#little fic

[ohyousillything]

Boba is small and obnoxious, in a way only small tubies can be, squirming and thrashing around in his crib as he wails. He’s been told that Boba is denominated “a toddler”, by nat-born standards. CC-2224 is not impressed.

“What does the word ‘Boba’ mean,” he asks. The word has been bothering him for some time now.

Jango doesn’t raise his eyes from the datapad he’s frowning at, “It’s an old family name.”

CC-2224 considers this. Boba continues to wail at the injustices of the world. CC-2224 is sympathetic to that, at least.

And then the question pops in his head like an armed grenade.

“Can I have a name?” he asks.

Jango looks up at him, both eyebrows raised up to his hairline. There's a considering silencie, and then he says, like he's already regretting it, “You could.”

CC-2224 stares at him expectantly. Boba wails, mostly ignored.

Jango snorts and shakes his head, letting his attention fall back on his datapad, “You’ll have to come up with one on your own, kid. I’m shit at naming things,”

CC-2224 frowns, looking down at Boba, who’s finally beginning to realize no one paying much attention to his crying and he might need to adapt his strategies.He makes grabby fingers at CC-2224, who watches impassively.

Making an impulsive decision, he reaches into the crib and pulls the baby out, holding him at eye level like a hide up for inspection.

“I like the word kote,” CC-2224 says.

“Very modest,” Jango snorts, but he sounds approving. Newly christened Kote thinks he wasn’t looking for approval, but its nice getting it anyway.

Boba sneezes on his face, and the universe shifts.

Kote's never seen the sun, but someday he'll understand this moment feels like sunrise.

[buckys-little-belle]

Chapter One - The Blue Crayon 

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SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW. 

Warnings - Reader cries, first meeting jitters, brief talks of Bucky’s ‘old life’, mainly fluff 

Word Count - 1,836

Note - Releasing this is really scary, and nerve wracking. I'm worried people will hate my new writing style, or won't enjoy the slight changes to the plot/pace/overall creation. Please know that this means a lot to me, and has really given me back a piece of me I thought I lost. Enjoy, and I hope you love this as much as I do <3

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★ Prologue ★ 

After years of feeling out of place no matter where he went, and feeling like he didn’t belong no matter what he did to fit in, Bucky took a trip to a Cafe he remembered from his old days in Brooklyn. 

The interior looked the same as it had decades ago, the soft blue and green diner furniture was in pristine shape. The metal of the counter looked slightly more scratched and worn, but the whole place had the same feel it did when he first walked in years ago. 

While most cafes offered the same types of coffee and treats, none of them were anything like Cafe BigNSmall. Instead of being on a busy street open to just anyone, it was hidden away from prying eyes on a calm street, and was catered towards Littles and Caregivers. 

It was founded before Bucky was even born, a group of people looking for a place to meet up comfortably, but also create a safe space for other Littles and Caregivers that might also be in need of a community. 

Bucky had stumbled his way into a conversation years ago about Littles and Caregivers, at first he didn’t understand what the conversation was about, but after asking a few questions and being given the address to the hardly known, yet also famous, cafe his whole idea around the topic changed. And after a few visits with his best friend by his side the two of them realised that the community they had accidentally found was one they fit perfectly into. 

Bucky half expected the well hidden cafe to be gone, or at least moved to a different location after all these years, but as he walked along the familiar sidewalk and stopped in front of the building he used to visit weekly, a warm feeling spread along his chest. The feeling of finally finding someplace he knew, and some place that knew him, was the best feeling he had felt in a while. 

Even the ding of the welcome bell was the same, the coffee just as good as he remembered it, and the crunch of the leather covered diner booth sounded just as he had remembered it. 

The feeling of sitting at a table alone though was new, his days spent here were always spent with Steve and other people they had met along the way. But now he sat in his favourite booth with a bag full of activities, and a heart in need of a purpose. He realised that even though the building had stayed the same, he hadn’t. 

Weeks went by as he watched groups of Littles and Caregivers sit around tables and talk, colour, and laugh. He understood why people avoided him, if they knew who he was they had reason to walk away, and even if they didn’t know him as ‘The Winter Soldier” he was still dressed head to toe in black, stood at times a foot above everyone else, and always had an easily read as angry expression plastered on his face. 

It had been a month before anyone talked to him, and although he wished that he could have felt included sooner, he was happy that Y/n was the first person he met, even if it took weeks of waiting. 

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The sun was shining brightly through the wall of windows, Bucky’s booth drowning in light, the small plant that sat with a basket full of sugar and cream was no doubt enjoying the nice weather. 

Bucky’s coat sat next to him, his phone buzzing from time to time though he ignored it. Instead of calling Steve back, or making sure Sam didn’t need something he surveyed the room, making sure all exits were secure, and danger wasn’t present. 

He, in a way, had given up the idea that he would meet a Little, or even a friend, but decided that in the absence of someone he would spend his time as - unwanted, and unneeded, as well as unofficial - security for those who spent their days here with friends. 

As his eyes drifted to make sure his car parked on a side street was still in tack he heard a small shuffle next to him, then a small voice spoke. “Um, Mr?” He turned his head to see a girl with tear marks down her face staring at him. Her green shirt’s sleeves covered in wiped tears, her overalls slightly off her one shoulder. 

Bucky just stared at her for a second, waiting for her to fizzle away and reveal herself as a dream, or run in fear when she saw his face, but she didn’t. “Hi.” He cleared his throat, trying his best to put on a neutral tone and facial expression. “What’s wrong?” He asked, shuffling in his seat slightly, his nerves evident. 

“My, um.” Her left hand covered in her sleeve came back up to her face, rubbing her eye before she continued. “My crayon broke.” The girls lower lip wobbled now, bringing up what must have happened clearly causing her distress. “The nice cash lady said you, you migh’ have some crayons?” Her voiced lowered to a whisper now. 

Bucky smiled, the warmth he felt when he first stepped inside a month ago finally coming back. His backpack was filled with Little friendly activities and supplies for this reason exactly. “I do.” He answered, unzipping his backpack and pulling out his carton of 96 crayons. “What colour do you need, Bub?” The nickname slipped out on accident, but the girl in front of him didn’t seem to notice, too awe struck by the box of crayons in front of him. 

She sniffled before answering. “I need blue.” She said with a little more confidence. “Hold on.” She whispered, jogging back to what Bucky assumed was her table. “This one, please.” She pulled out two halves of a blue crayon from her box. Her crayon box was smaller than Bucky’s, only a handful of crayons inside, unlike his though her’s had a small sticker on it that read “Y/n.” 

“Y/n?” He asked, the girl snapping her head to him, her eyes wide. Bucky tapped the sticker on her box, Y/n flipping it over and realising how he now knew her name. “There’s too many blue crayons in this box to know what one you want.” He said, hoping it didn’t come off mean or like he was showing off his ‘better’ supplies. “Why don’t you take the box back to your table and use any of the crayons I have for the day.” He offers, hoping that his generosity could help earn Y/n’s trust over time. 

“Can I jus’ sit here?” Y/n asked, her hands fiddling with the box in her hands. 

“You want to sit here?” Bucky parrots her words back to her, hardly believing that she would want to sit with him. 

“Yeah, if that’s okay.” Her lower lip began to wobble again as she took a step back. “Unless, I’m sorry, I can go.” She said quickly, clearly taking Bucky’s surprise as anger. 

“You can sit here.” Bucky’s words were also spoken quickly, worried if he didn’t say anything right away she would run from him. “No one’s wanted to sit with me yet, I’m just surprised.” Y/n nodded her head and put her small box down on the table before walking back to hers. 

