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olivemac · 3 years

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1300 miles | chapter one | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | It’s my birthday, so to celebrate I’m sharing chapter one of my new WIP. This started its life as a one-shot but then my enneagram 4 brain took over and now it’s looking like it’ll be a multi-chapter short. Enjoy!

Also, feedback – comments, likes, etc. – is always appreciated, my loves.

AO3 link | 1300 miles playlist

_____

The sun is just starting to sink in the sky as Sam and Bucky finish the latest repairs on the boat. Sam has spent the last hour pestering Bucky about things he’s missed over the last 80 years — things he needs to do, shows and movies he needs to watch, music to listen to, places to go. Bucky is considering the consequences of putting his vibranium fist through the new Captain America’s face.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to New Orleans?” Sam half-shouts at Bucky in amusement.

“Sam, besides the airport, when would I have been to New Orleans?” Bucky sighs.

“We’re going. Tonight.” He stands up. “But none of that Bourbon Street bullshit. I know a place,” he says.

_____

The bar is crowded on a Saturday night, but they manage to find a table near the small stage where a band is setting up.

“I’ll get drinks,” Sam says, heading to the bar.

“Sam said he knows the owners?” Bucky asks Sarah.

“Jo and Danny. Yeah,” Sarah says. “Danny served with Sam on his last tour. Real young kid when he served. Took some shrapnel to the chest and face in an RPG explosion and got out early. He and Sam kept in touch.”

Bucky watches Sam talk to a man with a mop of curly, brown hair and an auburn beard behind the bar. From where he sits, Bucky can see a jagged scar peeking out from the top of the man’s beard over his cheek, stopping just below his right eye.

Sam returns with three beers. "Danny says hi," he tells Sarah. "Says he'll come over when he has a free minute."

"Jo around?" Sarah asks.

Sam nods toward the stage. "She's playing tonight. Danny says she's in the office rewriting the set list."

Bucky sips his beer and looks around. When they entered, there was a wave of enthusiasm as people recognized Sam as Captain America, but it seems to have died down and now no one is paying them much attention. Bucky prefers it that way, though he’s happy that people are excited for Sam.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam says, smiling and nodding toward a woman emerging from a door beside the bar marked ‘Employees Only.’ She’s wearing a loose-fitting white tank tucked into light-wash jeans cuffed just above a pair of black combat boots. Her wavy, dark hair fans out behind her as she rushes towards the stage. She's clutching a piece of paper in one hand, and the smile on her face makes Bucky's heart stutter for a moment.

Sam catches the way Bucky is watching Jo as she jumps onto the stage. He elbows Sarah and nods at the lovestruck look on Bucky's face, and they share a smirk. Bucky doesn't notice the exchange. He's too busy studying Jo. Her arms are covered in tattoos, from shoulders to fingers. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, Bucky can see the row of piercings adorning the curve of her ear. There's a gold ring between her nostrils. Bucky's seen some of the kids in Brooklyn with that piercing, but he doesn't know what it's called. He's seen plenty of women like her since moving back to New York — with tattoos and piercings and dark hair — but there's something about the combination with her green eyes and soft smile that makes his mouth go dry and his palm sweat.

He takes another sip of his beer to ground himself.

Jo picks up an acoustic-electric guitar from its stand, swings the strap over her shoulder, and plugs the guitar into a small amp at her feet. She raises her right hand in the air and sets a count with her fingers — one, two, three, four. The band starts, and Jo strums the guitar, smiling at the crowd. When she steps up to the microphone and opens her mouth, Bucky is surprised at how sweet her voice sounds. He was expecting it to be rougher, but it's gentle and warm, and he likes the way her mouth looks as it forms the words to the song.

Next to him, Sam taps his foot along to the music. Bucky can't remember the last time he saw a band play live. God, he thinks, it was before the war, before everything. He takes another sip of his beer before Sarah hands him a fresh bottle. He hadn't even noticed that she'd left the table and gone to the bar. He smiles and nods his thanks.

Sarah leans over and whispers to Bucky just loud enough for Sam to hear, as well, "You should ask her out after the show."

Bucky grimaces and shakes his head. As he told Yori once, there's a dance to these things, and he's eighty years out of practice. Plus, his last date didn't exactly go as planned.

But he can't stop staring at Jo's painted black nails and tattooed fingers as they move across the guitar strings. LOVE is written across the top knuckles of her right hand, HATE on the left. A series of lines and dots decorate her lower knuckles. There’s a snake curling around her left wrist, its inked head resting on her hand, and several large peonies cover the back of her right hand and up her forearm. Bucky wonders what her tattooed hands would look like wrapped around his cock. He also wonders where else on her body she has tattoos and what that voice would sound like when he's between her thighs. Fuck.

The band transitions into another song, and Jo's eyes land on Bucky. She's used to people staring at her, especially when she's on stage, but she's caught by the way his eyes never leave her, never wander to look at the band's female bassist or to Sarah sitting next to him. She's certain his stare could burn a hole right through her, and she wouldn't even complain. He’s fucking gorgeous.

She knows who he is, of course. She’s seen the recent footage of him with Sam in New York and read the Times article detailing his move from assassin to almost Avenger. Plus, her twin brother, Danny, was a bit of a history nerd as a kid so she’s definitely seen a Captain America documentary that mentioned the Howling Commandos. And they may or may not have hidden a fugitive Captain America and Falcon following the Accords.

Jo tears her eyes away from the super soldier and focuses on the rest of the audience. She can see Danny behind the bar, flirting with the man he's been trying to sleep with for the past two weeks. She catches his eye and smiles her encouragement between lyrics. Get his number! she tries to say with her eyes. Danny's usually pretty good at reading her mind. She doesn't know if it's a brother thing or a twin thing or just a Danny thing, but when he holds up his phone in surrender and smiles back at her, she knows he got the message.

The first half of their set ends with a crash of drums and a long guitar riff. Jo takes a swig from the mason jar full of water she keeps on stage. Her eyes meet Bucky's again as she swallows, and he licks his bottom lip. Heat curls in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what else that tongue could do.

Willow, the band's bassist, steps over and whispers in Jo's ear, “If you don’t fuck him after the show, I’m going to."

When Jo looks at her, she can see the amusement dancing in Willow's eyes. She rolls her own eyes and avoids looking directly at Bucky for the rest of the set.

_____

After the last song, Jo thanks the crowd and helps the rest of the band tidy up the stage, unplugging amps and turning off the mics. She's still trying not to look at Bucky, even though she can feel his eyes on her.

"You have to stop staring, man," Sam whispers to Bucky.

"I'm not staring," Bucky grumbles.

Sarah laughs, "You're definitely staring."

“Here," Sam says, "I'll introduce you." And before Bucky can protest, Sam is waving Jo over. "Josephine," Sam says, hugging her.

"Samuel," she returns, smiling. "Congrats on the new gig." She punches his shoulder lightly. "Better you than that John Walker douchebag," she says. Bucky snorts, and she catches his eye and smirks before turning to Sarah. "Hey, Sarah." They exchange pleasantries while Bucky tries to get his tongue to turn back from lead.

Sam points at Bucky, "This is—"

Bucky stands. "Bucky. Barnes."

Jo smiles and shakes his gloved hand. "Jo. Landry," she says, matching his cadence.

Sam was right. Bucky can't stop staring at her. This close, he can see there's a bit of gold in the green of her eyes and a slight gap between her two front teeth. She smells like sandalwood and citrus and just a little bit like pot.

Jo returns his stare. His five o’clock shadow doesn’t hide the dimple in his chin, and she briefly imagines pressing her lips against it. She’s trying to name the exact shade of blue of his eyes when Sam clears his throat.

She’s not usually so easily flustered by attractive people, but Bucky's blue eyes and chiseled jaw have done a number on her self-control. “Let me grab a drink,” Jo says, turning quickly.

“No need,” Danny says, appearing in front of her and handing her a glass. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “He’s cute.”

“Please fuck off,” Jo hisses in return, widening her eyes at him. She’s only half-serious, and Danny knows it. It’s a twin thing.

When she looks at Bucky again, he’s smirking, and she wonders if enhanced hearing is a super soldier trait. Bucky pulls out the fourth chair at the small table for her to sit, and Jo can't remember the last time someone did that for her.

"The show was great," Sarah says, grabbing Jo's attention.

"Thanks," Jo replies. "Took a while to get back to it after…” she snaps her fingers but doesn’t finish her sentence.

"You were snapped?" Bucky asks.

Jo nods. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Cheers," she says sarcastically, raising her glass in a toast. She shakes her head again and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Five years just," she holds her hands open, "gone. Danny was still here, holding all this together by himself."

She tucks one leg under the other, and her knee bumps Bucky’s beneath the table. When she moves to pull her knee away from his, he places a gloved hand on her thigh, holding her leg in place.

Bucky surprises even himself with this move. He hasn’t been this forward with a woman since an auburn-haired nurse in Italy during the war. With her, it was all hands and mouths and skin on skin because he was certain he was going to die any day. Now he supposedly has all the time in the world. He just isn’t sure what he wants to do with it.

But in this moment, he's comfortable here, in this tiny bar, with a beer in his hand and Jo's knee pressed against his. He's confident that Sam would never introduce him to someone he couldn't trust.

Bucky's flirted with Sarah, sure, but that was mostly to irritate to Sam. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the thought of something happening between himself and Sarah and then ending badly and ruining his relationship with Sam makes his stomach hurt. Pursuing Jo seems safer in that regard. She and Sam are friends, but if — when, he thinks — he ruins things, he can just go back to New York instead of losing his only friend.

Jo asks Sarah about AJ and Cass to distract herself from the butterflies forming in her stomach at Bucky’s touch, and Sam starts a story about the boys' latest interests. Bucky is content to listen to the three of them talk, his eyes barely leaving Jo. When she flicks her gaze over to him every now and then, she doesn't seem phased by his staring, and she hasn't pulled her knee away from where it's softly touching his. After a while, Danny emerges from behind the bar and joins their table, introducing himself to Bucky with a firm handshake.

While Danny and Sam trade updates about people they know, Jo leans towards Bucky and asks, “You want another drink?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies.

Jo doesn’t say anything else, just nods her head toward the bar, stands, and offers Bucky her hand. He takes it, the leather glove of his right hand warm against her palm. He wishes he could feel her skin without the gloves between them. He doesn’t usually wear them around Sam and Sarah and everyone in Delacroix, but he wasn’t sure how the metal arm would be perceived at this bar he’s never been to. Sam told him not to worry about it, but Bucky doesn’t like to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Jo leads him through the sea of tables to a barstool, then moves behind the bar and grabs him a fresh bottle of the beer he's been drinking all night. "Unless you want something stronger," she says, pausing before she hands it to him.

"This is good," Bucky replies.

She pops the top and hands him the bottle. He takes a sip as he watches her maneuver around the bartender on duty to fix herself another whiskey sour before taking a seat on the barstool next to him.

"Full disclosure; because it's only fair," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "I know who you are, Sergeant Barnes. Not the whole story, but bits and pieces."

Bucky pauses. He searches her eyes for the fear he's expecting but finds none. "And you're okay with that?" he asks.

Jo quirks the corner of her mouth up in a half-smile and says, “If Sam trusts you, I trust you."

“I’m not great with meeting new people, and I was telling myself the same thing about you," Bucky admits, almost sheepishly.

“You know we can never tell Sam about this, right?" Jo says, conspiratorially. "We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Never,” Bucky agrees, and knocks his beer bottle lightly against her glass in understanding.

They talk for a while, just the two of them alone at the end of the bar. Jo asks him how he likes Louisiana ("Hot, but the people are friendly"); where he's staying ("Sarah's"); when he's heading back to New York ("A week from tomorrow"); what he likes to do for fun ("Still figuring that out"); his favorite place ("Wakanda") and favorite book ("The Hobbit"); and a myriad of other questions — some of which Bucky answers easily and some that make him pause. He makes her give her own answers to each one in turn.

Jo leans close to Bucky so she can hear him over the noise of the room, and he takes the opportunity to study her features more closely. He's practically mapped all of her face when her eyes leave his for a brief second and land on Sam, Sarah, and Danny staring at them from the table across the room.

"Don't look now," she whispers, leaning even closer, "But we seem to have an audience."

Bucky makes a big show of looking over his shoulder at the group.

"I said 'don't look!'" Jo laughs and swats casually at his arm.

Bucky takes the opportunity to pin her hand with his own, holding it tightly and licking his bottom lip before smiling at her. He can see the blush paint her cheeks and creep down her neck and chest.

He likes Jo, likes how easy it feels to be around her. He isn't used to that. He isn't used to feeling comfortable with people. Hell, he thinks, I barely feel comfortable with myself. But there's something about Jo that makes him feel safe and calm. Of course, there's attraction there — plenty of it — but he's sure it's more than that.

For her part, Jo is enamored with Bucky. She likes his hard edges and his snark, but she also likes the small glimpses he's given her of the man beneath all of that. She doesn't usually fall for people so easily, but she's found herself drowning in the sea of blues that make up Bucky's eyes, and she doesn't want to be rescued. How fucking cliche, she tells herself.

"We should probably go back over there," Bucky says, squeezing her hand once before releasing it.

They both stand and make their way back to the table. Bucky pulls Jo's chair out for her again, but this time, he makes sure to pull it a little closer to his chair in the process. This doesn't go unnoticed by Sam who smirks at him. Bucky returns the smirk with a thin-lipped smile of his own before scooting even closer to Jo.

Jo finds it hard to focus on the conversation in front of her with Bucky's warm body so close to her own, and she realizes she misses the pleasant feeling of his gloved hand around hers. She places her own hand on his thigh and hopes he gets the hint.

Bucky’s fascinated by even the slightest movements of Jo's tattooed fingers, and when her hand rests on his denim-clad thigh, he thinks the sight alone might kill him. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls the glove off his right hand and links his own flesh and bone fingers with hers.

Jo doesn't look at Bucky — she's trying not to draw attention to her hand in his lap — but Bucky watches the corner of her mouth quirk upwards into a smile, and he squeezes her hand in response.

The conversation continues a bit longer before Danny leaves the table to check in with his bartender. Jo excuses herself to get another drink, and Bucky watches her pop behind the bar to fill a glass for herself.

"I need to get home, relieve the babysitter," Sarah says when she finishes her beer.

"We're heading out then," Sam says, then turns to Bucky, "You coming?"

Bucky looks toward Jo and says, "No, I'm gonna stick around. I'll get a cab back or get a hotel room in the city."

Sam smirks. "I don't think you're gonna need a hotel room, man."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Just promise me you'll use protection," Sam laughs. "We don't need any little super soldiers running around just yet."

Bucky gives him a sarcastic smile, but realizes Sam's probably right, and he definitely doesn't have any condoms in his wallet. He's not planning on sleeping with Jo tonight — he just met her, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet — but if the army taught him anything, it's to be prepared. As if reading his mind, Sam pulls out his wallet and places a condom in Bucky's palm before pulling him in for a hug and clapping him on the back.

"Have fun, man," Sam says.

Sam and Sarah say their goodbyes to Danny and Jo on their way out, and Bucky joins Jo at the bar, sitting on the barstool next to her where they sat earlier.

"Sticking around, soldier?" she asks. She reaches for his dog tags and tugs them gently. The drinks have been strong, and she's feeling more flirtatious than she would otherwise.

"If you don't mind," Bucky replies.

Jo smiles and reaches for his hand this time. "Not at all."

"Are you gonna finish your interrogation of me?" Bucky asks, amusement apparent in his voice.

Jo laughs in return. “I thought I'd read your palm instead," she says, turning his hand over in her own.

Bucky snorts but doesn't pull his hand away. "Is this a trick you use on all the guys?"

"And girls," Jo says, meeting his eyes. Then she studies his hand carefully, running her index finger across the lines that crisscross his palm.

"Your dominant hand," she continues, "determines your future, while your non-dominant hand is tied to your past."

Bucky snorts again at the truth of it all.

"I'm not making this up!" Jo laughs. "I mean, someone did, but I'm not!" She can see the laughter shining in Bucky's eyes, so she goes on, "Your head line is deep, meaning your thinking is clear and focused, but it's also curved downward which indicates a creative spirit and an appetite for literature and fantasy." She looks up at him, "Explains the love for Tolkien."

"I'm not sure I'm buying this," Bucky says.

"You've literally fought aliens, and you're gonna give me a hard time over palm reading," Jo laughs.

"The aliens were real," Bucky deadpans.

"And in New Orleans, palm reading and psychics and crystal balls and voodoo are real," Jo says, still laughing. "But I promise not to read your palm again or read your aura or get out the tarot cards."

Bucky likes the way her slight accent makes New Orleans sound more like Nawlins. He also likes the sound of her laughter and the way her face lights up when she smiles. She's still holding his hand in her own, so he turns his palm over in hers and brings her tattooed knuckles to his lips.

_____

Meanwhile, the bar closes, and Danny and the bartender clean glasses and close up for the night.

Danny points at Jo as he comes around the bar. "I’m locking up then heading upstairs," he says.

"Thanks, love," Jo replies.

Danny walks the bartender out and locks the front door, then retraces his steps to the back of the bar. On his way past Jo, he stops and kisses her on the cheek, saying, "Be good. And set the alarm."

He turns to Bucky. "And you, Sergeant Barnes," he says, pointing at him now, "I know you're an Avenger or whatever, but if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

"Bye, Danny," Jo says, rolling her eyes as he disappears through the door marked 'Employees Only.' "Don't worry about him," Jo says, turning back to Bucky.

“Older brother, right?” Bucky says. He understands; he was an older brother once.

“Twins, actually,” Jo smiles.

Bucky takes a sip of his beer. "Sarah said Danny served with Sam," he says.

"Yeah. Afghanistan. A lifetime ago," Jo says. “He only had one more mission before he could come home so he switched with someone. An RPG barely missed the helicopter he was in, and he was pretty badly injured in the explosion and the resulting crash. Almost lost an eye. He came home, got out of the Air Force, went to business school. Now we own the bar..." She pauses to take the last sip of her drink. "...and the building. Sam's really helped Danny get past everything."

