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lifeofkaze · 2 years

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A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 1: A NEW SEASON

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

Tagging: @samshogwarts

All Work and No Play During Season Break

Guest-columnist Rita Skeeter shares everything you really want to know about the Quidditch off-season.

After this year’s season finale has left its fans on the edge of their seats, the Quidditch League has passed into its well-deserved but dreadfully slow-of-news summer break.

While the players of the national teams are fighting tooth, nail, and broomstick-bristle to qualify for next year’s Quidditch World Cup, the season break has already ended for the not-as-fortunate second-row players. Those who can’t hold a wand-light to their more talented colleagues have returned to the pitches, scrambling in desperate hopes of snatching a spot on the line-up from their absent teammates. (Read who is basking in the sun with whom on page 10).

With their spectacular first season-half being followed by a steep downfall, the pitch of the Wigtown Wanderers - 1992/93 runners-up to the Montrose Magpies - will be a hotter spot to watch than a dragon’s nest next season. Will coach Ethan Parkin be able to prove that his quick rise to success was due to staggering skill rather than a pitiful lucky punch? With former captain Lewis Parkin cutting ties with his club and family, will family-nestling Skye Parkin step into her big brother’s footsteps or is the Parkin legacy more than she has bargained for?

One ace up Coach Parkin’s sleeve could be the return of long-injured Chaser Elizabeth Jameson. After getting her wrist smashed to smithereens, Jameson has been forced to watch her team give away the trophy from the stands. Whether or not she will be able to interfere in the Wanderers’ fortune next season remains yet to be seen. Or will she let her contract expire and seek her luck with the competitors? Who could replace a talent as terrific as Jameson’s? Find out on page 17 if her new chase is leading her off the Quidditch pitch altogether, as her upcoming wedding to -

Lizzie Jameson threw the Daily Prophet onto her dressing table with a scoff. It was unbelievable. They weren’t even two weeks into the summer break, and the press had already gone from informative articles about the previous season and future transfers to ludicrous speculations and unverified reports about things that weren’t their business. Her brows drew together in a scowl as she read the last paragraph again; as far as Lizzie was concerned, what she was doing off the pitch had no place in the sports section of the Daily Prophet - or any part of the public eye, for that matter.

Giving the newspaper a dark look, Lizzie pushed it aside and turned her attention toward the heap of jewellery lying in front of her. Shaking out the few bits and pieces still in her jewellery box, she picked out two pairs of earrings and held them next to her face in the mirror, unsure which of them would suit the occasion. She put them down again as something warm and soft wrapped itself around her ankles, and Lizzie’s cat Mouse jumped onto her lap a moment later, stretching her head to rub it against Lizzie’s jaw. Scratching Mouse behind her ears, Lizzie held the two different earrings out to her.

“What do you think? Silver or gold?”

Mouse watched the sparkling earrings with mild curiosity. Deciding neither were to her taste, she wrapped her tail around Lizzie’s wrist and curled herself into a ball, purring softly as Lizzie ran her hand over her fur. When a loud crack sounded from somewhere in the house, the grey cat’s ears pricked up.

“Lizzie? Aren’t you ready yet?”

Upon hearing the voice calling out for Lizzie, Mouse tensed and scurried away. She found her favourite spot on Lizzie’s bed, where she made herself comfortable on top of a dark red jumper and watched the door warily through half-closed eyes.

“I’m almost done!” Lizzie called back, hastily brushing the cat hair from her dressing gown. She had just enough time to put the ring with the big, square-cut diamond back onto her left hand before her fiancé appeared in the door to her bedroom.

“Liz, we’re going to be late. Not being on time won’t look good on us.”

The wizard walking into the room looked somewhat impatient when he saw that Lizzie was still undressed. Wearing a set of light grey dress robes and his sandy brown hair combed back, Matthew McRae gave off an air of effortless elegance, as if he was right at home at high-profile events like the one he and Lizzie were headed to tonight - which, in all fairness, he was.

“I’m sorry. I got distracted by this,” Lizzie shrugged apologetically, indicating the Daily Prophet still lying on her dressing table. “Can you believe the nonsense this Rita Skeeter woman is putting out? She isn’t even a Quidditch reporter, I don’t know what the editors are thinking. How can she have any reasonable opinion on what is going on?”

“Not knowing what’s going on has never stopped Rita Skeeter and the likes of her. Why are you so upset about it? You know how it is.”

“I just don’t like it when our private life gets dragged into the spotlight only because they have nothing else to talk about.”

She handed Matthew the newspaper, and he quickly skimmed the article without raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen worse. Fretting about it won’t change anything, so let her write what she wants.” He laughed softly and stepped behind Lizzie’s chair, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’d better get used to it. My family has a reputation to lose, after all. Speaking of which,” he said and nodded towards the red evening dress hanging from the door to Lizzie’s wardrobe, “that’s not what you were going to wear, is it?”

Lizzie frowned, looking between Matthew and her dress. “What’s wrong with it? My friend Andre Egwu made it for me.”

“It’s pretty enough,” Matthew said vaguely. He took the dress off the door and inspected it, frowning at the low cut back as he turned it around. “A little revealing, if you ask me.”

“If that’s what you’re concerned about, don’t worry.” Lizzie held up her hand on which her ring was flashing and laughed lightly. “It’s not like I’m giving anyone ideas.”

“I don't want you to attract the wrong kind of attention, that’s all. And besides,” Matthew added, pointing at his bow tie and the detailing on his dress robes, both of which were of a vibrant magenta colour, “I want her to look good next to me.”

Lizzie cocked a brow. “Don’t I always look good?”

“You do, love. But we want to look like a team, don’t we? Like we belong together.”

Suddenly, Lizzie felt terrible for choosing her dress without considering what Matthew would be wearing to the gala. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s find you another dress.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “I would go and change, but I have nothing here, and taking your dress home to find something to match would take too much time. We might just so make it, but…”

“No, it’s fine. I have another,” Lizzie interrupted him quickly, not wanting Matthew to go to such lengths when she was still in her dressing gown anyway.

“If you’re sure? Let me have a look at it then.”

Lizzie pulled a floor-length black dress from her wardrobe. The top was tight-fitting, the skirt flowing down from the waist covered in a black, sequined pattern that made it shimmer in the light. Matthew looked it up and down critically.

“Is that an Egwu dress as well?” He made another vague noise when Lizzie nodded. “It’ll do. Better than the red one, in any case. Put it on.”

He handed her the dress and sat down on the bed as Lizzie stepped into it. Mouse immediately got up and hissed at him, and Lizzie hurried over to take her away.

“Sorry,” she muttered when Matthew and Mouse glared at each other, “I don’t know what it is with her.”

“After almost two years, she should start getting used to the thought of me sticking around,” Matthew said. “It’s because you keep her cooped up in here all day that she’s so grumpy.”

“Mouse can go outside if she wants to.”

“She’d have much more space to roam at the manor if only you finally moved in with me. Don’t you think it’s time? We’re getting married next year, after all.”

“I like sharing a house with Skye,” Lizzie shrugged and moved her hair to the side as Matthew pulled the zipper of her dress up. “She doesn’t have many friends and I don’t want her to be lonely. It’s not up to your standard, I know, but it’s my home.

“Your home will be McRae Manor soon,” Matthew pointed out, and Lizzie sucked in her breath as he pulled the zipper up the last few inches.

“Soon, but not just yet.” She turned around and kissed him, her red lipstick leaving marks on the corner of his mouth. “Let me be free for a little longer.”

“Moving in with me shouldn’t feel like you’re getting trapped.”

“It doesn’t, I promise. It’s just that I’ve been away from the team for almost the better part of the year. Hearing about everything that’s going on from Skye makes me feel like I’m still part of it, you know?” Lizzie’s voice had gone quiet. “I need to get back into the air, Matthew. I’ll go insane if I can’t play again soon.”

Matthew took her hands in his, and Lizzie winced as a sharp pain shot through her left wrist. Matthew noticed and gently ran his thumb over it.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon? I’d much rather you’d take your time to heal properly. You know what they said at St. Mungo’s - your wrist got positively shattered. It cost a lot of time, effort and money to restore it.”

“I've been sitting on the stands for months. I can’t miss the start of the new season, too.”

Matthew shook his head. “You could undo all the progress you made just because you’re too impatient.”

“Maybe, but I have to play again, one way or another. My contract is running out. They’ll never renew it if I’m no help for the team.”

“I’m your agent, so let your contract be my concern,” Matthew said, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Go and play, if that’s really what you want, but promise me to be careful, okay? All I want for you is to be healthy again.” He glanced at the heavy watch on his wrist. “We do need to get you ready now.”

He steered her over to her dressing table, where Lizzie sat down and picked up a brush and a couple of pins. With practised movements, she pulled her hair into a neat bun sitting low in her neck. She would have liked it to be less orderly, but Matthew did prefer her looking put together at formal events. Fighting the urge to reach up and fiddle with the pins pulling at her roots, Lizzie smiled at her reflection in the mirror. The feeling of discomfort would pass before long; it always did.

“What are these?” Matthew suddenly asked and picked up a pair of golden earrings from the heap of jewellery cluttering the dressing table. Lizzie quickly reached for them, but Matthew had already stepped away, holding the earrings into the light to take a closer look: they were small, dainty hoops made from hammered gold; two crescent-moon charms were hanging from them, their curves studded with pearls and with a gleaming star sitting between the tips.

“I’ve never seen these on you,” Matthew frowned. “Did you want to wear them tonight?”

“No, they’re old. I forgot I had them in the first place,” Lizzie said and got up, snatching the earrings from Matthew’s hands and stowing them away at the very bottom of her jewellery box.

“What’s the matter with you?” Matthew wanted to know, surprised at Lizzie’s defensive tone.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Why do I feel like you’re keeping something from me?”

“I’m not.”

“Good. I don’t like the thought of there being secrets between us.” A sly smile formed on Matthew's features. “Except maybe this one.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his dress robes and pulled out a slim, navy-blue box wrapped in a silvery ribbon. He held it out to her, and Lizzie’s eyes widened as she saw the delicate set of diamond-encrusted earrings resting on the velvet cushion inside.

“They are gorgeous,” she whispered as she carefully lifted them from the box. “Matthew, this is too much, even for you.”

“It’s not,” Matthew smiled as he watched Lizzie put the earrings on. “I want the witch at my side to outshine the rest of them.”

Lizzie moved her head from side to side, marvelling at how the precious stones were glittering in the light. They were surprisingly heavy but breathtakingly beautiful. She touched them with her fingertips and looked at Matthew’s reflection in the mirror.

“Thank you so much. What in Godric’s name have I done to deserve you?”

“You deserve the world,” Matthew said, bringing a hand to her cheek and brushing his thumb along her lower lip, where her lipstick was smudged from kissing him earlier. “There. Now you look perfect.”

His touch made a fluttery feeling rise inside Lizzie’s stomach, and she rested her head against Matthew’s chest, sighing happily as his arms closed around her. Sometimes, she found it hard to believe her luck.

After what wasn’t long enough for Lizzie’s taste, Matthew gently but firmly pushed her away and held his arm out for her to take. “Shall we?”

Laying her hand on his arm, Lizzie smiled lovingly up at her fiancé. Winking at her, Matthew smirked and leaned in. He whispered something into Lizzie’s ear and as she laughed out loud, both of them vanished with a crack.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #balance series #search for balance #sfb #we're back everyone!!

