?”

“Ahhh, babe. I’m so excited. I’m so happy you could make it.” He turned around and squeezed her to his chest, her head just touching his chin. “You’re so tan, I’m so jealous about Fiji.”

His hands traveled down her arms and grabbed onto hers, “You’re so pretty.” He smiled, looking her up and down again. “I really like you. Like a lot.” His face scrunched as he spoke in his baby voice. “Hi Kelsey.” Noah smiled at the camera that was popped over his shoulder. “Hi vlog!” He took the camera from her, “Today is the premier of the movie and I’m super psyched. Look how gorgeous Lucy looks. Give us your ootd.” 

Noah wasn’t a stranger to the vlogs. He hadn’t been since Lucy and him had met. This was her life, making beauty videos, making vlogs, instagramming her outfits, collaborating with brands and other influencers; doing anything to entertain her fan base of three million and growing.

Boyfriend Tag, Boyfriend Does my Makeup, on set with him, a day at the beach, a vacation to Greece; she had it all on their channel for the last seven months they had been dating.

The red carpet was packed, waiting on the main cast to arrive. She said her hellos to the director, the writer of the book and other actors before getting yelled at by fans for pictures. 

Lucy let Noah go ahead, he was with the cast taking pictures, doing interviews and continuously smiling for everyone. She was stopped for a few interviews, “It’s so good to see you again, we saw you were just in Fiji, how was that?”

“Yeah, Dote Shopping sent us to Fiji and it was honestly one of the prettiest places and I had a blast with all of my friends and made so many new friends and I didn’t want to leave but I did; I had to be back here for this.” Lucy smiled, listening to questions.

“I’m nervous for some reason even though I have nothing to do with the film. Noah is excited, he just wants everyone to see the movie and finally be able to talk about it. That whole cast is so talented and they were hilarious to watch. It’s a cute movie, everyone will love it.”

Kelsey still filmed, walking around the red carpet behind Lucy who randomly would talk to the camera, “I am absolutely starving.” She whispered to the camera, “I know Kelsey has snacks in her camera bag--

“LUCY!” It seemed like the whole population of the red carpet yelled at her. She turned around and saw Noah standing alone near the back drop, waving for her to come over.

She skipped her way over, wrapping her arms around him. The photographers had a hay-day as they smiled at each other, Noah held her in front of him, she pulled him down to kiss his cheek and they stood next to each other smiling for a few normal pictures.

Her cheek muscles were about to cramp from smiling so much when his publicists said they needed to get inside.

“I honestly don’t even know what happened, I think I blacked out that whole thing.” Lucy said to the camera, “Hopefully I didn’t say anything stupid.”

“You probably did.” Noah said, pulling her along by her hand. “I know I did.”

“You always say stupid stuff.” She laughed, leaning up to kiss him. “Hold on.” Lucy stopped him, using her thumb to wipe a little bit of lipstick off his cheek. She kept his face squished in her hand and looked at him, “Wow you’re cute.”

“Stahhhhp.” He laughed, walking away from her.

“A rare Noah Centineo, blushing?” She questioned, following him inside. “His cheeks turned a light pink from a compliment. This is a rarity. Usually it’s him making people blush.”

-

The premier was over and two SUV’s of them went to the Taco Bell drive-thru before crashing in one of their hotel rooms, reading up reviews of the movie as people watched it.

“Babe..” Lucy tapped on Noah’s shoulder as he slept with his head on her lap, “Noah..”

“Yeah?” He was the only one who immediately fell asleep after eating, no surprise to anyone.

“You had like eight hundred thousand instagram followers, right?” He nodded, his eyes still closed, “You’re almost at two million...”

He quickly sat up and pulled his phone from the charger on the table, “What?”

“You’re a trending topic and top on Social Blade and-- I got like two hundred thousand new followers....” She checked her apps, her statistics she tracked and was also texting her manager about it.

“This is .. insane.” He scrolled through instagram as his follower count grew.

“Aww, baby No is a lil heart throb.” She joked, poking his cheek, “These comments are.. intense.”

“Shove your--- I want to have you choke--- Run me over--- Jesus Christ these are like twelve year olds.” His eyes widened as he kept reading, “Oh someone here asked you how good the D was.”