"He's good at that," Bucky says.

"Another thing we can never tell him," Jo laughs.

"Agreed. So, when do I get to ask about your tattoos?" he questions.

"What do you want to know?" she asks.

Bucky licks his bottom lip. "Anything."

He likes her dagger tattoo the best. It’s inked on the inside of her right forearm, nestled amongst the peonies, the hilt facing the crook of her elbow and the knife’s tip pointed toward her wrist. It’s feminine and dangerous and incredibly sexy. She blushes when he tells her how much he likes it. He doesn't tell her it reminds him of one of his favorite knives, currently tucked at the bottom of his backpack back in Sarah's living room.

"In some ways, they're my armor," she explains. "When I'm on stage, people look at the tattoos, not me, and I kind of like that. It lets me be whoever I want to up there."

Bucky understands the desire to hide better than anyone. But she knows who he is so there's really no point in hiding from her any longer. Plus, he feels like his arm is something she would understand, something she could accept — not just because of her brother's military record but because of her own unique body modifications.

He pulls his left glove off and shrugs out of his leather jacket, revealing the vibranium arm beneath his black t-shirt.

Jo takes in the black metal and gold details. "That," she says, pointing to his arm, "is lovely."

"It's lethal," Bucky warns.

She cocks her head to the side and says, "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky can't stop the corner of his lip from pulling up in the slightest hint of a smile.

"Okay,” she says, placing her palms flat on the bar top. “You want another beer?" she asks.

Jo stands and turns to move behind the bar, but Bucky's vibranium hand on her arm stops her. She looks at him curiously, and he slides his arm behind her back and pulls her flush against his chest. She settles between his open thighs, her palms resting gently on top of his legs. He's staring at her so intensely she's convinced he willburn that hole right through her, but she can't bring herself to look away.

He leans in, his lips only a breath away from hers.

"Can I kiss you?" Bucky finally asks, his flesh hand moving up to cup her cheek.

"Please," Jo whispers, desperately.

Bucky closes the distance between them, and his lips meet hers. He's hesitant at first, but when he feels Jo respond, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing even closer, he runs his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens them for him. She tastes like bourbon and lemon from the whiskey sours she's been drinking, and Bucky loves it. His tongue sweeps along the roof of her mouth, and Jo moans. Bucky is determined to hear that sound again.

He kisses across the corner of her mouth and over her jaw. The hand that was cupping her cheek moves to her hair to angle her head backwards and give him better access to the bare skin of her neck. He laves his tongue over the corded muscles there, then nips at the skin with his teeth. She moans again, and Bucky is on fire.

Jo's right hand weaves into his short hair and tugs until his mouth comes away from her neck. He catches his breath while Jo nuzzles his nose with her own and places a soft kiss against the Cupid's bow of his upper lip. His eyes meet hers, and her pupils are blown wide with lust.

The need to kiss her again is overwhelming. Bucky’s lips find hers, and Jo somehow leans even closer into his body, her hands tracing down his chest to his waist. Bucky lets his own hands move to Jo’s ribs, resting just beneath her chest, his thumbs teasing the underside of each breast. Jo gasps when Bucky’s right thumb moves across her taut nipple.

Fuck, he thinks, I need to slow down. While he’s shared kisses with the handful of women he’s met on dating apps, he hasn’t done anything this intimate in a lifetime.

Bucky pulls away, panting. He rests his forehead against Jo's and stares into her green eyes.

"I should leave," he says. “I’m getting carried away. I…I want to do this right.”

And he does. Desperately. He wants to buy her flowers and take her out and learn what makes her swoon. But he also wants to map every tattoo on her body with his fingers and tongue and then fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Jo laughs breathily. “We don’t have to do anything, but it’s almost three o'clock in the morning and your ride already left. You can sleep on my couch if you want to be a gentleman.”

Bucky groans. “I should be a gentleman."

She kisses him again, lightly, then moves away to set the alarm and turn the rest of the lights out. She leads him through the 'Employees Only' door and up a set of stairs to her apartment.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Jo asks, as she unlocks the door.

"No," Bucky says. As far as he knows, he's not allergic to anything thanks to the knock-off serum, but he doesn't say that.

Inside her apartment, Jo kicks off her combat boots at the door, and Bucky does the same, leaving them both in their socked feet. There's a fluffy black cat sitting on the back of the green velvet sofa.

"That's Toulouse," Jo says. "Or Louie. He doesn't answer to either, so it really doesn't matter what I call him."

The cat regards Bucky with indifference before standing up, stretching, and leaving the room.

"Guest bathroom’s just there,” she nods. “Let me get you some blankets and pillows for the couch," Jo continues. "Unless you've changed your mind about being a gentleman." She smirks at him.

Bucky laughs through his nose. “Don’t tempt me.”

Jo leaves the room for a moment, which gives Bucky a chance to look around. He's standing in her living room; one wall features a set of French doors that lead to a balcony overlooking the street, and the opposite wall holds bookcases stuffed from floor to ceiling with books, framed photographs, and various knick-knacks. From where he stands, he can see a small room with an upright piano and guitars hanging on the walls. The exterior walls of Jo's apartment are brick, and everything else is set in jewel tones. He likes it. It's dark and cozy, and from what he knows of Jo so far, her living space matches her well.

When she returns, Jo is holding a stack of blankets and pillows. She sets them on the ottoman and moves across the room to close the curtains.

"There are some sweats and a t-shirt there that should fit you" she says, turning to Bucky.

"Thanks," Bucky says, smiling softly.

Now that they're here, in her apartment, Bucky isn't sure what he's supposed to do or say. He can still feel the heat of Jo's lips on his, and he's painfully aware that the condom Sam gave him is still in his pocket.

Jo must sense the hesitation rolling off him because she crosses the room to stand in front of him and takes his hands in hers.

"Get some sleep, Sarge," she says, squeezing his hands in tandem before dropping them.

"Goodnight, Jo," Bucky returns.

_____

Bucky lays on Jo's couch in the dark beneath blankets that smell like laundry detergent. He wishes they smelled like her. He unlocks his phone and looks up the distance between New Orleans and Brooklyn. Just over thirteen hundred miles. He sighs and drops his phone onto the coffee table before closing his eyes and reliving each kiss as he falls asleep.

On the other side of the wall, Jo falls across her bed, deflated. She likes this guy. She wants him — painfully so. But leave it to her to fall for the one guy in her bar who lives half-way across the country.

_____

next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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100 Days of Writing: Day Eighty

Only took a couple days off this time, not two weeks--pretty good!

This project is courtesy of @the-wip-project and I’m also tagging my fellow participants @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold, @hopskipaway, @thelittlefanpire, @easilydistractedbyfanfic, @dylanobrienisbatman, and @fontainebleau22.

Day 78: Fanfic or original, which fandoms/genres do you like to write?

I think I’m pretty diverse in my genre preferences, at least in terms of “fanfic genres.” I’ve written fluff, angst, canon-verse, modern AU (adult/college/high school). I’ve written horror. The nature of the fandoms I’ve been in means that I’ve written sci fi. I’ve tried a little bit of adventure-type stories (at least if you define ‘adventure’ broadly enough lol) and some supernatural-type stories, also. I even wrote a Western (thanks Troped), which was a lot of fun!

I have been trying to expand myself more the last couple years. I’ve been in my current fandom for a LONG time, and I’ve written a lot of fairly typical romance-centric stories within it. That was starting to bore me. Funnily enough, my creative goal for 2020 was “be weirder”—but then…everything happened… and I could barely write at all, so the goal switched to ‘write whatever you can and whatever feels good.’ Then at some point I adjusted course to wanting to finish my WIPs and old projects, not specifically with an intent to settle my accounts before leaving the fandom but… just for the clarity of it. That goal aside, though, I am trying to push myself to write things I haven’t written before and to make more unusual and bolder choices.

I know that the total number of genres out there is way greater than the number of genres I’ve even dabbled in. But I think I’m pretty varied, again, as far as the styles/genres/plot-types that tend to be common in fandom spaces go.

(The way I answered this makes Day 79 impossible to answer, so I’ll just be skipping that one. Also if you haven’t noticed I’ve been skipping all the ‘homework’ questions. My to-do list is long enough already!)

Day 80: How do you feel about your old works? And bonus homework: say something nice about past-writer-you.

I feel pretty good about them! Roughly speaking, I’m generally proudest of my recent works, or at least my recent faves, and also proud of my older work, the stories I don’t feel much attachment to anymore. About those I can at least say ‘wow, this is really good for someone X age,’ and even sometimes ‘yeah, this is just really nice!’ without any qualifiers. The works that fall in between those two categories I am harsher on. By that I mean, those stories that were written long enough ago that I can see how I’ve improved, but not so long ago that I don’t feel attached to that person anymore, where I still feel responsible, as it were, for the errors or rough spots in them. I’m especially harsh on stories that USED to be my favorites, for whatever reason. Even then, I’m talking about being more nitpicky, not about despising the stories or wishing I hadn’t written them or wanting to take them down.

All of this is just the general pattern of my thoughts. I have specific works that I think are bad, or at least kind of embarrassing or silly, works I can’t personally stand to re-read. But it’s a question of scale. I’ve been posting online since 2006 and have over 200 works on AO3. About the ones I don’t personally like, I think, ‘well if someone else reads it and likes it, it’s worth the story existing and existing in public.’

Plus the super-SUPER embarrassing stuff, the late elementary/early middle school original novellas, the early fandom stuff, almost everything I wrote in high school even (I’m the class of ’07) is only on my computer and on various back up drives.

I guess the tl;dr of it is that I’m proud of my writing overall, even if my exact opinions about specific stories, fandom experiences, or eras might vary. I think I’ve always had some kinda talent! It’s good that I’ve changed and grown, and hopefully improved, but I still feel fondness for my early writing experiences.

A Writing Update

Since I haven’t done one of these in a while…

I’ve finished my Troped fic, which took over my brain for longer than intended, and done a first editing read-through. There’s one scene with some VERY rough bits that will need to be worked on more, and since some of my read-through was a bit… quick, because I just got excited to read ahead and didn’t think as critically as I should, I think I should do another full start-to-finish read. I don’t want to forecast too specifically when it might be up, which would just make it even LESS anonymous, but I can say pretty confidently that it WILL be eligible for the competition.

So I’m pretty excited for that. I’m not sure what I’ll turn to next. What I probably should do is switch to autumn mode—I have a pretty big list of stuff I want to write this fall, although so far I’m not inspired at all because it’s still way too hot! So I think my first task this weekend is going to be to figure out where my focus should turn next.

#100 days of writing #my 100 days of writing #100daysofwriting

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quackeroos · 4 years

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the parker therapy | p.parker

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Summary: (PREQUEL TO “LOCKER NOTES” . How Y/n started to have feelings for Peter.) y/n is having a bad day. peter coincidentally meets her on the rooftop and offers her a little heart-to-heart conversation about their past experiences and connect with each other.

Warnings: None

Words: 3.9k

Notes: originally posted on my wattpad account @aestheticarii. i’ll most likely post some of my other works on here soon! i’m contemplating if i should make this into a mini-series since i’ve been getting a lot a requests for part 3 of locker notes on wattpad, AO3, and tumblr. lemme know if you guys want me to make this into a mini-series! enjoy this long imagine <3

General Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Y/n is easily irritated. She gets irritated by a lot of things, but she was patient. She would keep it to herself and eventually, it would all go away when she finally gets to lock herself up in her room. But today wasn't one of those days that were bright and sunny, and where she could still maintain her temper. Because somehow, Liz had managed to rattle her so early in the morning.

Y/n disliked being around her cousin. The reason would either be because of her popularity or the fact that they are related. Or maybe it was both? Y/n after all, hated the fact that she too was popular in Midtown High. After transferring to Midtown for high school, Y/n was immediately pulled to her cousin's friend group, instantly gaining more friends than she had planned. Not only friends, but everyone knew her name.

It all started when her first class rolled in. She was already bombarded by a dozen of questions by her other members in the homecoming committee: Should the banner be this big? How much should we be selling the tickets? Are we really gonna push through with the 80s theme? God, it was too much to handle at 8 in the morning! They were like mosquitoes circling around her, buzzing constantly in her ear.

In Physical Education, Flash was hitting on her. Well, trying to hit on her. The guy was a hopeless case. He never gives up. He was always asking her out every other day, or whenever a recent girlfriend of his would break up with him. It was getting annoying, but Y/n was starting to get used to it. Flash was a coward when it came to authority figures, so Y/n used that to her advantage, being part of the student government and all.

Next was Chemistry. Last week's exam had been given out, and she was proud to see the number 97 written in red. But her pride soon diminished after Mr. Nelson announced the student with the highest score, and it was definitely not her. Peter Parker; the kid she envied. She knew Peter since last year from the same class, he seated behind her during Chem. Liz also mentioned him a couple of times; how she thinks the boy has a crush on her. He did though. Y/n wasn't blind, she caught him staring their way countless of times whenever she walked with her cousin.

Pathetic, she thought.

Now that's another thing why she disliked the Parker boy. He's one of Liz' puppy dog admirers. Everyone in the school practically worships her. Sooner or later he was gonna ask her to give him a boost — wouldn't be the first time anyway.

God, how she wished high school was over. Then she could move upstate, away from Liz and her weird Uncle.

It was during lunch time Y/n had the last straw. She decided to sit alone, work on a few of her notes, and finish planning the decorations for homecoming. But that was until Flash Thompson, Betty Brant, Liz and her other friends take the unoccupied seats at her table. "Thank for saving us a seat Cuz!" the tanned girl greeted, setting down her lunch tray as she takes the seat beside her. Soon, the whole homecoming committee was soon crowding at her table. It irked her that a number of people were inside her personal bubble, and so Y/n raised her attention towards Liz, not putting on any filter with what she has to say.

"What are you doing here?" she seethed out.

"All the tables are taken and we noticed you were sitting alone. We figured we'd accompany you." She smiled sweetly.

"I'm perfectly fine being alone, Liz. And aren't you supposed to be having a meeting about the materials?

"We already finished that when the sub didn't show up for English." she replied nonchalantly whilst eating the lunch she had bought.

She was about to dismiss the topic and continue with her lunch, but something caught her eye. "Is that my skirt?" pointing towards the piece of clothing Liz was wearing. Her eyes directed towards the skirt and chewed on her food.

"Oh yeah, about that, I found it in my closet. Mom must've mixed up our clothes while doing the laundry. Sorry for not telling you earlier. I couldn't find anything to match the top."

"I've been looking for those for ages. You could've told me you had it for some time now!" she whisper shouted, not wanting to attract the attention of her peers, Liz' peers rather. It was between them after all. But unfortunately they did, and the chatter died down, attention now directed towards the two.

"I don't really see the point of this argument, Y/n. We use to share everything when we were kids, what changed now?"

"Exactly, we were kids. We're teens now so there's a difference. And the fact that you didn't even bother to tell me you had it the whole time?"

"Why are you getting so worked up by a skirt? If you have some kind of grudge against me, just say it."

Everyone in the cafeteria was quiet, all eyes on them. Y/n could already feel their stares lingering on her, waiting for her reply. She was starting to become small under the judgmental and silent whispers the students gave her. It was starting to feel like middle school all over again for Y/n. Without even realizing she raised her tone at them. "Mind your own business!" and their eyes soon tore away from them, except for those who were at the table. Liz' friends continued their discussion, though it was obvious they were eavesdropping while silently murmuring to each other.

"Just because you and your parents are the only relatives I have left, doesn't mean I always have to confide in you." Y/n simply stated turning to fix her things and leave immediately. Before she could even leave the table Flash called out to her.

"Do you mind lending your notes for me? I have a test for history soon."

Eyes twitching, it was at that moment Y/n could've sworn she exploded right then and there. The audacity of this boy! Y/n could practically murder him right now. Was he asking for it or demanding? It sounded like the latter to her.

"Take down your own goddamn notes, Thompson!" she snapped before pushing through the doors.

Y/n walked briskly, in search for the place where she could find solace. Lucky for her, the stairway to the rooftop was unlocked. She sets down her bag beside the door and walks towards the edge, taking a seat and hanging her legs. The wind blows softly as the clouds cover the sun, giving her a perfect shade. A gentle breeze caresses her face and it tickled her a bit.

New York was beautiful up there. The outstretched view of Midtown's field spread towards the buildings and skyscrapers were enough for her to feel at peace. This might be her next favorite spot besides the library. The serene moment was short lived when the doors bursts open and slammed shut. Y/n jumped in her seat, her heart pounding as she almost slipped. She whipped her head back to the presence, ready to scream at them.

She finds the familiar face of Peter Parker, his back leaning against the door, panting and sweating. He had his backpack slung around his shoulder and in his hand a sandwich and a carton of milk. It was an odd sight for her to see Peter distressed. But her anger still remained when she addressed to him. "What are you doing here?"

Peter looked up, meeting the eyes of an annoyed girl. He was already familiar with her. How could Peter not? Almost everyone at school knows her because of Liz. Not only that, but from the scene earlier at lunch, he was pretty sure she was now the gossip in every classroom.

"Hey! Earth to human, I asked you a question, sir." She said, sass in her tone.

"Oh-uhm... I was running away from Flash." He said through heavy breaths.

"Why were you running away from Flash?"

"He was asking me for notes for the History test. And I told him No. I think what made him even more angry was when I told him to... take your advice."

Y/n's expression changed to disbelief. That was the first time she heard something unlike Flash. She knew fully well that Flash was the type to bully people because of his insecurities — Parker being his main victim, of course. But to her, he was nothing more than a scared chick. She was silent and still before turning back to face the view, not wanting to engage more in conversation with Peter.

Unnoticed, he silently takes his place a few feet away from her. His backpack placed behind him as he takes a sip from his carton of milk. The girl ignored his presence. Back to the way she was before, admiring the view in front of her. Though there wasn't much to see. He preferred swinging through the buildings and soaring through the sky. Now that's a much better view if he were to be honest.

Attempting to make small talk, Peter placed his sandwich between them and pushed it towards her side. She flinched at the sight of a little sandwich coming towards her, bumping her side. Y/n looked at him with a confused expression. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You take a selfie with it."