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greysdesk · 2 years

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Tiny planet bing bong

pool table felt attracts animal hair from shedding pets. (Because it's also very overdone.Cover your pool table when it�s not in use. But, all that being said, here's a cartoon which could easily be seen as being a turkey. She also sings the "Tiny Planets" theme song.) Don't bother looking for the voice of Bing, though. (Kim Goody: a very talented young lady with a light, somewhat musical voice perfectly cast as the voice of Holly and Bong. And for another, it is a rather unusual name. They go by quickly-but one certain name, you're not too likely to overlook because, for one thing, it appears thrice. Interestingly enough, they go sideways across the screen. Good night, Bong." Time to roll the credits, folks. "They'll be back for more adventures tomorrow. The room darkens.) "Don't worry," we hear Holly say. A colorful quilt floats down as the odd couple lie down and close their eyes. (Finally, the sofa plops down onto the living room floor, and the sofa becomes a bed a mechanical arm comes out of nowhere to brush Bong's one tooth a night cap is placed on Bing's head. When they return home, it's up the slide and down the chute. Next, a huge hook attaches itself to the sofa-and the hand catapults the sofa into space we then see a long, thick rope reeling off of a giant golden spool. The most creative part of this cartoon is that sofa: when Bing and Bong make a departure from their home planet, the sofa soars upward, through a golden chute then it goes down a big silver slide and drops into a giant golden hand. I feel like I must be missing something, there. blockers, who're riding an asteroid over towards them so that a family of asteroid fish can cross. "Oh! It's the other way! That's where we've got to go!") What these robots are also doing is waiting for a trio of. ("This away, or that away?" we'll hear Holly say. Although they can't speak, they're able to tell Bing and Bong that there's more work to be done by simply pointing in one direction or the other. And, here we come to the most ludicrous part: these robots-first, we meet up with a green one, then a red one, then a blue one-are spheres with mechanical arms. back into space-only to be stopped by robots directing traffic. They buckle their safety belts, cut a rope with a big pair of scissors, and off they go. That means it's time to get back on their sofa. The exact moment Bing and Bong are finished with whatever they're doing, a crystal on Bing's wrist watch blinks and beeps. There are six tiny planets: the tiny planet of Nature, Technology, Light and Color, Stealth, Sound and the tiny planet of Stuff. Not only does she narrate their adventures, but she also tells them which planet to go to next, and what their mission is. Following them around on their journeys is a little robot by the name of Holly. Just like Felix the Cat's "bag of tricks," Bing is able to whip out of this bag any and/or everything that he and Bong might need: anything from a long ladder to a record player. Bing carries around a brown bag, strapped onto his right shoulder. He's got one buck tooth he is always smiling. Bong is a cute little four-legged creature. Other times, they'll just explore the planets-and the "blockers" just wonder what in heck Bing and Bong are doing there.) Bing is rather tall, pot bellied and has no mouth. (They might help to build a wall or they might set up a show. Everyday, after they've washed and had breakfast, they fly through space on their living room sofa-visiting the planets, and helping out the inhabitants in one way or another. But, although the crew behind this computer-animation cartoon seem to make a very good effort at putting together something very special, the result is-in a word- monotony.) Here is the premise: Bing and Bong are two furry white aliens who live on a planet together. (In fact, "Tiny Planets" could not possibly be more colorful than it is. This is, undeniably, a very colorful cartoon.

#Tiny planet bing bong

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lilartifex · 2 years

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Fictober 2022: Day 1

Prompt number: 9 - "Sounds like a you problem."

Fandom: BBC's Sherlock

Rating: General

Warnings/Tags: None

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"John," said Sherlock.

"Sherlock," I said.

A moment of silence passed between us; him standing at the mantle with his back resolutely to me and myself seated in my usual chair enjoying a cup of jelly.

"You really must stop these ludicrous experiments of yours." Sherlock suddenly whipped around to face me, silver-green eyes narrowed into slits. "They are a waste of time and resources and I cannot get a lick of work done."

"Is that so?" I asked flippantly, casually popping another spoonful into my mouth.

"Yes, it is, John!" Sherlock snapped in frustration, gesturing with a flourish to the kitchen behind my chair. "Your apparatus is spread across the kitchen table and I can hardly make a cup of tea without upsetting some odd chemical compound! If there is a point to these so-called 'experiments' of yours then do enlighten me to their purpose because I fail to see one!"

"Now doesn't that sound familiar," I mused, making sure to stare him dead in the eyes as I slowly ate another mouthful. "You really don't see the utmost importance of my work and the result I obtained?" I mocked.

Sherlock stared at me.

Then he snatched up the jug from the mantle behind him.

"No, John," he hissed, "I really do not see the point in submerging my magnifier in jelly!" He slammed the jug down on the coffee table; his little loupe magnifier wobbled sadly in the centre of the yellow desert.

I couldn't stop the snort that escaped my lips and had to duck my head down. Sherlock glowered down his nose at me.

"Yeah, well, it's not as bad as a head in the fridge," I pointed out as he paced about in front of me. I pointed my spoon at him. "And I did warn you last time that if I found so much as half a spleen on the table the next time I brought Rosie over there'd be hell to pay."

"Oh, hell to pay - it's a delicate instrument of detection!" Sherlock cried.

"Sounds like a you problem," I replied flippantly with another mouthful of jelly.

Now, I know, this really isn't the usual casebook summary I post on my blog, but it's pouring cats and dogs outside and I'm going to, in Sherlock's words, "romanticise" this as much as possible purely out of spite.

All of my regular readers can thank Sherlock for this unusual post. And Sherlock, when you inevitably read this, you know full well what you did and I'll be waiting for whatever comments you decide to throw at me. Bring it.

Because this has to be, by far, the best thing I'd ever done. I don't care what ridiculous experiments Sherlock gets up to at Baker Street - I don't live there permanently anymore, so whatever Sherlock wanted to do was Sherlock's business.

But I do have a rule about there being no body parts or dangerous chemical experiments laid out where Rosie could get her hands on them when we come over to visit. And a breach of that rule is a breach I take very seriously.

I sat back and held my hands up placatingly. "Hey, Rosie chose the colour and the 'prize'. I have a child now Sherlock, and for every time you go overboard with one of your little experiments, I'm going to be doing one of my own involving a plate of jelly in whatever colour Rosie wants and whichever of your toys you haven't put away."

Sherlock stared at me like I'd grown an extra head.

I ate my jelly.

"But my magnifier John-!"

"Whoo hoo!" The door to the flat opened and Mrs Hudson poked her head through. She glanced between the two of us.

"Oh dear, is this a bad time?" she asked, eyebrows drawing together.

"No."

"Yes!" Sherlock glared at me as we answered at the same time. I shrugged.

"Oh. Well, you might want to put your little argument on hold for the moment, dears," she told us, "You have a new client waiting at the door."

Sherlock held the jug up for Mrs Hudson's inspection. "Does this look like the right time, Mrs Hudson?" he demanded loudly.

And Mrs Hudson, God bless her soul, squinted at the submerged magnifier and frowned even further. "Oh dear," she said, completely deadpan, "Did I buy the wrong brand, John?"

(34 comments)

Bless you too, John! I'm so glad I could help you out with this little joke, Sherlock's face was priceless!

Marie Turner 23 Feburary

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HAHA! You seriously got him with the jelly-trick?!! Finally, someone else gets to be on the receiving end of that. Good work, bro!!

Harry Watson 23 Feburary

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Oh, is this why Sherlock came sulking into the lab today?

Molly Hooper 23 Feburary

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I was not SULKING, I was thinking. There is a difference.

Sherlock Holmes 23 Feburary

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I don't know mate, it sounds like you were sulking :)

John Watson 23 Feburary

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Also Sherlock, where's my favourite mug?

John Watson 23 Feburary

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Sherlock??

John Watson 23 Feburary

#sherlock fanfic #fictober22 #sherlockbbc #sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #john watson #fictober #writing challenge #writing

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real-jane · 3 years

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nftn: for her

(bucky barnes x female!reader, shield)

summary: a simple wish on your christmas list has bucky enlisting the help of every person in his life.

warnings: christmas gifts/anxiety, bucky talks some sense into sam, y/n has a panic attack, some slight to severe emotional manipulation on my part re: parental loss.

word count: 9,802

a/n: part eleven of ‘nostalgia for the new’! this is the content which pushed me over the edge of 50k words for nanowrimo! very excited to share this silly piece with you. edit: now including the link to Bucky’s playlist!

series masterlist

You were a prodigious gift giver. If it weren’t for the fact that you were spot-on, every time, it might actually be annoying. You always managed to find a way to pick something that was both impactful and personal. There was no way that the receiver wouldn’t like something if your name was on the label. You didn’t give with the intention of receiving anything in return, which was good for Bucky considering that he felt like a moron trying to pick things out for you. Generally, he got away with cooking for you, or being the gift, as it were (and he would never ever top showing up at the quinjet and surprising you).

But all you asked for on your Christmas list was… music. You had gotten a host of presents to celebrate your wedding less than a week ago. You didn’t need anything else.

And Bucky was struggling.

Your shared vinyl collection was pressing numbers in the hundreds. In fact, you had ordered a subscription service over the summer, which delivered one rare album a month, so there was no possible way to find something special that you didn’t already know about or own. And you liked everything. When the two of you were listening, you stuck to his favorites, but you sometimes came back from the gym ‘singing’ songs which could only be described as rapid, emphatic, talking. Even if he could figure out which way your preferences lay...

Vinyl wouldn’t do.

Bucky had no idea if you played any instruments--he would put money on you being able to learn anything you set your mind to, but it didn’t make sense to give you any such instrument when you had a playful and invasive cat, and lived in an echoey building made of cement. So, that was off the table.

He couldn’t carry a tune if it strapped on like a backpack, so creating music for you wouldn’t happen.

He was stumped, and he had about three days to figure it out.

***

Bucky rubbed his eyes so hard he saw stars. There was not enough caffeine in the world to make him have coherent thoughts, especially not about this. He had begged out of going with you for your morning run in favor of trapping Sam at breakfast to get his help.

So far, his suggestions had ranged from wildly unhelpful, to downright ludicrous, including but not limited to get her a dog and name it ‘Music.’

“Buy her concert tickets,” Sam chucked, sipping his coffee while he indulged in the free show.

“To what?” Bucky put his head down on the table hard enough that it sounded painful. He breathed out against the table in confirmation of that fact, but he didn’t budge. Face-down, in their usual booth at the caf, with people walking by who had dangerous jobs with guns and stuff… Bucky Barnes was having a little festive panic.

“Elton John’s touring one last time, again.”

“She has seen him three times,” Bucky grumbled. “Does Tony know Elton John, personally? Maybe I could sell him my arm for a song.”

“He probably does. But then you’d never do better than that gift, and you’d have to explain to Shuri why she has to build you an entirely new prosthesis.”

“I don’t need to do better, I need to just give her something!” Bucky groaned. “...but I think Shuri would understand.”

“You could make her a playlist.”

“How?” He looked up and had a red imprint on his forehead from the pressure on the table. The grumpiness level was through the roof. Sam bit back a laugh.

“Just… put a bunch of songs together that she’d like, and then she can listen to it whenever.”

Bucky’s face dropped even more, if that were possible. “I don’t know how to do that. And what would I even pick? She’ll get bored of me rehashing what I always listen to--might as well get her a jukebox.”

He and Sam narrowed their eyes at each other to assess whether or not the other thought that was a feasible idea, but Bucky broke the standoff. “Definitely wouldn’t fit in our suite.”

“Okay, listen--” Sam braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Playlists are usually themed, like… I got one for lifting. Stuff that has the right energy for slinging some iron. You get me?”

“Themed…”

“Yeah. So. What’s your theme?”

“...If I said ‘love’, is that the lamest answer you’ve ever heard?”

“Sir, your wife says that she loves you in official government documents. I think that’s probably the right direction to go.”

“Right.” Bucky’s ears turned pink.

You did it because you knew that all comm conversations on official assignments were recorded for posterity, and so you really laid it on thick when you knew some government lackey sitting in a basement with no windows was gonna have to type out I love you so much, baby, you’re my one and only, and Nick Fury was then gonna have to read it. Still, you were the love of his life. Maybe it was just that simple.

“How do I go about this?”

“Why don’t you just ask people their favorite love song?”

Bucky frowned. “What’s your favorite love song, Samuel?”

Without thinking for longer than one second, Sam said, “Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye.”

“...I’m not putting that on the list.”

“It’s a very sensual song, Barnes. You’ll thank me later.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Fine. Go ask around. But my answer is the superior one. I would bet you money that Tony’s gonna say--”

***

“I’ve Just Seen a Face by the Beatles,” Stark said proudly. “Sang it to Morgan mere moments after she was born and she was so sweet and blue, and I had no idea--”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky grumbled. “Give me a taste. Don’t sing it. Give me a lyric.”

He had found Tony in his shop, one hand wrapped around a sandwich, and the other tinkering with what looked like yet another incarnation of his mechanical heart. Tony made the most sense to ask first; he was married, and as far as Bucky could tell Pepper seemed charmed by his shenanigans… he also had a cybernetic implant… so.

Tony cleared his throat and brought Bucky back to the present. He held his sandwich aloft like Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet. “‘I’ve just seen a face, I can’t forget the time or place where we just met, she’s just the girl for me and I want all the world to see we’ve met’--actually, it kinda reminds me of you, back when you were still silent and surly. And then like, all of a sudden you were following this girl around, and--”

“I get it. Anything else?” He wrote down the song on the paper, a piece of white parchment with Stark Industries letterhead. He really did have terrible handwriting… Bucky frowned. He would be lucky to decipher his own scratchings later, but he didn’t have much time to find an alternative solution.

Tony took a bite of his sandwich to think. “Hmmmmm… oh! Sexual Healing--”

“Absolutely not.”

“You have a healthy sex life, I get it--”

He turned away and made for the door. “Goodbye.”

“Joni Mitchell!” Tony called.” Case of You. ‘Love is touching souls,’ my man. Enough said.”

Bucky snorted. “Fine.”

“People say it’s overplayed, but Pepper says--”

***

“Oh my god,” Pepper Potts laughed, switching Morgan from one hip to the other and sighing as the little girl yanked hard on an errant piece of her hair. “Don’t listen to a word my husband says about me, okay?”

The real hero of Stark Industries was found in her kitchen on the top floor of the compound, giving her nanny a break from the very sweet but curious baby Morgan. Nanny Maureen stood on the balcony, smoking and scrolling on her phone. She didn’t like Bucky, or anybody (save Pepper).