“I should go reply.” She joked, getting her camera out to vlog. “So it’s been...” Lucy checked her wrist where no watch was, “It’s been two hours since the movie came out and someone has become Mr. Popular.” She scanned the camera to him and he grinned back, “He’s gotten like two million followers since it came out, it’s insane.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“You’re soooo cute everyone’s gotta follow you.” She teased, “It’s good, that means people are watching the movie and liking it! Let me know in the comments below if you have watched it.”

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, on Netflix now.” Noah said, “And in two weeks Sierra Burgess is a Loser comes out.”

“Have you said what else you’re filming?”

“Oh, the Fosters spin-off Good Trouble. I get to come back in one episode.” He danced a little as he sat. “And The Stand In has a release date soon.”

“Geez, after all this I’ll have to fight twenty billion people off of you.”

“You’ll never have to fight people off of me.” He wrapped his arms around her, “You’ll have to fight me off of you.” Noah squeezed her and kissed the top of her head, “Because I think you’re really cool. I like you a lot. Maybe we can .. go out or something.” He quoted a vine, like they always did with each other. Their own personal inside joke that some people caught onto.

“I dunno, maybe.” Lucy shrugged, getting a pillow shoved over her face as she laughed, “Noah! Noah let me see---- thanks.” She pushed her now messy hair from her face, “That’s it, that’s today, we did today, we finished today. Noah’s a movie star so go watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before on Netflix! See you tomorrow.” 

[spirit-of-the-void]

Could I have a sexy Junkmetra drabble ;D, please

Anon, dearest anon, im so sorry it took so long to get to you…i have been sick and miserable but i am here to deliver now!

It was only supposed to be a kiss. A quick peck, to see how flustered he would get. Something to soothe her own curiosity as well, an answer to her roaming thoughts about his visible hips, his messy, singed hair.  Satya did not expect it to escalate as far as it had, but in all honesty no part of her wanted to stop it.

They had been in their shared workshop–after hours, of course. Junkrat was a night owl, and she found insomnia a close companion for her most nights. She had gone there already expecting his presence. She was truly a fool, he was like a drug she couldn’t stay away from! He was chaos incarnate, a walking disaster. Despite the mess Junkrat wrought, the explosions, the danger, something about him drew her in.

Maybe it was that chaos, that fiery spirit? She had been so reserved her whole life, so trained to be poised and proper. Had she been craving something like him around her? A chaotic force to balance out all the…balance in her life? It seemed inconceivable. She denied it for a long time.

But this night…he had been bent over his workspace, messily scribbling around detailed sketches of new contraptions. He had his lower lip between his teeth, a hand through his messy blond hair. It looked like he had listened to her and showered earlier, but oil and dirt had already found a home on his hands again.

They had spoken, briefly. She could barely remember the conversation now. Something about him showering, something about his little bomb shells he hoarded. A hand brushed over his face, and she leaned down…

It was like he had exploded. A touch of his lips, warm and firm, Then a flurry of lanky limbs and his chest in her view.

She was on her back on the workshop floor in the next moment, his lips pressed firmly to hers, exploring her with his hands. A gasp was lodged in her throat, heart pounding in shock and excitement. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and a moan escaped her, light and heady. Oh my…this was not what she had expected in the slightest. Every wall she had built up around herself shattered in that instant, every reservation. She let go in that moment. And somehow, she felt like he knew she needed it.

He leaned back after a moment, hissing when her hands firmly fisted his hair.

“You little spitfire,” He said in his thick Australian drawl, voice low and husky–her heart jumped into her throat, “You surprised me there, darl’. Though maybe shoulda expected it. You’ve been teasin’ me right crazy the past few weeks.”

She couldn’t even deny it. Seeing his flustered reactions was so fascinating, entertaining.

“You…you’ve been a gentleman about it,” She managed to whisper, each breath feeling too hot.

“Too right I have!” Junkrat replied, almost like he was boisterous about it. His eyes, like burning fires, locked with hers, “I think I’m done being a gentleman now, darlin’.”

That certainly made her heart speed up. She bit her lip, each part of her feeling so warm she could hardly stand it. That was partly due to his lanky form holding her down–he radiated heat. She was lucky summer had already passed, or this would be a bit unbearable.

