#oakley speaks

[sootnuki]

coloring tutorial i threw onto my twitter recently

[goldenpinof]

Tyler's tweet

[moonshynecybin]

Jealous Vale... A concept for the ages...

omg truly a bananas situation for everyone involved… like this is maybe the resolution to @babynflames mabio casual hookup gay brunch verse where fabio is way more into it than marc but trying very hard to be chill lol

so like vale finds out. SOMEHOW. and then it would have to be another one of those repression things where he is FULLY not thinking about WHY he cannot stop turning it over in his brain, but GOD he is…. marc with another rider. marc with a GOOD rider. one that hero worships him. marc with the guy that is has vale’s old seat at yamaha. like our guy is fully 44 years old lying awake at night staring at the ceiling tortured by visions of fabio’s bleached hair and stupid jeans lmaooooo

but one thing about my man valentino. he is a go-getter. he loves attention. he does not languish in misery. and he can truly show up at the paddock any time he wants. so he decides to do some recon just trying to figure out whyyyy he’s so stuck on this (big flashing sign YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH MARC.). so he starts showing up at races and sticking to fabio like GLUEEE (i mean. he’s not gonna stalk MARC lbr) so he’s rubbernecking anytime fabio disappears around corners and loitering in the yamaha garage and “unintentionally” cockblocking mabio the WHOLE TIME and fabio is like he wants to be friends :D while vale is fake smiling at him and internally panic spiraling bc he saw a mm93 hat thrown on a counter in fabio’s motorhome and he remembers how his life was when he used to have that. when marc would come to him. and now he’s with fabio

meanwhile marc’s like. this guy wants to ruin my LIFEEEE because he stopped giving vale the benefit of the doubt like 5 years ago and he gets spiteful when he’s sexually frustrated. so when marc shows up at fabio’s motorhome for his pre-race dick appointment (iykyk) and vale opens the door and the lid blows righttttt off.

[euphoriclusts]

closed starter for @luriddaze

"see, i get it - you're pissed, but if it's any consolation, i'm not actually my ex-best friend."

[aesethewitch]

Okay okay alright, it's my sister's birthday today so I was out and about and then distracted, but it's time for free tarot. Post going out shortly, yeehaw

[nxttheendxfthestxry]

Closed Starter: I Left You Alone (Holly/Oakley)

Holly sighs, wrinkling her nose at her computer screen. Visualizing what she was talking about for her homework was going well until it wasn’t. Which just about tracked.

She rubs her temples and shakes her head, looking up. She liked this little corner of the Student Union. It was well-done as far as design, and it was a good-sized study... space...

No fucking way.

Holly’s eyes catch his from where she’s sitting, watching his face, confirming it was him. She rubs her eyes. Nope. It was him, he was really there.

Slowly, she stands up, never looking away. A weak smile cracks her face, and then she shakes her head, running to meet him, starting to cry as she does. Has to hug him, has to apologize only about a billion times, has so much to catch up on--

@storystartsanew​

[endofyouths]

open to: f/m/nb - take this as you wish with connections about oakley: nhl photographer, openly tells the team he's there to make them less ugly, banter king, is actually so sweet

oakley can't help the smile that crossed his face as he propped himself up on his elbow, eyes on the other. "i'm glad you ditched the afterparty with me. feels like when you've been to one, you've been to all of them." hand reached out to move a stray hair out of the other's face. "would much rather be here with you, anyway."

[dykeredhood]

I’m still so chagrined that I said ‘damn’ in person in front of someone from a different department, I genuinely try not to swear at work, it feels like it makes me come off as boorish and uncultured

[imsensingatriptoikea]

Oakley: “ You good? “

Oakley shrugged as they looked at Melvin. "Hmm? Oh, yeah I'm okay." She said, giving him a small smile. "Why?"

[mysunshinetemptress]

She is Heaven

Leah Williamson x Cowgirl!reader

Warning:Heaven is out of reach and you can’t blame anyone else but yourself

The roar of the crowd at the CMA festival was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You'd never been to Nashville, never been further east than South Dakota, but here you were, all because of Mitch and his rodeo star girlfriend, Dakota. You shuffled through the throngs of cowboy hats and rhinestones laughing at locals trying to fit into the cowboy narrative, the air thick with the sweet tang of barbecue and spilled beer.