In a minute she had gathered all her things and made her way back to Bucky, her backpack now sitting on the other seat. “You sure that I can sit here?” Bucky noticed her slight change in speech, a clear sign of further regression. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” He smiled, Y/n sitting down but still holding her colouring book to her chest, her back straight as a pin. “I’m glad you came over.” He says in hopes to reassure her he wants her here. “It’s nice to have a friend.” Y/n smiles at that, placing her book down, showing a half done colouring page. 

“I agree, bein’ lonely is sad.” She frowns. “Do you wanna colour with me?” Her tone is hopeful, looking at Bucky with a smile. 

“I’d love to.” He smiled back, pushing his coffee to the side and accepting the page Y/n tore out for him. The two of them colouring their respective pages in silence for an hour before Y/n sat up straight with the biggest smile Bucky had seen so far. 

“Done!” She practically yelled. Bucky had been done for a while now, adding his own doodles around the actual lines of the drawing. “Look.” She slides the book towards him, a coloured picture of a princess and her wildlife friends surrounding her staring back up at him. 

“This is really good, Bub.” Bucky coos, surprised at her ability to stay mainly in the lines of the original lines. 

“You can keep it.” She quickly squiggles something on the bottom, Bucky assuming it’s her form of a signature. 

“Thank y-” His words are cut off by the shrill of an alarm, Y/n digging her phone out of her backpack to turn it off, frowning as she places the phone on the table. 

“I have to go home now.” She frowns as she starts to pack up her bag, pausing to turn to Bucky. “Will you, can you.” She stumbles over her words. “Are you coming here tomorrow?” She eventually asks, her eyes avoiding Bucky’s. 

“Are you?” He counter asks. 

“Yes.” 

“Then I’ll be here tomorrow.” She smiles and finally looks at him. 

Y/n spends a few more minutes packing up her things before she stands. “Thank you Mr.” She holds her hand out for a handshake, Bucky’s back straightening as he realises he’ll have to shake her hand with his left. Instead of doing so he grabs her left hand with his right and shakes that one, her giggles worth the awkward situation. “Bye Mr.” She says, turning to leave, but Bucky keeps a hold of her hand. 

“Why don’t you keep these?” He says, pushing the box of crayons closer to her near the edge of the table. 

“Borrow them?” She asks. 

“No, I want you to keep them.” He nudges them her way a little more. “I think you’ll get much more use out of them than I ever would.” He smiles as he watches her’s grow bigger. Picking them up she does a little jump, her backpack jingling as she does. 

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She spins before whispering a ‘thank you’. 

Before Bucky could say goodbye, or ask for her phone number, she had already walked out of the building, walking down the sidewalk looking at the box of crayons in awe. The broken blue crayon still sat on the table, he smiled, picking it up and placing it in his pocket. The small thing a reminder of the best day he’s had in a long time. 

[oksurethisismyname]

In continuance of my “zoro learns French” drabble:

Sanji has been busy ever since breakfast. Normally he has time to prep a lot more for lunch but today? It’s like everyone is asking him for something. Chopper had gum stuck in his fur (turns out it was a spit ball from luffy) , Franky asked for help tailoring a pair of pants (finally!), Nami kept asking him questions about different dessert possibilities from tangerines, Robin was wondering about the origin of every variety of tea he has on board, and he just hadn’t had time to get back into the galley.

Finally, it’s an hour till lunch and he tactfully exits the conversation with Robin. As he walks up to the galley door he hears someone messing around in HIS galley. He kicks in the door, ready to find Luffy with his head stuck in the fridge but is stopped dead in his tracks. There, in his kitchen, is Zoro.

Zoro in his apron.

Zoro in his apron that says “kiss the cook”

Zoro in his apron that says “kiss the cook,” flour on his face, scrubbing some dishes that weren’t dirty when Sanji left this kitchen this morning, and a sheepish look on his face that doesn’t look quite natural on him. Almost cute? No. Yes? A little.

“Mosshead, you have 5 seconds to explain what you’re doing to my kitchen before I kick you into the ocean. The only reason you’re still standing there is because it looks like you’re cleaning up whatever mess you made.”

Zoro sets a newly clean skillet on the drying rack, suddenly getting a look of determination, “I made you a croak miser.”

“What the fuck is a croak miser?”

Zoro huffs like he’s both exasperated by his own actions and Sanjis lack of understanding. Rather than clarifying what a “croak miser” is, Zoro walks to the oven and pulls out a little plate. He’s blocking Sanjis view but whatever he just pulled out must have been in the oven just to stay warm because the oven isn’t even on.

Without showing what’s in his hand, Zoro gruffly asks “sit?”

This is getting weird. Sanji, shocked into obedience, sits at the table waiting to see where this is going.

In Zoros hands is a plate with a passable Croque Monsieur. Is that actually béchamel sauce? Wait did Zoro MAKE béchamel from scratch? There’s not too much or too little ham, the cheese looks gooey, wow, this could be good.

As Zoro sets the plate in front of him, a bit of pink creeping into his cheeks. “You were talking about the best comfort foods with Robin last week and I just thought… well you do a lot and… whatever eat the shitty sandwhich, asshole. Bone apple teeth or whatever.”

With that, Zoro turns on his heals and walks out.

What the fuck was that all about?

[haleyhunwritess]

Careful baby

Warnings: Mentions of spankings, ddlg/little reader, yelling, dark-ish fic

Summary: Little!reader refusing to take her medicine (on account of it being “icky”) until someone decides to threaten them with a spanking from a certain someone with a metal arm.

Pairings: Soft!Dark!Daddy!Steve x Little!Reader, Soft!Dark!Daddy!Bucky x Little!Reader

“Daddy no! no! no! I don’t need any medicine, it’s icky and I don’t like it!”

“Sweetheart, please just listen to me. It’ll make you feel tons better. It’ll get rid of all the icky feelings and then no more sickies for my little princess. Please, darling…just listen to Daddy this one time, okay?” Steve looked down at you sympathetically as you lay in your bed cuddled up with your favourite stuffies. It broke his heart to see you feeling this unwell, and even more now that you were crying over having to take some medicine.

You shake your head once again before rolling over and shoving your face in one of your pillows while lightly sobbing. The medicine tasted icky, and you already feel icky so you don’t want to feel any worse, why can’t your daddies understand that?

Steve sighs and puts down the medicine before sitting down on the bed next to you and slowly turning you to look at him “Babygirl…I didn’t wanna have to do this…if you don’t take your medicine then I’ll have to call your Dada home from work to make sure you take your medicine.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of your Dada coming home early from work just to give you your medicine. You knew he wouldn’t be impressed with your refusal to take your medication, however, you still couldn’t stand the idea of taking the bad-tasting medication and feeling even worse than you do right now. Starting to feel a bit overwhelmed, you reach for your paci that’s on the bedside table, but Steve grabs it before you can and quickly stands up.

“What’s it gonna be, babygirl? Should I grab the medicine or get the lotion ready instead?” Steve bites back a smirk when you look up at him with a confused expression. However, that confused expression is quickly replaced with a scared look when you notice him opening up the drawer filled with aftercare products that Steve and Bucky spoil you with after giving you an intense punishment. He pulls out a special cream that Bucky uses on you usually after using his metal arm for a long and harsh spanking.

“Daddy no…” you start to cry harder and make grabby hands for him as the tears are streaming down your face.

He quickly walks back over to you with a smile and picks you up before popping the paci in your mouth.