Bucky held out his hands. “Give me the child.”

Pepper readily handed over her baby to him. He frowned at the child, as was their customary greeting. Morgan giggled and slapped a moist hand on his bare arm.

“Sure you don’t want a baby, Uncle Bucky?” Pepper grinned as Morgan prodded his cheek and turned her little baby talons against his stubble.

“That’s ‘Buckle’ to you, you little demon,” he grumbled at Morgan, who blew a raspberry in understanding. “I like children. I like giving them back to their parents even more. Not Joni Mitchell? Really?”

Pepper laughed. “Tony used to wait until JARVIS indicated that I had arrived, and then blare Joni Mitchell through the whole complex, long before he ever asked me out on a date for real.”

“And yet, you married him.”

She pointed at Morgan. “Got a cute little demon out of it, though.”

“Very,” Bucky agreed. “So? Lay it on me.”

She leaned against the kitchen counter. “What’s your tone, here? Are you asking me to romance your wife for you in a fairy tale kind of way, or like a Marvin Gaye kind of way--”

“What is it with you people born in the seventies and Marvin Gaye?”

“What do you have against him?”

“Nothing! I just don’t want to be overtly…” He lost the word. Morgan cackled at his very confused expression. He slowly turned his gaze to her. The moment his face was fully turned her way, Morgan spit up. Bucky grimaced, and straight-armed the kid back into her mother’s care.

“You’re not trying to make a baby,” Pepper finished, wiping Morgan’s mouth. “Got it. Okay… is a little drama okay, at least? Heavy-petting power ballad?” She opened the door to the fridge, so his view of her was obscured.

He blinked. “I know what those words mean individually.”

“Forget it. Ooh!” She closed the door with her elbow and handed him a miniature bottle of orange juice. “You need Stevie Nicks. ‘Leather and Lace’ with Don Henley. Very the two of you. It’s a duet; she’s from the city, he’s from the mountain. Leather and Lace are involved, though it’s up to you which represents you.”

Bucky snorted. “Lace, obviously”

“You know what else would be good, though… oh! I can’t remember anything anymore. Nat loves it. Peggy Lee… god, what’s it called--”

***

“Fever.” Nat’s knife sunk into the target with a thunk. “Eva Cassidy’s version. It’s your wife in a song.” She retrieved the blade from the wood. Bucky used the wall to write down the song, even though that song made him blush the one time it came on at Gary’s. Then Nat’s words struck him, and he turned to face her.

“You got a crush on my wife?”

Nat laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know. I still say that the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life is her giving Brock Rumlow another hole in his body.”

“Should’ve seen the other time,” Bucky said. “What does it say about us that a little violence makes us weak for her?”

“It’s not about the violence, Barnes.” Nat zeroed her focus and held her knife aloft, with the tip of the blade between her fingers. “It’s about control. Your wife can fell a man a foot taller than her, armed or not. If that doesn’t give you a fever, you’re dead. Because she killed you.”

“Good point.”

“I like a woman with finesse. I’m a simple girl.”

“I’ll be sure to let Steve know.”

“Do.” She released the knife, and it found the crevice she had previously made with her first hit. Spot on. “What are you worried about?”

Bucky realized he had been staring down at this list of his with a pained look on his face. “Imagine that Steve was makin’ you this list, right? What would you miss if it wasn’t on there?”

Nat leaned on his shoulder. “Barnes, if you could talk Steve into making anything for me, it wouldn’t matter if it was made of popsicle sticks and prayer. It would be… It’s the thought that counts.”

“If you put a microphone up to my thoughts about Y/n, it would be approximately eighty years of static, and then one trumpet melody, over and over, for the rest of time. I don’t think my thoughts are going to cut it.”

“It’s a wonder you’re married with that one trumpet-playing brain cell.”

“Tell me about it.”

***

“I can’t believe she said that,” Steve sighed. “I’m not a craftsman of any kind. I tried cooking for her once, and she banned me from the kitchen.”

“The point is--Nat says I’m overthinking things.”

“You are, but not because of the reasons she says. I think you’re going about it in the right way.” Bucky had a bundle of Christmas lights wrapped around his arm, which he was dutifully holding up so Steve could hang them around the top edge of the big windows in the floor five lounge.

“Y/n is going to love anything you give her, you know that. I think you’re just overthinking the content of the gift.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve scooted the ladder along the wall, bidding Bucky follow. “You’re asking people their favorite songs, instead of putting stuff on there that she will like.” He tapped a small nail into the wall and hung the next three feet of lights.

“She likes everything,” Bucky groaned. “But she has her favorites. The number of times I’ve heard the name Adele in the last two years… shit, I should put her on the list.”

“Maybe ask somebody who knows her taste? Because if you’re asking me, the answer is going to be Stevie Wonder.”

“Which song?”

Steve shrugged. “Any. Move down.”

Bucky did so, and handed up the last of the lights so his friend could drape them down the side of the windows. “You should make Nat something for Christmas.”

“I’ve been meaning to take up knitting.”

“There is something you do, and I’m pretty sure you’ve never done it for her…”

“What? No.” Steve leaned against the ladder.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t picked up a piece of charcoal, in--hell, decades?”

“It’s the thought that counts!”

“I am not giving Natasha Romanoff a bad portrait of herself.”

“You could. Come on, Steve. If I had half your talent, I wouldn’t be doing this stupid project, I’d be drawing my wife a nice picture of Alpine or something.”

“Speaking of, you should get a hobby. Being obsessed with your wife doesn’t count.”

“You’re one to talk, I am amazed you haven’t gotten a black widow spider tattooed on your ass.”

Steve waggled his eyebrows. “That you know of.”

***

“You’re supposed to be off the grid, languishing in your new marriage.”

“Can you help me or not?”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Jenny said pointedly. “You should’ve called me first. Obviously Celine. Preferably ‘It’s All Coming Back to Me Now’ or ‘Because You Loved Me.’ Both! Oh, God she will sob if you pick the first one.”

Bucky was holed up in the washroom, trying to speak as quietly as he could into the phone, while you changed your clothes in the main suite. “...and that’s a thing we want her to do?”

“Oh, you big dumb idiot,” she said lovingly. “Yes. You want her to weep with how thoughtful you are, knowing her favorite songs… speaking of which, approximately how many boy bands are on your list?”

He reviewed the suggestions. “Um. One.”

“Unacceptable. Which of the Big Three is it? She’s really a 98 Degrees girl.”

“...The Beatles?”

The silence which followed was almost painful. “Okay. Okay… Can you please put ‘I Do’ by 98 Degrees on that list? She’ll love the reference, given the wedding.” Then, as an afterthought... “Do not be surprised if there are several albums from the late nineties in your stocking this year.”

“Anything else?”

“Buck, can I ask you a question before I start reading you any more song titles?”

“Shoot.”

“If there was one word to describe how she makes you feel, what would it be?”

A knock on the door made him nearly pitch himself off the side of the bathtub. He muted the call and held the phone and the paper to his chest as the washroom door opened just a crack.

“Baby? You hungry? I’m thinking about some pizza.” You didn’t look inside the room, just in case you were intruding on his privacy in some way.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” Bucky realized. “My card’s in my coat.”

“I wanna get my hands in some flour. I’ll make it. Meet me in the kitchen in like… ten?”

“Sure. Love you.”

“Love you too, Buck.” Your voice sounded sentimental in the way it had for the last few days, whenever you thought about or talked about the wedding. It was really sweet. He’d occasionally find you just flipping through the photos from the day on your phone, zooming in on his face...

Bucky blew out a long breath as the door latched again, and then the suite door opened and shut. He held the phone back up to his ear. “Lucky,” he said softly. “The luckiest.”

“Hmm. You should look up Ben Folds.”

“...for the list?”

“You’ll see what I mean. No, you can’t talk to Buckle, you colored on mommy’s shoes--JAEDYIN LYNN! Sorry. I gotta go. Love ya!”

***

“Who is this?” Gary yelled into the receiver.

“It’s--It’s Bucky? Barnes?” The silence was more deafening than the man’s shouting. “...I got married in your restaurant last week?”

“Buddy! How the hell are ya!” Gary knew Bucky’s name but anyone who was his personal friend was called ‘buddy’, and Gary had superheroes for friends, now.

“It’s loud where you are--”

“We’re in Margaritaville! What can I do ya for?”

“You and your wife… do you got a song? Like your song?”

“Oh boy. Can’t beat the King. ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ It’s real good.”

“Thanks. Um. Merry Christmas?”

“You too, Buddy! Say hi to your gal for me.”

Bucky hung up and added Elvis to his measly list. Sam had gotten Bucky to the gym, but he was too distracted to spot him, so Sam was running on the treadmill while Bucky used the one next to it like a desk.

“...do you have the personal cell number of the owner of Gary’s Diner?” Sam asked.

Bucky shrugged. “He runs a fantasy football league… he invited me. Anyway, he had a good suggestion.”

“You don’t know shit about pro football.”

“That’s not the point. I trust his music taste. More than yours, anyway.”

“Who’s your QB?”

“The new guy from the Giants. Killer left arm.”

“...good pick.” Sam stopped the machine and wiped his sweat with his shirt. “If you’re not gonna put Marvin Gaye on there, can you at least put ‘I’ll Make Love to You’ by Boyz II Men? It’s not what it sounds like.”

Bucky glared at him. “...is it about making love, Sam?”

“Primarily it’s about not making love. But the promise of it happening in the future.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you take this seriously? I have forty-eight hours.”

“We need reinforcements.”

***

Peter sat down on the last available chair in the lounge on floor five, after being hurriedly summoned by an everybody who knows Bucky, assemble! Bucky sat in the middle of the couch, flanked by Sam and Steve. Wanda and Vision wandered in, and Clint was leaning against the kitchen island, talking to Bruce about something and trying to catch Sam’s attention (which he was not giving, because I’ll tell you later.). Tony had taken it upon himself to host the little meeting, and glared at Scott as he walked in late.

You were with Nat in the gym for training; she had gotten you riled up suggesting that you wouldn’t be ready for your next assignment after taking the week off for your wedding, so Bucky had at least two hours with his gift committee.

The lone teen coughed. “Not that I mind coming all this way, Sergeant Barnes… I am avoiding a paper on Hamlet as we speak--”

“You’re here to help this man win at Christmas,” Tony said, bracing his expensive Italian shoes on the coffee table like Captain Morgan, and gestured at Bucky with both hands. “So. The criteria is: Songs that are about Love, not horny, and not sad.”

“That’s way too broad,” Sam snorted. Steve nodded in agreement.

“Variety isn’t a bad thing,” Wanda said gently. She sat beside Vision on the loveseat. “I admit I don’t know Y/n that well--”

“You wanna know our favorite love songs?” Hawkeye called.

“At this point, anything is fair game,” Tony said, on Bucky’s behalf, “as long as it meets the requirements.”

“Love Song!” Vision said suddenly. “Does that not fit your requirement?”

“...Sara Bareilles?” Sam asked.

“She is quite accomplished as an eight-time Grammy nominated singer-songwriter.”

“Okay, Google,” Sam muttered. “And that’s a song about not writing love songs.”

“I can’t believe you don’t have one Queen song on this list!” Scott pointed at the paper accusingly, pulling it from Bucky’s grasp. “Crazy Little Thing? Somebody to Love?”

Tony looked over his shoulder at the list. “He already found her, Lang. But Crazy Little Thing is great. Just her speed. Use my pen.”

Bucky sat back against the cushions in defeat, and folded his hands across his chest. Scott added several more songs to the list.

Ant Man hummed. “No Marvin Gaye, huh?”

“Nope,” Bucky said, popping the ‘P’ and glaring at Sam.

Peter sat forward. “Um… well, MJ likes a lotta stuff that’s nice, Sergeant Barnes--”

“It’s just Bucky.”

“Don’t bother,” Steve said softly. “My Girl?”

Scott pointed at him. “Ooh, yes! Temptations going on the list.”

“Funny that this room is comprised of men, when this Love playlist is for Barnes’ wife,” Vision mused to his own partner. “Save you, my love.”

Tony scoffed. “It’s called ‘gentle masculinity’, Vis. Look it up.”

Vision nodded. “As you like.”

“Don’t,” Wanda said, rubbing Vision’s arm. He sat back with a pleasant smile on his face. “What were you suggesting, Peter?”

“Like Taylor Swift, uh… MJ likes most of her stuff, but Love Story is definitely top tier. Taylor’s version, though.” Peter scooted a little closer. “I can start you a Spotify list, Sergeant Barnes… if you want, I mean, I know you’re totally capable and I respect that--”

Sam patted Bucky’s shoulder way harder than anyone would appreciate being the recipient of. “Sergeant Barnes has every app on his phone in one folder on his home screen, kid. You go ahead and start that list, because he will never figure it out by himself.”