Mitch had given you your pass to the VIP section just behind the sound desk, flashing your lanyard you walked up the steps letting out a breath you didn't even realise you were holding in, you turned looking at the other people that had gathered in the section your eyes flicking around for Mitch or Dakota when your eyes landed on a small group of women laughing before turning as Mitch placed his hand on your shoulder "Hey, you good Oakley." you turned fully facing him "Yeah all good." Mitch had been calling you Oakley as long as you could remember refusing to call you Y/n, you were Oakley to him only to him after Annie Oakley a famous female gunslinger.

You were broken from the conversation by the sound of the three women walking past you and exiting the VIP section, your ears seemed to prick up at the sound of the unfamiliar accent, but the world seemed to go quiet as the taller girl turned her blue eyes catching your greenish gold ones.

"My God she's gorgeous." you thought to yourself.

The festival was in full swing and you were sipping a beer talking to Mitch about his upcoming rodeo gig in California when you felt a tap on your shoulder, You met the same blue eyes you had locked with a short while ago before your eyes drifted to her lips as she started talking "Hi, would you mind taking a photo of us please." You handed Mitch your beer wiping your suddenly sweaty hands in your jeans before reaching for the phone in her hand mumbling out a small sure.

"Alright saw cheese." you smiled at the screen as the three women wrapped their arms around eachother saying a loud cheese as they smiled for the photo.

You smiled at the taller girl as she said a soft thank you taking the phone before you began speaking, your Montana twang thick in the southern air, "that accent's somethin' else. Where you from?"

The woman smiled, a smile that could light up a rodeo arena. "England. I'm Leah." you outstretched your hand shaking hers "I'm Y/n."

Your knowledge of England extended as far as tea and the Queen, but Leah's accent, when she spoke to you, sent a shiver down your spine. It was melodic, a complete contrast to the twang you were used to. Hesitation warred with curiosity. You weren't exactly known for your social graces – you were more comfortable wrangling a stubborn steer than making small talk. But something about Leah propelled you forward.

"England, huh? That's a long way from Nashville." you drawled, trying to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Leah, seemingly unfazed, laughed, a light, tinkling sound. "It certainly is," she admitted, her eyes sparkling. "I'm here with my Nan and cousin for the festival."

"Cool, that there is my best friend, Mitch, we're here to watch his girlfriend play it's her first major festival." Leah smiled "Wow, what's her name." God her accent was something else "Eh Dakota, Dakota Jones." Leah's eyes seemed to shine "No way, no way we love her."

A smile bloomed on your face, a genuine one that crinkled the corners of your eyes. Maybe Nashville wasn't so bad after all. "Well, you'll get to see her then, she's on next!" The music thrummed through the ground, a contagious beat that made you want to tap your boots. You glanced at Mitch, who was busy chatting with a group of cowboys, then back at Leah. "You guys should stick around, you might even get to meet her."

Leah's smile widened the kind that seemed to reach her eyes. "That would be amazing! Like I said we're huge fans." Her enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself wanting to share Dakota's success with them. "Come on, then," you said, gesturing towards the open chairs near Mitch. "Let's get you settled in for the show."

As you led them over, you stole a glance at Leah. The way the stage lights twinkled in her hair, the way her eyes sparkled with excitement – it was like something out of a dream. You weren't sure what it was, but there was definitely something about this English girl that made your heart skip a beat.

As you reached Mitch, you introduced Leah and her companions, a petite woman with a kind face who you assumed was her Nan, and a bubbly blonde you learned was her cousin, Jordan. Mitch, ever the charmer, greeted them with a southern drawl that had Leah and Lily giggling, "Don't mind him he's as southern as the state of Wyoming." Leah laughed at your little dig.

The conversation flowed easily, filled with questions about rodeo life from the wide-eyed English girls and tales of your Montana ranch from you. You found yourself captivated by Leah's stories of quaint villages 1000s of years old, a world far removed from your own.

"So what do you do for a living then?" You asked taking a swig of beer. "I play football," Leah answered nonchalantly with your eyebrows "Football, they have girls football in England." Leah laughed "Yeah like soccer, I play soccer only in England we call it football." Football? Soccer? You furrowed your brow, completely lost. "Like...kicking a ball around?"