“Hmm so what do you think, babygirl? Should we give Dada a call?” He lightly bounced you in his arms while picking up his phone and dialing Bucky’s number before you could even answer him.

“Daddy no! I hab medicine! Pwease no call Dada! Pwease I pwomise I be good for Daddy!” you spit the paci out and start to cry harder, knowing that Bucky was going to be really upset with you now. All of a sudden, you start to cough uncontrollably as a result of all the crying, making Steve panic momentarily. He quickly puts his phone down, not bothering to hang up.

“Shh shhh…you’re okay sweetheart…shhh it’s okay Daddy is here.” He starts to rub your back gently while whispering sweet little nothings in your ear every now and then. You start to calm down slightly, but still scared of getting a punishment. You think back to when they first took you and how terribly quick they were to punish you for the smallest mistakes. The biggest one being your countless tries to leave the compound and talking about how much you miss your old life. You shiver slightly thinking back to that memory and quickly slip your thumb in your mouth.

“Darling, what did we say about putting your thumb in your mouth?” Steve lightly scolded you while grabbing another clean paci from the dresser and carefully replacing your thumb with it.

“Sowwy, Daddy…” you whisper quietly before starting to softly suck on the paci and resting your head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, princess. You’re still learning. Isn’t that right?” you quickly lift your head up to nod at him, then hesitantly point at the medication on your bedside table.

Steve walks back over to your bed, gently placing you down before picking up the medicine again. You try not to pout and wait for him to give you the medicine. Steve carefully poured some of the cough syrup into the small little cap before handing it over to you. You stare at the small cap for a minute, debating if the spanking might be worth waiting to take it. Steve sits down next to you and takes the medicine from you, before holding your hands down with one of his hands, and then gently encouraging you to take the medicine. You close your eyes and hold your nose before gulping it down, trying not to gag. He quickly hands you your bottle filled with water to wash it down.

“There we go, sweet girl. That wasn’t so hard now was it, babygirl?” Steve puts the medicine away and helps you lay back down before handing you your paci back. He gets up from the bed and leans down to give you a kiss on your forehead before walking out of the room to allow you to cry yourself to sleep.

A few hours later, you feel something cool on your arm, gently shaking you awake. You rub your eyes furiously before you realize a metal arm pulls your hands away from your eyes.

“Careful babydoll, wouldn’t want you to hurt those pretty eyes.”

You quickly open your eyes and realize Bucky is finally home, making you clutch your stuffie tightly.

“You know Steve always forgets to hang up the call before putting his phone down. He’s a bit silly sometimes huh? Is that why my babydoll was giving him so much trouble earlier?” you whimper lightly knowing where this is heading. You start to crawl back further away from him when you notice the special cream on the bedside table.

“Alright doll, you know the drill. How many spankings do you think are fair? Since you’re sick I don’t want to make you feel any worse, does 25 sound fair to you, love?”

[rosyjuly]

Re: your recent frivolities, I’m chewing on non-driver galex on a little drunk friend party weekend in the mountains warm from drinking almost too much, fumbling around in the starry dark trying not to get caught for some inscrutable reason idk i just think it’s COMPELLING and would like your scholarly opinion!!!

The longhouse in Devon has been George’s idea; something he could plan sprawled on the couch after a long day, something to hold onto when he got yet another pls fix email for the contract he drafted, now annotated with question marks and no-s. It was a small miracle that they even found a time that worked for all of them, even if it was a bit awkward timing, the first weekend of December that Lando and Alex both marked with if need be in the Doodle, something about marketing being overwhelmed with the Christmas fuckery, or whatever Lando was trying to say in the dozen texts he sent into the groupchat. 

‘You can really tell he’s doing the socials, always on his phone’, Alex texted him in private, followed by a screenshot of trading his Sunday shift with one of his buddies. 

It’s been a few years since they last managed to get the whole gang together for a getaway. The last time, George was doing his CPQ, begging off in the early afternoons to cram for his exams, locking the door to their room with Alex and ignoring the ruckus outside. He picked Alex up at the vet clinic, let him sleep off the overnight shift on the drive there, the roads first slow in the London traffic, then clearing up as they finally left the city. 

It’s easy to tell the lads that he’s missed them after everyone is loose-limbed with mulled wine, especially with Alex’s hand big and familiar on his waist, warmth seeping through his t-shirt. When Alex’s thumb begins to stroke the line of his ribcage, slow and soft, George takes a look at him; but Alex is listening to Charles intently, nodding along the story that George has lost track of five minutes and two sub-stories ago. 

So George can be normal. He knocks back a shot with Daniel and then carefully puts the glass down on the counter; just behind Alex so he can press his arm along the strong line of his back. Alex leans back, his other hand coming to rest on George’s waist as well, and he can feel himself flush as he tries to imagine how it must look, Alex’s clever hands framing his torso like that, the hands that can soothe a wounded animal or hold down a desperate creature all the same. 

“Cold?” Alex asks, as quiet as he can manage over the music, when a shiver rakes through George’s body at the thought. George risks another glance; this time, Alex is looking at him, lashes fanning his dark eyes, like he’s considering his hands on George, too, and some long-buried hope flickers alive again in him. 

“Not at all, mate,” George tells him. He drags the vape out of his pocket and shows it to Alex – the bar is a pretty, deep purple, one of the less ridiculous ones Pierre has brought. “Wanna go out for a smoke?” 

“God, I wish it was a smoke instead of that kid flavoured abomination,” Alex sighs, but his hands tighten on George’s waist quite agreeable. They fetch their coat in silence, stepping outside without much fanfare. When George inclines his head, Alex raises a half-mocking eyebrow, but follows him behind the corner all the same, crowding into his space when George leans against the wall. 

“If you knew just half the shit these can cause, you’d be a lot less eager,” Alex says, nodding at the vape. George doesn’t give a shit about the vape; has taken it in hopes for exactly this, Alex lecturing him a little, his attention finally on George and only George. 

“You know I can be plenty eager,” he tells Alex, and the second Alex’s eyes go dark and wanton, he feels drunker than the whole night. 

“I do know that,” Alex says, now pressing impossibly closer, strong and warm and perfect all over. “You wanna remind me?” 

“Always,” George says, and then he barely notices when he drops the stupid vape, too busy rediscovering how Alex tastes and how his now thicker thigh still fits so nicely between his legs, firm and tantalizing.

[emodaryls]

Would you write something where Daryl is a little? I feel like it makes sense for him to regress to deal with trauma and he NEEDS to a mommy

Sure!!! Though I hc him as a regressor I'm not really sure how to *write* him as one sorry! But akneeway, I'm gonna try. Here u go!!! I wrote this while watching Coachella so it may not be my best cus i got distracted a lot....

Mimis 🌙🐋

eepy little daryl! Him being tired & regressing after a run, lots of fluff! Little!Daryl/Cg!Fem!Reader. 590 wc

NSFW, ANTI-AGERE, DDLG, ADBL, RACIST, TRANSPHOBIC, ZIONIST, HOMOPHOBIC, ABLEIST DNI. SFW AGERE , NOT KINK.

The group is now returning from another unsuccessful supply run. Of course, like always, Daryl didn't let you come along. He doesn't want you to risk anything happening to you; he wants to keep you as safe as possible.

Daryl returns home, tired and feeling fuzzy. Kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag, he walks sluggishly towards the couch, proceeding to lay down on it. He feels even more fuzzy now, and he curls slightly into a fetal position, making himself feel small and secure.