Junkrat came down and put his nose to hers, his hot breath fanning her face.

“Do you want me to stop, Symmetra?” He asked in a tone more serious than she had ever heard from him, “Because say the word right now an’ I’ll get up an’ be on my merry way.“

She didn’t want that.

“Stay.” Her lips moved on their own, barely breathing the word out.

A smirk flashed across his face, his canines sharp. His hands slid down to her ass, tracing the pert, curved cheeks before giving them a light squeeze. A light whimper slipped out of her mouth in response, the sound surprising her. She hardly recognized herself in that moment. To lose herself like this, needy and wanting from a man…it was so shocking, but exciting.

“You make me a happy man, darl’,” Junkrat chuckled, his hands smoothing down to her thigh highs as he hooked a finger under one of them. She shivered in response, “Though are you sure a pretty, proper little thing suchas yourself would want a ‘disastrous man’ like me handlin’ ya?”

She gulped at the tone he used–he had quoted her from when they had first met, had tried to mimic her tone a bit. She bit her lip again, arching up a bit so her body rubbed against his. He hissed in a breath, hips pressing firmly down on hers to hold her down.

“Bloody Christ, darlin’,” He muttered, “Stay still. Haven’t I been teased enough?”

So I gotta cut this a bit short…for now ;) I’ll make it a full scene if anyone wants it, but boy howdy…im sweating

[thereviewcornerblg]

The Seven Sisters Review- Book One

Book 1 of the Seven Sisters Series Author: Lucinda Riley Publication date: 2014 Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance A/N: Having read the six of the seven books in the series, I can say that the books in this series can work as stand-alones as they all give the necessary bit of introduction that you need at the beginning. That being said, I would still recommend starting at the beginning [The Seven Sisters] if you think you're going to want to read the whole series; and there are some threads that weave through all books. I accidentally had bought the third book first when I didn’t know it was a series, but when I found out, I decided to get the books before that and began reading. I defiantly have more understanding of the sisters and the other characters from reading this book before the others.

Good Reads Rating: 4.8/5 Personal Rating: 4/5

Synopsis: Maia D'Apliése and her five sisters gather together at their childhood home, 'Atlantis' - a fabulous, secluded castle situated on the shores of Lake Geneva - having been told that their beloved father, the elusive billionaire they call Pa Salt, has died. Maia and her sisters were all adopted by him as babies and, discovering he has already been buried at sea, each of them is handed a tantalising clue to their true heritage - a clue which takes Maia across the world to a crumbling mansion in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. Once there, she begins to put together the pieces of where her story began . . . Eighty years earlier, in the Belle Epoque of Rio, 1927, Izabela Bonifacio's father has aspirations for his daughter to marry into aristocracy. Meanwhile, architect Heitor da Silva Costa is working on a statue, to be called Christ the Redeemer, and will soon travel to Paris to find the right sculptor to complete his vision. Izabela - passionate and longing to see the world - convinces her father to allow her to accompany him and his family to Europe before she is married. There, at Paul Landowski's studio and in the heady, vibrant cafés of Montparnasse, she meets ambitious young sculptor Laurent Brouilly, and knows at once that her life will never be the same again.

~~

The Seven Sisters is a 7 book series, of which, in the time that I’m writing this, only 6 books are published- the 7th book coming out some time in 2021. 

Each of the 6 books in the series has been focused around one of the 6 sisters- one book for one sister, starting from oldest to youngest- all adopted by a mysterious billionaire they all call ‘Pa Salt’ mainly for his love of the ocean and how he always smells of sea salt.

Pa Salt had adopted the sisters over the period of several years from different countries, naming all of them from the 7 sisters of the Pleiades- known as the Seven Sisters in Mythology. There’s Maia, Ally(Alcyone), Star(Asterope), CeCe(Celaeno), Tiggy(Taygete), Electra, and Merope.

Even though there are 7 stars in the constellation, Pa Salt had only managed to find only six, Merope being the 7th sister that he was never able to find[One of the many mystery in this series that I hope to find out about in the 7th book that has been titled ‘The Missing Sister’]

When the sisters are all grown up, their father, Pa Salt, dies suddenly, and each of them come back to their secluded island in Switzerland that they all named ‘Atlantis’ and reunite. Here they each receive a letter from their departed father, along with a quote coordinates to give them a clue to their origins should they wish to discover them. 