Leah laughed again, a sound that was starting to feel dangerously intoxicating. "Something like that, yes. Though it's a bit more complex than that." She gestured towards the stage, where Dakota had just appeared on. "This is quite the experience, though. The music, the energy, it's electric."

But even as the crowd roared and the lights pulsed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Leah. There was a connection there, a spark that you couldn't quite explain. And as Dakota's powerful voice filled the arena, you knew this trip to Nashville, with all its twists and turns, was going to be one you wouldn't soon forget.

As the night began to draw to a close you found yourself feeling anxious over the thought of never seeing Leah again, "How long are you here for." Leah sighed "Not long I'm afraid we came just for this and i have to be back in England by the end of the week cause I'm heading into another England camp."

Your stomach clenched. A week. It felt like mere seconds since you'd locked eyes with Leah across the crowded VIP section, and already the thought of her leaving felt like a punch to the gut.

"England camp?" you repeated, hoping to buy yourself some time to process the information.

"Yeah," Leah explained, her smile dimming slightly. "I play for the national team. We have a big tournament coming up."

National team. Wow. You weren't sure what was more surprising – the fact that Leah was a world-class athlete, or the fact that you, a simple ranch girl from Montana, had managed to strike up a conversation with her.

"That's incredible, Leah," you managed to stammer, forcing a smile.

"Thanks," she replied, her gaze lingering on yours for a beat too long before glancing away.

You had only just met this girl, but the thought of her flying halfway across the world and never seeing her again felt earth-shattering.

An awkward silence descended, broken only by the faint sounds of roadies dismantling the stage and the distant chatter of departing festival-goers. You stole another glance at Leah, catching the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Was she feeling the same way you were? A crazy, exhilarating hope bubbled up within you.

Mitch, sensing the shift in mood, nudged you playfully. "Well, Oakley," he drawled. "Looks like it's time for us to head back to the hotel. Long drive tomorrow."

You shot him a grateful look. Mitch always knew how to read a situation.

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, standing up a little too abruptly.

As you said your goodbyes, Leah's hand lingered in yours a touch longer than was strictly necessary. Her blue eyes held a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher, a mix of sadness and a spark of something else entirely.

You stole another glance at Leah, hoping to catch her eye. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to stay in touch. But her head was bent over her phone, fingers rapidly typing a message. Disappointment gnawed at you, but you forced it down.It wouldn't be fair to get ahead of yourself.

As you said your goodbyes, Leah's smile returned, a hint of something warmer in her eyes. "It was lovely meeting you,Y/n," she said, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. "And good luck to Dakota, she was amazing."

"Thanks, Leah," you replied, your voice thick with unspoken emotions. "You too. Enjoy your camp."

As you walked away with Mitch, a part of you ached with the thought of leaving Leah behind. Yet, another part, a more hopeful part, clung to the memory of her lingering gaze and the way her voice had softened when she spoke to you.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't goodbye. Maybe, despite the miles and the vast differences in your worlds, this Nashville encounter was just the beginning of something special.

Oh who were you kidding this was the closest you had ever gotten to heaven and you didn't even ask for her number to stay there even for just a short while longer.

[salemoleander]

solving counting sheep webweave

MCYTblr AU Fest Summer 2023 // sources under readmore

Created as a treat for the absolutely stunning fic by @theminecraftbee!

What is a webweave? Previous art: Third Life | Void Falling | Attempt 33 | Martyn | Limited Life | Nightingale Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | singing songs to the secrets behind my eye | A Hundred Things We Had Not Dreamed Of

Pt. 1: The Specialist’s Hat, Stranger Things Happen p.63  / Kelly Link ◆ Requiem Angel / Daniele Valeriani via @satanasaeternus ◆ Maschera Venetian Joker Mask / Atelier Marega Mask ◆ Macbeth 1.5.57-61 / Shakespeare ◆ Watch / Carol Milne ◆ Excerpt from Salt Is For Curing / Sonia Vatomsky via @geryone ◆ Carved Damascus Steel Bird Knife / Robert Mayo ◆ Excerpt from STOP ME IF YOU’VE HEARD THIS ONE BEFORE, Calling a Wolf a Wolf / Kaveh Akbar ◆ off to finish it at the source / @catcrumb ◆ Excerpt from The War of Vaslav Nijinsky / Frank Bidart ◆ Having a cat is great tweet / @premeesaurus ◆ Secrete / Kate MccGwire via @snailspng