The girl furrowed her eyebrows, looking even more confused, not getting the joke at all. Peter could already feel the embarrassment rising within himself. He coughs awkwardly placing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "I-I don't know why I said that. Uh-I just thought that maybe you were hungry? You didn't get to finish your lunch after all."

"I'm fine." She dismissed bitterly. Y/n didn't want to receive a pity sandwich, not when she was perfectly trying to compose herself and feel the peace around her. But to her dismay, her body seems to have a mind on it's own. A low grumble came from her stomach, and Y/n could feel the growing smirk from the boy beside her.

"It seems to me that your body disagrees with you." He teasingly remarked.

Y/n rolled her eyes, "Whatever." and takes the sandwich, unwrapping it and munching on the simple snack. They sat again in silence and Peter spoke again, this one taking Y/n aback.

"You don't always have to keep it in, you know? It's better to talk things out with someone than leaving it unresolved."

She swallowed her food before speaking, "Excuse me?"

"I meant about the fight earlier. If you have some problems, you should talk about it to someone. Just to clear your head, you know? It also takes off that heavy feeling in your chest."

"Thanks for the advice, but I don't open up to people."

"Then maybe get a therapist, a counselor, or something."

"Yeah, as if I have that kind of money? No thank you."

"How about me?"

Y/n whipped her head towards him, "What about you?" her eyes narrowed at him.

Peter swallowed his anxiety, her eyes were making him feel nervous. It was so fierce and he feel like he was going to get pierced because of it. "Talk to me... about it?" it came out more as question rather than a suggestion. Y/n looked at him incredulously and soon giggling at the idea.

"You wanna be my therapist?"

Peter shrugged, "I don't see why not? I mean — I'm not exactly licensed, But I'm a pretty good listener so I think I'm qualified for the job."

"Nice try. But I'm not gonna talk about my feelings to a classmate who barely knows me."

"But I'm not your classmate. I'm-" He holds up his finger and turns to shuffle for something in his bag. Finding what he needed, Peter takes it and places it on the bridge of his nose, and using his marker, drawing a simple moustache on his upper lip. "Dr. Parker from Counselling."

Y/n bursts out an obnoxious laugh. She couldn't keep it in, Parker looked ridiculously stupid. She held onto the ledge to keep herself from falling. She thought, That it would be a shame if the school found out how she died: falling to her death caused by idiotic humor of a teenage boy. That wouldn't look good on paper.

"You look stupid! I'm not doing this at all, this is ridiculous!"

"Don't judge my counselling session if you haven't tried it yet, Toomes. C'mon, it's not that bad opening up to someone."

"Last time I did, my life turned to hell. Trust me, opening up will do you no good." She pulled her knees up, ready to leave. What good will it do for her if she opened up to him anyway? Her middle school life became hell because of trusting others about her feelings.

Just as she was about to stand, Peter held her wrist. "If you're scared of people finding out the things you've been keeping to yourself for so long," he slowly shakes his head. "Don't be. Every therapist and counsellor practice the act of privacy. I'm also not gonna judge you, 'coz if anything, this a free space. I want you to be comfortable with what you open up to me."

"And why do you think it's better for me to open up to you?"

"I heard that sometimes, it's better opening up to strangers. It's like there's less risk, opening up to someone who doesn't know you."

This silenced her for a moment, only staring at him deep in thought. She takes her place back beside him, smirking at the open field before meeting his eyes again. "But we aren't exactly strangers now, are we? You're a guy who goes to my class, and I'm a girl who's in yours."

"And that's all there is to it."

She stayed silent once again, not looking at him after he spoke. Peter wondered what is it that she was so deep in thought about? Was it about what he said or something else? If Peter had the chance to obtain another superpower, it would probably be telekinesis. Maybe then he could read her thoughts. He doesn't know why, but Peter was so attracted and curious to what was running inside her head every time he saw her listening intently during class and now, looking forward at the city.

"My parents died five years ago."

Peter looked up from his hands. He was not expecting that at all, nor did he expect the sudden act of opening up. Y/n doesn't look to be fazed at all. She still trained her eyes ahead and would play with the ring on her finger; removing it from its place then placing it back.

"We were driving back home after eating at this pizza place for my birthday. Then those aliens came and started attacking the city. Dad was fleeing us away from the fight. We were driving to a nearby building where we could hide when... it happened. I don't remember much but when I woke up, I saw my parents both dead and stuck under the wrecked half of our car. Iron Man got me out when he saw me under the rubble. He took me to a building and told me to hide with the other civilians. I wanted to thank him that day but I was too traumatized to even speak.

"After the funeral, Uncle Adrian took me under his wing, and started raising me as his own. Liz and I used to share the same room, which made us close. She help me get through my grief and made me feel comfortable in my new home. We were so close... Until we weren't."

Her eyes looked at the ring sorrowfully. All sentimental value held inside it, and Peter could tell she would die if it were get lost. "What changed?" he asked softly.

Y/n sighs. "By the time Liz got to high school, I was left alone in middle school. I barely got to see her at home because of all of her extra-curricular activities and new friends. I was all by myself. A lot of things happened to me during those times. And just when I got used to all of it, she comes and goes back to the way how things were before, like nothing happened.

"When I transferred to Midtown for high school, I didn't really plan on being like this. Liz started pushing me to these different school activities and introducing me to her friends, insisting that I must go wherever they go. Go shopping with them, to a cafe, study group, movie night. Yes I'll admit, they were fun, but not once did I feel comfortable under my own skin. It felt like I was living another person's life, and to be honest?"

Her head turned towards him with a sad smile on her face. "I don't even know who I am anymore. Because the last time I felt me was five years ago."

Peter felt the same. Between his superhero alter ego and him, he wasn't sure which one was the real him? Was Peter Parker either of the two identities or both in one body? And dead parents, he understood how she felt about it. He had gone through the grief too, so he knew what it felt like, to lose someone at an early age. Twice.

"I know how it feels. Losing your parents at a young age, struggling with your identity." He mumbled the last words so she wouldn't catch what he said. When she turned to look at him, Y/n could see the same expression she wore earlier, he was mirroring it. "My parent's died at a plane crash. I was five at that time. I don't remember much about them but Aunt May and Uncle Ben told me stories about them and show me their pictures. Then my Uncle died about a year ago."

The weight of their conversations dawned upon them as they sat silently beside each other. Peter could tell Y/n wanted to say something. He could hear her heart pounding faster and she kept on biting her lip, contemplating on what to say. Peter would be lying if he told himself that what she was doing was unattractive- because it actually is. The teen could feel his face heat up and his stomach felt funny. He brushed off the feeling, it was only temporary after all.

It should be temporary.

He cleared his throat to catch her attention before speaking again. "Finding yourself is hard. You said, the last time you truly felt like yourself was five years ago with your parents, right? Well then, maybe you just need to find those kinds of people again in your life. Someone who will make you feel you. Someone you feel comfortable being around with and don't feel apologetic for doing so. You don't always have to do what they say if you don't want to. Maybe Liz thought she was doing the right thing because she was trying to be a good cousin. Talk to her about it, maybe then you could find peace."

Y/n's mind processed his advice. And without even realizing, the corners of her mouth turned upward into a genuine smile, followed by a soft giggle. The sound caught Peter off guard — it was the first time he was hearing it. "You know, for a quiet nerd in my Chemistry class, you have some wise words in that brain of yours. Who knew you were also a life-guru?"

"I get some from my aunt and my best friend. Their words of wisdom rubbed off on me, I guess." he shrugged.

"Yeah well, it worked. I guess Parker Therapy isn't so bad after all."

" 'Parker Therapy'? "

"I'm not gonna call it a counseling session 'coz that's just too bland. And besides, it has a nice ring to it, right?"

"Yeah, it does."

The two teens mirrored each other's grins and seemed to be staring for at least a whole minute. The moment the bell had rung, they tore their eyes away from each other and awkwardly look towards their opposite sides.

"I should-uhm I should go. Mr. Harrington will kill me if I show up late for decathlon practice."

"R-Right, yeah. Liz mentioned it before— nationals. Uhm- good luck? I guess." Y/n's nerves were killing her. Why would she even be nervous? The same thing could be said about Peter, he was also a stuttering mess. The two stood up at the same time, and just as she was about to step down, Y/n lost her footing and started to lean backwards. And just as she thought she was going to fall, a hand caught her small back and the other held her waist.

Peter had caught her just in time.

They were close. Too close for Y/n's liking. But the rapid beating of her heart told her otherwise. Peter could hear it in his ears, but he wasn't sure if it was his heart or hers. But he could still recognize her familiar beats just behind the loud thumping of his. A blush made it's way on her cheeks when she noticed that she was gripping on his bicep, which was surprisingly big, given his shy and awkward demeanor. Peter stood her upright and held her hand until she was back down on safer ground.

"I'm g-gonna go now. Don't you have class soon?" Peter asked, masking his uneasiness and the blush that was creeping up on his cheeks by scratching his nape.

"Uh-yeah, yeah I do. I think I'm just gonna stay here for a while though. You know, to take a breather. The teachers won't even notice I'm gone. They'll think I'm busy organizing for homecoming. So yeah... I have immunity."

The two giggle again, and Peter smiled. "Lucky you."

"Yeah, lucky me~" she cheered.

The air was silent again, and neither of them wanted to go. The two stood and the door, and Y/n swayed back and forth to maintain her sanity and calm her nerves.

"I won't tell anyone about what we talked about, so you're secret's safe with me. But you should really talk to Liz about those things." Y/n only nodded at him and bit her lip, then turning into a tight-lipped smile.

Peter mirrored her action, "I'll see you around Chem. If you ever need another Parker Therapy, Dr. Parker is always open." she giggled once again. Peter pulled the door open and craned his neck back to look at her. "Don't be a stranger, Stranger."

Y/n rolled her eyes at the newfound nickname. "I'll see you around, Stranger."

And with that, Peter left the rooftop, taking one last glance at her before he closed the door. When the door shut, Y/n back against the flat surface and lets out a breath she didn't knew she was holding. She placed a hand on her chest and felt the fast pace of her heart, her cheeks warm, and butterflies that were fluttering in her stomach. Y/n was unfamiliar with this feeling, and the feeling only occurred to her twice in her fifteen years of living. The first, when she was in Third Grade with a kid named Noah Tucker, and the second, today. Realization dawned upon Y/n, and she couldn't help but mutter curses at herself.

She was starting to have feelings for Peter Parker.

enjoyed this story? let’s talk about it!

taglist (mutuals, idols, and followers <3 ): @hollandroos @roses-hxlland @pastelpeter @fairytaleparker @hey-marlie @delicatepeterparker @chxrryholland @hollandcuddles @dahliaspidey @tomhollandeu hey @websliingingfarfromhaz @uwu-peter-parker-uwu @pixiehollands @screamholland @painting-galaxiis @parker-holland-osterfield @hazsterfield @tomblrholland @spiderneds @kii-miii @lolaywrites @emilykjhgsj @painting-galaxiis @blossomholland @webslinging @tsh-darling @megaprincesscakes @parkerpeter24 @sovereignparker @andycanbeemotional @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts

sorry to those people who were supposed to be in the taglist! i’m currently organizing it coz it’s a little bit messed up.

add yourself to my taglist!

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avauntus · 3 years

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Supernatural - a retrospective

This is super self-indulgent, and I have so much else I’ve promised-- I owe a long-fic rec post, and ao3 comments, wip work, and that’s just my fandom stuff I’m behind on. *sigh*

But it’s late on a Saturday and now I’ve finished Supernatural, I want to share what I think are my top few eps, and a few other comments. I promise some of this will be different from the “greatest hits” you probably usually see, and I’ll try to make it worth your time. *wry smile*

Look, we have to have categories like: “Most Likely to Live in My Head Rent-Free for the Rest of my Life” and “Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction” that are different from “Favorites,” because that’s just the cursed energy this show has. ;-)

My top five

#5 - 13.01 - “Lost and Found”

Written by: Andrew Dabb | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

In fandom, this is most often referred to as the start of the “Grieving Widower” arc, tongue-in-cheek. Also has Alexander Calvert (Jack) walking around completely in the nude for the first third of the ep. (Neither of these are why this is in my top 5, but he has a good story about wardrobe for his ‘first day.’)

I didn’t expect much out of this episode the first time I watched it, but I’ve gone over this ‘section’ of the show maybe 3-4 times in my Netflix catch-up, and I watch this one in full every time. From Jack being...not at all what anyone expected and an unsteady vindication, to the stunning cinematography (there’s a post that compares shots to Brokeback Mountain, but I think the shots here might be better), to the sheriff who takes the time to remind her deputy that “...there’s no such thing as ‘weird.’ Everyone’s normal in their own way,” to the slow reveal of exactly how hard the events of the previous night (12x23 - All Along the Watchtower) are hitting Dean and Sam and in different ways...(how long the episode takes to reveal to you how Dean fucked up his hand, and what he was saying when he did. Augh!) The Winchesters are trying to rally, but they have been taking hits for a long time, and the cracks are showing.

#4 - 15.06 - “Golden Time”

Written by: Meredith Glynn | Directed by: John F. Showalter

Supernatural has a terrible track record with representation in all stripes. It is infamously consistent in killing off anyone minority, female, or non-White. One of the interesting things about the chaotic meta-narrative of season 15 is you can see the lack of fucks some of the writer’s room had to give about not even being subtle about tearing down that type of ‘White-male-hero-journey” now that they were in a literal “what will they do, fire me?” situation.

I’m a Cas fan, and this episode, which gives him an actual, ‘case-of-the-week’ hunter’s narrative where he gets to save the day on his own, successfully, was wonderful. I love that for him! But more than that, for me, this episode is emotional to me for other reasons-- the way Dean and Cas circle around each other on their angry phone call (with the body language! They are broadcasting so LOUD and neither can see because they’re on the phone!), Sam’s story here, where he’s inheriting things from Rowena that allow him in turn to save Eileen, to Cas’ speech and quick anger at the lake when you reflect on his entire journey of self-realization from a soldier of blind faith to an agent of free will... “You selfish little men in your positions of authority...” I just... *clears throat, grabs tissue*

#3 - 6.20 - “The Man Who Would Be King”

Written & Directed by: Ben Edlund

Speaking of Cas’ journey... I know some folks don’t like the angst and drama of the ‘Heaven and Hell’ plots of Supernatural, but I am here for it. Oh, did we need another reason to include this episode? This has some of the most metal quotes I have heard from any TV show. Ever.

I mean, look at this:

“If I knew then what I know now, I would have said: Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

“Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like explaining poetry to fish.”

The delivery of: “It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!” “Dean, it’s not broken!” is one of those Supernatural bits that will live in my head until the end of time. All of Edlund’s episodes are among my favorites, but this (along with “5.04 - The End”) was on another level.

#2 - 5.16 - “Dark Side of the Moon”

Written by: Andrew Dabb & Daniel Loflin | Directed by: Jeff Wollnough

I think of this episode every time I hear Bob Dylan sing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” This is kinda a giant montage episode, but the connecting concepts are so...satisfying.

“Heaven is your favorite memories.” “ It’s called the axis mundi. It’s a path that runs through heaven. Different people see it as different things. For you, it’s two-lane asphalt.” “This is your idea of heaven? Wow, this was one of the worst nights of my life.” “I don’t think I realized how long you’ve been cleaning up Dad’s messes.” “It’s awesome to finally have an application—a practical application—for string theory.” “Everyone leaves you, Dean. You noticed?” “Why is God talking to me? Gardner-to-gardener, and between us, I think he gets lonely.” “You son of a bitch, I believed in... ” Whoosh.

#1 - 4.01 - “Lazarus Rising”

Written by: Eric Kripke | Directed by: Kim Manners

So...this is the episode where Castiel, angel of thee Lord, shows up. And that’s primarily why it earns the no. 1 spot, because 80% of my enjoyment of Supernatural from this point on was Cas-adjacent. Plus this entire episode just hits. ALL OF IT. Dean’s homecoming. Ruby, my darling. Bobby’s entire vibe. Pamela Barnes, easily one of the most interesting women Supernatural ever introduced. Cas being so hot to say “Hi” to Dean he forgets he wounds people.

But beyond that-- the way the show writes their ‘oh, by the way, angels’ narrative! If you haven’t seen this episode, would you believe me if I told you that THIS EPISODE, the episode where Supernatural said “canonically, Judeo-Christian Heaven is real, btw” involves no churches but does involve a séance, a soulmark handprint brand, and a himbo angel that “gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”...but they were all “no homo, guys” for years?

Truly no one was out here doing it like Supernatural even back in 2008.

Others--

15.18 - “Despair”

“Most Likely to Live Rent-Free in My Head for the Rest of my Life”

Written by: Robert Berens | Directed by: Richard Speight, Jr.

You know why this episode is here. It broke reality. I could be wrong-- but I’d put good money on this episode being the subject of academic theses in the future. That doesn’t automatically make for interesting story, but...

Has there ever been a case, in a mainstream US TV show where a major lead character (Cas) came out as queer so late in the game in a narratively-important way? I’m not aware of it, but I might just be behind on my television.

This episode has great writing, and (blessedly) amazing direction and blocking anyway. Check out the above gif - that is some next level foreshadowing going on in the cinematography, and this isn’t even the most remarked upon shot in this episode. (Seriously, I had to search for 40 minutes for this gif, please respect my game, lol.) Everyone who was involved in 15x18 is giddy talking about their investment, from the costume designer to the actors to the director to the writer...

...And then a bunch of them steadfastly have avoided posting much Supernatural-related since. So that’s...loud. There is a bunch of subtext in this episode that is screamingly loud; there is a bunch of text in this episode that makes several things clear fandom has been chattering over for years and years. The meta-commentary around this episode continues, months later. There are over 700 fics on AO3 with this episode tag.

I have more to say about the themes of ‘free will’ and ‘love’ and ‘identity’ tied to this episode, but seriously-- you’ve probably read 17 versions of it on Tumblr already, so.