You cautiously come down the stairs after hearing the front door open, and are met with the adorable sight of Daryl all curled up on the couch, sleepy, and probably regressing.

"Hey…" You speak in a soft voice as you slowly make your way over to him. "You okay?" You sit beside him, giving his scalp relaxing scratches. He leans into your hand and nods, curling up slightly more.

"Mama," he murmurs, looking up at you with soft, tired eyes.

"Yeah?" You smile softly and continue to scratch his scalp. He doesn't answer. "How old are you right now?"

"Mmm… 4…" He murmurs once again, taking a deep breath after. He seems really comfortable.

"You sleepy?"

He nods.

"You want a blanket?"

He nods again. You reluctantly stop scratching his scalp to head upstairs to your shared room to fetch a blanket for him. You choose his favorite blanket, a white-weighted blanket that has a cover on it, making it very comfortable and soft. You carry it in your arms, carefully watching your steps as you walk back downstairs.

"Here, I got it." You lay it evenly over him and tuck it around his shoulders. You see his feet peeking out the end of the blanket, and you can't help but chuckle.

"You want your stuffie?"

"mm... yeah.."

"Okay… which one?"

"The whale…" He mumbles, almost not being able to tell what he said.

You go back up to the bedroom. You open the closet and search through his small stash of stuffies and toys, finding a cute whale security blanket, a whale plush attached to a small white blanket with a baby blue satin trim. You also grab his pacifier, which is just a simple, plain black color. You carry the two items down the stairs and return to Daryl, giving him the stuffie and pacifier.

"Thank ya mama..." He mumbles before popping the pacifier into his mouth and holding the stuffie close. The sounds of him suckling on the paci are adorable, and you smile.

You sit on the floor and return to giving him gentle scratches on the head. Theres a long moment of silence, no sound besides the people of Alexandria walking and talking while passing by, both of your breathing, and Daryl suckling on the pacifier.

"Hey, do you want to head upstairs? You got all your toys and stuffies up there." You ask, not even sure if he is awake. But he hums, saying a lazy "yes.”

"Alright, get up, little one." You help Daryl sit up, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes. You carry his blanket for him, and he groggily walks up the stairs in the room. He goes straight to laying down on the bed, covering himself with the white duvet. You lay the weighted blanket down on top of him again and crawl into bed next to him. He immediately rolls over and buries his face into your chest, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

He quickly falls asleep, and you place a kiss on his forehead, slowly stroking his hair.

"Goodnight, Dar..." you say, with a whisper, feeling nothing but love and admiration for the man sleeping peacefully beside you.

[iammythmaker]

Love smelled of warmth and spices

Of course it was funny.

But it was an unusual garment for Kotallo. Too tight and at the same time too much hidden skin.

Although he must admit that the thin and smooth canvas fit him well.

He felt a little naked, without his paint under his clothes and on his face.

His eyes are thinly lined with antimony and it was also strange.

It was doubly pleasant to discover that he didn't really care about it. Because his thoughts were hidden in the shadow of this small arch. Where the world seemed to stop between them, while the sun touched every stone around them with its rays and drew light lines on her peach skin.

"I like the way the sun kisses your skin..." She whispers it somewhere near his lips and raises her gaze, smiling so softly and meekly that the rage in his heart gives way to softness. In her eyes, a shade of green, tenderness splashed, seasoned with sparks of outgoing light, in the outlines of fine lines of makeup. The one who painted her face only emphasized her otherness more. "I know you feel uncomfortable without paint, but..."

"I see the charm in it." He whispers back to her just as softly. The hum and laughter of people outside this hidden world became quieter, muffled by their love for each other. "Kiss me...?"

Oh, she pulls him to her, burying her fingers in his braids, so fast that he has to put out his palm and lean against the wall for stability. He takes a step forward, her small fingers explore the silk on his chest, at his neck, and finally Kotallo grumbles approvingly when she sweetly gasps. Pinning her against that wall was a good idea.

Love smelled of warmth and spices around them.

A mini - fic to some completely UNREAL art by @steelphoto Thank you for the inspiration and for this piece of mystery between them and your enthusiastic review of the little writing. Create the same beauty!

[milflewis]

schumilton + ferrari

listen . ok. i love you?

Lewis is knitting when he gets back. It's something he's picked up from Valtteri - to keep his hands and brain busy. He never was good at being bored. Charles hasn't taken off his, only slightly misshapen, red bobble hat since Lewis gave it to him a few months ago. It's his only non sponsored clothing that he wears to races.

Roscoe doesn't even twitch when Mick closes the door behind him, toeing off his shoes. He hangs up his coat on the rack, running the back of his hand along Lewis’s fake fur coat. Lewis is barefoot, curled up on the couch, Roscoe leaning into him.

Lewis’s head tilts back easy, Mick’s hand curling into the hinge of his jaw. His mouth falls open under his. He tastes of tea and that vegan chocolate he likes and toothpaste, wet and warm and soft. He feels desperate with it all, something alive and shivering in his fingers.

Lewis is looking at him when he opens his eyes. He does not ask Mick to sit down but he’s got that look on his face, very deliberately not frowning, where he’s waiting for Mick to bolt. Mick, forever his father’s son and Sebastian’s student, had never been able to meet a challenge he can not spit at. He sits down, Roscoe between them.

The corner of Lewis’s mouth quirks up but he doesn’t say anything.

“I saw Yuki today,” Mick says, ruffling his fingers through Roscoe’s fur, pushing the hair back and forth. “Said to say hi and to remind you about some design thing you said you’d look at.”

“Right, yeah, thanks. It’s in my calender.” Lewis goes back to his knitting, needles click clacking together. There have been many nights that Mick has fallen asleep to that sound. He is happier than he has been in a very long time. I need this. Please, don’t take it away. I need you. I can have this. I can. I can.

Lewis is good at being wanted, he can conceptualise that, but being needed? No, that he won’t believe. Him and Sebastian are more alike than they will ever know.

“Pierre put another dead fish in Esteban’s driver room.” Mick laughs as Lewis’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah, Este wasn’t that happy either. Apart from that though, there’s nothing else new. Same old, same old.”

He knows he’s rambling. Lewis’s toe nails are painted lilac purple. A few of them are beginning to chip. Mick will have to redo them for him soon.

“Mick.”

When Mick looks up at Lewis, he is watching him, eyebrows raised. Mick’s fingers tingle, toes curling in his socks, like he’s taking a corner in the rain, trying to find the apex on muscle memory alone, trying not to back out, swallowing the urge to blink.

“Are you going to mention Ferrari at some point or will I wait for the Instagram post like everyone else?”

Mick swallows. Click. Clack. Click. Click. “I signed with them a week ago. It’s being announced tonight.”

He doesn’t say I meant to tell you but it hangs in the air between them. Lewis’s face does something that Mick isn’t able to read before he nods, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Lewis shrugs. Mick suppresses the urge to hit him.

"You'll find someone else," Mick says and Lewis half laughs. "Of course, we will, that's not the point.”

Mick's stomach goes cold. He licks his lips, mouth dry.

"You already have someone."

Lewis sighs, putting down his needles, long fingers folding over themselves on top of the wool. There's more grey in his beard now then when Mick first joined the sport, the lines around his eyes deeper. He announced his upcoming retirement five races ago, after Silverstone.

There is a very big chance that he will retire a champion — even with Charles and George snapping at his heels, the title already feels like Lewis’s. There’s something to how he is driving this year, how he’s walking around and talking, it’s not just Mick who has noticed. Winning that eighth — winning it in Brazil — settled something in him, gave something back to him.