Pt. 2: I am asking you to endure it. / @intactics (Deactivated 12.31.21) ◆ Hi! You have great eyes / @illness (Deactivated 3.25.18) ◆ Taste for Independence Cat / @alisonzai ◆ Support Mental Health pin / @snailspng ◆ A Barn at Kronetorp, Skåne / Gustaf Rydberg ◆ Living: There is a period when it is clear... / Jenny Holzer via @funeral ◆ Neighborhood Plague, Fjords I / Zachary Schomburg ◆ Ugly, Bitter, and True / Suzanne Rivecca ◆ It just keeps happening / @mothcub ◆ Shepherd with Flock of Sheep / Anton Mauve ◆ No Longer Evil cat / @b0nkcreat ◆ Excerpt from All Our Futures / Jody Chan via @geryone ◆ Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stitch / Carol Milne via @knithacker ◆ Deep Dark Fear (9.29.2013) / Fran Krause @deep-dark-fears

Pt. 3: Read more pop-up / @screenshotsofdespair ◆ Combination of Painter Javier Palacios and Enoch 18:14 /  @mountainqoats ◆ Wandering Albatross ◆ Diomedes ◆ Forgive dead players: OFF / @screenshotsofdespair ◆ Inktober52 Angel / @lastmousequeen-blog ◆ The Heavenly Host / Violet Oakley ◆ Excerpt from No Rush / Todd Dillard ◆ I will not go gentle magnets / @carpethedamndiem ◆ Excerpt from cain / José Saramago via @ilumark (Deactivated 2.5.22) ◆ Excerpt from Salt Is For Curing / Sonya Vatomsky via @geryone ◆ Purple / @ungfio via @sosuperawesome ◆ Excerpt from Lessons on Expulsion / Erika Sánchez via @geryone ◆ The Practical Companion to the Work-Table, Containing Directions for Knitting, Netting, & Crochet Work / Elizabeth Jackson via @knittinghistory

Pt. 4: Excerpt from A Ghost is a Memory / GennaRose Nethercott via @tolerateit ◆ What’s done is done / @thatsbelievable ◆ Excerpt from Ante body / Marwa Helal via @geryone ◆ Minor Resurrections / Elisa Gonzalez ◆ Mirror ◆ Coming back / @ungfio ◆ Candlestick ◆ Flame

[sootnuki]

skunkape should make a sam and max game called “sam and max go into a black hole” and it’s just about sam and max going into a black hole. nothing else

[jointherebellion215]

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone. 

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.” 

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond. 

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word. 

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his. 

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?” 

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.” 

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food. 

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption. 

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!” 

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing. 

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind. 

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap. 

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves. 

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends. 

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.” 

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly. 

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.” 

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you. 

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.” 

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted. 

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

[moonshynecybin]

What are your thoughts on rosquez as parents and how do you think they would raise their kids?

i think their baby's wardrobe would have the most god awful color scheme heretofore seen by man

[euphoriclusts]

closed starter for @dekarma

"god, you're going to be the death of me, aren't you? i even think i'm alright with that. how fucked up is that?"

[muddyorbsblr]

a startling realization pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Oakley returns to campus after a trip with his mates and steadily comes to realize he's developed feelings for you

Pairing: Oakley x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning/s: frat boy friends vibes; bit of angst; probably not a completely accurate referencing to the events of 'Unrelated' [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: prequel piece to 'just another memory' but can be read alone; Oakley is a SIMP in the making for Reader

There'd been a strange sinking feeling in Oakley's stomach since he and his mates hit the road back to Cambridge. It was the kind that he'd only ever felt when he knew he'd done something that could get his mother cross at him and she and his father would impose some form of punishment on him. Perhaps revoke his cell phone for a week so he couldn't join his friends on their regular scheduled shenanigans. Or chat up some stunner that he'd met the week prior.