This is the last time we see Cas, and the last time Supernatural can claim anything close to narrative consistency. For that alone, it’d earn free head-space.

Runners-up: “4.20 - The Rapture”; “5.04 - The End”; “7.21 - Reading is Fundamental”; “8.21 - The Great Escapist”; “9.06 - Heaven Can’t Wait”; “12.19 - The Future”; “14.08 - Byzantium”

6.17 - “My Heart Will Go On”/8.07 - “A Little Slice of Kevin”

“Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction”

Written by: Eric Charmelo & Nicole Snyder (6.17); Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia (6.17); Charlie Carner (8.07)

Usually the show kills off it’s “one-episode” female characters, but do you know one time it didn’t? When the Moirai (the Fates - specifically Atropos, the shearer of the Threads of Fate) showed up in canon in 6.17. She was posited to have “two older sisters that were bigger than her- in every sense of the word,” ...and Castiel had to back down when she challenged him to a cosmic game of chicken over the Winchester’s lives.

Then they never returned to that idea again.

“A Little Slice of Kevin” is on here for the opposite reason -- an amazing idea that was really underwritten in the episode it showed up in. Dean Winchester has been dragging himself across the fabric of universes; the literal Word of God is in play in a warehouse in Middle America; Cas is back from Purgatory, but what does that mean, micro and macro? As a person on the street, what would it mean, or feel like, to learn you were a Prophet of the Lord, uncalled? That what you are, everything you are, is a cosmic contingency?

Maybe Fate has an opinion on all these shenanigans?

Perhaps all that doesn’t make sense, but it certainly made an impression on ~2012 me. To this day, it remains the WIP I can open up and fool myself with the ‘twist.’ I wish I remembered where I was going with it so I could finish it.

Runners Up: “2.20 - What Is and What Should Never Be”; “5.04 - The End”; “6.15 - The French Mistake”; 12.12 - “Stuck in the Middle (with you)”; “13.05 - Advanced Thanatology” “14.03 - The Scar”; “14.10 - Nihilism”; “15.15 - Gimme Shelter” ... and “15.20 - Carry On” (obviously)

Fifteen seasons. There were plenty of other episodes I loved that didn’t make these limited lists. But overall -- thank you, Supernatural, for the run. Even if I’m upset at the ending, I can appreciate the game. If you watch the show, what were your favorite episodes?

#spn #supernatural #meta #review

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galahadwilder · 5 years

Note

so you left me a delightful (...if perhaps not delighted) comment on "lady in red", so I know you've read that fic. you wanna take my headcanon about Marinette's periods as expressed therein and call it a prompt? 😀?

I’m Your Heating Pad (And Other Uses for a Cat Boyfriend)

In case anyone is wondering, Alex’s ask is in response to this post. I’ve been binging your fics on repeat all weekend so I don’t know whether I picked up your plot stylings on purpose or by accident, but I did insert my fluffy flair.

Also, I think if we keep writing fics for each other like this, at some point it’s going to qualify as incest.

They don’t patrol every day. The schedule is irregular, in part to keep Hawkmoth off guard and in part because their lives are busy enough that keeping any kind of regular patrol schedule is an exercise in futility, so they tend to agree on a schedule for the week a week or two ahead of time. One or two days a week they’ll patrol together; one day each alone, maybe two if they can swing it. Or at least that’s the agreement.

The truth is that Chat Noir does far more than his fair share of patrols. He’s never told her—he doesn’t want her to worry about him—but nearly every day she’s not out, he is. His bedroom somehow manages to be claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time, and he has to get out, outside of the mansion, outside of the walls. Anywhere’s better. Some days he’d rather be in the catacombs, surrounded by the moldering dead, than home.

Tonight’s one of those evenings. Neither one of them is supposed to be out tonight, they agreed—both of them have tests coming up and neither of them has really had time to sleep properly in the past week. But Adrien’s ahead on this subject, he knows the formulas upside-down and backwards, and his room’s been closing in on him again and he needed to get out. He’s not running anywhere in particular, just away, but he stops short when he sees a familiar red figure on a nearby rooftop.

Ladybug spots him as soon as he sees her, and there’s a moment when they’re both frozen before Ladybug’s entire body slams into motion. She staggers to her feet, snatches a pink object the size of her torso and yeets it headlong over the roof, away from him, out of his view. She overbalances, staggers, slams against the wall, and collapsed onto her ass.

“Dammit,” she says, staring after whatever she threw as he drops onto the balcony next to her. “My math homework was in there.”

Chat jams his baton through the back of his belt, holding out a hand to help her up. “Do you… want me to go get it?”

She wraps her fingers around his palm, allowing him to yank her to her feet. “No—no, I’m, I’m good,” she says. “I’ll get it later.”

“Oh.” Chat nods. “Identity stuff.”

She grabs her shoulders, shivers. “Monogrammed backpack.” She tilts her head and her eyes narrow. “What are you even doing out here?” she says. “It’s not your turn for patrol.”

“Could say the same to you,” Chat says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall with a smirk. “It’s not yours either.”

“I know why I’m up here,” Ladybug says. She slides in next to him, wraps one arm around his waist. “I asked first—” She cuts off suddenly and moans. “Oh god,” she says, snuggling closer in. “You’re like—a gravity blanket crossed with a heating pad.”

Chat takes a second—after his head has finally cleared from the fire of her touch—to cross those two things in his mind. It could mean a lot of things, but it’s mid-June and she’s outside, so the reasons she’d want a heating pad—

“You’re on your period,” he hazards.

She groans. “Be thankful you don’t have cramps,” she says. “They are the worst.”

He flexes his fingertips so the claws are away from her back, then slowly begins to massage her lower back with his palms. She moans again, practically melting into him, and he has to take a moment to mentally slap himself to remind himself not to touch her inappropriately—he’s just doing this to help out.

“You’re a miracle worker,” she says. “Where’d you even learn to massage?”

“YouTube tutorials,” he replies, continuing to knead the heels of his palms against her. “I don’t get out much.”

She tenses, and he realizes he messed up. “Chat?” she says. “Is that…” She licks her lips. “Why are you out today?”

He sighs. “Stir-crazy,” he says. “I… I don’t really like being at home.” He charges on ahead before she can question that. “Why are you out? You should be at home, with a real gravity blanket and heating pad.”

Her mouth twists, and her eyes drift toward the ground. “Suit makes the cramps go away,” she mumbles.

He blinks. “Seriously?” he says. “Dang, that is awesome.”

“Rather not have them in the first place,” Ladybug snaps.

Chat’s jaw clamps shut as he realizes what he’s just said. “I… right,” he says. “Sorry.” He resumes massaging her, and the tension bleeds back out of her again as she presses back into his side. “So… you’re spending a little extra time as Ladybug, then.”

She nods into his armpit. “It’s the only relief I’ve had all day,” she says, her voice muffled by his chest. “Couldn’t do my homework in my room, though, in case my parents walked in, so…”

“So you were doing it up here,” Chat finishes, mentally smacking himself. “Until I interrupted you.” He owes her so many apologies…

She chuckles. “It’s all right, Chat,” she says, and it still amazes him that she always seems to know what he’s thinking. “Not like you knew.”

“Do you… want me to go?” he says, hoping beyond hope she’ll say no.

She pulls back, meets his eyes, tilts her head. “Actually…” she says. “How good are you at chemistry?”

“I like physics,” she says, trying to burn a hole in her paper with her eyes. “Physics makes sense. One thing moves, makes another thing move, easy peasy.” She holds up her paper, flaps it in his face. “So why can’t I balance one simple frickin’ reduction—”

“Electron,” Chat says, leaning over to point at the page, right in the middle of her current line of writing.

“I—what?” she says, holding the paper out and staring at it. Her head jerks into a grimace as she realizes that she missed exactly what he pointed at. “Oh, come on!”

Chat smiles. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says. “Took me five tries to get that one right.”

Ladybug grinds her teeth at the reminder—they have the same chemistry assignments, something they did not know before she asked him for help and now they’re getting close to identity-compromising territory, but the damage is done and it’s not like helping her with her chem will give him any further clues. She’d retrieved her backpack and hidden it behind a buttress, so that isn’t going to spoil anything, but they have to be very careful about which notebooks she allows him to see. Luckily she doesn’t usually put her names on them, which normally might be a problem in case they get stolen but right now is a godsend for them both.

“Look,” Chat says, “it’s fairly complicated stuff. I think… if you flip back a few pages…” He takes the notebook from the ground at her feet, then glances at her, waiting for permission. She nods. He slides his claws in between the sheets and flips back one page, two page, “…you’ll see that—”

Oh. Oh no.

Right there, in the margins of the notebook: her handwriting. Cursive, lovely looping ink. A name. Actually, several names, one right on top of the other.

Marinette Agreste

Marinette Dupain-Cheng Agreste

Marinette Agreste Dupain-Cheng

Adrien Dupain-Cheng?

Chat’s chest sticks mid-breath, his ribs catching in place. He’s—she—this is—Error. 404 brain not found, please check connection and try again.

“Chat?” she says, concerned at his sudden silence. “You okay?”

He can’t breathe. He’s staring down at her name—his name—their name, written carefully and lovingly and surrounded by little pink ink hearts, and he can’t breathe. His ears are burning—both sets—and his hands are starting to shake, the notebook making little flopping noises in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Ladybug says. Peers over at the notebook.

Her shriek fills his ears as she swats it out of his hands. Paper tears, scraps scattering, as she staggers to her feet, dashing away from him. She snatches her backpack from behind the buttress, and he has one second to look at it before she flings her yo-yo upward and vanishes.

It’s a very distinctive backpack; he can see now why she tried to hide it from him. He’s seen it before—a handmade bag, with a two black and pink lilies embroidered on the front, offset with the M of her name.

He snatches a scrap of paper out of the air, holds it up. Adrien Dupain-Cheng, it says. The i’s have hearts instead of dots.

He can almost hear her lovelorn sigh as she writes their names in looping cursive, and his chest grows warm. She… he never knew. He feels like an idiot. But right here, right now, he’s got all the proof he’s ever needed, and he knows he’s got a chance to make this right.

Adrien winces at Marinette’s grimace as she walks into class the next morning. He’s not sure what she’s having more trouble with: the cramps, or the fear of what he knows. As soon as she sees him, though, her face sparks, lights up—he feels his heart stutter. She’s been doing this every day, he realizes. How has he not noticed?

“Morning, Marinette!” he says before she can get a word in. “I, uh, brought you some things.”

Marinette blinks, flabbergasted, and Nino, Alya, and Chloé all look at him like he’s grown a second head. He hears the rest of the class shift in their seats, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on him—did everyone know but him?

There’s a plastic travel mug on his desk, and he lifts it and holds it up to Marinette. “Artisanal hot chocolate,” he says. “80 percent cocoa with a touch of cinnamon.”

She steps forward, confused, and as she wraps her fingers around the cup he leans forward. “It’s supposed to be good for cramps,” he whispers. “I’ve got a heating pad in my backpack if you need it.”

Marinette turns bright red, and for a second her throat seizes as if she’s swallowed her yo-yo. “I… thanks?” she squeaks, pressing the mug to her lips in an attempt to hide her face. It’s adorable, and Adrien can’t help but grin.

She steps around him, her eyes to the ground, and Nino turns to him. “When the heck did you have time to buy her hot chocolate?”

Adrien shrugs. “Got up early this morning so I could swing by the chocolatier,” he says. He hopes the implication is clear to Marinette—he did it specifically for her.

By the way Alya’s jostling her behind him—he can almost see the journalist’s excited grin—he expects it would be pretty hard to miss.

When class lets out for lunch, Adrien doesn’t need to do much more than signal Nino with a look to get him to distract Alya. Adrien twists in his seat, brushes off Chloé, outright ignores Lila, and flashes his best, award-winning smile at Marinette. “Hey, Mari,” he says. “Wanna grab lunch with me?”

Her eyes bug out—oh, that’s a good one, gotta remember it for later—as she does her best impression of a deer staring down an oncoming car. “Lunch?” she says, as if she’s entirely forgotten what the word means.

Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he says with a gentle grin. “With me.”

Marinette’s windpipe bulges and it looks like she’s about to swallow her tongue. “I—um, that—I, lunch, you want, I’d… that grounds sate!” Her eyelid twitches and her head retreats, briefly, like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. “Sounds!” she yelps finally. “Sounds great!”

He stands, holds out a hand, hoping his expression is inviting. She takes it, but he feels her shaking as her fingers wrap into his.

She alternates between babbling incoherently and awkward silences the whole way back to her kitchen. He tries to interject occasionally, to start a conversation on a more comfortable topic, but she’s so wired that he keeps getting met with silence and panicked staring.

“—so I’m not sure what you like,” she says, bustling around her parents’ kitchen doing what appears to be nothing in particular, “I wasn’t really prepared to have a guest so just let me know what you want and I’ll—”

He reaches out, grabs her hand. “Marinette,” he says, gently squeezing her palm. He hopes it’s reassuring. “You don’t need to try so hard to impress me.”

She freezes, stares at him. He thinks if she opens her eyes any wider they’ll pop straight out of her skull.

“I’m already very impressed,” he says. “Everyday Ladybug, remember?”

She giggles nervously, casting her eyes toward the ceiling. “Thanks,” she whispers. It’s clear from her voice that she doesn’t believe him, and he makes a mental note to kick himself later for not hearing the way she talks about herself when she’s not using words, for not doing everything he can to show her how incredible she is.

He smiles, raises her knuckles to his lips, and kisses her hand. He glances up through lidded eyes, watching her jaw go slack as she places the familiarity of the gesture. “I think,” he says, “I prefer Adrien Dupain-Cheng to Marinette Agreste.” And then he tops it off with a saucy wink, just so she knows exactly who she’s talking to. Her eyelid twitches again. “No,” she whispers.

His smile grows strained.

She yanks her hand out of his, stumbling backward into the cabinets, and smacks into them with a crash. She shrieks, collapses to the ground as he leaps forward to catch her, but she slips straight through his hands. And now he’s on top of her, enwrapped in her—her fall pulled him to the ground, his arms around her with her weight against them so neither of them can move. She’s kind-of-sort-of sitting against the cabinets, and she’s shaking, and it takes him a moment to realize the sound she’s making is a whimper.

“Mari?”

“Why?” she whispers, shuddering against his arms. “You—you can’t be.”

Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. This is… not how he expected things to go. He thought she liked him! The names, the hearts, the… well, everything… She’s shivering, and he realizes that he’s jumped too far ahead. Yes, I’m Chat Noir. Yes, I know you’re Ladybug. Yes, I know you like me. Yes, I like you back. Too much at once, and Marinette is starting to gasp—he doesn’t like the way her breath is sounding, like a balloon in reverse—

“Quick,” he says. “Pet me.”

Her head seems to convulse in surprise as she stares at him.

“Trust me,” he whispers, and mercifully, she does. Her hand in his hair feels divine, he can feel the shudder of pleasure run down his spine, and it’s barely a moment before the rumble starts in his chest, a rumble that for once he doesn’t even try to suppress.

“You’re… purring…” she says, her voice full of wonder. Her shaking slows, stabilizes, stops.

Adrien grins, still purring, and presses his lungs against her lower stomach.

“Oh my gosh,” she moans. “That—that feels…”

“Kitty rumbles versus period cramps,” Adrien suggests, and she snickers in response. He leans into her hand, and she takes the hint, gently rubbing his scalp with her fingers. He shivers again, squirming into her lap, wondering if he can actually handle this much pleasure all at once.

“So you’re my kitty then,” she says, confidence returning to her voice and her bearing, and Adrien nods his assent, too caught up in his purring to emit actual words from his throat. She snorts. “Figures.”

He rolls slightly to look up at her, his eyes questioning, but not enough to actually pull away from her hand. She keeps caressing his scalp, he keeps purring, she relaxes a little further.

“I’m—I’m—I’m sorry,” she says, looking away. “About—about the notebook. What you saw.”

“Mmmmmm.” He rolls again, sinking into her hand. “Why apologize?”

“Well, I, um, I—” she begins, and her hand stops. His eyes pop open, he mewls in displeasure and pushes his head against her palm, and she absentmindedly starts scratching again. “I know you—you don’t, don’t like that kind of attention,” she says.

He blinks, jerking his head to look at her, and his purr snaps to a halt. “What?” he says. “What do you mean?”

Her face colors as she looks away and shrugs. “I just…” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I mean, you… you hide it well as Chat, but as, as, as Adrien, you’re always so uncomfortable around anyone who expresses an interest in you, and I just…” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know I must look like just another crazy fan…”

“Mari,” Adrien says, reaching up and taking her hand. “I’m uncomfortable around other girls because I’ve been saving myself for you.”

The gentle rise and fall of her chest is suddenly gone. Marinette is staring at him, eyes wide, utterly petrified.

“Mari?” he breathes.

“Me?” she responds in a squeak. “You… you were—” She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head. “I thought you were kidding!”

“Not with you,” he says. “Never with you.”

She cups her shaking hands onto his cheeks. “I—Adrien,” she says. “Chat.” She smiles. “I’m Ladybug. Nice to meet you.”

“I know,” he says, and he pushes himself up to kiss her.

Her breath tastes like chocolate and cinnamon, like the cocoa he got for her this morning, and her lips are soft, and just that little bit of contact is sending a thrill through his entire body. And before he can stop himself he’s purring again, all the way across her lap, across her stomach.

Her lips pull away, and she groans in delight. “Ohhhh,” she whimpers. “That is… You’re… you’re like a vibrating heating pad…”

“Glad I could help,” he says, pressing his lips to her neck. “I hear cramps are the worst.”

“Mmmmmm,” she mumbles. “Don’t ever stop.”

“As the Lady wishes,” he responds, sinking into her lap, pressing against her stomach, and purring extra hard just for her.

#miraculous ladybug #dear sweet jesus this was a long one #fic #my fic #original content #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladybug #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #identity reveal #half reveal #one sided identity reveal #fanfic #fanfiction #periods #cramps

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olicitysecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess.

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow.

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List.

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze.

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm.

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her.

Huli jing.

His anonymous hacker ally.