(Sebastian laughed so hard he nearly cried when Lewis won. Fernando had threatened to slash his tires if Seb wouldn’t stop following him around saying that Lewis now has four times as many titles as him and god, Fernando, aren’t you embarrassed. Mick doesn’t know who taught Sebastian the phrase “rip but couldn’t be me” but whoever it was, they are a genius.)

"It's being announced tomorrow, I think."

Mick doesn't have the right to be angry or hurt. He does not. He's the one leaving Mercedes. He’s the one that’s been in talks with Ferrari for weeks.

"Who?"

"Mick —“

"Who?” Mick looks away from Lewis. The sun is setting outside the wall length glass windows, melting red and orange and shimmering into the sea.

"Arthur," Lewis says, like he says everything else, as clear and solid as a punch. There are very few people Lewis lets himself lie to, with whom Lewis softens his words, and Mick has never been one of them. That alone could've made Mick fall in love with him.

"Leclerc," Mick replies, even though he doesn't need to - what other Arthur could Lewis possibly be taking about. Lewis hums in agreement, leaning his head back on the couch, cheek smushed into the cushion.

He remembers Charles’ face when Mick signed the contract, the circles under his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks.

“He turned down Ferrari,” Mick says and knows it is the truth.

Lewis shrugs. “Well, from what I understand it’s more like he didn’t give them the opportunity to offer it in the first place.”

“Right.”

Lewis doesn’t say anything. Mick feels like coughing, like throwing up, whatever he can do to get all this shit in his chest out. It’s taken him a long time to learn how to talk, to talk to Lewis. He hates to think that he has forgotten.

“Are you mad at me?”

He sounds like a child, which he hates, but Lewis doesn’t laugh. “No, of course not. It’s your life, Mick. It’s your choice.”

“Then—“ Then why does it feel like you are? Why does it feel like I’ve disappointed you? How dare you —

“But you don’t want me to go to Ferrari.” It’s not a question for all that Mick wants Lewis to disagree.

Lewis frowns, forehead folding in on itself, crease over crease. “That’s not — Okay. Look.” He glances down at his lap, the fingertips of his right hand pressing into the divots of the knuckles on his left. “This isn’t about what I want. It’s about you.”

“Yeah.”

Lewis told Mick that he was retiring a week before he announced it to the world, over apple pancakes and orange juice, the sweat from his run still clinging to the collar of his tank. Mick hadn’t said anything, only pulled Lewis in for a kiss when he passed by as he went for his shower.

They talked about it afterwards, in between zoom calls and workouts and sim sessions, but still, even then, Mick hadn’t asked him when he decided, when he knew he wasn’t coming back. Mick hadn’t asked him why he didn’t talk to Mick about it first. Mick hadn’t asked him if he was the first to know, he knows he wasn’t, is pretty sure that he knows who was.

(I don’t want what you have with him, Mick had thought, years before, watching Lewis knock knees with Sebastian, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. Sebastian hadn’t been able to stop looking at Lewis that night, not after George told him, tipsy and laughing, that Lewis was the one who organised it all. I don’t want it but I want something. I will not be the second choice. Not for you. Not in this.)

“Yeah,” Mick says. “It’s not about what you want.”

How can it be when I don’t know what you fucking want?

Lewis reaches over, running a hand down Roscoe’s neck, fingers stopping just short of touching Mick’s. “I want you to be happy. If Ferrari will do that, then I want Ferrari for you. That’s it. That’s all.”

Mick stares at the small tattoos etched into the back of his hand, dark and thin and careful. Is this a conversation you have already had before, he doesn’t ask. He is trying to be fair. He is. He thinks he might be going insane.

“Okay.” He covers Lewis’s hand with his, dry and warm. The skin around his wrist bunches up between his fingers. “And, and if they don’t?”

Lewis turns his hand over, thumb tucking up into the centre of Mick’s palm. “Then we figure it out.”

[desertfangs]

This is an excerpt from my first draft of a Valentine's fic that ended up not really going anywhere, but I think this part is sort of fun so I figured I'd share it here.

Daniel/Armand - Devil's minion years - about 600 words

-----

Daniel moved through the aisles of the drug store quickly. He’d landed in Philadelphia in the late afternoon after his flight was delayed. He’d checked into a hotel and passed out for an hour, though he’d only meant to close his eyes for a moment. Now it was dark. 

He grabbed a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste from the shelf (his had not made it into his suitcase) and tossed them into his handbasket. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and tried to remember if there was anything else he needed. 

Food. Several drinks. A week somewhere his vampire stalker couldn’t find him so he could get some restful sleep. 

None of those things were on sale at the drug store. 

He grabbed a new razor and a bottle of aftershave and then found himself in the shampoo aisle. They didn’t have his usual brand, which flummoxed him momentarily and he struggled to choose from the available options. Finally, he chose one at random and tossed it into the basket. 

He turned to go to the register and his heart leapt into his throat. Armand was standing at the end of aisle, watching him with that impassive expression of his. His auburn hair was cropped short, and he was bundled up like everyone else in layers and large coat so only his pale white face was exposed. Only Daniel wore a thin jacket. He’d flown in from the Caribbean. That was yet another thing he’d have to get. He’d had a warm winter coat at some point but it had been left behind at a train station or bus terminal somewhere along the line. 

Armand didn’t move. He just stared at him. So Daniel ignored him and went the other direction to the check out counter. The clerk rang up his purchases and added a box of cigarettes, while Daniel nervously scanned the store for Armand, who had vanished. 

Good. Maybe this was one of those times Armand’s only goal had been to spike Daniel’s blood pressure and he’d disappear until the next city. 

Daniel carried his plastic bag out of the store and practically bumped into Armand, who was waiting for him by the door. Armand immediately snatched the bag from his hands and rifled through it. He dug out the tube of toothpaste and said, “Winter Mint. Does mint grow in winter?” 

Daniel grabbed the bag back, leaving Armand holding the toothpaste. “It’s just a flavor.”

Armand frowned at the box. “What makes it taste of winter?” 

“It’s just what they call it. It’s marketing. Mint is too plain now, so they add descriptors to make it sound more appealing. It’s all the same,” Daniel said. He started to walk, trusting Armand would follow. Sure enough, the vampire fell into step beside him.

Armand shook the box of toothpaste and then opened the cardboard, the tube sliding out into his hands. He squeezed it a few times with the cap still on.

“Don’t do that! You’re going to squirt toothpaste all over the place!”  Daniel grabbed it back and shoved the tube into his plastic bag. 

Armand looked surprised and somewhat abashed, which made Daniel feel bad for snapping at him. Strange how he could transform so quickly from a preternatural monster into a chastised young man. 

“I guess vampires don’t brush their teeth, huh?” he asked, glancing over at Armand.

“There’s no need.” 

“Must be nice,” Daniel muttered. They continued down the sidewalk. Daniel’s hotel was several blocks away. “Have you ever tried it? Brushing your teeth, I mean? What would happen if you swallowed toothpaste?” 

Armand frowned. Clearly he didn’t know. 

-----

Obviously Armand is going to find out what happens, possibly by stealing the toothbrush Daniel just bought to do so.

[cybernecromancer365]

Home  (A/O)

It still felt strange sticking a key into the lock of an apartment door that wasn't hers. Olivia opened the door to dim recessed light warming the hallway and soft evening news playing from the living room. She hung her coat on the rack, grimacing at the sharp ache shooting down her right arm as she moved further into the apartment nursing her right shoulder.