Bucky leaned forward and frowned. “One of these days I’m gonna really blow you away with my technological prowess, Wilson.”

“What are you gonna do? Get a Pinterest?”

“Here, it’s easy,” Peter said quickly, whipping out his phone. Bucky mirrored his actions and flipped Sam off behind Spider-man’s back. Bucky unlocked his device. “Awe, that’s a real nice photo Sergeant Barnes.”

“I know how to change my background,” Bucky said, pointing at you. “My wife likes this wedding photo the most. I think she has good taste.”

“...yeah, she’s really nice. Do you mind?”

Bucky handed over his phone to the kid, who figured out very quickly that he had a lot of apps in that one folder on his phone, and even the very music streaming service that Peter sought, but no content whatsoever.

Peter shared the blank list with himself, now that he was Bucky’s sole Spotify friend. “There. I can help you kind of organize it, and add to it for you. Do you want all of these--” he managed to wrangle the paper away from Scott and Tony, who had added an insane number of titles to the list-- “on it?”

“Honestly? I have no idea what any of those sound like.”

“I can curate it just right. Not, uh… sad, or too adult, right?”

“You got it.”

“Okay. Looks like lots of really old stuff. Maybe I can put some current songs--”

“Parker, as long as you do not put Marvin Gaye on that playlist, we’re good.”

“What’s wrong with Marvin Gaye?” Clint scoffed.

“Thank you!” Sam gestured at the blond, who winked at him.

Bucky groaned. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Barnes, we’ll handle this.” Tony clapped a hand on his back. “Why don’t you go punch a sandbag or kiss your wife. Or both.”

***

He stood in the doorway of the gym, transfixed by what he was seeing. You were hanging from the pull-up bar with your elbows bent, suspended there with your chin just above the bar, while Nat stood below you with a timer. He didn’t want to break your concentration, but shit. You were so strong.

“Don’t look now, but we have company,” Nat teased. You made a strangled sound in your throat as your eyes found him in the mirror, and you lost your grip. Your sneakers squeaked as you touched down and bounced to dart for him.

“Oof!” Bucky chuckled as you collided with him, arms and legs wrapped around him. “Hi.”

“Hi!” You gave him a gentle kiss, wary of how sweaty you were despite the leaping hug. “You’ve been so busy, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you the last few days.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, tightening his grip around your waist. “I’m not busy right now.”

“Wanna help me get my pull-ups? Nat’s gonna do the Navy SEAL test with me--”

“I did not agree to that,” Nat snorted.

“Sure,” Bucky said with a grin, delighted to help however you wanted. “What do you need?”

“I’m just trying to work on my shoulder strength right now.” You let down your legs, but kept an arm wrapped around his waist as he escorted you back to the bar. “Gimme a boost?” Bucky lifted you up to sit on his shoulder so you could reach the high apparatus.

“I know when I’m not wanted.” Nat winked at Bucky, who just shook his head at her. She would wander back up to the fifth floor and find the entirety of the Avengers trying to help Peter curate this playlist.

This was a really bad idea, and it had gotten so far out of hand that Bucky didn’t know how to end it, so. He’d have to let it be, and trust that at least one person in the group would keep Sam from turning it into Sexy Songs to Play in the Bedroom, volumes I-IV.

“I was thinking about what we’re going to do on Christmas Day,” you said, bringing Bucky back to the present. You wrapped your fingers around the bar and lifted yourself from his shoulder. Bucky stood back, but kept his hands at your sides in case you slipped.

“I thought we were going to Jenny’s.”

You slowly lowered yourself, and then raised back up again to put your chin over the bar. “They’re going to San Diego to Brad’s parents’ house. His dad was best friends with my dad. He has stuff of Dad’s he found in the move. They’ll do New Years with us.”

“Damn.” Bucky had really been looking forward to what you referred to as Matching Pajama Cocoa Night, in which everyone put on the pajamas that they had received and watched old Christmas movies. With hot cocoa, of course.

“Nat and I were thinking,” you said, getting a little winded now. But you didn’t give up, just took a beat above the bar. “Christmas in the lounge? The four of us could go together to chop down a tree this afternoon.”

Bucky’s heart skipped. ‘I’ve never decorated a tree before.”

“No?” You slowly lowered yourself and gave him a little nod of consent to grab you and ease you down. Once your feet were on the rubber mat, you turned to him. “You want to?”

He handed you your water bottle because the other option was probably going to be weeping. Bucky nodded.

“Awe. Baby.” You cupped his chin. “We’re gonna have a really nice day. Nat thinks we shouldn’t do gifts, just make cookies and watch movies.”

“But we’re gonna do gifts, right?” Bucky asked, panic lacing his voice.You raised an eyebrow.

“Sure. You’re not going too crazy, I hope…”

Bucky shook his head, but he was certain that he looked in no way nonchalant about the fact that he had been losing his mind over your request for the last few days. “Nah. I’m just excited, is all.” He was not.

“Good. Because I’ve had your present for a while, and I’m just dying to give it to you.” Your grin made his heart fall into his feet. He rolled his eyes.

“Woman, one of these days I’m going to get you really good.”

“Excuse me,” you whispered, pressing up on your toes to hug him around the neck. “I have spent the last couple years in awe of you every moment. You constantly ‘get me,’ baby. I’ve never met such a natural romantic.”

Bucky just blinked. “I am an exceptionally good actor, then, if you think any of this comes easily to me.”

“It’s not easy to love me?” The question was innocent, and gently phrased with just a hint of tease, but Bucky turned steely-eyed.

“Easy as breathing.”

“You have a bad habit of holding your breath.”

“You and Sam are in cahoots to roast me today,” he grumbled, but he kissed your forehead.

“I’ve never been in cahoots a day in my life, certainly not with a man who called me a menace.”

“I’m serious though, he is on another level,” Bucky laughed when your expression turned just ever-so-slightly murderous. “I don’t know what’s going on in that man’s head, but it’s coming out of his mouth as the Bucky Barnes roast-a-thon.”

“Apparently Clint wants to put a label on things. Nat says he’s been asking Sam for weeks, but Sam keeps deflecting.”

“Ah. Well. That explains why he’s surly, but not why I’m the focus.”

“Think about it,” you said, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “Who is gonna most readily forgive him for being an asshole? Probably his bestie. Especially when he knows you’ve got me, and I’ll kick his ass.”

“I’ve kicked his ass before,” Bucky said proudly. “I ripped his wing off.”

“That was before you understood object permanence,” you said, which made him laugh.

“Yes.”

“You should talk to him, though. He was there for you before we worked things out, and maybe he needs some tough love back.”

“You’re very intelligent, Mrs. Barnes.”

“So are you.”

“Your brain runs marathons around mine, doll.”

“We’ve got different areas of expertise! There is nobody I would trust more in the field to calculate the safest route without being seen. There certainly isn’t anybody else in this compound more qualified to talk me through a nightmare, or to figure out how to build me a better catsuit. Definitely the smartest uncle to those four little Davises. Thanks to you, Jaedyin now knows that only really nice people get to marry Auntie Doll.”

“That child is not going to understand anything about the world if I am her source on the subject,” he chuckled.

“Jenny better change her phone password or I’m sure you’ll get phone calls at all hours about why the dinosaurs died, and such.”

“It’s because they didn’t brush their teeth before bed, as I told Lakylenn yesterday… when she called me on Jenny’s phone.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “Oh my god. Best Buckle ever.”

“I think I’m gonna go find Sam,” he said as you looped your arm through his. “Then we can see about getting that tree.”

“I’ll get cleaned up. Meet you in the lounge on five in an hour?”

“Deal.” Bucky stepped into the elevator with you and pressed the buttons for five and six. He pressed his lips to your temple.

“Mmm. Sweaty,” you said apologetically.

“I’m not complaining. But next time you need a gym partner, I’m there. Maybe I’ll get more time standing at eye level with your beautiful, beautiful ass.”

“You can have that experience anytime,” you laughed.

He peered at you from the corner of his eye. The elevator dinged for five and the doors slid open.

“Oh, hey Y/n!” Peter Parker waved emphatically.

“Peter! What are you doing here?”

He glanced at Bucky and smiled so innocently that Bucky wondered for a split second what Peter was doing there. Then, the kid looked at you. “I’m looking for this guy. I need his opinion on gifts for MJ.”

“He’s all yours,” you said sweetly. “Tell MJ that I want to meet her, soon!”

“Will do. You free right now, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky kissed your cheek. “See you in an hour.” He followed the Spiderling and left you in the lift.

“I gotta go, but I’m gonna keep working on your playlist,” Peter said quickly, once he was sure that you weren’t going to suddenly burst out of the elevator again. “I’m seeing MJ tonight, she’ll have good ideas.”

“You really need my help?” Bucky asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Nah. MJ is the easiest person in the world to buy presents for. She sends me Amazon links. I’m getting her a rice cooker that doubles as a popcorn machine.”

“...wow. That would make my life easier.”

“Yeah, movie nights are gonna be epic, now! Hey, I'll text you when your playlist is done, but you can change whatever you want on it. I won’t be insulted.”

“Thanks, Parker.” Bucky shook the kid’s hand, and then Peter darted back to the elevator to catch his ride back to New York. Tony’s helicopter, most likely.

***

Bucky discovered, upon returning to the lounge, that most of the people who had come to help with the playlist had departed; only Bruce and Clint remained, chatting with Sam about new ways to improve the wing pack which would take the pressure off his back. Sam caught sight of his best friend and perked up.

“Hey, man. So, we’re done. Your gift is going to be fantastic, and now I require your assistance elsewhere.”

Sam looked so uncomfortable to be in his own body that he kind of… bowed to Bruce and Clint, and then strode past Bucky, grabbing his elbow and yanking him along down the hall. He didn’t go for the elevators like a normal person. He dragged Bucky to the stairwell.

“Do you plan on throwing me down the stairs, or do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Bucky asked as Sam raced downwards. He had at least relinquished his hold on Bucky’s arm.

“I’m currently running away from my problems,” Sam breathed.

Bucky snagged the back of Sam’s shirt and yanked him so hard that he sat with a thud on the third floor landing. He jumped down the stairs so he was in front of the Falcon, and held up a hand.

“What the hell?”

“Just… he’s standing there talking to Bruce like it’s nothing, and I just started choking.”

“...Why?”

Sam put his face in his hands. He groaned. “I don’t know.”

Bucky tried very hard not to laugh. “What don’t you know?”

“What I’m doing trying to be… dating right now.”

“As opposed to… when?”

“I shouldn’t date people I work with, right?”

“Talking to the wrong guy.”

Sam raised his head as Bucky displayed his ring finger. “Right. Married to your partner. I’m in a hellscape--”

“Are you freaking out because of the idea of dating someone, or because that someone is Clint Barton?”

Sam seemed to seriously consider the question, but what he settled on was-- “Both,” he sighed. “He’s a flirt.”

“So?”

“...Kind of makes me feel shit sometimes, even though I know that’s how he is.”

“Are you talking about him flirting with people in front of you, or just… generally?”

Sam glared at him. “Would you trust Y/n if you knew that she was going to flirt with anybody on two legs?”

“You’ve seen her and Nat,” Bucky shrugged. “Does he know you feel like that?”

“No! I don’t want to make him feel bad about who he is, it’s my issue--”

“But he can’t do anything about it if he doesn’t know.”

“I’m not asking him to change.”

“It’s not about that. If he cares about you and it’s a deal breaker… I mean, if it were me, I wouldn’t want to make my partner feel like shit, so I’d be more aware of how I was acting.”

“Y/n ever piss you off?”

“Yes,” Bucky said with a grin. “She has never made the bed a day in her life. She doesn’t wear matching socks. She forgets about empty soap bottles in the shower, she lets Alpine sleep on my black coat, and she puts her very cold toes on my thigh just to get a rise out of me. But none of that is a dealbreaker for me.” Bucky sat down beside his friend. “Is Clint flirting with other people going to put your relationship at risk, or are you struggling with what trust looks like for you?”

“Okay, Dr. Phil.” Sam looked at him incredulously. He shook his head. “I don’t know. Every time I think I know, I get… worried. He wants to know what we are, Buck. That’s the scariest question ever.”

“What are you, then?”

“I mean…” Sam stopped for a second.

“He’s the first person you text in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

“You learned to salsa for him.”

“I’m very good at it.”

“Pretty sure you haven’t eaten meat in like six months.”

“Vegetarianism can be very good for you, if you do it right--”

“You were sad when he couldn’t come to the wedding, Sam. I just… don’t really understand why Clint being a flirty guy trumps all those other things.”

Sam’s face fell. “Right.”

Bucky doffed him on the chin. “A wise guy once told me that I was obtuse. And he was right. And look at me now.”

The Falcon did so. “Ugly as ever.”

“You’re so charming.”

Sam nudged his shoulder. “You know, buddy… standing up beside you, watching you get married… people get married all the time, and most of them for the wrong reasons, but you managed to find somebody that people want to help make a playlist for. And it got me thinkin’ about having a partner that I’m proud of like that, who other people--my friends--love enough to list out songs about love, which they think my partner would like. Like… Peter Parker came here on a school night for you. Wanda revealed her love of Bonnie Tyler. For you.”