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean.

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word.

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island.

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note.

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all.

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked.

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support.

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support.

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?”

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him.

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before.

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes.

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible.

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence.

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him.

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false.

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s.

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure.

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit.

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him.

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help.

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?”

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently.

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.”

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.”

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.”

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped.

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them.

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret.

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.”

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?”

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of…feel around.”

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him. He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb.

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing.

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response.

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was.

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not.

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes.

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that.

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected.

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists.

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife.

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced.

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought. She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation.

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious, strategic manner that he was unused to in other people.

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing.

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak.

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer.

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her.

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.”

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed.

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind.

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder.

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place.

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him.

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her. He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability.

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too.

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water.

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick.

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

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lils420 · 4 years

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A lil something for the kids - Part 8

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Bucky is waking up from the ice, and because T’Challa just lost his throne, y/n has to deal with this alone. No time has passed since Part 7.

https://lils420.tumblr.com/post/617266281984491520/a-lil-something-for-the-kids-part-7-pairing

Warning: Some medical stuff, brief mention of torture

It was the next morning things started to go wrong. Y/n had trained in the morning, nothing out of the ordinary, and was having a break in the training room. With unease she had noticed that Shuri had not come down to check on her, or to tell her how the fight went the day before, which was probably not a good sign. Through the windows, y/n could see Wakanda, but the city radiated nothing but her usual vitality. The sun was dipping the rooftops in a golden light, and y/n stood in front of the view for a long time, lost in her thoughts. What a crazy time she had had. Maybe it would be nice to settle down, like the families she could spot through the window. A static noise interrupted her thoughts. Y/n turned around in surprise. It didn’t sound like someone entering the room, so it wasn’t Shuri, like y/n had hoped, and it was gone so suddenly, she thought she had imagined it. But just as she turned back around, she heard it again. It came from the fridge the other refugee was in. Slowly, y/n put down her water bottle and made her way to it. There was nothing out of the ordinary there, it was still showing some vitals at the side. Heart rate 80, a steady pulse, that stuff. Y/n was not a medic, but it looked pretty normal. A voice in the back of her head asked whether there had been a medic down today to check these things, but she couldn’t remember seeing one. The static sound came back, this time a little louder. “Where is this coming from?”, y/n mumbled and crouched to have a look at the cables behind the machine. To her surprise, she found a paper, one of the ones the medic had held yesterday. She picked it up. James “Bucky” Barnes it said on the top. Bucky. Y/n smiled at the nickname. It made the terrifying Winter Soldier Shuri had told her about a lot more approachable. A lot of the other notes on the paper were written in a native language, except for a Warning/ Safety column at the very side. Emergency procedures it was entitled and contained three points. Don’t shoot; Disable by AR-572. Make contact; Mention names Steve Rogers or Bucky. Arm only to be reinstated after psychic evaluation. Upon reading it, the amused feeling at Bucky’s nickname left y/n and reminded her the capacity for harm the Winter Soldier carried with him. Y/n folded the paper and put it in her pocket before turning around.

The static noise was gone, but to be safe, y/n decided to check the vitals one last time. The pulse was still steady, but, much to her surprise, the heart rate was at 90. She wasn’t sure whether this was normal or not and before figuring it out, it climbed again. 100. 110. Frantically, y/n turned around, expecting a medic or Shuri to be there, but it was just her. Her and a man on ice. “This is fine”, y/n assured herself, but she could hear her own voice shaking, “totally fine.” She wasn’t fooling anyone. The fridge started beeping. His heart rate was unsteady now, and at an astonishing 140. Shortly, y/n asked herself how high a normal heart rate should go up to, before she saw movement in the box. At first she thought she imagined it, but it repeated itself. A small tremble in his right hand. Y/n quickly glanced at the heart rate. 175. If only she could remember herself waking up on ice. But that memory was indeed very sporadic. Was she supposed to open the fridge? The man inside started moving more, still only little, but definitely moving. It looked like he needed space and without giving it a second thought, she opened the door.

After that, y/n simply stood next to him. He was tilted to lie on his back and strapped in at both feet and wrists. Nervously, she dug her finger nails into her skin. “Good Morning, James Buchanan Barnes”, she said softly, “you might remember me. I’m the girl with all the problems. And right now, I’m having another one”, she sighed. His pulse had climbed to 210, “I don’t know what to do with you. Are you going to wake up?”

As if he had heard her, his eyes shot open and his entire body started contracting and releasing at an unhealthy speed. The straps constrained him, but he wound himself, as if they hurt him. Helplessly, y/n watched him suffer. Although his eyes were opened, they didn’t seem to register anything. Sometimes, he’d blink, giving the impression he was waking up from a bad dream. “Hey, hey, it’s okay”, y/n moved closer to the man, but her words only seemed to make it worse. He started screaming, first almost quietly, but as he regained more of his consciousness, they grew louder. Drowning out the beeping of the fridge, the screams were ear splitting, containing the pain of someone who had suffered past the point of return. Someone who had died a million different deaths and still didn’t find away to escape. Someone who had watched the sadness of the world, but unable to stop it, contributed to it. As a spy for the CIA, y/n had heard many screams, including her own, and they all had been terrible, but these ones were the worst. Agony seemed to flow through this man’s every fiber, and y/n had no idea how to stop it. Vaguely, she remembered the weapon she had read about just a minute earlier. Don’t shoot, it had said, use an AR-something. Y/n had no idea what that looked like, she couldn’t even remember the name, so, in lack of a wiser choice she turned to point two. Reaching out to him with both hands, she turned his face to her. He was unwilling, but y/n was strong. “Hey, it’s okay, hey”, her voice had little influence, not even the screaming stopped, but at least she had contact. He was now looking at her. “You are Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” For a split second, the man stopped screaming, y/n didn’t know whether to catch air or because he recognized the name, “You’re friends with Steve Rogers. Friends. Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.” Cursing herself for not being able to give him more information, she repeated those words over and over. For some reason, they seemed to work. The screaming stopped after a while, but y/n was still scared to let go of his face. “Bucky and Steve”, her voice seemed like a chant to herself, like a lullaby, “You’re friends.”

Y/n wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she had dared to break eye contact and check Bucky’s vitals, at 120 they still seemed a little high for a resting pulse, and it took her even longer to stop chanting. After what seemed like eternity, Bucky had fallen asleep. Her voice and arms were sore and she had a drink before deciding what to do with the man. It was clear that no medic would come down today, after all they should have been triggered by the alarm, and because her own experience is all she could use, she decided to melt the ice around Bucky. After all, that was how she had escaped it. Luckily, the training here had been highly beneficial, so it didn’t take her longer than ten minutes to melt the ice and transport Bucky to her bedroom. Her power she had found out recently, also allowed her to transport things. If she didn’t want it to, it didn’t burn anything, but as it still would move at her command, she had used to carry small things, such as bottles and weapons. A full grown man was obviously a lot harder, but she managed it with ease. Upon setting Bucky down in her bed, she broke down beside him, sitting on the floor, her head leaning against the nightstand. Like that, she fell asleep.

It was Bucky’s movement that woke her. Restlessly, he shifted in the bed, grunting and breathing heavily. With a dart, y/n scrambled to her feet, making it next to him just in time for him to open his eyes. They were a gorgeous blue, but y/n quickly realized that they were also hazy, as if Bucky himself was far away.

“Bucky?”, she asked softly, “Can you hear me?”

Bucky’s head darted to look at her. Now he looked startled and scared, his long brown hair falling into his eyes. His voice sounded raspy when he spoke. “Who are you?”

“I’m y/n. I’m Steve Roger’s friend”, y/n cringed at her own lie, but she wanted Bucky to feel safe. And she knew Steve, so that should count for something. “You can trust me.”

Although his gaze shortly softened at the mention of his friend, Bucky’s body was still tense. To her surprise, y/n realized he was missing an arm. Crazy, she thought, you’d think I’d notice these things before I notice an eye colour. Bucky spoke again. “Where am I?”

“Wakanda.”

There was a slow exhale. “Of course”, he whispered. Y/n took this as a sign he was remembering things. “How long have I been...”, Bucky seemed to search for words. “Gone?”, y/n finished his sentence, “I’m not sure. I just arrived a few weeks back.”

Slowly nodding, Bucky fumbled the edge of his blanket. For the muscular man he was, he seemed small and lost. Attentively, y/n reached her hand out to stroke his arm. Either he didn’t mind or notice, for he kept staring at his blanket. “It’s alright”, y/n said softly. They sat there for a while, before y/n cleared her voice and stood up. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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2020 in Words

After the total exhaustion and lack of motivation of the last few months, I have finally found the strength to review 2020. In terms of writing, that is. Otherwise, we ain’t touching that with a 100-foot pole. But anyway, let’s get to the actual good part of 2020 - the writing.

Word Count:

678, 105 words

And that isn’t actually all. I have started various things that 2021 caught still in progress so there are more words to be added to that number but I’ll count them towards whatever time frame I finish them in (I do not even dare assume that all of them will be finished this year).

A little over 1/7th of that word count was accomplished only in March when I wrote over 100k words. Wow, productivity where did you go? I know that the world is going to hell but do you mind coming back? I can use you. I have so many new ideas that I am really excited about but totally lack the energy to actually get to. Hope that will change in the next weeks because there is A Lot going on in my head that I am actually dying to share.

Fandoms:

Winx Club has totally taken over for me. I have barely written five works this year that are not about that show and I just don’t know what is happening anymore. I have so many thoughts and things to discuss and fix about it and I have a feeling that some upcoming events will only reinforce that position. But what truly matters is that it has truly made 2020 more bearable to be in the fandom and write fic. The interactions with other fans have been lovely which is totally worth the brain damage that some experiences over this show have inflicted.

Once Upon a Time lurked until about the half of the year but I can’t say that I have been actively interested in it. I just rewatched 4A for the Frozen Swan interactions and 4B for Cruella De Vil and that was pretty much all of it this year. I think it’s safe to say that at this point I have more or less moved on from the show and I do not expect a miraculous comeback to it. Which leaves my rewatch dangling over the chasm of uncertainty but I have projects I am far more interested in rn to be thinking about that.

I actually joined the Lucifer fandom this year, though I cannot say that I am active in it at all. It was nice to challenge myself with the small contribution I made to the fanworks in the fandom so I am putting it here because I am not done with watching the show even though I don’t think I have a good enough grasp on any of the characters in order to actually write them.

Ships:

Well, 2020 definitely delivered on that front. I have found myself piles of new ships to ship the hell out. Some I am more grateful about, others leave me slightly bitter over not knowing what to do with them but it certainly hasn’t been boring. Because this is my wrap-up and contemplation, I get to list them and maybe say a couple of words about some of them.

Griffin x Valtor - Not new but it was definitely the biggest part of that year.

Griffin x Valtor x Faragonda - New in the sense of me having written a fic about this now... and having several more ideas on my drives so... beware, future!

Griffin x Faragonda - Also not new but when the feelings catch up with me, they really mean it. Two major bursts of inspiration about them have left me with interesting results and I am looking forward to finding out where this goes.

Marion x Oritel - That was new. It was the first new ship of the year. I have more ideas about them but the muse has not visited lately. I am not giving up, though. Sometimes you gotta sail the ship even when there’s no wind.

Flora x Icy - That was definitely a surprise. I don’t know what happened but I do know that a goddamn look at Pinterest has brought on an entire epic about them (and the other Trix and Winx) so... thanks for that, Pinterest. I wish you could pin free time on Pinterest and go consume it later so that I would actually have the time to work on all of this.

Layla x Stella - Oh, yeah, baby! I have feelings and I really want to do at least an outline of what would be too long to actually write as a fic, especially since I have A Lot on my plate rn.

Griffin x Griselda - Well, that... happened. I have no idea where any of this is going, only that it is a major part of Griffin’s arc in my most major series so... I guess it’s headed somewhere. Just have to stay along for the ride.

Zarathustra x Griselda - So totally trashcankitty12′s fault... But I guess I am the one responsible for actually including it in already ongoing stories.

Ediltrude x DuFour - Okay, that one I totally roped myself into. Do I regret it? ... Maybe a little because it may need to remain just background thanks to everything else that I have going on.

Griffin x Marion - Almost forgot that which is a damn shame because it is one of my absolute most favorite ships.

Griffin x Valtor x Marion - Not gonna lie, this has been sneaking into some stray ideas too repetitively to be an accident. Will it ever exist outside of my head, though?

Samara x Erendor - I just wanted to make them more likable to me because they were my least favorite characters on the show. Worked too well and now I am in fic hell.

Bloom x Sky - I got ONE idea, okay? Too bad that I love it too much for my own good, especially considering that it is sort of a rewrite of the series. Like I didn’t have enough of those already.

There are more, actually, but we will be here all day if I have to list every stray idea that I have entertained so let’s just move on.

Stories:

Winx Club - 80 (4 unfinished and 3 that I have been dragging with me since 2019 for a total of 7/111 incomplete.)

OUAT - 3 (all finished but I have two collections that are still open from 2019 and 2018 respectively)

Lucifer - 1 (it was a one-shot but I am glad that I managed to write it at all)

Original works - 1 (poem that I came up with at 4am)

That makes a total of 85 written works this year which is honestly astounding! My brain has been harping on me about not being productive since June but I have actually gotten quite a lot of work done! (Fun fact - my total for 2019 was 58 stories, and for 2020 it is 85 XD. We’re gonna need some new numbers in 2021.)

First fic of the year - Gold and Purple (Griffin x Valtor AU inspired by a Bulgarian folk tale)

Last fic of the year - New Warmth to Weave in Your Garden of Shine (Samara x Erendor + New Year traditions and worldbuilding on Eraklyon)

Favorite writing moment - that has got to be coming up with a wild idea for my season rewrite that I will not be spoiling now. It was also inspired by Bulgarian folklore and I am so excited to reveal it (because it is so fucking grand) but we will all have to be patient.\

Wildest writing experience - definitely the entirety of chapter 4 from A Home You Never Knew How to Have. Man, that was... a goddamn ride. In every sense of the word. I still haven’t reread that bitch after posting it even though I have opened it probably a hundred times.

I launched several series this year that will need a lot of work to be brought to completion. Naturally, my focus is not on finishing those but on starting new things. Because of course it is. So here’s a heads-up for another post that will be coming shortly with announcements of my ideas. I would like to call it a plan for 2021 but I fear that will be too presumptuous of me so I will say that it is my hope that those are things that are to be released this year but I will only lapel them as projects that I am looking forward to rather than “upcoming”.

Other Works:

This year actually bore a couple other forms of art so I am going to list my creations in other mediums below because they deserve the attention.

Aesthetics:

Icy

Darcy

Stormy

Marion

Ediltrude & Zarathustra

Siren AU:

Griffin

Ediltrude

Zarathustra

Icy

Darcy

Stormy

Magic-Swapped Transformations:

Griffin Winx

Ediltrude Winx

Zarathustra Winx

Griffin Chamrix

Ediltrude Chamrix

Zarathustra Chamrix

Griffin Enchantix

Ediltrude Enchantix

Zarathustra Enchantix

Videos:

Griffin/Valtor - The Devil I Know

Winx - Trouble

Marion x Oritel/Griffin x Valtor/Faragonda x Hagen - Savage

Bloom/Mitzi - Wicked

Samara - You Should See Me in a Crown

Bloom/Sky - Kerosene

Winx Rewatch:

I actually rewatched all 8 seasons of the show + the 3 movies and I have written out my thoughts on all of them. You can find them here:

Winx Club Season 1 4kids (Stream of Consciousness) (I am actually considering redoing this one because it wasn’t in-depth like the others are)

Winx Club Season 2 4kids Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 2 4kids Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 3 4kids Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 3 4kids Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club: The Secret of the Lost Kingdom (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 4 Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 4 Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club: Magical Adventure (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 5 Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 5 Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club: Mystery of the Abyss (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 6 Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 6 Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 7 Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 7 Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 8 Part 1 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Season 8 Part 2 (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Special 1: Destiny of Bloom (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Special 2: Revenge of the Trix (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Special 3: The Battle for Magix (Stream of Consciousness)

Winx Club Special 4: The Shadow Phoenix (Stream of Consciousness)

I will not be writing any takeaways because I already talked about some of those in an ask and my brain is too fired at the moment to pull off some actual analysis and compose a proper conclusion. To be perfectly honest, I prefer not to think too much on 2020. It brought a lot of good things along with the bad but I still prefer not to look back on it if it isn’t necessary. I think it received enough of my energy already.

#my writing #my fanfiction #my fanfic #about me #personal #2020 #in retrospect #2020 in words #winx club #winx club rewatch #winx rewatch #links #long post #aesthetics #videos #visuals #reviews #thoughts

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authoressskr · 5 years

Text

Write Into My Arms [3]

Characters: f!Reader, James “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Hope Van Dyne, Natasha Romanoff, Scott Lang, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Okoye, T’Challa, Shuri, Clint Barton, Happy Hogan, Dr. Strange, Wong, Bruce Banner, Thor, Amelina Rodrigez (OFC), Carol Danvers, Rocket Raccoon, Groot, Peter Quill, Gamora, Nebula, Mantis and Drax.

Warnings: Language, Angst (mostly in last two chapters), Action (in last chapter) and no Beta (just me and Grammerly up in here)

Word Count: 11,278 :: Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

This was written for @jewelofwinter’s Writing Challenge!! I also incorporated a prompt for @jaamesbbarnes + @sgtjbuccky’s D&S’ Milestone Celebration!!

Prompt: “Tin Man lost Y/N.” (@jewelofwinter’s prompt) + “Publicly, I agree. Personally, I think it’s chickenshit.” (D&S’ prompt) Bolded in text below. Prompt #1 will appear in the third part while Prompt #2 appears in the second part. The next parts will be posted by the end of this week. All will be linked.

Summary: You’re a small time blog writer who is invited to interview the Avengers. ALL the Avengers.

*Note: Endgame happened - kind of. Steve didn’t go back to the 40s. Tony didn’t die. Natasha got brought back with the Bruce Snap. Bruce is not the Hulk mashup they had going on. Everything else happened. This takes place 3 years after defeating Thanos.*

[PART 2]

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Waking up later that afternoon to Bucky gently shaking your shoulder is...nice.