"Welcome home." Coming from the kitchen Alex walked across the hardwood barefoot, passing in front of her with a fresh glass of wine.

At the word "home" Olivia stopped not sure of a response. She smiled. She really needed to get used to that word. "I'm glad you said your place."

"Why?" Alex chuckled.

"Your bed is softer."

"That's because I'm in it." Alex elegantly smiled and sat on the sofa. "We could work out a permanent arrangement, you know."

Alex said that so easily, no hesitation, and made Olivia’s doubts feel out of place.

"No U-haul Alex." Olivia smiled on her way to the kitchen.

"You've been here four out of seven days each week for the past five months--"

"Didn't know you were keeping track--"

"What's three more days?"

"You know why."

"It took us a decade to get here. I definitely wouldn't say we're rushing." Alex mumbled the last bit under her breath and took a sip of her wine.

Olivia poured herself a glass of water as Alex turned over the back of the sofa.

"What would you do without me?" Expertly clutched at the rim by Alex’s fingertips, the wine glass dangled over the floor, her eyes showing a playful concern. "You'd be gaunt and pale--"

"Right, because without you I can't function as a human being." Olivia said. "I did a pretty good job for thirty years."

"...surviving on takeout and coffee."

Olivia walked to the couch and Alex set her wine glass on the coffee table, pointing to a spot on the floor between her legs. Olivia set her glass on the table and sat in the spot, two hands taking the curvature of her neck on either side, fingers kneading into her skin. "Who else would do this for you?" Alex pressed a kiss to Olivia’s temple and Olivia smiled in return. 

"I could probably convince Elliot. I'm sure Kathy won't mind."

"Right, just tell her you're gay. I'm sure she'll be relieved."

Olivia sunk into Alex's embrace and closed her eyes as they shared a laugh. She sighed. "We have a lifetime to live together Alex. I think it's good to have some space." The fingers kneading her neck stopped and Olivia opened her eyes to Alex watching her from above. "What?"

"A lifetime?" Alex paused. "Are you implying something detective?" 

A hot flush ran down Olivia's back and her gaze shifted side to side. "Uh..." She tried to sit up but Alex held her still, sitting with a knowing smile.

"What happened to your shoulder? "

"A fifteen year old runaway slammed me into a brick wall when I tried to calm him down."

Alex rubbed Olivia's shoulder but couldn't contain her smile. "A lifetime--"

Olivia deflated with a sigh. "You're not gonna let it go--"

"The subconscious mind knows what it wants. I think it's trying to give you a hint." Alex leaned down, her lips brushing Olivia's temple. "And that hint might be reciprocated."

A grin stretched across Olivia's face as Alex kissed her cheek.

"How many times do I have to tell you I love you Liv?" Alex hugged her arms around Olivia's neck and Olivia smiled meekly.

[itsmemelaniemia]

She’s Here {NeganxMaggie}

The door slapped against the wall as Negan rushed in, the hinges bent severely from the force. He'd split up with Daryl to look for the others, Gabriel and Maggie nowhere to be found. Negan had run up six flights of stairs, glancing around the top floor in hopes of finding them.

Before he could check the two closets on the opposite side of the small, empty room, the floor creaked behind him and he swung his weapon towards the broken door.

Pope's form filled the doorway, his hands up in surrender. “I suggest you escape with your friends while I still have the kindness to allow it.” he warned, taking a step further into the room.

A loud click sounded as a bullet slid into the chamber, Negan keeping his revolver aimed at the mans head. “Big talk for such a little man.” he mocked, inching backwards towards the first closet.

“Are the people you came with really worth your life?” Pope asked, stepping fully into the room.

Negan chuckled darkly and pulled the trigger without warning. “Thought you people were all about brotherhood.” His eyes followed Pope's as he collapsed to the ground.

The older man swore, clutching his knee as blood pooled around him.

When Negan reached for the handle, the door wouldn't budge, and he immediately slammed his entire body against it. When it held sturdy, he whirled around to find Pope with a smug expression across his face.

“My men are already on their way to your precious Alexandria. I'd haul ass if you have any hopes of protecting your people.” he said, pain evident in his features no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Negan squeezed the trigger again and a second bullet lodged itself into Pope's abdomen, a broken scream erupting from his throat. Negan crouched down in front of him, yanking him up by the front of his shirt to look him in the eye. “I know she's here.” Negan spat, slamming the shorter man back against the wall hard enough to crack his skull. “And you're going to give her back to me now, before I start slicing your fingers off one by one.” He pushed the gun into the holster at his waist before sliding a large hunting knife from his sleeve. Gripping Pope's wrist, he forced his hand flat against the concrete floor and brought the blade down on his index finger violently.

Pope cried out in anguish, blood pouring heavily from his hand and joining the pool already forming around his legs. “We keep the trophies we earn.” He pushed the words out painfully through his teeth.

“She ain't a trophy.” Negan growled viciously, raising the knife again and slicing off the mans second finger. “If you're waiting for death, it's not coming.” he spat the words purposefully in Pope's face. “I'll skin you alive until you beg me to kill you.” Negan brushed the discarded finger aside with the back of his knife before raising it again. “ Then, I'll start on your teeth.” He gripped the mans throat harshly and slammed his head into the wall again. Once Pope was forced to stare back at him, Negan slid the tip of his knife between his lips, slicing deeply into his guns.

Pope tried to pull away but Negan's grip was unyielding, his fingers bruising around his neck.

“Where's is she?” he demanded, pushing the blade further into the soft tissue holding his back molar in place.

Pope twisted his head to the side but Negan held tight, pushing his thumb into his jugular and tightening his grip. “It's there. Over there.” he repeated frantically, pointing to a dusty table in the corner of the room. “Under the book.” he clarified, his shoulder slumping forward in relief when Negan got to his feet and released him.

Pope tried to stand but he'd lost all feeling in his legs, his feet crumpling beneath him and forcing him to the hard cement floor again. He cursed loudly, gripping the injury on his side to try and stop the bleeding. Once Negan had the key, he shot Pope between the eyes, turning towards the locked closet without giving his death an ounce of thought.

He'd barely gotten the door open before a fist slammed into his jaw and blackened his vision, sending him reeling back into the bedroom. Carter stumbled out of the closet and punch him again, straddling his hips once Negan was on the ground. Negan covered his face before he could land another hit and forced the barrel of his revolver into Carters stomach. He pulled the trigger with a growl, two bullets ripping through his belly and killing him instantly.

Negan shoved the heavy body off of him with a muttered curse and got to his feet, blood soaking his clothing and darkening his beard. Stumbling towards the closet with spots still clouding his sight, he fell into the room, hanging onto the door frame for support while he blinked his vision clear.

“Son of a bitch.” Negan shoved the door fully open to allow more light into the space. He slid a handful of mold covered, hanging jackets aside and sank to his knees. Maggie's head lolled to her shoulder, her body slumped against the back corner of the small closet. Her hair covered most of her face and her legs were bare, laying straight out in front of her. Her shirt had been torn down the middle, the scraps hanging off her arms and leaving her chest exposed. When Negan looked around the room, he saw her jeans balled up in the opposite corner, one of her boots close by.

He gripped her chin roughly, turning her head from side to side. “Maggie.” His voice was deep and stern, trying to pull her from whatever state she was in. “Maggie.” he repeated. “Wake up.” He brushed his thumb along her jaw where a dark purple bruise was already settling into her skin. Pulling her head away from the wall, he saw a splatter of blood on the wood. He moved her hair enough to see a large bump at the back of her skull along with a deep gash on her shoulder blade that was bleeding heavily down her back.