But things were different now. He was no longer bound by their rules for the most part. He was free to do whatever he wished and this trip to Italy was the perfect showcase of that new dynamic. All he had to do was get his degree and get a job, and he would still have their support and financial aid so that he wouldn't have to stay at the dorms or even have to tough it out with a roommate that might not approve of the way he lived day in day out.

The only person keeping him in check now was himself, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing he'd done in Italy that he wouldn't have done in Cambridge. He had a bloody good time there, even, getting to engage in not just one but two flings, and one of them with an older woman.

And yet, when he thought back on every touch, every kiss, that he'd shared with either of the women, that pit in his stomach would form again. As if the activities he'd engaged in during his vacation were somehow the "wrong thing" that could make someone responsible for him cross.

But why?

"You're awfully quiet back there, mate. Which one of your lucky ladies is taking up space in that randy little brain o' yours, I reckon?" Eric teased, lightly tapping the curly blond's head as he plopped down on the seat next to him, jostling him out of his dwelling over why there was a pit in his stomach to begin with.

"I've no idea what you're on about, mate, I'm not thinking of anyone," he tried to brush it off, brows furrowing together when he tried to remember that night in the pool and the knots in his stomach worsened. Like the memories he made in Italy were not something he could look back at with fondness.

If he dwelled on it for even a second longer than necessary, it almost felt as if he was looking back on those memories with a touch of shame.

"Ah come on, Oaks, you tellin' everyone 'ere that you're not thinking about that stunner of a blonde Elizabetta? Even I'm thinking 'bout her and it wasn't my tongue down 'er throat." Eric crowded his space, squishing him to the side of the van. "Or even that cougar Anna, my lord, man that one was fawning and doting after you!"

As if right on cue, his mobile rang and vibrated violently in his pocket. Another call. He didn't need to even glance at the tiny device to know who it was. She'd been calling since just a few minutes after they'd all said their goodbyes.

That was over 24 hours ago. And he was well on his way back to campus, the scenery already began to elicit that feeling of 'home'. Or at least of familiarity.

"Speak o' the devil! Why don't you pick it up, Oaks? Be a grand old time hearing her pining after you again." His friend flailed into his side, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his brow. "'Oh Oakley how I miss you terribly, why don't I come visit you on Cambridge and we can live out any professor fantasies you might have in that virile young college brain? I'll even get the glasses and the pencil skirt just for you."

"Sod off," he grunted, trying to chuckle away the mental image. Another thing that was bothering him: Those fantasies that he'd had before they left for Italy a little over a month ago…none of them appealed to him now. "If you want, you take her number and live out those filthy little daydreams of yours, mate."

All that he could manage to think of at the moment was the melancholic knowledge that when he got back to his apartment, there would be no one there. He wasn't coming home to anyone. That didn't used to bother him before, but for some reason sitting in this van with all his mates and having to hear them be completely taken up with his own conquests in this trip made him feel as if he should be guilty and shameful somehow of the way he acted. The way he treated both the women that he encountered and found himself entangled with.

This is ridiculous, you're not looking for a wife, you batty little git, he hissed at himself, trying to supress the urge to let out a deep exhale. That would set off everyone in the van. Besides, you don't even know anyone that's even remotely wife material.

"Hey hey hey look alive, lads," Marcus, the one at the wheel, started to call out. His tone was brimming with wanton intent. "We are steadily approaching the dorms, and you know what comes after."

"Sorority row!" the rest of the van cheered, proceeding to make botched barking sounds, effectively drowning out the relentless ringing of Oakley's phone.

But the mention of the dorms finally had him sitting up straighter, realization dawning on him that he was wrong. He actually already knew someone who was so much more than "wife material". Someone brilliant and diligent that had a part of him driven to make the steps to be someone better.

Someone that he called his best friend. Better than anyone in the van with him tonight.

You.

"Marcus, could you drop me off here?" he called out, his stomach flipping at the sight of your familiar silhouette jogging to the front door of your dormitory.

His friends' remarks faded into a dull buzzing in the background as he got off the van, making his way over to you and staying still by your side while you did your step-ups at the bottom step of the stairs. It only took a few moments before you shifted your gaze at him, removing your earphones and hooking the cord behind your head before giving him a beaming grin.