You open your mouth to apologize for your breakdown earlier but he just gives you a soft shake of his head, sporting a shy smile before yawning.

“Lunchtime,” He rumbles out and it’s a whole lot sexier than it should be. “But eat some of the fruit first and take a couple of aspirin.” His second yawn makes you yawn, but you manage to nod, slipping from under the covers and stretching a little before seeing the banana on the side table. You manage a few small bites before reaching greedily for one of the bottles of water, downing a third of the bottle before reaching for the aspirin. You shake out two pills and toss them back before offering the other water to Bucky who is slipping off the bed to get his boots. He shakes his head ‘no’ before pulling on his right boot. You set it back and finish your water, surprised at the ease of this whole thing between you two now and at Bucky appearing before you, taking the banana from your hand and polishing it off before flashing you a round-cheeked smile.

“Let’s go, chipmunk,” You mutter with a smile before slipping into a pair of flats and heading through the door, the handsome sergeant following behind you with his own smile flirting on his lips, this whole thing making the tired wheels in your mind spin.

Bucky couldn’t like you like you, could he?

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Lunch is served later than usual and you thank Tony quietly when you enter for it. He just gives you a genuine smile before reaching out to squeeze your wrist affectionately.

Your seat is in between Natasha and Hope for this meal, a beautiful salad set before you before it’s swiftly pulled away by Bucky, leaning over the giant ass table. He pushes his plate in front of you while you watch quizzically. He looks at the salad with a tiny hint of disdain before handing it to Steve and heading back to the buffet table.

Looking down at the plate, it’s loaded with food. Fried potatoes, antipasto salad, some cottage cheese, three slices of ham, and a little white frosted cupcake.

“Need something solid,” He remarks as he sits down with his new plate. You nearly start crying again - there is no reason for all of them to be so nice to you. Especially Bucky. “Eat,” Bucky orders around a mouthful of chicken, Sam shaking his head - at what exactly, you aren’t sure.

But they must all be in on it since most of the Avengers are giving you smiles like they know something you don’t but right now, you are simply too tired to care.

“Our space division will be here tomorrow, probably just before dinner,” Tony states loudly, disturbing the soft conversation you were having with Hope about adding the ability to “talk” to ants to her Wasp suit or if she could dare to control wasps since it’s her moniker. You meet his eyes and nod your understanding. “We’ll let you rest up the day after they arrive - they can show you around the ship and take pictures, but I want you to rest as much as possible.”

“I’m not doing anything difficult,” You reason, setting your fork down with a frown.

“But you’re still pushing yourself a little too hard, kid.” Unable to argue, you just tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and pick up your fork to continue eating. “I don’t want you run ragged, okay? Just rest up tomorrow and take it easy the day after and then you can go right back at it.”

“Fine. But I’m only agreeing to this because I don’t think I can win an argument right now.”

“Good.”

“And I’m still going to interview Happy after lunch.”

“Fine,” Is uttered through clenched teeth with a forced smile as Pepper reached over to pat his hand, while Peter grins from beside Pepper.

“It sounds like you’ve been adopted or are close!”

“Adopted?”

“Yeah! Mr. Stark shows his affection in not the usual way. He’s kind of compliments you, then tells you what you can do better. Then he starts to orders you to rest and to stay safe and will keep tabs to make sure you do.” He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while Scott and Wanda both give little shakes of their heads.

“Um, thank you?” You look at Tony who just looks away before shoving some antipasto in his mouth.

“Maybe we just let her and Bucky nap some more?” Shuri sing-songs oh so innocently from the other end of the table by Clint and Vision.

When you look across at Bucky, his cheeks that cute pink you remember for your interview. You feel the heat creep up your neck at this as well, all though your eyes shift from Bucky back to Shuri.

“Well, not everyone can have my good taste. Thank you for lunch, Tony. Pepper. And thank you for the care, Sergeant.” And it takes all the confidence you can muster, but you slide from your seat with grace, taking your cupcake with you, and walk from the room with your head held as high as you could manage while nerves ate at your insides.

I just let that damn teenager rile me up...

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Tracking down Happy is a little more difficult, but by now you aren’t ashamed to ask FRIDAY to help locate people. It’s a big compound.

Happy’s in the garage after an errand run to Avengers Tower and he’s more than a little shocked that he’s included - which in turn makes you a little sad since he’s been with Tony longer than Pepper has.

He tells you of his life before Tony, after Tony, his boxing background and helping Peter navigate superhero duties now that he’s not just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“Kid thought AC/DC was Led Zeppelin…” He shakes his head with obvious fondness. “Tony bought him all of AC/DC’s stuff and told him he was gonna quiz him after that.”

“It’s a terribly dad thing to do.”

“After Tony assigned me to look after him, the kid called constantly. ‘A lady bought me a churro.’ ‘When do I get to help Iron Man again?’ But I know Tony picked him for a reason. Tony second-guesses nearly everything he does, but not that kid. Under-roos was a good choice.”

“Un-un-under-roos?” You cackle happily, bending over a little as you laugh and nearly jostling the recorder off your knee as you do so.

“The kid seems to like you.”

“To be fair, Peter seems to like everyone. He’s a very sweet young man.”

“They all do, honey. You’ve brought a lot of normalcy to them in a very short period of time. They won’t say it, but they get attached quicker than they like to admit. And they all like you.”

“There are a lot more interesti-”

“Not to them. They like the normal. They like the wit. They like your enthusiasm...that you can connect with all of them. They’ve been to space. Time traveled. Met a talking raccoon and tree. Trust me, they got interesting.”

“Are you implying I’m not interesting?” Happy looks flustered for a moment, backtracking like his life depends on it while you can’t hold your serious face anymore and burst out laughing. “I’m just screwing with you. I know what you meant, Happy.”

Happy is lightheartedly funny, teasing you more after that, and you make the notation that he’s obviously a very good influence on Tony and Peter. He also tells you he helped Rhodey change the signs from Stark Industries to Stank Industries, which still makes him smile every time he drives into the compound.

You take a break after that, twenty interviews in five days a lot to go over - and in your case, go over and over and then once more, just in case.

Spending the rest of the afternoon and early evening shut in your room as you type and listen, type and go over your notes, type and re-type. This has to be perfect. If you never write another story again, this has to be perfect.

For them. For all they’ve done.

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If she’s not interviewing, she’s writing.

And if she’s not writing, she’s taking photographs - the grounds, the woods, them.

When she’s not interviewing or taking photographs, she’s singing.

It’s soft, always under her breath when around them, like after lunch today when she came to grab some lemonade from the fridge. Sam told him it was an 80s song called ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’. He mentally added that to the list he’d already compiled in the last five days from listening to her.

It’s a little spaced out, with whole verses skipped when she’s seated on one of the patios, furiously typing and rereading - typing and rereading.

It’s in her normal speaking volume when it’s early morning and she’s seated in front of the windows in her room, scribbling in her notebook or listening to her boss complain on speakerphone about deadlines, hiring decisions, or suggestions on things he knows already that she’s going to ignore.

He hears her softly singing as he heads towards the living room, silence breaking it up every so often, so he knows she’s typing. Part of him wants to go in and talk to her, but he knows he shouldn’t. She’s working and he needs to let her do that. It doesn’t stop the need burning in his chest but he just shoves it down as much as he can, knowing that he’ll see her later.

“You know, that means she likes you too Tin-Man.” Tony’s smirked-riddled words from lunch keep tumbling around in his head. Over and over and over again.

He grabs an empty bowl and some Lucky Charms from the cabinet, filling the bowl to the brim before pouring the milk and settling in at the bar top to eat his cereal. Peter is a few stools down, shoving a brownie into his mouth as Tony and Sam come in, Tony calling out a gruff “Hello freeloaders” to T’Challa, Shuri, Steve, Vision, Wanda, and Natasha who are all seated in the living room, watching Animal Planet. Shuri, Wanda, and Natasha all give him smirks while T’Challa grabs hold of Shuri’s hands, keeping them firmly on her lap while chuckling.

“Whatcha doin’, kid?” Tony asks Peter, stealing a brownie from the giant serving platter in front of the teenager as Peter looks at his phone with a smile.

“Sending some memes to Y/N. To cheer her up.” Bucky nearly drops his spoon into the cereal in disbelief.

“How’d you get her number?” Tony asks, his gaze sliding from Peter to Bucky, a big smile stretching his lips. Asshole.

“I asked,” Peter answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the history of things.

“Well, I’ll be damned. First DUM-E and now the spiderling…” Sam’s voice filled with the joy this revelation begins as Bucky’s voice overlaps his with an edge of shock.

“We can just ask?” Peter looks at Bucky like he’s confused for a second before his phone dings, Shuri appearing and looking over Peter’s shoulder at his phone.

“That’s a good one,” Peter tells her over his shoulder as Shuri laughs.

“That is a good one!”

“Y/N has a wonderful sense of humor,” Vision agrees from across the room, Wanda nodding in agreement.

“She has retained all of her phrases I’ve taught her so far. And sometimes rearranged them to make them humorous. You should just ask her out already, Bucky.” He feels the heat creep up his neck. He saves himself from answering Wanda by shoving a big spoonful of cereal in his mouth but glares at Sam and Tony who are still staring at him with big smiles. Dicks.

“She seems to like you too, Mr. Bucky.” Peter pipes up helpfully.

“Yes, you two looked very cute earlier,” Shuri adds with a wink.

“And the Guardians are supposed to be here tomorrow night, so you need to get in as much flirting time as possible, Mr. Bucky. Thor is coming. And he’s handsome.” When Bucky just stares, Peter clears his throat. “Everyone says so.”

“Everyone,” Natasha agrees as she gets up to refill her coffee cup.

“If Thor doesn’t try to steal her attention then Peter Quill will,” Tony adds loudly, his back to everyone while digging through the junk food cupboard.

“Star-Lord?” Stephen snorts from his spot on the loveseat in the corner. “I hope she’s a lot smarter than that.”

“Nebula said he wore Gamora down…” Tony argues, eyebrows raised as he shoves an oreo in his mouth.

“Well, we aren’t in space and he is in no way the pick of the litter here on Earth. Regardless of what he thinks.” Stephen comes over to steal a cookie from Tony.

Y/N comes down the hall with Wong, talking animatedly, making Bucky throw his spoon at Tony, who drops his oreo.

“What the fuck, Tin-Man?” Tony hisses as he looks forlornly at his oreo before bending to pick it up.

“Hi everyone! Wong told me we’ll be having dinner in the mess hall tonight. Does that mean the Guardians will be here sooner than planned?”

“No, still due tomorrow, but Nebula said it might be around lunchtime when they arrive. Tony, Pepper, and Natasha just want to work out schematics,” Steve pipes up from the couch, shooting you a bright Captain America smile.

“I was thinking,” You begin nervously. “I’m sort of glad Tony is forcing me to take a break. It gives me time to finish up my notes on you all but also gives them some time to recharge and ask you guys about me.”

“I’m glad you’re gonna rest some, imposed or not. Plan sounds perfect to me,” Pepper answers with a bright smile, taking the oreo package from Tony and closing it as he frowns slightly at his cookie loss. Then Bucky sees Peter slip him a brownie. Tony shoots you a wink as he accepts it.

“Good!” You perk up at the acceptance before you and Wong continue to what Bucky assumes is the library.

Scott and Hope walk in with Okoye and Clint, Scott looking excited.

“Thor’s gonna be here soon!” He rubs his hands together as Peter, Shuri and Sam laugh.

“What did I say?” Scott wonders aloud, looking at Natasha as she pats his shoulder once as she returns to her seat on the couch.

“They’re obviously trying to get the White Wolf to make a move before Thor comes. He may have gained some weight, but he’s still very handsome. Funny. Powerful. Pleasing to the eye and ear.” Okoye comments as Scott and Peter nod along eagerly.

Bucky drops his empty bowl into the sink and sulks off to his room.

Would you really like Thor better?

Of course, you would. Thor wasn’t a former brainwashed assassin who still have difficulties remembering his past as a normal person should. He probably doesn’t sit up nights after rough missions and hate that he can still feel the person he used to be. He can offer you charm and laughter and he was fucking royalty. Space royalty!

Bucky was a man out of time with more blood on his hands than any man should, he was a man who couldn’t offer you a lot...all he had to give was his damaged self.

He was just a semi-stable soldier who liked watching your beautiful eyes light up as you get excited about the smallest things and who liked to follow you around to hear you sing - how could he compete when he was possibly up against an actual god?

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It’s after midnight, so it’s mostly cleared out, with the few who are still awake settled on the patio with a few bottles scattered across the glass tabletop, soft words and the soft clink of glass on glass is all you hear from the partially opened patio door as you slip into the kitchen.

You open the junk food cabinet to find the tin of cookies Bucky had gifted you with two days ago is still there (how you don’t know, but you’re thankful) and still half-full of the little sugar cookies identical to the ones you had the other afternoon. He’s so thoughtful, you muse.

You’re almost back to your room with your tin of goodies when it happens.

A loud boom echoes far too close for comfort, making you jump while you clutch the tin to your chest, fighting back a scream. Then you hear the sound of gunshots, your heart rate already rising.

There is nowhere safer to be. There is nowhere safer to be. There is nowhere safer to be! You repeat the mantra in your head as you automatically head towards Bucky’s room at a run.

He’s not here. Panic blooms in your chest as you throw open his bedroom door and find it barren. No. No. No! He’d gone to his room when you had after dinner...where could he be?! You close his door and rush back down the hall towards the kitchen. Kitchens have knives, you reason to yourself. Killers don’t look that often in kitchens, right? Velociraptors, yes. Bad guys, hopefully not so much.

The lights go out as red alarm lights begin flashing overhead, spurring your feet to move faster.

That’s when suddenly you crash into a hard body.

You’re praying it’s Bucky or Steve.

It isn’t.

The man in black tactical gear grabs your arm, forcing you to face the wall before shoving you into it harsh enough to make the precious cookie tin slip from your grasp. You gasp loudly at the pain shooting through your cheek he’d smashed into the wall and at the angle he’s still got your arm in. Your back is to his chest, so you do as Gracie Lou Freebush taught you and SING!

You bring most of your weight onto your right heel, shoving in at the tip of his boot before snapping your head back hard against his face. He yelps out a few expletives while you thank whoever that this dude was just a little taller than you and not Steve or Bucky’s size. You spin around now that you’re free of his grasp and bring your knee up as quick and hard as you can into his groin, hoping that the tactical gear isn’t that thick there, before flattening your palm like Natasha showed you and thrusting it up and into his nose. You fist that same hand and jab at the uncovered skin you can see by his Adam's apple. He doubles over and while you know it’s stupid and cliche, you grab your cookie tin and continue past the gasping man faster towards the kitchen.

When you run into a second body, you decide you’ll try out the whole tossing your foe over your shoulder thing, but then you feel the cool metal against your wrist before Bucky pulls you against his chest roughly. He releases your wrist, metal hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you tighter against his chest.

“Scared the shit out of me, doll.” He breathes against your hair as you cling to him. Safe. He pulls back to look at you and he frowns, eyes running frantically all over you. “Are you hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Where’d this blood come from?”

“I think I broke a guys nose,” Your voice is unsure but Bucky looks proud.

“Good. Good, babydoll. Okay, we gotta get you to the safe room now.” You nod shakily as you pull away, your hand slipping into his easily before your eyes widen. Bucky drops your hand and pushes you behind him, looking at the six men now standing in the hallway, blocking your way to the kitchen and wherever the fuck the safe room is. Bucky looks around before tapping the comm in his ear. “Hall blocked. I’ve got Y/N. Sending her outside to safety.”

Sending you OUTSIDE to safety?! What sense does that make, Bucky!?

“Run for where you saw the 3 bucks,” Bucky orders sternly before grabbing you, throwing open a little hatch in the wall and tossing you through the tight metal shaft.

You scream most of the way down until you land on mostly soft things. You shove your hand down to steady yourself on the - fuck, he threw you down the garbage shute! Climbing through the giant dumpster trough is a feat in itself, only to reach the sides and find them sticky with residue that nearly makes you faceplant back into the dumpster. You manage to wrangle yourself out and shimmy down the side, with only minor scrapes and cuts your sides and hands, trying not to gag at the scent that now clings to you. At least you’re safe...Well, safer. You still need to get to the clearing.

You aren’t sure how many are outside, so you press yourself against the dumpster as close as you can and ease your way around it until you can almost see the corner that will lead you to the patio and the edge of the woods.

But that’s when a man holding what looks like an electrified baton, steps out of the shadows just feet in front of you, teeth gleaming menacingly in the moonlight.

“Well, fuck,” you huff out angrily before searching the ground around you for a weapon.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

“Where’s Y/N? Anyone have eyes on Y/N?” Steve yells through the comms before soft grunts echo through.

“Tin-Man lost Y/N.” Tony’s voice comes in before there is a crackle of lightning right beside Bucky as he exits the house in a mad dash for the clearing.

“Fuck you, Stark. I didn’t lose her, I simply misplaced her. House is clear. Eyes? Anyone?!” He’s sure he’s panting because his chest is so tight with worry. Fuck, he did lose her. There is no answer, which means no one has seen her. Sweet Jesus, please don’t let anything have happened to her...

“All clear on the east side,” Clint’s voice confirms, not easing the worry bubbling inside Bucky.

“All clear on the north side,” Natasha huffs out. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

The clearing is empty, no sounds coming from the forest. NO! Bucky spins on his heel and heads back for the compound.

“The west side is clear,” T’Challa’s voice comes over. “No sign of Y/N, Bucky.”

“Southside is clear. Except for the debris and unconscious dudes,” Scott affirms before adding softly. “No Y/N here either.”

“Alright - everyone spread out and find her. Queens and Bruce can stay out here while Thor, Strange, Wong and Vision all start to round up these morons. Buck, where do we start?”

“I tossed her out the chute by the kitchen and I just checked the clearing and she’s not here.”