“Clint is a really good guy, Sam. You know he’s loved in this crowd.”

“I know… I agree.”

“Imagine how he feels when you’re constantly just… running away. That gets old. Feeling left behind. After a while, he’s gonna stop chasing you.”

“Fuck.” Sam ran a hand over his face. “I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughed. “But not an unredeemable one.”

“What the hell do I even say?”

“Hey, Clint. I’m an asshole. Sometimes it bothers me when you flirt with other people, if we could talk about that. Also let's be boyfriends.”

“You are the sappiest motherfucker I have ever met.”

“She brings it out in me, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bucky shrugged. “What does Barton bring out in you?”

“He… he makes me less afraid of trying new things because for him, things going poorly isn’t a sign of the end. Like… even when we tried that horrible American fusion restaurant, his response was ‘that’s gonna make the next place we try incredible.’ It’s not like unbridled optimism, it’s just. He’s not a total pessimist.”

“Seems to really like Marvin Gaye,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“We are not discussing that.” Bucky and Sam shared a smile, anyhow.

“Go talk to him. Stop running.”

Sam sat back for a minute and gave his closest friend a onceover. He shook his head. “I like this version of you. The married guy. It’s the best Bucky.”

Bucky blinked. “Did you… just say something nice to me?”

“Call it a new leaf.”

“Well. Thanks, man. I also prefer the version of me that doesn’t hate every waking moment of his life. You should try it.”

The Falcon laughed. He patted Bucky on the arm and stood. “Alright, I’m going to walk back up those stairs in shame, with my tail between my legs, and… apologize. I’ll see you later.”

“If you’re up for it tonight, we’ll probably be decorating a tree in the lounge. You’re both welcome to join us.”

“I appreciate your optimism. And whatever alien being has taken over your body can stay if he promises to let a little bit of grumpiness out, now and then. For old time’s sake.”

Bucky flipped him off. Sam gave a thumb’s up. He took his time up the stairs again, but he made such a beleaguered sigh when he reached the landing door to floor five that it echoed. Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

PETER: hey sergeant barnes its peter

PETER: your playlist is done

PETER: I hope she likes it

PETER: mj helped me add a few songs that werent on the list and we pretty much ignored the other stuff that mr lang and mr stark wrote down idk

PETER: your wife is a lot cooler than them but plz dont tell them i said that

PETER: some of them are covers because they r better than the og

PETER: its kinda a mix of new and old

PETER: merry xmas

Bucky flicked over to the only other app which featured on his homescreen, the little green circle with three black lines. The moment the home screen popped up, Good afternoon was written in white writing, and there was a square beneath it featuring four smaller squares inside of it (one of which was recognizably Elton John’s face, but the rest were not familiar). The label beside that collection of images read:

For Her

His nerves instantly went into a fever pitch--to open it now and look over the list of songs, most of which he probably wouldn’t know… or to leave it and trust that Peter and MJ did an okay job curating his playlist, the only gift he planned?

Bucky groaned. Well. He really didn’t have much of a choice. Regardless of whether or not Spider-man had good taste in music, that’s what Bucky had committed to giving you, it’s what you wanted, he kept reminding himself. So. Why ruin the surprise by getting himself all worked up?

His palms were sweating, but. Definitely wasn’t worked up or nervous. Definitely not about to sit in that stairwell, listening through the whole list just to vet it for any last minute additions. Besides, he was facing an evening spent with his wife, his primary best friend, and a woman who was now calling herself Y/n’s best friend if she knows what's good for her. He should be focusing on having a nice time, soaking up the holiday traditions he never got to have.

Bucky levitated off the stair as his phone rang. Your faces grinned up at him from the lock screen, in your matching uniforms on the happiest day of his life. Wife was your contact name, now. He was gonna be insufferable about that forever.

“Yes, darling?” he said into the microphone.

“Where are you? I have a cozy sweater with your name on it, and we’re burning daylight!”

***

The black SUV rumbled back onto the compound after a few hours away, carrying four people who had chopped down a very important tree, all while wearing Scandinavian sweaters in varying shades of white, red, and green.

This was the first tree they all had shared together--the first tree that the Russian-trained agents had ever had, the first either couple had as a couple, the first that America’s ass had since being defrosted, and the first live tree in the compound that wasn’t paid for by the government. It was small enough to fit in the corner of the fifth floor lounge, and it would drop more needles than anyone wanted to clean up, and about halfway home, Natasha started feeling sniffly… but the world made allergy medicine for a reason, and it was going to be a darn good tree if any of them had something to say about it.

It occurred to one of the party--the one with the most experience decorating trees, who was trying to give her new husband the best Christmas ever (despite not being able to provide the uncle time he so desperately craved)--that they hadn’t picked up any decorations for the tree, once it was sitting in it’s bucket.

So.

An improvised decoration hunt began.

Steve had a bag of green Army men figurines from a prank Sam had pulled on him years prior--they became ornaments, with fronds of pine stuffed under their armpits so it looked like they were armed with needles instead of tiny bayonets.

Nat discovered oranges in the second floor kitchen, and twine, which made nice globes once they had been stabbed through the center and then strung up. Someone was undoubtedly going to miss both when tying up their holiday turkey, but it was all in the name of a well-dressed tree.

Bucky popped an entire movie theatre’s worth of popcorn, which doubled as a snack while sprinkling the kernels on the needles like fallen snow.

You set out to find an adequate topper, something worthy of a star-like position on top of the tree. Instead, you found yourself sitting on the floor of your suite, trying not to be angry at the little white cat who was perched on your knee. Alpine rubbed his noggin’ against your nose, and your cheek, not even minding the tearful trail.

It wasn’t obvious, at first, but when you walked into your suite there was a little trail of ripped paper leading from behind the desk… to beneath the bed. To the site of total destruction. It wasn’t just the wrapping paper which had been obliterated by kitten claws. The contents of the paper were ruined, too. You couldn’t even blame the cat. It was your fault for leaving it in a place he could reach it, complete with curled ribbon to draw him in (even if it had been hidden behind the desk so that Bucky didn’t see it before Christmas). Find it, Alpine most certainly did.

You leaned your head back on the mattress and tried to breathe, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t just a gift, it was… his mom, a beautiful portrait that Steve had created when you dug a photo of Winnie Larson Barnes out of records, in the process of looking for Bucky’s birth certificate to apply for a marriage license. She was so beautiful, and it would’ve been the perfect way to give him back the woman who gave him life. If her beautiful lips didn’t have kitty claws dug through the rosy watercolors which had been laid down by Cap’s brush. Now, you had nothing to give him.

The cat purred like I was helping, mom, I swear. You pulled him into your lap and buried your face in your arms, so the cat who had ruined everything was caged in. You didn’t bother looking up when the door swung open.

“Did you find--oh. Doll?”

Paper crinkled around you. Then, he smoothed your hair.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he murmured.

“Stupid cat ruined everything,” you blubbered, dripping more tears onto the cat who very much deserved it. Alpine merely mewed up at you.

“Honey…” Bucky touched your shoulder. “What happened? Can you look at me?”

Slowly, you raised your head to look at him, but the moment you saw his concerned expression, a new wave of emotion hit you. “I had the best present for you, and-and this monster destroyed it, and I should just make him wear a little angel gown and sit on top of the tree as punishment, but he’s so cute, and oh god, Bucky, it was so beautiful… you were going to love it, Steve worked so hard! He did like three drafts, and I told him every time that it was perfect, and then it was even better every time! Like--baby, look at this!!” You scrambled for the pieces of paper, to try and hold it up where it would’ve met. “It’s your mom. She’s so pretty, and Alpine ripped her up!”

Bucky gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists and his gaze softened. “You planned this with Steve?” he asked. He made a mental note to give Steve a hug later for such a gorgeous portrait, even if the dumb cat had made a mess of it. So much for haven’t picked up charcoal in decades. You nodded frantically. “Doll… that’s the nicest gift--how did you even find a picture of her to show him?”

“It was in your file in records,” you sniffled. “I should’ve put it in the drawer, but you were looking for something the other day and you looked in that drawer and you almost saw it, and I was gonna hide it in our luggage instead, but we’re not going to Jenny’s now--”

“Oh, love,” he soothed. “I’m sorry. It’s really beautiful. We can fix it, though.” He took the pieces from you and looked over the jagged edges. “A little tape on the back, you’ll never know Alpine was here.”

“Winnie deserves better than tape!” you cried.

Bucky sat beside you, shooing Alpine away. The cat jumped onto the chair and settled sullenly.

“I’m sorry Alpie ruined your gift,” he said. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and pulled you close. “If it’s any consolation, I put yours in the hands of the Avengers, and… I’m still not convinced it wasn’t ruined by the man who officiated our wedding.”

You laughed, despite the tears which just kept flowing. “Really?”

“It’s nothing big, so don’t get your hopes up, but… would you feel better if I showed you?”

“...My gift which Tony likely ruined?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Just close your eyes, okay?”

You laid your head on his shoulder and did as he said. He jolted you a little, reaching forward. A drawer opened and shut. His thumb brushed your cheek, and then… your earbud was fitted into your ear. You frowned, but you waited patiently to be told you could open your eyes again. Instead…

Gentle guitar picking flowed like water into your head. You knew the song, but you couldn’t place it immediately. You peered up at him. Bucky was wearing the other earbud, like he had in the early days of your relationship when you got him running in the mornings sharing some Benny Goodman. One corner of his mouth turned up. He held up his phone so you could see the screen.

For Her, a playlist by Bucky Barnes.

Oh my god, you thought.

When you asked for ‘music’ you figured he’d add some vinyl to your collection, or maybe pick up some tickets to a jazz show in the city… not this. Not make a whole playlist. Especially not one that started with Can’t Help Falling in Love.

Wise men say: only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you.

You might be fools, but you hadn’t rushed; if anything, it had felt like pulling teeth just to get to the point where you could translate what he felt for you, but this… how could you not be madly in love with this man? You took his phone and scrolled past title after title on the playlist--it really was a perfect mash of classic, beautiful songs with new music… but not too new. Nothing that felt fake or out of place, and there were a shocking number of things from the nineties. All of them were perfect choices.

The song changed to the next, a Beatles classic with a little twist. You rested your chin on his shoulder. “You gave me music,” you whispered.

Bucky let out a ragged breath. “You like it? I asked everyone what their favorite love songs were, and then Peter helped me put them together.”

“Oh my god, Bucky. It’s really good!”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you so much. I’m going to listen to this all the time.” You tugged his chin so he’d lean down and kiss you.

“Good. I… it’s been making me crazy for days,” he admitted, scratching his temple. “I would have probably scrapped the whole thing if Tony hadn’t called the team together.”

“You nailed it.”

You paused the playlist, but sent it to yourself (adding yourself as Bucky’s friend so that you could pay him back for this collection at a later date). He had to have spoken to Jenny, given the inclusion of Celine… and there was no way that Bucky came to the conclusion on his own that you were a sucker for both Boyz II Men and Bonnie Tyler (although, of all the additions to the list, you wondered who was responsible for Sexual Healing... Tony was the most likely culprit). The idea of Bucky listening to those songs and thinking that it was a worthwhile list was amusing. There was no way he knew what his friends put on it.

It was the perfect gift when one lived in a compound with a bunch of adults who sometimes acted like adolescents, who were all far more involved in each other’s lives than was really appropriate.

You hugged him tight. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you.”

“Not true.” Bucky pulled your legs so they rested over his. “Approximately six days ago, you stood up in front of our friends and promised to take care of me forever. Today, you gave me this very festive sweater--which I love, by the way--and we found and decorated a tree with two of our favorite human beings. And I’m hoping two more will join us later. All of this is possible because of you, doll.”

You perked up. “Did you talk sense into Sam?”

“More or less. We’ll see if it paid off.” He smiled, nodding at Alpine. “Come on. Don’t let that innocent furry face ruin your night.”

You sighed, but you nodded. “I really wanted you to have something that you could look at every day to remind you of your mom.”

“Honey… every time I look at you, I am struck by how much she would’ve loved you. Tell you what… why don’t we take a trip into the city tomorrow, after Steve and I cook breakfast?”

“Why?”

“There’s nothing like Brooklyn on Christmas.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I gotta visit Ma’s headstone. I could bring you with me, we could drink hot chocolate with her. Either way, it’s real important that I go, and soon.”

“Why soon?”

Bucky took your left hand in his and kissed the ring which sat on your third finger. He smiled, but for just a moment he looked a little sad.

“Gotta tell her I got married.”

The flip in his voice, that little crack which belied deeper emotion… it hit you square in the chest. It was a choking feeling, the way new tears welled. You crawled into his lap.

“Yes. Please. Let's go.”