Negan shrugged off his jacket and pulled it around her body, easing her arms carefully through the sleeves. Once he'd zipped it closed, he pushed her worn leather boot back onto her foot and pulled her into his arms. “Up we go.” he mumbled, adjusting her higher against his chest.

[yespumpkindoodlesthings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers Characters: Darcy Lewis, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Lovers to Friends, they used to be together, And Steve has feelings about it, I wanted to imagine Wistful!Steve surrounded by Darcy's Squishes, Ignoring Canon like it's my job Summary:

Steve Rogers wonders why he and Darcy broke up in the first place.

[buckys-little-belle]

Chapter Three - Raindrops and Goodbyes

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SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW. 

Warnings - Talks about past (bad) Caregivers, talks about fear of abandonment, some heavy negative feelings, comparing oneself to others, fluff but ends in some angst, Bub eats, food mentioned, Bub cries 

Word Count - 1751

Note - Sorry this took so long to get out! Things got hectic, and crappy, and I haven't been able to edit, or format, or really write lately! Luckily things are going well and I won't start school till the 16th so I'm hoping to get some stuff out in the next week or so! Part four will be posted tomorrow! I can't leave us on a sad note for too long! I just can't!!

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Y/n always hated wearing her yellow raincoat, the material feeling odd against her skin, and the crinkle of the fabric was never music to her ears. But on days like this, grey skies and heavy raindrops falling to the ground, she had no choice but to suit up. Her matching rain boots on, allowing her to splash in any puddle she felt needed to be played in. 

As she neared the Cafe she got excited, Bucky said they would go to the park today, and although it’s running she has hopes that he’ll let them go anyways, her umbrella overhead creating enough of a dry patch to maybe, at the least, run around in the mud without catching a nasty cold. 

“Mr!” She cheered as she walked in, something she did every time she saw him sat at his usual table, early as always. “I has something for you!” She smiled big as she unzipped the front pocket of her backpack “Here.” Her smile grew as Bucky’s mirrored hers, the small baggie with flowers printed on it full of chocolate chip cookies her pride and joy. 

“You made these?” 

“Yes!” Y/n says still standing, ready to leave for the park wherever Bucky is ready. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, growing impatient. “All on my own!” She cheered, proud of her baked goods. “Park now?” Bub asked, her smile still huge, both hands grasping the straps of her bag, now back on her back. 

“It’s raining, Bub.” Bucky frowned, causing Bub to mirror his expression. “But we’ll go next time, okay?” He asked, his hands immediately helping Y/n out of her raincoat, the buttons soon undone. 

“But you promised?” Y/n frowned, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “I wanted to go to d’park.” Y/n held back her tears, though she wished to stomp her foot and throw a small fit, she didn’t know Bucky well enough to truly let him see her little side completely. So instead she fixed her clothing after her coat had been taken off and sat in her usual seat. 

“I know I promised, Bub.” She smiled at the nickname. “But I brought us a fun game to play today.” He was quickly making her forget about the park trip altogether, now excited to see whatever game he had brought. She hoped it wasn’t UNO, she sucked at that. “Here.” He said as he placed a game on the table, the pink and blue of Candyland making Y/n let out a small squeal. 

“I love Candyland!” She grabbed the box and bounced in her seat. “Can we play now?” She asked, her eyes turning to Bucky, him already looking at her. “Please?” She added on for good measure. 

The moment he nodded his head she opened the box, pulling all the pieces out. “Why don’t you set it up, and I get us some snacks?” Bucky asked, Y/n didn’t even look up at him, but nodded her head. Too busy pulling out the different characters. 

Y/n didn’t know how long it took Bucky to get snacks, but by the time he got back to the table she had created a whole plot amongst the characters and their kingdoms. “Here, Bub.” Bucky said as he placed a plate on the table. It was more than the usual cake pop he got her, though one still sat on the plate. This time he got vegetables and dip, some goldfish, and a cup of juice. 

“Thank you, Mr.” Y/n smiled up at him, grabbing a celery stick and dipping it. “Can I be the ice cream cone?” She asked, showing him the character she had in her hand. Bucky nodded but stayed sitting. “You need’a pick a lil guy.” She pointed to the characters situated around the board. 

“Right.” He said, his expression growing serious as he looked each one over. “I’ll pick this one, he looks tough.” Y/n broke out into a fit of giggles, the marshmallow definitely not a ‘tough guy’. 

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They got to playing the game, Y/n winning two times in a row. She wasn’t surprised, while she knew it was all down to luck, she had played the game a ton of times so clearly the Candyland gods liked her more than Bucky. “Are you cold bub?” Bucky asked her, making her realise she was shivering slightly.

She knew not bringing a sweater might be a bad idea, but she thought they were going to the park. “Um, yeah.” She nodded then shrugged her shoulders. She hoped he wouldn’t make her go back home and get one, she only had so much time in a day to spend at the cafe. “Bu’ I’m all good, can we play again?” She asked, moving their pieces back to the star. 

“Yeah we can play again, just wait a second.” Bucky stood up, she wondered where he was going, but instead of leaving to grab something or go to the bathroom he stood at the side of her booth with a black sweater in hand. “Hands up, Bub.” He said, holding the sweater out. 

“I don’ need your sweater, wha’ if yous get cold?” She asked, not sure if her being so comfortable around Bucky her little side couldn’t help but come out now was a good thing or a bad thing. While she was 100% sure Bucky was a safe guy to be around, she didn’t want to get too attached to him just in case. 

“I won’t get cold.” He answered in a softer voice. She knew he was special, that’s what everyone in the newspapers said, that he’s indestructible. But she’d hate to be the person who gave a super soldier a cold because she took his sweater. “Bub.” His voice drew her out of her worrying. He was now crouched down so they were eye level. “I won’t get cold, but you’re shivering.” He didn’t wait for her to put her arms up, instead just putting it over her head and waiting for her to put her arms through on her own.

“Tanks.” Bub murmured, looking at Bucky with a small smile. She was thankful for the sweater, now warm, but she still worried that she was too much to handle. He had given her a lot, crayons, colouring pages, so much of his time, and now his sweater. She hadn’t given him anything but cookies that she hoped tasted okay. 

“Why don’t we play again?” Bucky asked as he settled back into his seat. “I can feel it, I’m going to win this one.” He teased, she shook her head, he had no clue that the Candyland gods were on her side, and she hoped he would never know. 

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Y/n frowned as she saw Bucky pacing around outside. It had stopped raining but he said that they should wait till a sunny day to go out, because ‘everything would be slippery’. Buck’s phone had rung five hours ago, well maybe two minutes ago, but it felt like forever as she just watched him pace with an unhappy look on his face. 

She grabbed the last few goldfish and got back to her colouring, when she had won for a third time Bucky had to quit, saying his ego couldn’t handle anymore. Y/n giggled at the memory. 

The doorbell rang out and she quickly turned, though her smile turned back into a frown when she saw Bucky’s sad expression. “I’m sorry, I have to go, Bub.” He said, his sad words said in a kind tone. 

“Oh, otay.” Y/n answered, watching him pack up his things. “Will you be back tomorrow?” She asked, her crayons laid on the table instead of in her hands. 

Bucky sighed, then sat down, his hands clasped on the table. “I’m going to be gone until next wednesday.” Y/n’s back straightened up, he’d be gone for nine days. That was a lot of time to be gone, and a lot of time for him to think and change his mind about her. 

“Oh, do you, do you wan’ your sweater back?” She asked, wiggling her hands out of the sleeves before Bucky got to her. His hands covering hers, a painful smile on his face. 