“I’m sorry, you what?” Wanda asks, disbelief clear even through the comms.

“He tossed the girl he’s been mooning over for a week down the damn kitchen garbage chute!” Sam chortles while Bucky fights the need to punch something. Anything. Preferably Sam.

Okoye, Shuri, and Natasha all are headed towards where she was last seen when Okoye stops.

“Do you hear that?” The others stop, straining their ears. They hear a few soft grunts followed by a soft “Help” so breathy if they hadn’t stopped they might not have heard it.

Hope and Steve are coming from the opposite direction, all of them looking around before the shouts grow louder.

“Help! Please!” A pause. A cough. “HELP!” Bucky comes huffing up behind Steve, searching you out.

“Doll?!”

Hope is the one who peers down into the open incinerator hole, “Got her!” she yells before Steve jumps down to help you out.

When Hope and Okoye pull you up, you’re beyond relieved but you only manage to get one semi-clear breath in before hands are cupping your face, making you look into relief-filled storm blue eyes.

“Are you alright? Is anything broken? Are you hurt? Doll, answer me.”

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” You answer before feeling the rage you’d felt earlier returning. “You threw me down the garbage chute.”

Bucky tenses at your angry tone. “It was the safest option at the time, sweetheart.” Tony and the rest of the Avengers and Thor come around the corner about this time, your eyes never leaving Bucky’s as you get angrier and angrier.

“You. Threw. Me. Down. The. Garbage. Chute.” You shove his hands from your face. “And safe?!” You wave the baton you’d taken from black tactical uniformed asshole #8. “That asshole,” pointing the baton down towards the hole you’d both tumbled down, with you luckily landing on him to break your fall. “Was waiting out here ready to electrocute my ass into either compliance or peeing on myself, but yeah, I’m sure sticking with a fucking former sniper and super soldier was a bad plan.” Bucky is grinning with relief, he can practically feel it coursing through his veins like a drug. Now, his mind supplies with glee. And Bucky heeds the call, reclaiming the little space you’d put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face before his lips gently meet yours. He can hear you inhale sharply, moving his lips gently against yours.

And for a few moments, you surrender. It just feels so nice. You don’t want it to stop. But the anger reminds you that you could have died from the fall while your brain reminds you that you didn’t. And his lips feel so damn good.

You pull away, taking a deep breath as Bucky looks at you with hope dancing in those blue eyes.

“I need a shower,” You snap, withdrawing further from Bucky and marching back towards the compound’s closest patio. They can all hear you talking to yourself as you leave. “Maybe update beyond a plain chain-link fence? Who the fuck attacks the fucking Avengers compound, huh? Maybe put a stupid cover over the giant ash and fire pit in the ground! Stupid asshole, he’s lucky he broke my fall. What is in my hair?! Can’t believe he kissed me...fucking cookies...”

Pepper and Wanda follow after her while Natasha shakes her head at Bucky.

“A garbage chute, Barnes? And then she fell into the incinerator pit?”

“I didn’t plan it that way! I figured she’d get to the clearing and be safe!” Bucky defends, throwing his hands in the air.

“I thought you were smooth with women back in the day?” Rhodey asks, gesturing from Bucky to where you’d gone.

“You must go and make this right. But you might want to wait a bit since she still had a very firm hold on that stick.” Thor offers with a cheery smile. “I like her already!” Cookies. The thought of her holding that tin so tightly to her chest spurs Bucky to begin searching the ground before heading over to the garbage bin.

“Whatcha doin’, Tin-Man?” Tony asks, hovering to watch him.

“She had her cookie tin when I found her,” He grunts out, shoving the garbage out of the way to see the bottom of the metal bin.

“It’s not in there, Sergeant Barnes.” Vision confirms, making Bucky jump out with a huff.

“You can make her some more as an apology, Buck.” Steve huffs out as he dusts off the ash from the pit.

“Yeah…”

“You’re going to need a lot more than cookies,” Wanda’s voice is a whisper through the comms.

“Why?” Bruce asks, looking at Wong who shrugs.

“Whatever was in the dumpster, it mixed with the ashes and residue in the incinerator and it’s clumping in her hair. Pepper has her in the bathtub, trying to work it out as you would gum, but it’s not all coming out. We’ve got some of it...Maybe Shuri or Bruce can help? Otherwise, Pepper is going to call her hairdresser…”

“Oh shit. Yeah, you’re gonna need a whole lot more than cookies if you’ve fucked up her hair. I know that from experience,” Sam affirms before giving a shiver and heads back to where they tossed all the intruders.

“Best way is to admit you were and are a dumbass, then give her a few of her favorite things...oh, and she liked those chocolate chip pancakes you made - make those!” Bucky groans, looking from Clint - his suggestion is the best, after all - to Steve who is ready to begin doling out orders for cleanup.

“I’m just gonna give her some time. I’ll apologize in the morning. With pancakes and cookies.”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

After Pepper and Wanda try to work the solidified goo from your hair for almost two hours, you give up and just ask Pepper to call her hairdresser.

You didn’t know she’d come right away.

You barely step out of the shower when Wanda knocks to let you know she’s there.

It takes her about twenty-five minutes to cut all the wads from the ends of your hair, the highest luckily only coming a couple of inches up. You had wanted to cut your hair anyways you suppose…

She evens it out beautifully before smothering your hair in a mask as a knock on your door, draws all of your attention to the door. Part of you wants it to be Bucky. Needs it to be Bucky... The other part is hesitant - mostly because now you’ve had time to calm down and think about everything - you had said some harsh things. You had basically rejected him. And it hurt that you did that to Bucky.

The person at the door isn’t Bucky, it’s a nurse to check you over. You have a few scrapes on your hands from the metal edges of the trash bin and a few cuts on your arms and neck from wrestling with your assailant. You have a nasty bruise on the back of your left thigh from landing on it but right now it’s just a dull ache. She adds split lip and an electric-based burn on your forearm to the papers.

“Nothing major, thankfully!” She’s far too chipper for you right now so you just give a little sigh and nod.

After everyone leaves - having to placate Wanda and Pepper several times over that you are alright - you stand there in the middle of the room, bewildered. What do you do now? Is this how they all feel after battles?

You wander over to the desk, looking over the interviews you were working on before the attack, but you can’t seem to settle.

Just like before.

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Bucky is lying in bed, rubbing both hands roughly over his face while his mind goes over the last couple hours like fucking torturous instant replay.

A groan bubbles up in his throat as he stares at the ceiling.

He knows he’s made things bad but he hadn’t wanted you to see him like that.

Because he had felt more unhinged than he had in a long time...he didn’t know where you were and then someone had hurt you. The rage he had barely contained was let loose the moment he had turned around from shoving you down the chute. The six men were lucky. The man who had limped from the hallway after he finished with the six idiots, was not.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, in his selfishness - he barely registers the knock at his door. Huffing out a breath, he tosses his sheet over to cover his nudity...Steve didn’t seem to care but Sam threw a hissy fit every time he barged into his room and found him naked.

“Yeah,” Bucky calls out gruffly, tossing his flesh arm over his eyes, trying to prepare himself for whatever lecture he was about to receive.

“I don’t want to sleep alone.” He pops up at the sound of your voice, drinking the sight of you in like a thirsty man who had just crossed the desert. “I’m scared.”

His heart breaks. You should feel safe here. That’s all they had to do was protect you and he failed. Miserably. You look so small against the dark wood door, the oversized shirt from before is gone - a dark blue tank top in its place - but those tiny little shorts still there. Those would have been considered underwear back in his day.

You move forward slowly, coming to a stop at the empty side of his bed.

“I’m...um…”

“Naked?”

“Yeah.” She turns her back and sits on the edge of the bed with a soft sigh, perhaps relief? “Okay,” Bucky is standing by the bed in his black boxers, searching your face for what he’d seen earlier, but all he sees is tiredness and tears sitting ready to spill. “Come on.” He eases back into bed, watching as you mimic him.

Bucky can hear you swallow once you’re settled, staring up at the ceiling as he had done earlier. The both of you lie on your backs with a small space between the two of you, the soft breathing the only thing to break the silence.

“I’m sorry for how I acted. You saved my life. I should have been more grateful.”

“I shouldn’t have tossed you down that chute like that. I didn’t - I couldn’t - let you see me do what I did. You’d have been safer if I would have kept you with me.” You don’t reply - not verbally, at least. Your hand finds his under the sheet, gripping it tightly before linking your fingers through his. “I’m sorry about your hair,” Bucky whispers in the dark room, half-afraid to look at you.

“It’s just hair. It will grow back. Maybe I’ll cut it shorter once I get used to this length. I cried a little when Pepper was working on getting it out...seeing chunk and chunk of that stuff on one of those plush white towels...I honestly think it was the whole ordeal that made me cry. The hair was just the kicker.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, just squeezes your hand before he feels your gaze on him. Like a siren call he can’t ignore, his eyes meet yours.

“Stop blaming yourself Bucky. You thought you were keeping me from seeing you beat the ever-living fuck from those guys and keeping me safe by getting me out and away from where they all were.” He can hear your voice break as you fight back tears. “Please don’t take that burden. I’m fine. I’m safe.”

“With me,” Bucky breathes out, releasing your hand for the second time that night, turning on his side before drawing you closer, as close as possible. “You’re safe, babydoll. Okay? I’m a dumbass. I should have done what made sense and keep you close.”

He can feel you chuckle against his chest, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo as he idly rubs his cheek against the top of your head.

“You are a dumbass, Barnes.” He sucks in a breath, a tightness already forming in his chest. “But you are an achingly good person, so I’m going to forgive this incident. Next time, I’m not gonna be so lenient.” It’s all mumbled against his chest, your fingers digging slightly into his back as you cling to him like he is doing to you.

“I’ll make you chocolate chip pancakes and cookies ‘til you pop.”

“Mmmhmm,” You hum against his chest, giving a little wiggle before taking a few deep breaths. “Goodnight Bucky, you handsome dumbass.”

“Goodnight, doll,” Bucky waits until he hears your breathing even out before he adds. “Your dumbass, sweetheart.”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Everyone wakes up to find Steve panicking that Y/N isn’t in her room.

“She’s gone!”

“Calm down, Steve.” Natasha orders, handing Clint his third cup of coffee.

“I checked the surveillance cameras, she didn’t leave the compound,” He rambles. “And I’ve checked the grounds, she isn’t anywhere to be found.”

“Did you ask everyone? Maybe she’s talking to Wong or Bruce or Okoye. Get ahold of yourself, Rogers. A man your age doesn’t need the added stress.” Steve shoots her a glare that clearing has some language undertones.

“Morning,” Tony says brightly, tossing the morning newspapers onto the kitchen bar top and taking a seat.

“Tony, Y/N is missing.”

“Ah. Is she now? FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Is our little writer still on the premises?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“See? No need to worry, Steve. A man your age could have a heart attack.”

“Oh hardy-fucking-har har,” Steve spits out while Tony grins, just before they all hear a loud gasp.

“Captain!” Shuri has her hand over her heart dramatically. “Language!” Steve throws up a hand.

“One more language or old man joke and someone - or multiple someones - are getting some shield. Understand?” They all fucking snap to attention and salute, T’Challa walking in with a sigh.

“Please say this is for him and not for me.”

“No, it’s for the Captain,” Peter clarifies with a bright grin before schooling his face back to serious.

“Alright then.” Steve nearly snaps when T’Challa joins in, trying to hide a smile as he stands at attention.

“Fine! I’m going to keep looking for Y/N!” And stomps from the room.

“You guys really should have shouted ‘America’s Ass!’ when you snapped to attention,” Scott muses as he heads towards the coffee pot.

“Damnit! Why didn’t I think of that?!” Tony groans out before Natasha slides him a glass of orange juice and smiles over the rim of her glass.

“There’s always later, Tony.”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

“Bucky! Have you seen - AHH!” Bucky shoots up, making sure to angle himself to cover you as he held a gun pointed at the intruder.

“Jesus, pal. Maybe knock next time?” Bucky grumbles out, replacing the gun next to his lamp on his bedside table as he feels your fingers on his bicep. You sleepily peeking around him to look at Steve with murder clearly written on your face is the epitome of too cute.

“I didn’t - I’m sorry - I-I was just looking for -”

“What time is it Steve?” You yawn out, interrupting him.

“It’s, um, 8:30.”

“AM?!”

“Yes.”

“What the actual fuck? I didn’t get to sleep until after 3. Not cool, Rogers.” And you toss yourself back down before reaching up to pull at Bucky’s arm with a little whine at the back of your throat.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll, um, I’ll just go then. See you when you get up.” Even Steve doesn’t understand what you mumbled out, his brow furrowed as he pulls the door closed quietly behind him as Bucky waves him off. Bucky wiggles downward, changing their positions from last night - his face pressed against your collarbone as he feels your fingers slip into his hair, winding his arms around your middle with a sigh of contentment.

You both drift off wrapped up safely in each other again.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

“You find her?”

“Yep.” Steve walks briskly into the kitchen, reaching for his coffee cup.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging in suspense!” Hope chides as Steve adds some brown sugar to his coffee before moving around Sam towards the liquor counter. All eyebrows raise as he pours a healthy amount into his coffee cup.

“She was with Bucky.”

“What?!”

“After what happened last night?!”

“Did the old man finally get laid?” They’re all talking over one another or talking to each other about this development.

“I don’t think she’s gonna have sex with him after that. Maybe she just went in to talk and they fell asleep together. I don’t know. I didn’t get to ask too many questions. She’s not a morning person and running on less than five hours of sleep doesn’t make her any more of a morning person.”

“Well, where are they?”

“She pulled him back down and they went back to sleep.”

“That’s adorable!” Wanda gives a little squeal of delight before adding a dollop of whipping cream to Steve’s cup of Irish coffee.

“It seems the endeavor to bring them together has worked,” Vision expressed, nodding at everyone like they had done a good job.

“He has to ask her out. That’s the goal.” Wong utters as he waits for the tea kettle to warm up.

“Wong’s right. He’s gotta ask her out.”

“Who has to ask whom out?” Thor asks as he struts into the kitchen. “I am glad I came ahead. I got to have some fun before the interrogation.”

“Interview,” Okoye corrects with pursed lips.

“Ah yes, interview. But who is asking who out?”

“Bucky needs to ask Y/N out,” Pepper clarifies, hugging Thor before taking the barstool next to Tony.

“She seemed upset with him earlier this morning.”

“He threw her out the trash chute,” Shuri reiterates.

“Better than a high window. Or into the vacuum of space.” Natasha shoots Clint a look at Thor’s words, which just makes him chuckle loudly before gesturing at the Irish whiskey Steve left on the counter. She rolls her eyes and hands it to him.

“Yes. Very right, Pikachu. But what else can we do? We’ve pushed them together at mealtimes, they’ve napped together - now they’d slept together,” Thor opens his mouth but Bruce just shakes his head and Thor closes his mouth. “Sleep, not sex, Thor. He’s been smiling more, following her around when she isn’t interviewing...maybe we should send them to town for supplies make up an activity to do and then we all bail?”

“What scares me is you are a certified genius…” Shuri utters with a hearty sigh. “This isn’t a Lifetime movie, people.”

“It wouldn’t be a Lifetime movie anyway!” Scott argues, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “We need, like, a ‘You’ve Got Mail’ scenario.”

“That’s not gonna work! They’ve met. They aren’t competitors,” Clint argues back, shaking his head vehemently.

“Okay, everyone gives ONE idea!” Stephen pipes up as he leans against the coffee bar.

“We should go over tropes!” Peter jumps in with the first offer.

“Finally! A good idea!” Shuri agrees with a broad smile.

“Alright, let’s make a list,” Pepper pulls out her phone. “Trope one?”

“Bedsharing. Check.”

“Could we do a sick/injured one?” Natasha asks, looking from Shuri to Peter.

Peter nods seriously. “I’ll allow it.”

“Sending them on a blind date?” Hope offers, smearing butter on her toast as Scott hands her a jar of peach preserves.

“Oh, yes. That could work. Add that please, Pepper.”

“Why are we listening to children?” Stephen looks around the group, hands wide with a universal ‘what’ gesture.

“Cause we are very intelligent. And you aren’t throwing out any good ideas, Strange.” Peter snorts at Shuri’s comment.

“Mutual pining for sure,” Sam adds, cracking open an energy drink.

“Poorly timed confession? When he kissed her?” Okoye slips into the last barstool, Shuri grinning from ear to ear at her addition.

“You know so much, Okoye.”

“It is my job, Princess.”

“Anger born of worry, definitely a possibility for Y/N…” Tony mutters more to himself than anyone else, as he scrolls through his phone, looking at the list of tropes he found.

“Innocent physical contact?” Steve peers over Tony’s shoulder. “Hand holding when they napped.”

“Sleep intimacy.”

“Well, that didn’t seem to help. We just made a list of things they’ve done,” Thor looks at Sam’s can before rooting around in the fridge for a similar one.

“Exactly, Mr. Thor. We need a starting point. They both seem to be sort of dancing around each other, so we have to also go with what they’re comfortable with.”

“Excellent, Spider-Parker. Continue.”

“Just go old school. Send her flowers in his name. She thanks him, he plays along, if he’s smart he asks her out - Done.” Bruce vocalizes, Hope offering him a slice of toast.

“Or…,” T’Challa begins, “We could take them to Vegas, get them drunk and get them married. I have now solved all the future problems they’ll encounter as well. You are welcome.”

“Why not just get them drunk here and since I’m ordained, and you’re a King, we could just marry them?”

“Is this really what we’re going with?” Skepticism is rampant in Pepper’s voice as she sets her phone down, eyebrow raised at Rhodey - who has been remarkably silent in the corner, a guardian of the newly brewed pot of coffee.

“Listen, if he’s not smart enough to see he needs to snap her up, I can’t help the man.”

“I just think he needs a little push,” Wanda expresses as she picks at her fingernail absentmindedly.

“Or we just watch and hope he pulls his head out of his ass,” Stephen mutters, pouring more hot water into his cup with a grimace.

“God, it’ll be another 70 years,” Steve groans, polishing off his Irish coffee.