***

Brooklyn was bathed in the kind of light which seemed to be made for Bucky’s life-changing moments. Paris had looked just that shade of gold the day you agreed to marry him, and the brownstones shone on Christmas day as he walked arm-in-arm with you. The haphazard Christmas displays on front walks and stoops were lit and merry (at least the ones which hadn’t been eclipsed by the spray of grey sludge from the snow plows).

Bucky pointed out the apartment that he had lived in with his family, and the alley he pulled Steve out of more times than he could count… the curb he had wrecked his bicycle on trying to jump it, and the tree stump which used to be a tall maple that had broken his fall and subsequently his nose. The bar he drank in for the first time (the same bar he was banned from for drinking underage). The pizza joint which had been open since the forties, and appeared to be under management by the same family.

It was like a reunion. Why did Brooklyn feel like this with you? He had been back a few times in the last few years, but you brought out a side of the neighborhood which seemed like her truest face. It wasn’t Christmas magic; the city was still as wild and unruly as ever, despite the glow from lights and the smattering of snow on every eave. It’s just that standing in the place which formed him with the woman who saved him made both things seem perfectly matched.

You fit. As well as your fingers fit the crook of his arm, you and Brooklyn were a fine pair.

So, he took you to see Her last.

Winnie Larson Barnes

1892-1966

Beloved wife and mother

It was just a headstone, weathered with moss and weather and time, but it sat next to a much older one that one could barely make out the lettering for if one didn’t know who wasn’t buried there. The man in question stood at his mother’s grave.

One time, early in knowing you, Bucky had a dream which made him ache long after he woke, but not a nightmare. It was just fragments of a life that wasn’t to be, but… Winnie was embracing you, unveiling you at the end of the aisle in a small church--that one, which had been the cornerstone of the Barnes’ little community for Bucky’s whole childhood. That was the whole of the dream. Winnie knowing you. Bucky couldn’t have everything in this life, but…

“I’m married, Ma,” he said softly. “And God, you’d love her.” He kissed your temple, and you both sniffled.

The shadows seemed to curve, and the sunshine shifted, but Bucky sipped hot chocolate without remarking on the passing of the day, and told his mother all about the morning he met his wife, and how he knew he loved her (and shared a few international secrets, but Winnie was more than trustworthy). They asked Winnie’s opinion about where they might move once the intrigue and adventure lost their lustre.

But the golden light thrummed.

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, she said. The city, the sunlight, the mother. Didn’t matter who spoke. Her voice was clear as crystal.

Bucky’s playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6TaKlavtQx7mx2nArL9lVD?si=_jV3SH7VQvqQ6r_FRaDjTA

Part 10

Part 12

***

tag list: @morticiaofthedead @hogwartsahist0ry @peterhollandkait @harrietbaudelaire @general-kenobi357 @hawsx3 @subwaysurf45 @nahthanks @sergntbarnes @agni-l @mass-percussion @ayleehweasleyobrien

message to be added to the tag list :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #nostalgia for the new #nostalgia for the new by realjane #Spotify

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crab-cafe · 3 years

Text

Really random BSD headcannons:

Kunikida teaches Atsushi and Kyoka math since they never had any proper education and he’s as ex math teacher.

Dazai regularly steals food from all his coworkers fridges. They’re not sure how he gets into their houses.

Fukuzawa owns several cats, and regularly feeds the stray cats on his street. He also enjoys visiting cat cafes.

Ango likes salami. He’s also just chronically tired.

Sigma bakes cookies everyday and has a cookie delivered to every hotel room in the casino as a complimentary gift. If you don’t have money he will also take payment for admission into the casino in cookies.

Dazai really sucks as cooking, the agency has tried to teach him, but he never gets any better. But he also doesn’t care about the quality of the food he eats, he will eat uncooked rice if no one stops him.

Jouno likes knitting scarves, he finds it relaxing. The other hunting dogs will help him pick out colors and he’ll just make scarves.

The hunting dogs have a movie night every Friday and they often argue about what to watch. Tetcho wants to watch romcoms and Teruko wants to watch violent horror. Fukuchi always offers for them to watch his movies but they unanimously turn him down. If they do pick out something to watch, Jouno sits next to Tachihara and makes him explain what is happening in the movie.

Tetcho will try and make lunch for the hunting dogs but he miserably fails because he uses his logic that similar colored food tastes good together to make the lunches. He’ll put stuff like green apples and wasabi, hard boiled eggs and powdered sugar, strawberries and ketchup. He gets kicked out of that duty fairly quickly.

Chuuya keeps trying to convince Mori to find someone to fill Dazai’s executive position but Mori is always like “nooo, Dazai will come back!”

Chuuya and Dazai are banned from several stores in Yokohama because they saw each other in that store and proceeded to have a fight.

Occasionally Dazai and Ango will run into each other while visiting Oda’s grave and it gets awkward.

In the dark era, Dazai would just randomly crash at Oda or Ango’s place, because they have much nicer houses than Dazai. Dazai lived in a shipping container like why dazoo?

Dazai started taking photos of things that he likes and keeping them up on his wall to remind him that there are some good things in the world. The photos are old photos of Oda and Ango, photos of the agency, or just random stuff he encounters on a daily basis that make him smile a bit inside.

Dazai always buys bandages from the same place and the staff knows him. He’s come there so often and buys so many bandages that they just give him a discount.

After Yosano, most of the detective agency has a fear of doctors.

The port mafia occasionally has a game night where the executives gamble over ludicrous sums of money while playing monopoly - its a recipe for disaster.

Dazai still sends the port mafia really bad New Years cards (like in Wan).

Also Dazai doesn’t have a drivers license. Does that stop him from driving? No, it does not.

Koyo and Mori make all the important mafia people and executives dress up each year for a “family photo”. Everyone hates it.

Ranpo and Poe meet at Poe’s mansion every Saturday for tea and book discussions.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd headcannons #crab’s bsd writing

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taraljc · 2 years

Text

I actually wrote like actual words today I mean not enough of them and it's still not story shaped but I'm getting there. possibly I wasted way too much time trying to figure out if Lindsey Trent & the Hot Three were meant to be based on any specific real life musicians.

also it kind of weirds me out that we never find out if the Saturday night after Midge's mother bailed Abe and Lenny out of jail, Midge actually went to see his set not knowing that that morning her father had been in jail with Lenny. because it seems unlikely to me that unless she had a prior engagement with Shy Baldwin that she would ditch Lenny but I can't remember so I'm going to go have to look at the episodes again because I should know but I don't know because I keep watching these scenes isolated from their context. and when you do that, there's a lot of stuff you miss. I'm sorry that sounds ludicrous of course you miss things when you don't see them in context. but what I mean is when you're revisiting things knowing what happens later, it's too easy sometimes to forget exactly the nuances and see the shape of the journey of the characters in their relationships when you only watch scenes along their own and not really watching the actual episodes.

like something tells me based on the scene in the fourth season about Miss December that there are gaps in knowledge and they're specific gaps. there are things that only Midge and the audience knows. there are things that only the audience knows. there are things that some characters know and other characters don't. there's a lot of things that Lenny Bruce knows that Joel has no idea about like at all and I find that kind of interesting in a lot of ways. and there's a lot of things that Susie knows that Midge does not know that Midge does not know she doesn't know. not the least of which is how many people Susie is told over the last 2 years that Midge is not sleeping with Lenny Bruce.

also that little moment where Midge pours Lenny a cup of coffee and brings it to him and he takes it and then puts it down and drags her into the living room. like so many things in their lives would have been so different if he had actually stopped for 2 seconds and actually drank the coffee. but it's the way he takes it and then deliberately puts it down that somehow breaks me every time I watch it. like instead of not taking the coffee he does take the coffee because she's offering him coffee and that's what you do. and he's disoriented and scary polish lady keeps demanding his trousers, so he's on autopilot while simultaneously gearing up to have a really big panic attack.

(the line reading on they are bad pants gets me every time)

anyway this is my long-winded way of saying I am starting a full series rewatch and taking notes and also trying to write stuff down and by write stuff down I mean dictated into an empty gmail email because what I am actually doing while I'm re-watching episodes so far is going through a gigantic 30 gallon bin of dolls and trying to match up heads and bodies so that I can sell a bunch of dolls but then also so I can keep a bunch of dolls and occasionally I have to stop doing everything and go into the spare room and play let's chase the Magic Red Dot with my cat.

that and my laptop refuses to charge and so I keep having to go to my desk computer which is nowhere near the television occasionally to write things down and then I get really distracted because I'm also looking at the transcripts of the episodes and all of the compiled research on real life stuff and it still bothers me that I can't pin down certain events and when they happen like Lenny is wearing his wedding ring when Honey comes to pick him up even though he filed for divorce 2 years prior and one presumes his divorce is going to be finalized any day now why is he wearing the ring? why is Honey even there in that scene? and do police precincts take cheques, because if she didn't have $20 to pay the cabbie how the hell was she planning to bail Lenny out?

not to mention $20 in 1958 is a lot of money. what did the cab driver take her cross-country from Los Angeles?

(the $200 fine when Midge gets held in contempt of court at her hearing is also a lot of money in 1958. sometimes I feel like there should be more research in this show. like way more research. the props department and the production design and the entire hair and makeup team are meticulous and yet the writing is occasionally very sloppy with the little details.)

#the marvelous mrs. maisel #lenny bruce should be afraid #midge/lenny #lenny bruce

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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More Amazing People I Want to Share This With :)

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #reid fanfiction

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sidespart · 3 years

Note

For the fake fic title, if you're still doing it: Why do you hate me? (I honestly don't know where I came up with this lol)

X-Men AU!!! Found Family + Anxceit friendship. TW: child soldiers, child endangerment, abuse etc

(So typical X-men universe set up: some people are born with the X gene, which typically triggers during puberty, giving that person a mutation which normally results in cool powers. Many people hate mutants for their differences (/ bad press of people using their mutant powers for the evilz) and so most mutants live in hiding. The Xavier Institute is a school set up by an extremely powerful mutant which seeks to provide a safe space for young mutants to learn to manage their powers, get a regular education and hopes to see peace between humanity and mutant kind. The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants is a group of mutants who believe humans will never let mutant live in peace and do various anti-human, pro-mutant vaguely terrorist-y actions (there’s like a billion version of the x-men and these details may not be correct for all the versions all of the time because comics but this is the vague idea))

ANYWAY PLOT - Containment breach at the Super Secret Child Soldier Lab (SSCSL) - Subject VII has escaped. Subject VII is only 6-7 years old but his mutations were artificially triggered much younger than is normal. He can warp reality and create very sophisticated illusions, but has very limited control over his powers.

Cut too - Virgil and Dee, a couple of teenage mutants living on the street. They find a little boy with a buzzcut wandering around The Bad Part Of Town and Virgil immediately decides they need to adopt/help him (Dee makes more of a fuss about how this is not their responsibility and the kids barely even talking and do you know how hard I work just to keep you and now you wanna add another mouth to feed?? Huhh?? but obviously does not actually say no) (Dee is like. Barely any older than Virgil he’s just dramatic).

Naturally, just as the three of them have had time to bond, the SSCSL and other assorted bad guys show up to try and take VII back. There’s a big fight, Virgil and Dee have a lot more experience with flight and would probably have ended up dead if the X-men (Patton and Logan) hadn't shown up to save them.

But they lose VII.

Patton and Logan take them back to the Xavier institute to recuperate and offer to let them stay. They can go to school there, get some training and help the X-men track down VII and the whole SSCSL. Virgil says yes, Dee says no.

(So, reasoning - Virgil's mutation developed when he was 12. It was not pleasant. Various students at his school were injured and the media set up a which hunt for the mutant that caused the chaos. Virgil ran away from home because he was worried about the backlash on his family and about hurting anyone else again. So to him, this school full of mutants who can help him control his power, can offer him stability and a return to normal structures and routines, who are promising to help him get in contact with his parents if and when he’s ready?? This is like every fantasy he’s ever had come true

Unlike the other characters, Dee’s primary mutation is physical. He was born with it, its very obvious and its resulted in him being rejected for most of his life. He bounced around increasingly disturbing foster homes before running away when he was very young, so most of his memories are of living on the streets and surviving on his own. So, to him, number one: all adults are inherently untrustworthy idiots and number two: stay at a school? where they expect him to have a curfew? and, what - write essays? follow all their random arbitrary rules? rely on them for food and heat and all that shit? Completely ludicrous.)

It doesn't occur to either of them that the other one isn't going to agree with them. The resulting argument is epic and cruel, both hurling accusations at the other (Ungrateful /controlling are two of the big ones..) and both basically feeling hateful and 100% betrayed. Dee leaves and although they look for him, he’s got a lifetime experience of hiding and they cant find him.

CUT TO - 5 years later. Virgil is a (semi) well adjusted 19 year old junior X-men. He’s still a bit withdrawn, but is very close with Patton and Logan. He’s still holding out hope of finding VII one day and still firmly pretending he’s not listing out for any possible news of Dee (there were rumours some years ago of him joining the brother hood of evil mutants but then it all went quiet) who he, of course, hates for his betrayal.