Aside from what the title suggests, this first book of the series is not the story of the Seven Sisters as a whole, but just one, the eldest, Maia.

Maia is known as the ‘beautiful’ one out of the six sister, her profession being an interpreter who translates books for authors. 

I assume she is the only one out of the six daughter that had remained at Atlantis as an adult because of her work, having her own little house next to her family mansion home on the island where she mostly lives in isolation. Though she conveniently happens to be visiting a friend in England when Pa Salt dies. There is mystery not only surrounding her adoptive father’s life, but also his death. He instructed that he was to be buried at sea, before any of his daughters were informed of his death. So when all the sisters return home it is to find that their father is already gone and the burial has taken place without them.

Even though she is the most cautious and studious of the six, roused from a call from someone from teenage years she is not yet ready to face, she leaves her little home and is the first to investigate her past and where she came from.

The clues offered to her about her past from her father’s letter and coordinates all past point to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and Portuguese just so happens to be one of the two languages Maia speaks fluently.

In Rio, she meets up with a Brazilian author whose book she had translated, who also happens to be an historian, Floriano Quintelas. Floriano’s curiosity into the mystery of Maia’s past, allows him to join Maia’s adventure to uncovering her ancestry.

The coordinates from Pa Salt first lead them to a dilapidated old mansion, that houses a very old woman and her maid.

Through a series of old letters and stories handed down through generations, given by the maid, Maia starts to uncover her past, through the story of her great grandmother, Isabel “Bell” Bonifacio who was born in Rio.

As an engagement present from her fiance, Gustavo, Isabel was sent to Paris with her friend to experience the world and learn more about art. Isabel’s POV is set partially in Rio and partially in Paris during the 1920′s and 30′s as the story centres around the construction of Christ the Redeemer.

While reading, I became really invested in the Isabel's story which is set in the past. It jumps back to the present with Maia and vice versa(this becomes a common theme in all the books in the series so far), but not in an annoying way. It kept me engaged and urged me to continue reading.

I don’t want to spoil too much, and if I did there would too much to write about!

This story has so many intricate and well thought out layers fulled with compassion and depth, but enough is left for us to judge from our perspective. The characters are well-crafted and brilliant. 

From the first chapter of the book, Lucinda gave me a character sketch/story board of all the six sisters along with their nurse and their father to understand about their behaviour briefly. And in Isabel's story, we can feel each and every character, like from the moment Isabel described her would-be husband, Gustavo in her words, and then her french lover Laurent. I can almost picture while reading how they communicated and acted around her.

This story is a beautiful back-story that is connected with the history of Brazil. Lucinda has unfolded and lay-out the stories of Maia and Isabel strikingly and consecutively, with Isabel's story breaking at such vital points that it burnt me yet made my heart bleed.

Reading this has simply made me feel as if Lucinda has poured all her emotions into her words. And it defiantly shows that she had done a astounding amount of research with this book, since this is a historical fiction.

Not only did she live for a month in Rio, next door to the granddaughter of the architect of Christ the Redeemer and read his personal letters and journals, she also did research into both Paris and Rio in the time she was writing about and the historical characters involved. There’s a bibliography in the back of the book with all her sources. [Some of the characters in the book are drawn from the history books, but the stories going in and around their lives are all fictional!]

Sadly, while finishing the book, I forgot this was a fictional story, and I'm still in belief with the story of Isabel and Christ the Redeemer's statue is true, since Lucinda makes her story so very convincing enough to fall for the trap.

I'd describe this book as a true masterpiece that not only took me back in time but also took me the amazing lands of Brazil and Paris.

Although I though the conversations and dialouge between the characters where a bit messy and patchy, the emotional pull in this book is very strong, one of the reasons being that the story is told from Maia’s and Isabel’s POV, who both happens to be deeply emotional human beings and strong female figures. This is a solid work of historical fiction with some travelogue and romance thrown in the mix. It’s an adventure, a journey of discovery, and a book to lose yourself in. Well worth your time if you decide to give it a go.