"Goldie Long Legs!" you squealed, the exhilaration from your workout giving you an adorably flushed look, the slightest tinge of pink on your cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I was gonna give you a call when I woke up tomorrow, but then I saw you." He did his best not to pay too much attention to the strange somersaults his stomach was making the longer he stared at you. "Coffee?" He tried to keep his tone casual, despite the way his voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he was a nervous lad asking a girl out for the first time.

You answered a giggle that had his heart doing the most bizarre acrobatics in his chest. Why was he reacting to you like this? Was it simply the lack of a woman's presence the last two days as they made their way back, making this reaction more primal than anything else? Was it your exercise outfit and the way the fabric clung to the curves that were rarely ever out for him to take notice of before?

Was it something else? Something that was simply…uniquely…you?

"Coffee? At this hour?" you laughed off his offer. "All the coffee shops are closed by now, and you know how you get with caffeine, Goldie. If you have a sip, you won't know a peaceful night's sleep tonight."

"Oi! Lookin' good there, Y/L/N!" Eric hollered from the van. Oakley's skin bristled seeing how his friend leered over your figure. "Shame you didn't join us, Italy woulda been an even prettier sight with you around."

"Rather not add to the trail of broken hearts you lot left behind," you shot back flawlessly, sticking your tongue out at the boys in the van. "I know you lads well enough to know you didn't behave yourselves."

"Oaks over there's the worst offender of us all!" Eric pouted, pointing at the curly haired blond. "Two flings. At the same time. Shoulda seen him, Y/L/N, he was at the top of his game."

The playful smile on your face faltered for a fraction of a second before you recomposed yourself. That infinitesimal moment was more than enough for the pit in his stomach to make its presence felt once again. Now Oakley knew what it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shame. And the worry that knowing what he'd done back there would somehow taint your perception of him. When your gaze darted to him once again, he had to fight back the words that wanted to stumble clumsily out of his mouth. They meant nothing to me.

In the moment they were fascinating, and truthfully while he was in said moment, he thought about how things would go moving forward. If he would try to pursue anything with either of them, but ultimately the immediate answer was 'No'. Back then he didn't know quite yet the reason behind his mind's outright refusal, but now he did.

This dalliance was a mistake. I have someone so much better back at home and I've been a fool not to see it.

"Quite the juggling act, Goldie," you remarked, your tone more hushed than before. It felt as if you were putting distance between the two of you despite not having moved an inch. Like there was a wall he couldn't quite scale now just to get to you.

"One o' them even gave him a nice lil picture o' her. A breathtaking blonde called Elizabetta. Ohh man not even the finest girls in sorority row can compare."

Shut up, you little twat, he internally seethed, wanting nothing more than to throw whatever he could get his hands on at Eric's head so that he could just. Stop. Talking.

And then his mobile started ringing again. And your smile disappeared, your face looking as if it was struggling to decide how to reconfigure itself, your neck twitching with every shrill note of his ringtone. "That's probably that breathtaking blonde now," you said in an eerily chipper tone. "I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're tired from the trip. And you'd like to spend the night speaking with your new lady friend."

"Oh that's not even the blonde! That's the other one!" Dammit Eric, stop talking. "Older lady. Head over heels for him, she couldn't keep her hands off him every time they were in the room together. Told you, Y/L/N. Top of his game."

"Ohh so a lady lady friend. All worldly and whatnot…" Even your body language was throwing him off now, way too casual to fit how he himself felt in this moment. The feeling of wanting more than anything to explain. "Well then, I really don't want to keep you. I know better than to keep my elders waiting, you should, too."

The boys in the van started cheering and clapping over your remark, jokingly chanting "One of us! One of us!" as you gave them a curtsy, making a motion as if you were wearing a skirt rather than your black and hot pink leggings.

It was only when you were halfway up the steps to your dorm building that he managed to find his voice again. "Breakfast tomorrow? My treat?"

You only answered with another giggle. "Did you hit your head or something back in Italy? You don't do breakfast, Oakley. At most you do half a protein bar at first period. From my purse. I'll see you at lunch. I mean…if you're not too busy with your new lady friends or whatever."