BUT THEN - mysterious knocking at the door in the night. Dee, now wearing a hat and cape and calling himself Janus, has returned. And he’s brought with him a little boy with a buzzcut and a tattoo of XXII on his foot.

Janus and Virgil need to put aside their resentment and work together to help XXII, who really does not seem interested in helping them, and hopefully use any clues he can give them about the SSCSL to track down VII. But that's difficult when they’re both still struggling with their own trauma and have no idea how to reconnect - both of them want to ask why do you hate me but are a bit too scared of the answer. ...

This already got way to long so mutant power/ extra back story descriptions under cut!

Patton - 22/27 years old. An extremely powerful telepath/empath. It takes him serious concentration and focus to not hear peoples thoughts and its almost impossible to not feel their feelings. Some people dislike him because of this as they feel he's spying on them. Grew up in the Xavier institute and 100% believes in and is committed to the future where humans and mutants live in harmony. Has pretty limited life experience in the real world. Sometimes floats. (inspired by professor X)

Logan - 21/26 years old. Fires destructive laser beams from his eyes. Was in a car accident when he was younger leaving him with permanent but apparently harmless brain damage - until his mutation developed and he slowly realised that no matter how much he trained he just couldn't control his power. Has to wear specialised eye guards at all times to keep himself from accidentally destroying everything around him. Had big plans to go to university and was angry at his mutation for a long time for getting in the way of that. Eventually enrolled online and is now a very dedicated teacher at the Institute. (inspired by cyclops)

Janus - 15(?) / 20(?) His primary mutation is lizard/snake like scales over most of his body, but especially the left side. Has oversized fangs, and yellow eye and a short lizard tail. His secondary mutation makes him immune to almost any sort of mental based mutation (so Logan could still knock him on his ass with his lasers, but Patton cant sense anything form him and Virgil cant whammy him). Spent a lot of his life on his own and got by being sneaky, cunning and charming. Initially took Virgil in because he saw that his powers could be useful for keeping them both safe, but eventually Virgil became his first real friend.

Virgil - 14/19. Shadow manipulation and ‘draining’. Virgil can make himself (and with practice, people he touches) literally disappear into the shadows. He can also direct shadows as powerful energy ‘blasts’, but in order to do so he has to drain any surrounding living things of their energy. When his mutation first developed he took out half of the school hall where his exam was being held, leaving 15 students in a coma. (inspired by rouge/shadow cat)

VII - 6? / 11? Reality warping/illusion powers. One of the institutes first successful subjects. He was able to escape by changing the wall of his cell into a door. He finds it hard to talk but can project his ideas as lifelike illusions who can talk for him. One of his best is the image a handsome grown up Prince and he will often use this Illusion as an avatar to communicate. When he was 6 he did have some hazy memories of outside the SSCSL and expressed a desire to go home. Current status is unknown.

XXI - 7. Illusion powers (reality warping has been removed from the program by his time as subjects proved too difficult to control). Has no memories of outside the institute and is extremely uncooperative with his new captors/guardians. He does not understand the affection they’re trying to show him and lashes out a lot, often by creating a lot of extremely disturbing and graphic illusions. Bites.

#sanders sides #anxceit #virgil sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #fake fic meme #remus sanders #sidespart writes #x men au #giving it its own tag because ive been thinking about this one for a while and might do some more with it.#Anonymous

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pigeonp0st · 4 years

Note

Hiii, I’m sorry I must be annoying you, but I just really enjoy your writing, so I was wondering if you could do Kara x reader, Kara gets jealous they get into a fight about it, but they make up, lots of fluff at the end?

Kara Danvers x Reader #3

Words: 1,363

Warnings: Angst, Jealousy

Notes:

First off, you aren’t annoying me at all, i’m thankful for the requests. Second off, I hope this lives up to what you wanted, I tried to make both of their sides understandable with Kara’s insecurities...and blah...hopefully neither seem to be too toxic. That’s always a fear of mine when I write jealousy. (Sorry for grammar mistakes.)

——

The fight shouldn’t have happened.

It shouldn’t have, you should have been more understanding when Kara brought the problem up, should have tried to understand why she was getting so worked up, you should have acknowledged Kara’s all consuming fear of losing the people she loves.

But you’ve been so tired lately, work has been kicking your ass, and Kara coming home passively angry all of the time hasn’t really been helping (neither has you ignoring her). Your anger at her has been building up with every bitter comment shot your way about Lucy, and hers each time you ignore and dismiss her, so really, you should have seen it coming.

“Lucy sent you flowers,” Kara mentions offhandedly while she cooks.

You keep your eyes trained on your computer, typing away.

“A note, too. All about how thankful she is to you.”

Your eyes snap up towards Kara, she’s already looking at you, waiting. “You read it?” You ask, trying to keep your voice controlled. Kara nods, tilting her head. “Kara,” you say patiently, “don’t read my stuff without my permission, okay? Don’t do that.”

Kara blinks at you, immediately going on the defensive. “Why? Why can’t I be concerned when some person you’ve been spending all of your time with starts sending you flowers. Someone you used to like no less.”

“Because,” you breathe, shutting yourself off, “because that person is the only thing keeping me from having a mental breakdown everyday.” Kara’s eyes shift, “you have done literally nothing to make things easier on me the past couple of days, and now you’re angry someone has. She’s been helping with work.”

You think you can see a flash of guilt in the murky blue of Kara’s eyes and it would have been enough to calm you down if Kara hadn’t said what she said next, “are you fucking her?”

The laugh that forces it’s way out of your throat is disbelieving and devoid of any humor. “Oh my god,” you smile in astonishment, “you’re not listening to me at all.”

“Just...please,” Kara sighs, eyebrows coming together, “answer the question and i’ll believe you.”

“Believe me?” You snort, “Kara you're pulling out accusations from your ass, you're completely disregarding what i’ve been going through without you lately, and you’ve been being passive aggressive towards me for days now, all because what? You’re insecure?”

It’s a low blow, you know, but you’re angry too. You wanted Kara there, and instead she was making your life more miserable.

“That isn’t fair, Y/N, you used to have something with her, why can’t you understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” you tell her, scowling now, “you’ve ‘had something’ with nearly all of your friends in the past, but the second I want to be friends with an engaged woman, that even you’ve had a crush on, it’s not allowed.”

The truth of your statement rings out, and Kara, much to your annoyment, remains silent.

If she’s going to be hung up on her jealousy for days, enough to brush off your frustration, then she should at least have a better argument.

You watch Kara for a long moment, while Kara glares daggers into the counter, it’s how you notice Kara’s hand bumping into the knife she used to prepare dinner and knocking it off the counter.

You forget, a lot of the time, that Kara is invulnerable, it’s still such a bizarre concept to you. The bullet proof skin. You forget that a regular knife stands no chance of cutting through her skin, it’s why, the moment you see where Kara’s knife is falling—towards her sock covered foot— you instinctively reach out to grab it, to protect her.

You think you deserve the pain that comes after when the knife digs into your skin and it ends up dropping anyways.

Kara stares at you with wide eyes, frozen from her shock while she watches you grab a kitchen cloth to put pressure on your wound.

She looks terrified, you notice, it’s why you tell her to leave, you don’t want to snap at her while she’s so vulnerable, but it probably doesn’t help as much as you think it will in the moment. “Get out, Kara. Get out,” you hiss, wincing against your pain.

“Y/N,” Kara whimpers, eyes swimming with emotion “i’m sorry I—” she’s reaching for your injury to try and help but you pull away, stumbling backwards.

“Get out. I’ll call Alex. I don’t want to hear apologies you don’t even want to give.” You tell her, already reaching for your phone.

It’s a surprise to you when Kara listens.

It’s what you asked, but as you stand alone in your kitchen with a bleeding hand, and the memory of Kara’s crestfallen face when she left— the tears fall quickly.

You don’t actually end up calling Alex. You’re sitting on the kitchen floor with your arms wrapped around yourself, sobbing, when she comes in not long after Kara left. You know Kara brought her here.

—

Kara comes home sooner than you expect. It’s only been a day since she left, and you're sitting on the couch when you hear the balcony sliding door open.

You always leave it unlocked. You’ve been double checking that it is the whole time Kara’s been gone.

Kara says nothing when she comes in, not at first, she just sits down on the floor in front of where you’re sitting on the couch, grabs your wrapped injured hand to hold against her chest, and kisses your wrist, where your pulse point is.

When you think about where you are it’s sometimes hard to believe. Supergirl, cape and all, kneeling in front of you with enough sadness to fill the room, it’s something you from five years ago wouldn’t have believed.

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispers against your wrist after nearly an hour.

“Why are you back so early?” You ask, ignoring her apology.

Kara looks down. “Because I love you,” she says, voice trembling with her fear of rejection.

“And you know I love you, Kara, that’s why i’d never cheat on you. Not even for Cat Grant, and definitely not for Lucy Lane.” You promise, your own guilt eating you up for dismissing Kara’s feelings. “Do you know why you’re sorry?”

“A lot of things,” Kara tells you, “but i’m mostly sorry for not realizing how much you’ve been struggling lately because I was too caught up on my jealousy. I promised to be there for you.”

You give Kara a hum in acknowledgment, then say, “i’m sorry, too. You were letting your frustrations cloud your judgment, but so was I. I should have been there for you too.”

“You really don’t like Lucy?” Kara asks after a pause where both of you soak up what’s been said. She grimances right after she asks.

“No, Kara, I don’t like Lucy...more than a friend, anyways.”

“She’s really smart,” Kara mumbles, “i’d understand if you did.”

You quirk an eyebrow at Kara, pulling her up onto the couch with you. “Should I be worried about you going after her?”

Kara rolls her eyes, as if even the idea is completely ludicrous. “I only want to be with you, for the rest of our lives.”

You suck in a breath, trying not to look as affected by that as you are. Kara. Forever. It’s all you feel you’ll ever really need. “My girlfriend’s talking about forever...can you believe that?” You tease.

Kara looks a strange mix of serious and timid when she asks, “do you want her for forever, also?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, then release a sigh. “Forever will never seem long enough with her.”

“She’ll see what she can do,” Kara breathes out.

You’re not able to resist pulling her into a tight hug after that and hiding your fave in her neck. “I love you,” Kara whispers, “I trust you so much, even if I haven’t reflected that lately. My anger had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me, i’ve realized.”

“Stop apologizing, I believe in us to do better in the future. For now, let’s cuddle. I’ve missed you.”

#kara danvers x reader #kara zor el imagine #kara danvers imagine #kara zor el x reader #supergirl imagine #supergirl x reader #imagine #fem reader #supergirl #lucy lane #kara danvers

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spacecatchako · 3 years

Text

i don't want to be alone anymore (sfw)

you and daichi have been best friends since your first year of high school. now that you're in love (and adults) where will you go from here?

pairing: sawamura daichi x reader

wc: 3,373 words

contains: seemingly unrequited love, confessions, covers the nationals arc, friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort towards the end, fluff, reader literally has a breakdown and daichi comforts them, reassurance, cuddles, petnames (baby, princess, doll)

a/n: no, i didn't have any idea how to tag this. this fic is a little all over the place and there are several timeskips. the reader is implied to have issues w family and friends so keep that in mind lol. also i marked diff sections of the fic with ✨ this emoji so if u want to skip over certain parts and go straight to the hurt/comfort feel free babey

you were used to being lonely. sure, you worked hard and you had dreams, but there was some part you that remained unfulfilled. it was like a void that gradually dragged you down. you'd managed to supress it for most of your life up until high school, until all of a sudden something changed.

you met sawamura daichi. he was cute, a first year player on the volleyball team. daichi was kind to you. the two of you became fast friends after meeting on the first day at karasuno. during your breaks in between classes the pair of you would talk about anything and everything- volleyball strategies, your latest sketches, even other classmates that were giving you a hard time. you could be silly with daichi. there was no pressure with him, no need to pretend to be perfect.

but there was something scary about this too. by your second year of school you'd been friends with daichi for about a year. it was then that the realization hit- you had never felt this safe, this accepted, or... this loved by another person. when you'd get anxious because of classes or have issues with your family daichi became a shoulder for you to lean on. he'd go out of his way to send you check up texts and leave you little handwritten notes. the first one that you received was a little post-it note that said "you'll do great on your test today! i believe in you- daichi." he'd blushed like crazy when you confronted him about it. it was new to see your usually sturdy and level-headed best friend blush over a silly note that he'd left. there was something different between the two of you after that first note. instead of walking you home like usual he started to keep a hand on the small of your back.

you hadn't been looking. you'd been talking about how awkward your family was when a stray cat slunked into front of the two of you. you almost walked straight into it before the cat bounded away, crossing the empty street and looking back once to meow at daichi and you.