“You can keep it, I’ll get it back when I come back okay?” Y/n nodded. “I’ll put my phone number in your phone, and I’ll text you if I’m going to be back later than wednesday, okay?” She nodded her head, at least he wasn’t just up and leaving, he was giving her a point of contact if needed. She handed him her phone, watching as he took forever to type out his name and number. It was a little silly to watch. “I won’t be able to text or call you while I’m away.” He admitted. “But you can text me all you want and I’ll read them when I’m back.” Bucky offered, though she knew she wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t bother him while he was away, she knew people hated that. 

She just nodded her head, watching him as he put his coat and backpack on. “Stay safe.” She whispered as he stood in front of her, ready to leave. 

“And you be good, Bub.” Bucky whispered back, and then he was gone. She watched him get into his jeep and drive away. She knew her mind was being silly when she couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t come back, but it didn’t mean it stopped that train of thought. 

She knew deep down that he had to leave, he didn’t want to, but he had to. She knew he wasn’t like the other people who became her friends and then left and never came back, she knew that, somewhere in her mind she knew that. But she still couldn’t help it as a few tears slipped down her cheeks as she cleaned up. She couldn’t help but let out a small sad noise as she put on her coat, and she couldn’t help but sob the moment she got home and into bed. 

“He had to go save people, he was needed by the world because he's a good guy, that’s why he left.” She whispered to herself all night, but she still felt as though he had left because of something she did.

[aki-draws-things]

One more a little thing, a little idea. I do have a little background for that, but for now take this as it comes.

Jonathan was Nine.

And now he has his little sister back.

(Will and Jonathan are still blood brothers, as said, I do have a background idea... Plus too many ideas.)

Jonathan tapped on the corner of the table in the living room as he passed, he tapped over the wall, a rhythmic sound, and so on on the door and the kitchen table. Nine times, all the times, El tilted her head from her place at the table, Jonathan looked up, caught her eyes and smiled. He tapped on the kitchen counter, and the fridge, back on the counter.

El blinked. It was a tapping sound she was familiar with, from long ago, from somewhere.

"eggs and bacon? Or you just want cereals today?" jonathan had an egg in hand, he waved it slightly, she noticed he tapped the tip too. She knew someone, she remembered...

"eggs." she agreed. "eggos?"

Jonathan laughed and El smiled. She loved when her brothers laughed, and, she realized, it was so rare to hear Jonathan laugh lately.

"maybe tomorrow? I promise."

She nodded. It was a month, by then, that Jonathan kept promising that. There had been a time when she would've got upset, complaining he kept saying that all the time, but that tomorrow never came. Not now, not there.

Her eggs and bacon were smiling at her and she smiled more at Jonathan, scrunching her nose.

"you eat, while I go wake Will."

"he was up until so late last night. I saw the light on when I went to get water."

"yeah, and then he sleeps on in the morning and we run late."

El heard the quiet tapping in the wall as he walked away.

Nine, her mind reminded her and she almost dropped her fork. Nine always tapped on things when he was concentrating. Nine was gone. One day she walked in the room and Nine wasn't there. No one questioned his absence. She liked Nine, though, he was quiet and kind to her. A bit forgetful, and more powerful than what he always showed. But kind. And gone.

Nine always tapped on surfaces nine times whenever his mind was drifting away. He tapped to communicate his feelings, faster, slower, louder, deeper.

Jonathan tapped, always nine times, in a slow rhythm that El remembered, but Jonathan couldn't be Nine, she would've known.

Except, she realized, as they arrived at the facility as she escaped, she had been blind, for some reason. Or perhaps it was all part of some sort of plan.

Jonathan stepped out of the van, he staggered only for a moment before regaining balance, and El threw herself at him, even before Mike. She wrapped her arms around him, squishing her face on his chest, her fingers grabbing the shirt and holding tight.

"hey kid..." Jonathan muttered with a little smile, she didn't see him lift a hand and wipe the blood away from his nose, nor she saw a couple of soldiers emerging from the door and, seconds later, looking around confused on why the were there.

"brother..." and for the first time since they began living together, Jonathan knew the word held a whole different meaning.

"told you I would get you out, right?"

El smiled against him, she tapped lightly against his back. Eleven times.

"I know." she breathed in, deeply. "big brother always keep the promise."

[rosyjuly]

approximately one million years ago you wrote a little 3 sentence fic about office workers George and Alex and I’m wondering how things are going for them IF you had any divine musings

Wolff finally takes mercy on them; hires three people for social media management. It’s only taken George half a year and two ppt-s to convince him that being under 30 doesn’t automatically qualify you as competent, and anyway his age is a depreciating asset. But they’re here now, and it’s great – they love to feature him, still, but at least it’s not him who has to edit the godforsaken TikTok videos to perfectly match the audio. 

The only downside is that with the new colleagues, they desks no longer fit into the corner of the second floor where George has been withering away for the past two years. It wouldn’t make sense to separate the comms team, so Claire makes them move up to the third. It makes more sense to be with the marketing team, anyway, she says. But now they have got the sales department on the other side, and in the open-plan office there’s just a lot more calls George has to listen to while he drafts the copies for the latest campaign. It makes him miss the data analysts. 

For the first few weeks, it’s not that bad. He either gets lunch with the new coworkers, trying to get to know the boys and girls in the marketing team, or has half a pack of crisps while trying to finish a press release, wiping his hand after every bite to avoid staining his laptop. Then the onboarding finally finishes and he doesn’t need to spend two hours each day to explain the ropes to Frederik. 

All of a sudden, he looks around, watches everyone else type away or nod at their screens with their most faux-genuine face, and he feels deeply, excruciatingly alone. He picks up his phone, opening the WhatsApp thread with Alex. Instead of the steady flow of texts, he can see the date annotated after every message or two. 

He’s told himself that the distance might do them good; that it’ll be healthy to stop looking over at Alex after every joke he cracks, that he shouldn’t be so attuned with Alex’s tea refills. A pint or two on Fridays would still be fine – hunched over a barrel in lieu of a table on the pavement, shoulders pressed together and complaining about the bloody ridiculous prices. But he didn’t expect this. The hollow, tender part in his ribcage that feels half-filled with regret as he thumbs through Alex’s texts about how he didn’t know Quality Assurance could be so bad, and maybe George should still be doing that much overtime if it meant that Alex didn’t have to listen to one more overzealous phone apology. 

You think Sales is much better? he sends back. It’s just past noon. Wanna grab an early lunch? 

YES. You won’t believe the bs Marko pulled this morning, Alex sends back almost immediately. 

George shuts his laptop, doesn’t announce that he’s getting food for once, lest someone tries to join him. Walking back into data analysis should not make anyone feel fond, yet here he is; the philodendron on Patrick’s desk has a new leaf. 

“Here to pick Alex up?” Patrick asks, pushing his headphones back. It makes George’s stomach warm, both with embarrassment and, mortifyingly, with pride. 

“You know how he is,” he tells Patrick, “gets lost in those Excel sheets and I’ll starve to death.” 

“I’m ready, shut up,” Alex says, saving his work with a few efficient motions. “First person to complain about me in the sheets, I’ll tell you that–” 

“And how would I know?” George asks, trying to ignore the hot shiver that runs up his spine. Alex whips around and George almost walks into his chest; when he raises his eyes, Alex is looking at him with his head tilted, like he’s a pattern Alex needs to find in a set of corrupted data.

[cemeterything]

are we still doing this because i have a late submission