He couldn't come up with an intelligible enough response, instead watching you walk into your building and shutting the door, wiping away at your face with your towel. All that he could do was walk back into the van, telling Marcus in a daze, "Drop me off at my place. I'm not in the mood for stop overs at sorority row."

Oakley wasn't in the mood for any more games. Any more women. Not tonight.

The next morning the first thing he did was call up his service provider to see about getting a number blocked, and then he grabbed his wallet, rummaging around in his desk drawer for a handful of photos to place in front of Elizabetta's. A group photo with his mates from their first class project in freshman year, a photo with his family. A photo of a stolen moment with you where you two were wielding chopsticks at each other in a playful "stand off" for a potsticker, and your graduation photo.

On a whim, he placed the potsticker one in the front, a fond smile stretching across his face as he traced his finger over your face in the picture. And then his alarm clock began to ring and the sound quickly filled his apartment, springing him into action to find the nearest clean outfit he had lying around.

He nearly broke a sweat with how fast he ran to your dorm building, hoping he'd catch you before you started walking toward wherever you'd decided to grab breakfast for this morning. Right as he was across the street from the front doors, you walked out, one earphone plugged in and the other dangling from the cord, undoubtedly mouthing along to whichever song was topping the chart this week.

"Y/N!" He internally winced at the hoarseness in his voice. He wasn't even running for that long; how was it that he was already heaving for air?

Your head snapped up to his direction at the sound of your name, shock registering on your face when your eyes met his. Followed by confusion, your brows adorably knitting together as you watched him jogging towards you as he crossed the street.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods at this hour, Goldie?" you greeted him with a smile, hooking the cord of your earphones behind your neck. "Have a breakfast date with one of the girls from my building? You must have it bad for this one if you're willing to wake up so early for--"

"Y/N, I'm…I'm not here for someone from your building," he cut you off, wiping his hands on his shorts before standing up straight, trying to get his heart to stop beating so bloody fast. "I asked you to breakfast last night, remember? My treat?"

His response had you visibly taken aback. "Oh…" The word came out more like a squeak, making you clear your throat. "I uhh…I thought you just offered that as a nicety. For catching up. We could've done lunch…or you know, coffee now that it's a reasonable hour."

"We could do that, too," he said in a rush, fighting against the strange instinctual urge to reach for your hand as the worry that you might wave him off and start walking away crossed his mind. "After breakfast?"

You shuffled your feet in place, slightly swaying back and forth. It was a motion he knew all too well from you, the one that told him you were trying to think something through, trying to find the reason and the rationality in something before deciding what to say or do next. Had it been any other day, any other circumstance, and had he not been grappling with finding his own sense of rationality in why there was suddenly this shift on how he was acting and reacting around you, he would have swayed with you.

After a few moments your mouth stretched into a half-smile, shrugging before tilting your head in the direction of a nearby cafe and bakery. "Alright then. Let's go."

Oakley couldn't help how his face broke out into a grin, a touch too eagerly falling into step with you, still fighting the urge to reach for your hand. To lace his fingers with yours.

"So tell me all about Italy," you started, looking up at him and squinting your eyes as the morning sun hit your features. "Start with the food because I want to know if handmade pasta--"

"We can talk about Italy later," he breathed out, finally losing the struggle to not reach for you and settling on lightly resting his hand just above the small of your back. "Tell me about what you've been up to the last six weeks."

He'd try and process what it meant later. That all he wanted to do was know how you'd spent your time apart. That he wanted to hear your stories rather than speak about his own. That much as it was an extraordinary experience to roam Italy with his mates, the only thing he could think of now was how it could have been even more beautiful if he perhaps…experienced it with you.

"Oh…" Your voice got smaller again, as if you were struggling yourself to find words. "Well truthfully they were quite boring. My sister visited campus to drag me to the shopping plaza to overhaul my wardrobe. She's quite literally holding my jumpers hostage and replaced them all with…well, things like these." You awkwardly motioned at the dress you were wearing, a frilly sage number with a bow. "I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his cheek when you snapped your head up to give him a questioning look. A new feeling flooded him. Something almost akin to…fear? His heart was still pounding and thrashing in his chest, his breathing thready like the air was too thin.