“We’re talking about Bucky, Steve - not you,” Natasha reasons, patting his forearm and flashing a cocky grin.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Tony staring down at the marble countertop with his hands on either side of his head with Pepper sitting beside him at the kitchen bar top reading something on her tablet. Bucky is making breakfast - well, more like brunch and a brunch overload at that - pancakes, coffee, bacon, sausage, ham, waffles, and he’s working on eggs when everyone drags themselves back into the kitchen.

“Where’s Y/N?” Shuri asks as she pours herself some juice.

“In the garden,” Bucky answered distractedly before taking a long drink from his black insulated tumbler.

“How is she?”

“She’s been on the phone since she came out of Mr. Bucky’s room,” Peter pipes up happily before walking by Tony and squeezes his shoulder. “Did you guys see she posted the first interview?”

“Who did she post first? Was it me?”

“No, uh, sorry, Sam. She posted Mrs. Pepper’s first.”

“How many times have you read that Tony?” Steve asks, taking his own long drink from his coffee cup as his blonde hair sticks up everywhere.

“Four. He didn’t even tell me until the third time,” Pepper answers for him.

“Five now,” Tony corrects, leaning back in the barstool. “It’s everything I could have wanted.” Natasha takes the tablet from in front of Tony, bracing her elbows on the counter before scrolling to the top and settling in to read. Pepper hands her tablet to Steve as Thor climbs into the seat besides Tony, taking a few waffles from the pile and dousing them with far too much syrup.

“Kid, tell her breakfast is ready,” Bucky orders softly, Peter already out of his seat and out the wood covered patio door before Bucky gets to the word ‘ready’. Repairs to the windows and door the intruders broke will be fixed later today, Pepper confirmed earlier since Tony was distracted, for now, they’re just boarded up.When Peter returns with her, there is just the sounds of Bucky finishing up and soft shuffles as people shift where they’re sitting or standing. Almost everyone is looking down at their devices or eating, which makes you more nervous, he can tell.

Bucky had woken up to an empty bed and his giant tumbler filled with hot coffee sitting on his bedside table, the sweet smell and pale color tipping him off immediately to what his doll has been up to. He didn’t know exactly what she’d put in it, it was different from the other times, not as chocolatey but sweet enough to appease his sweet tooth.

He watches you from the corner of his eye as he carefully plates the two biggest, warmest pancakes onto a plate for you, balancing two pieces of bacon and a couple of pieces of sausage at the top of the plate while you slip into the barstool on the other side of Okoye who had claimed the seat by Pepper.

Bucky carefully slides the plate before you, a silent offering of apology. Even if you’ve said multiple times he doesn’t need to apologize...he knows he has to. You deserve every apology he can muster.

“Morning,” He rushes to say it and it comes out rougher than he planned nearly wincing at his overeagerness.

“Good morning,” You reply softly, “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Of course, doll.” Everyone is trying not to look at the two of you and you both appreciate that.

Tony points to the tablet in Natasha’s hand.

“We need to talk about this later, kid. Wonderful stuff.”

“Really?” She’s beaming, the nerves she had suddenly gone - like a weight lifted from her shoulders. Tony nods as he takes a big bite of sausage.

“Yeah, kid. I love it. I really do.”

“When we get done eating, can Thor join me in the garden please?” Bucky fights the need to tense up at your words, putting a few pancakes on his own plate before adding a heap of eggs, smothering his pancakes in buttery syrup as if every action will somehow prolong the inevitable. But you slept in his bed last night. Woke up wrapped around him. The thoughts don’t stop the jealousy already clawing at his belly.

Thor just looks at you with happiness painted on his features, extending a hand behind Pepper to shake yours.

“I did not think last night was a good time to introduce myself. Thor, Son of Odin and Frigga.”

“Y/N, Daughter of Lily Lee. Pleased to meet you.”

“You as well. I like your hair cut. I know what it is like to have no decision in removing your hair and I am sorry. But it will grow back.” He adds cheerfully, spearing a forkful of eggs. “This is only 8 years worth since that madman on Sakaar shorn me like a sheep!”

“Asgardians hair must grow fast.” Thor bobs his blonde head. “Where is Sakaar?”

“It is a place I would never take a lovely woman such as yourself. It is a prize fighting planet filled with thieves, vagrants, and mercenaries which is ruled by a sexually-deviant man called the Grand Master.” He shoves half a waffle in his mouth, cheeks round as he smiles and points his fork at Bruce. “You remember Sakaar, don’t you, Bruce? Hulk was top fighter there!”

Bucky watches your eyes widen as your gaze falls on Bruce.

“You didn’t mention Sakaar, Dr. Banner.”

“Why-why would I? It’s a terrible planet, like-like Thor said. Plus, I-I was Hulk and don’t remember everything about that time.” Thor and Bruce nod along together, Bucky nearly rolls his eyes at the two. Their sublty and Shuri’s absolutely needed some work.

“Of course. I’m sorry to prod, Bruce.”

“No problem. No problem at all.” Tony is looking at Bruce, confusion written all over his face, who shrugs as soon as you look away.

“Well, I’m going to get my things, Thor. I’ll see you in the garden.” She rises from the seat and puts her dirty plate in the sink, Bruce stuttering out he’ll wash it before her hand falls on Bucky’s wrist. “Thank you again for breakfast, Bucky.”

Now it’s his turn to stutter. “O-of course, doll.”

As you disappear down the hallway, Bucky meets Thor’s gaze, the god smiling knowingly at him.

Asshat.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Thor starts your interview with a hug, complimenting you on the stories that Nebula shared with him from the many electronic mails that Tony had sent.

“I’m glad you liked them.”

“Oh yes. I think even my brother would have had to admit they were well written.”

“How is your brother?”

“I have seen him but twice on my travels with the Guardians. But he seems well. He is not the brother I lost to Thanos, not as mature, he is more Trickster...but he seems to avoid getting himself into too much hot water.” He sighs, absentmindedly stroking his beard. “I suppose I am just happy he is alive and well. I dare not ask for more.” You pat his knee as you nod.

“We can’t change our family. But the family you found is always here and welcoming.”

“Of course. I am very grateful for such a family.”

“May we begin?”

“Yes. Let us begin.”

“What was it like growing up on Asgard?”

“Beautiful. Peaceful. Even when we were being trained to be warriors, there was still joy in me. I was always happy to protect Asgard.”

“It’s been mentioned to me by others that you are actually not the King of Asgard as many news agencies constantly report.”

“No,” He gives a little chuckle as he looks over the roses. “No, I am not King of Asgard. I never wanted to be. Loki should have been King, he was more for politics and intrigue and silver-tongued words. I am a warrior. It is that simple.”

“Is it?” Those electric blue eyes bore into you, brows furrowed slightly. “‘Cause you let your home planet be destroyed to protect your people. You ferried quite a few Asgardians who were flung across the cosmos back here to live with their own people. I’d say that’s more than just a simple warrior.”

“You flatter me, my lady.” You laugh at his words.

“I’m not terribly into flattery, so you won’t be getting any more of that from me.”

“Noted,” He remarks, his serious face being held for only a few seconds before it breaks into a wide smile that reminds you of the sun. Did his mother ever look at him as a baby and think ‘this is Thor - my little god of sunshine’? You’d bet a fair amount of money she did.

“Things on Asgard were medieval-ish in terms of the way you spoke, the way you dressed...yet you were far more advanced than even we are now. Probably more than we will be in a hundred years. Why visit us so long ago, when we were far less advanced than now?”

“You were a simpler people. Not stupid, but not quite ready to dream of going out into the stars. All of the cultures we visited were so different...good medical knowledge, fairly good at outlining the stars, planets, and constellations, all very clean and focused on the betterment of their people. And then I believe it was the Dark Ages and you lot seemed to take a few dozen steps backward. Like you had all, as one, forgotten the hard-earned knowledge of your forebearers. We did not come back for a great many years after that. But you have relearned most of what was lost. Wakanda seems to be the best because of it, seeming to have lost the least amount of knowledge over the centuries.”

“Have you read any of the Viking mythology?”

“Tony has made a few mentions of it during our time together, but I did not understand all of his references.”

“Viking mythology is quite different from Asgardian fact. You are the oldest legitimate son of Odin, so you would still be King. Loki is still a Frost Giant raised as an Asgardian. But Hela is not your sister, Hela is Loki’s daughter - well in some versions. He - um - in a certain story,” You wiggle a little on the bench under his intense, but friendly gaze. “Turned into a mare and let himself be impregnated by an Asgardian stallion. He then gives birth to a nine-legged horse that Odin uses named Sleipnir.”

Thor bursts out laughing, deep, rich and from his belly as he slaps his hand on his knee a few times before taking a deep breath and wiping away a few tears.

“Oh! You MUST send me more of these stories! They are wildly inaccurate and very, very amusing!”

“What’s your favorite thing about Earth?”

“Besides these stories I have just learned of? I enjoy the clothes but dislike the lack of armor. I like coffee! I add a little bit of Asgardian mead to mine to make it more enjoyable. I enjoy the fact that you are all so resilient. Most of you so willing to do what’s right, you just act upon that need - it is quite endearing. Selfies! I have become quite good at taking selfies with people! You all also opened your planet to me and my people when we were in need. I also enjoy those Oreo cookie things that Quill packs onboard that I steal and share with Rocket and Groot.”

Another snack thief… You make a note under Thor’s name, before adding Oreos just under it.

“You left New Asgard to go travel with the Guardians. Is Quill still the leader?”

“Yes. Of course.” You giggle at his face.

“Your mouth says yes, but your eyes don’t seem to agree!”

“You have a lovely laugh. And I suppose I am used to being the leader or, at least an equal to the leader, and 3500 years of that is a hard thing to break. I will call it a toss-up on most days.”

“Thank you for that compliment, Thor. Are you a morning or a night person?”

“I like all times of the day, but I do enjoy sleeping in when I can.”

“What would happen if you summoned lightning and I was holding onto Stormbreaker at the time?”

“You would not be able to wield such a weapon, little one. But you have nothing to fear, I would not let any harm come to you - lightning or attempting to wield Stormbreaker. The lightning would simply go where I wanted it to and I would be wielding the ax, so no harm would come from you hanging onto it.”

“How do you deal with all the loss you’ve had in the last fifteen years?” Thor gives you a sad smile.

“One day at a time, as do we all. I have very much to be thankful for, so I think of that often when I feel weighed down.”

“Do you take fruit from Tony’s farm when you go into space? Have you tried giving them space fruit?”

“Yes, Tony has had some. As well as Rhodey. I am not sure the others have tried any. I should bring a few big crates for them to try next time we come to visit!”

“Would you like to tell me more about your family and growing up?”

“What else would you like to know, little rose?” You cover up the shock at the nickname with a bright smile, nodding eagerly before flipping to another page of questions you have for him.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

You’re all about to sit down when FRIDAY announces that the Guardians are about to land on the east side of the compound. You snatch up your camera, which had eerily reappeared in your room this morning, from the kitchen counter and run outside to snap a few pictures of the landing.

Meeting “The Space Division”, as Tony lovingly refers to them, is amazing!

Carol is funny, sarcastic and a bit dry, she immediately reminded you of a lot less weighed down version of Tony. Maybe a mix of Tony, Wanda, and Clint. That thought gives you a little concern.

Nebula glares as you extend your hand before giving a little huff and shaking it roughly. You don’t mind, Tony and Thor have warned you she was rough around the edges. You give her your warmest smile and allow her her space afterward.

Gamora gives you a firm handshake, sizing you up before offering a tight smile. “Don’t mind the idiots too much, I’ll help keep them in line for the questioning.” She says softly before dropping your hand and stepping aside.

Thor wraps his arms around you in another hug, tighter than the last, before pulling back to introduce you to Groot and Rocket. You manage a thank you as he releases you, seeing Bucky come into your line of sight behind Thor, you smile again - this one just for him since he looks a little glum.

“These are my very good friends, little rose. Tree and Rabbit,” His voice is filled with pride and glee, so you try to school your face when he calls Rocket a rabbit.

Groot shakes your hand and smiles wide, “I am Groot,” falling easily from his mouth as he beams down at you.

Rocket perches up by Groot’s elbow to shake your hand afterward, “I’ll be translating for him during your interrogation thing.” You thank him profusely as Thor gives a little frown beside you.

“Interview, friend.”

“Right. Right.” Rocket agrees with a little shrug before a giant wall of muscle stands before you - shirtless.

“I am Drax the Destroyer.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” You pause. “The writer.” He nods as if the title is exactly what he needed to hear before yanking your hand away from your side and giving it a few firm shakes before dropping it and moving to the left.

“This is Mantis. She knows she is hideously ugly, so there is no need to bring it up again.” Your brows furrow at Drax’s summation as you look at the woman before you. She isn’t ugly. At least not here on Earth.

“Hello, Mantis, nice to meet you.” She keeps her hands clasped together lightly before her, giving a nod at you instead

“Don’t mind Drax. His vision of beauty is horribly skewed,” A male voice says from behind Drax, pushing him out of the way to reveal a nice looking man in red leather who has plastered on his most charming, boyish smile as he extends his hand. “I’m Peter Quill, you may know me as Star-Lord.”

“Of course,” You answer brightly as his other hand comes up to clasp tightly around the hand he still has a hold of, stepping a little closer as he does so.

“You have beautiful eyes,” He begins before Steve clears his throat loudly to your right.

“Lunch?” He reminds in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Bucky appears at your side like magic, offering his arm as he stares ahead. You gently slip yours through it, setting your other hand on his forearm. Thor is holding the door open and smiles brightly at you, blue eyes nearly electric with the light shining in them. Bucky gruffly thanks him before escorting you to your seat, which is opposite the Guardians. Bucky makes sure you’re settled before he takes his seat beside you, with T’Challa on your other side.

Lunch passes much like the first dinner you had with the Avengers, with you recording and feeling a bit like an interloper, but at the same time more comfortable in the group. The Avengers really help you not feel like the odd man out, and it does seem to ease something in Carol and Nebula as they interact with you. Quill and Thor keep smiling overly friendly at you, Bucky’s arm landing on the back of your chair about halfway through dinner. T’Challa says something to him in isiXhosa that nearly has Bucky sputtering into his wine, making you pat his back roughly before rubbing a few circles as you make sure he’s okay.

“Fine, doll. Just fine. Sometimes T’Challa’s humor throws me off.”

Dessert is individual layered desserts with cookies on the side and you nearly squeal when you see the homemade sugar cookies on your plate with the colored sugar on top. You bite into one eagerly, making a little noise at the sound, a chuckle sounding to your right as Bucky watches your happy little wiggle.

One of the things you learn quickly is that Nebula doesn’t talk much, and when she does, it’s blunt. Quill, on the other hand, talks a lot. Especially about himself. Which you don’t mind - just look at your chosen profession - but it’s cocky and you aren’t one for this ego-boosting performance. Especially overly dramatic, long-winded ones... Rocket is rolling his eyes at the story Quill is telling, his hand miming talking while he mouths ‘Blah, Blah, Blah’. Then Quill throws one of his cookies as Rocket, who ducks and it hits Groot - and while you’re sure he’s physically fine, the look in his eyes is one of betrayal and you pick up your unused soup spoon and throw it at Quill. He looks more startled than anything at the turn of events, rubbing his chest where your spoon hit.

“Don’t worry,” Drax shouts as he shovels in the last of his dessert. “He does not have sensitive nipples!” You try desperately to smother your laughter with your hand but fail for the most part.

“Good to know,” Clint replies for you further down the table as Bucky leans over to whisper in your ear.

“No one needed to know that, doll. And that was a hell of a shot with the spoon.” You turn to face him, foreheads almost touching.

“Did you doubt my spoon throwing skills, sir?”

“Haven’t come across a spoon thrower…” He rumbles out, smiling so wide his eyes are wrinkling on the sides again.

“So that makes me all the more impressive. I mean, you are over a hundred years old…” He leans back a little, hand over his heart.

“Ow. Bringing my age into it, doll? Rough.”

“Don’t be such a baby. Sam brings up your age constantly.”

“Does he? I ignore him most of the time…”

“No you don’t, you old fogey!” Sam hollers from a few seats down, making you laugh again. Tony leads all of you into the lounge, complete with a fully stocked bar. Bucky brings you a dirty Shirley Temple before sitting beside you with a big glass full of whiskey, Thor making himself comfortable on your other side.

He regales you with stories from his journeys throughout the nine realms, about his brother and his friends the Warriors Three. You listen to a particularly suspenseful one, Steve smiling as he leans against the bar edge a few feet away, your hand shooting out to grab onto Bucky. You miss the shocked expression when you grab his knee, squeezing it before you sputter out an embarrassed apology.

“I was - I’m sorry - I just - I was so caught up in the story…”

“It’s fine, doll. Startled me was all since I was talking to Stevie is all.” He pats the hand that was just squeezing his leg, his small smile comforting. Thor coaxes your attention back to him, finishing the story with gusto.

About two hours later you’re excusing yourself off to bed, saying you’d like to get better pictures of the outside and inside of the ship before you start the interviews. Quill eagerly agrees, offering to give you a tour until Rocket makes what you assume is a crude comment under his breath since Quill tries to kick him before flashing a bright, flirty smile at you.

You don’t see Bucky glaring menacingly at him, standing at his full height just to your left as you say your goodnights. When you turn to wish Bucky sweet dreams, his face is normal - his eyes even softer than usual as he wished you sweet dreams in return.

You don’t hear the sound of a whip Sam makes but you hear a few soft grunts just before the door clicks closed behind you.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

[PART 4]

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Tagging: @jewelofwinter @sgtjbuccky @jaamesbbarnes @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @marichromatic @blondecoffeecake @ourloveisforthelovely @whinywingedwinchester @feelmyroarrrr @rowdyhooliganism @everythingisoverrated @iloveyouthreethousand-o6 @puddinsqueen @emotionallysalty @maraudingmarauder @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @transcendent-heroes @jotink78

A/N: Found the pic online and edited it, props to Google and all rights/privileges/ownership goes to who took the photo and to Marvel who made up all these characters.

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