"sorry, is that too much? i just... want to make sure that you don't trip."

you were confused until you realized what had happened. daichi had steadied you by putting his hand on the small of your back. it felt good, for some reason, to trust him to steady you. trust wasn't an easy thing to come by.

you smiled a tad awkwardly before steadying yourself on your own two feet. "not at all daichi. i don't mind."

daichi smiled and the pair of you kept walking. his hand had stayed where it had been. you felt... guilty for being so touch-starved. and for your best friend, of all people?

"how ridiculous" you thought to yourself. when you came home you knew that no one was there. time to start dinner before your family came home. you'd probably retreat to your room and text daichi when that happened.

daichi was so good and so nice, and by your third year of high school the tiny, lingering bit of attraction that you had had for him flourished into a full-blown crush. you felt embarrassed and guilty. never had you let someone get this close to you. never had you ever let anyone write you notes, check in on you, give you genuine-sounding compliments. it was the little things like "are you okay y/n? you seemed a little quiet this morning. are you getting enough sleep?"

graduation came and went. the notion of parting with daichi and your other friends- asahi, suga, and kiyoko- left a pang of grief in your stomach. you were attending a local university and daichi planned to join miyagi's fire department after nationals. you'd still be close to him and he'd still be living at home, but it was weird to think that you'd be seeing one another a lot less.

nationals was when everything boiled over. you'd promised daichi that you'd be in the stands at every game of the competition, cheering him on.

"id love it if you were there, don't get me wrong. but don't feel like you have to jump through hoops for me! it's a bit of a long trip, i don't want you tiring yourself out." he confesses sheepishly. but you really wanted to go- his mom and siblings couldn't because of school and work, but they'd given him their best wishes.

"I'll hitch a ride with saeko and the crew. she and i work at the same restaurant on the weekends. we already talked and she said she'd be more than happy." you chirp. daichi seems a bit less worried about you after this, but then he remembers.

"um. y/n. you know that saeko drives... well, not badly, just... scarily?" he only seems to be partially joking.

you laugh at his worried expression. "I'll be okay pal. we'll make one of saeko's taiko buddies take the wheel."

daichi mock sighs in relief and you laugh together. this was the last moment that daichi had before nationals where he wasn't laden with anticipation over whether karasuno would succeed or not. he felt relaxed, with you. he thought you were cute, and awkward sometimes, and smart, and... good. so good. you didn't always look to him like he was an authority figure and you were small. he didn't feel the pressure to make sure you behaved or kept you in line because you were good at putting up a front and keeping yourself "in order." sometimes daichi wished that you would let him take care of you, let him listen more often. he wished that you would let him love you.

oh.

oh shit.

"daichi? um, daichi?"

daichi blushed and was snapped back to reality. he... loved you? that's what that care for you was all of these years. that's why he wanted to know if you were taking care of yourself, if you weren't burning yourself out with pleasing your family and school and work. sure, he thought you were cute. he picked up on all of your idiosyncrasies, even sometime pointing them out to you. he had had an inkling that *maybe* he had a little crush on you... but the care that he had come to find that he had for you was so great. he had to do something- everyone was leaving for school and the championships would be over and then when would he see you again? there was this great, big fear of losing you due to confessing. but that fear was minuscule compared to you, his studious and independent friend, pushing him away and forgetting.

"sorry. i was just lost in thought."

✨

yes, you, saeko, and the taiko group arrived a *tad* late and missed the tokonami match. yes you felt guilty for missing it. but when karasuno won against inarizaki and you saw daichi and the team celebrate the win, it was all worth it. you cheered as loud as you can, and once the players cleared from the court, you scrambled to greet daichi.

you see him in the lobby and almost leap into his arms. he laughs. "aaa, hey y/n." he croaks.

you giggle. "hey daichi. congratulations. you were amazing out there."

he's smiling through the sweat and fatigue. you notice, out of the corner of your eye, asahi and suga slowly backing away to leave the two of you alone. suga clicks his tongue, making daichi whip his head around, and he gives the captain a thumbs up." daichi sighs and sets you down, and the two of you are left in the stadium lobby. volleyball players and spectators mingle around, getting food and shopping for merchandise. daichi runs a hand through his hair and turns to you.

"do you want to go outside? there's something that i have to tell you."

anxiety shoots through you. if it's daichi, it can't be bad. of course not. that's one of your best friends. right?

the two of you make your way to the front doors of the stadium and get some fresh air. the sky is blue and the wind is refreshing against your skin. daichi, still sweaty and tired from his game, seems to enjoy it too.

you giggle as he stretches. daichi sits on a nearby bench and gestures for you to do so too. you notice a little shake in his hands as he does so. he's fiddling with the zipper of his karasuno jacket in that cute way that you know he does.

there's a sense of unease, and it's up to you to break the silence. you're alone with sawamura daichi, your best friend and longtime crush.

"daichi? what's wrong?" you ask, concerned.

daichi looks to you, a flush on his cheeks and a light in his eyes. he looks so cute, even when he's tongue-tied and tired from a game.

he takes a deep breath, and the words come out.

"i like you a lot, y/n"

you blink, confused. then it hits you. your crush, sawamura daichi, likes you. like, the boy that you think about way too much, the boy that you feel safe with, the absolute gentleman who cares about you and respects you instead of walking all over you, likes you.

you realize that you haven't said anything before you stutter.

"i-i like you too, daichi. so much."

he's blushing. your face is growing hot despite the winter air. the two of you, literal adults, are reduced to awkward messes because of this confession.

"o-oh. that's... good. i think that that's good." daichi awkwardly says. he laughs a little, then it turns into a full-blown bellow. you can't help but laugh too at how ludicrous the situation is. two friends who have known each other for years, caring about each other, eventually falling for each other. who knew?

"also suga made a bet and told me to confess to you if we won against inarizaki. he told me after the tokonami match. i agreed." daichi huffs after the laughter subsides.

"of course he did. im glad that he did it though." you joke.

"yeah. because then i wouldn't have you." he smiles, getting up. he extends a hand to you, helping you from the bench

"let's go back to the group. i don't want to miss lunch."

✨

it's been months after nationals. you and daichi are in a relationship, happy to be with one another. he's taken you on so many wonderful dates and his family seems to love getting to know you more. but there's still something that's missing. you've always struggled to open up to people completely. even daichi doesn't know what you're like when you completely break.

that changes one day when you have to travel from your dorm, to your parents house, then to daichi's for a date. it was supposed to be casual- just you and him in your pajamas, watching movies and eating takeout. but after being berated by your family for your career choice it triggered something in you. you felt like a little kid again, being told that you're not enough, being slowly manipulated by your family into burning yourself out. dachi helped the loneliness subside, but you knew that, inside, you were still the same little kid. that thought made something inside you recoil, but you pushed it down and made your way to daichi's.

you settle into his bed, your partner beside you. you take a good look at him- your man, sturdy and stronger from work at the fire department. suddenly, you can't help but break for some reason. tears flood your eyes and they won't stop for some reason.

"baby? baby what's wrong?"

you didn't deserve him. why were you even friends with him? someone this nice, this gentle with you, this kind? you wanted him to kick you out for crying. you wanted him to break up with you, because good things don't last.

you were so embarrassed and you'd felt so weak and stupid. you'd never been allowed to cry before, you'd always been told that it was a sign of weakness. good children didn't cry, so now that you were grown up you shouldn't either.

daichi hadn't judged you. he just set the tv remote down and moved in to hug you. other people's touches usually made you flinch and swat them away, but it was never like that with him. not when he supported the small of your back when you fell, not when you jumped into his arms, not when he took your hand after your mutual confession.

the two of you were hugging now, your chin on his shoulder and his head tucked into your side. you could stay like this forever. he was so warm. you could feel the two of your heartbeats almost sinking into one as your sobs quieted down and your breathing slowed to normal. this was the effect that he had on you. it was in this moment that you realized that you loved him- you truly did. the brown-eyed, sturdy, kind, careful, gentle boy that you'd met on the first day of high school had become your friend. then he was your crush. now that you two were adults, he was your first partner. the first person that you had ever fallen truly, deeply in love with.

you felt weak for desiring a love that was this tender. pessimistic you has you thinking that maybe all of the bad things that happened when you were growing up- your family being distant, friends leaving, you feeling alone all of the time- were a sign. a sign that you didn't deserve love. but if you were undeserving, if the pessimistic side of you was right, maybe you could have this moment to keep instead. is that it? if a whirlwind kind of love was too much to ask, you could just keep these moments with daichi close to your heart. if it was possible to take this feeling and keep it in a bottle, you would.

in between sobs, you vent.

"everything sucks, daichi. my family has always been so critical of me. i never get to see any of our friends anymore. im trying to succeed at school but my family won't get off my back. i feel so alone."

daichi pulls away to look at you. his palm is cupping your face and uses his thumb to wipe a tear away. you sniffle. you struggle to meet his beautiful brown eyes, averting your gaze. but you can feel his gaze on you, and when you do finally find the courage to make eye contact, he looks at you with nothing but affection. for some reason you don't feel judged by him. you don't feel... bad for crying in front of him anymore. he's looking at you with nothing but acceptance, nothing but care.

"hey." he starts in a small, gentle voice. "i know how you feel about crying, doll. but it's okay to cry. no matter what your parents say about you, you're a good person. a lovely person, even. you're a good friend too. what they think is stupid." he smiles a little. you love that smile- the way that his eyes crinkle a little and his cheeks dimple. he holds one of your hands in both of his. "i love you. you're good, and smart, and kind, and hardworking. you forget to take care of yourself sometimes, but i think that that's okay. while you're learning how to show yourself more compassion I'll take care of you in the meantime. whatever you need, doll. you're safe with me. no matter what. okay?"

you're crying again. great. you don't stop yourself this time and you throw yourself into his arms. he's there, waiting for you. you let yourself sob into his chest while he gently rubs your back. he holds you in his big, strong arms and hugs you closer. you don't feel suffocated and you don't feel humiliating to be crying. you feel safe. it sucks to cry over what your family thinks of you and it sucks that you don't feel like enough. it sucks that you've felt alone for most of your life. it sucks that you feel guilty for wanting love and it sucks that sometimes, you feel guilty for loving daichi so much. but as he holds you and presses a kiss to the top of your head, nuzzling your hair, all of the pain is tinged with something warm. something safe. something so, so safe. a feeling that you'd never felt before.

it's in that moment that you know- daichi isn't a whirlwind. he isn't a storybook prince that will whisk all of your problems away. no, he's somehow better. he's a pillar of support, a source of comfort, a prince in his own right. no, he won't save you- you still have to take care of yourself. but he'll support you, fill in the gaps, love you unconditionally. maybe a fix-it-all is too much to ask, but you couldn't care less about that now. all that you want his daichi. he takes care of you. he respects you. he loves you, despite your flaws and your feelings of weakness and those moments like now when you just need to be held. he loves you.

when you've stopped crying your voice is croaky and you feel gross. you look up at daichi and he hands you a box of tissues from the nightstand. you're an ugly crier, you know that. but daichi doesn't seem to judge as you dab at your eyes and look to check your reflection in his room mirror. it feels wrong to leave the comfort of his arms, but it also feels like instinct to check your composure. when you're done you turn around to face him, eyes tired.

"do you want to talk about it doll?" you're about to object, in a prefunctory sort of way, but he cuts in. "baby, i don't mind. really. i just want to know that you're okay. i just want to know that you feel safe. you've endured a lot and the way that you feel matters."

you sniffle. "im fine not talking for now daichi. im... tired. just tired. from crying. i just want to sleep." when he shows you nothing but understanding, you stutter out one last request

"ww-will you hold me?"

"of course, princess. ive got you."

you clamber back to bed. daichi and you shift positions so that he's laying down and you're against his chest. he smells like that nice, crisp soap that he always uses. you bury your face in his chest once more, before laying on your side to the sound of his heartbeat.

you sigh. "i love this sound. it lets me know that you're here with me. it let's me know that you're real."

daichi chuckles warmly. you can hear the sound reverberate throughout his chest and it tickles your ear. he's so sweet. it's then that he promises something to you.

"im here, darling. and i am not going anywhere."

your eyes water a little at that. "i love you, daichi. you're my best friend."

he sighs, and it's like you can feel his warm, gentle smile from where you're resting. "i love you too, doll. so much. you are the most precious thing in the world to me."

you know in that moment that you are loved- genuinely, indellibly loved. the roughness and loneliness that you once endured is no more. despite everything, you're learning how to love yourself and to take care of yourself. it feels so, so lonely sometimes and the work seems endless. but whenever you need someone to catch you when you fall, you know that your love, daichi, will be there. forevermore.

his heartbeat relaxes you as you snuggle deeper into his chest. the last words that the two of you utter to one another are ones of love before you both drift off to sleep. you love him- so, so much. and he loves you.

tagging some folks in the longest fic that ive ever written because aaaaaa. if u want to be added to my taglist or taken off plz send me an ask!

@ceo-of-daichi @honeybunny-sawamura @daichis-kitty @goldenshoyo @daichidaichidaichi @kingtamakimurder

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