Like he was afraid that you'd look at him and see right through him. Right into his soul. His deepest, most secret thoughts. Thoughts he hadn't even dared to properly articulate with himself.

And if you saw them, if you saw him, you would walk away without a second thought. Those words that he was so used to wielding without completely meaning it when he was around other girls, he'd uttered to you with the weight of every unspoken thought he'd had of you since last night.

With every ounce of sincerity and honesty that felt so foreign for him to possess.

"Oh please, Goldie, you don't have to butter me up," you laughed off his compliment, waving it away with your hand like it was a little housefly flitting away by your face. "You don't have to lay it on--"

"I'm not." The words were flying out of him faster than his brain could filter them. "You're beautiful, Y/N. And it's not because your sister overhauled your wardrobe or you changed your hair. It's you." His heart caught in his throat seeing your eyes widen, the questions and the confusion in them mirroring his own. What was wrong with him today? "All of you."

You pursed your lips, already looking back in the opposite direction like you were second guessing agreeing to sharing a meal with him. Or maybe even sharing any form of time with him. He already wanted to hit himself for not keeping his mouth shut, he probably just flushed your entire friendship down the toilet all because he started acting the same way he did when he was in the first grade talking to the prettiest girl in class.

"Hmmm," you sounded through pursed lips, taking a deep breath before your features morphed into that all too composed smile that you gave him and his mates last night. "And here I thought all I had going for me was my winning personailty."

"That's just a part of it," he shot back, failing to fight the urge to touch his hand to your arm as you reached the cafe, helping you keep steady as you walked up the elevated platform leading to the door. Right as you walked past him when he opened the door for you, he caught a wisp of your perfume. The same one you'd worn every day since the day he met you, the scent of apples and mandarin blanketing him with a warmth that took him aback.

Memories of his weeks in Italy now bombarded him. How he would relish the apples that he had, breathing in the scent before taking a bite. How he brought an apple when he and the rest of the group visited a citrus grove, and how the combined smells reminded him of home.

Only his family home didn't smell like that at all. It smelled of tea plants and bergamot.

"Oakley?" Your voice broke through his memories. "You alright over there?"

He took in the sight of you, a single eyebrow raised looking like you were amused by his stupefied state, the corner of your mouth upturned in a little smirk. "Right as rain," he choked out, finding it hard to breathe properly with his heart beating so fast it might as well be The Flash on a treadmill. "Just not used to being up this early, is all."

You only wagged your finger at him, tsk'ing in response when he stepped up next to you at the counter. "Shouldn't have shocked your system with changing your routine like that, Goldie. You have to ease yourself into it, take baby steps. Otherwise you'll crash midday and end up taking a twenty-minute nap that quickly turns into four hours, miss a lecture, and then you'll have to rely on my notes. Again."

"Ah, you should know me better by now, Y/N. I'll need to rely on your notes even if I'm wide awake, I can never pay attention to those old windbags."

His words had you rolling your eyes to the ceiling, a devious smile playing at your lips. He couldn't take his eyes off you, every waking brain cell screaming at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you.

"And here I thought your time with your new worldly lady friend would have you respecting our elders a bit more," you quipped, laughing at him when all he could do in response was audibly choke on the air. "Maybe we can hack that debauched brain of yours. Pretend those old windbags are your older lady friend instead, or pretend one of the pretty girls in our lecture room is your breathtaking blonde Italian beauty. Maybe then you'll pay a bit more attention in class."

I won't, his mind protested. Why would I look anywhere else when you're right next to me?

"I really don't think so," he said softly, letting out a chuckle when all you did was shake your head at him, proceeding to order a bacon cheese waffle sandwich and the first of a handful of coffees you'd be drinking throughout the day. All the while Oakley watched you, a fond smile stretching across his face as he lost himself in the memory of the citrus grove again. The scent he was chasing the entire way to Italy and back.

Your scent.

Home

A/N: Sometime last year I made a lil note in my idea notebook to make a prequel piece to 'just another memory' and now here we are…and it's gonna be a 2-parter with a potential alternate ending because the lil gremlin horn dogs in my writer brain want a scenario where she chooses…well, y'know what, you'll know who it is soon enough 😈😈

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