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#they were so ooc in thor!!!!

magnusmodig · 4 months

Text

||. Thinking quietly about Thor and his friends. How they all filled a space in him and outside of him that Thor needed fulfilled... The most obvious being in the group's battle formation, but even outside of that too.

Volstagg with his jolly nature helping Thor keep morale up, being the glue that keeps the warriors together, especially when it comes to making group compromises and hard decisions. Hogun with his straight-laced practicality , the way he'd be able to offer an outside perspective to Asgard's ways — something invaluable to Thor. Fandral for all of his apparent womanizing likely keeping up with the courts of Asgard and so Thor would be in the know in a much more close manner through what Fandral knows, and what he's able to find out in Thor's stead. And he's quite personable, in a manner much more suited to crowds than Thor... so that makes the finding of information that much easier, and quicker to relay. (Thor may be a prince, but he's also got Homeschooler Energy out the wazzoo.) Thinking about Sif and Thor being something of childhood friends... Or as close to childhood friends as someone like Thor can have, when you live in a palace your whole life and are largely confined to its walls with your tutors and your parents and your brother for company keep. But Sif would be the exception, I'd imagine, if indeed she is of noble birth the way I'd suspect it.... and Thor and Sif would have gotten along splendidly, especially once he finds out her desire to become a shield-maiden, and then that leads into learning about the Valkyrie, and of course then Thor would want Sif to be HIS Valkyrie, because of all the people who are mighty and brave and compassionate, and who would then deserve to be his esteemed commander of guard, surely why WOULDN'T it be Lady Sif?

And of course there's Loki, who completes many of Thor's loose ends and falterings in plenty of ways, but that's it's own story and its own post for a different time.

Thor picked his warriors well and he picked them wisely. There's not a single quest or mission they can't overcome because each of their strengths buoy the other's weaknesses. Together, when in sync, they're all six of them a well-oiled machine, and it's really no wonder that they, together, become "Asgard's Finest", and it's really no wonder that they were all to be Thor's council as King. (If only all of them lived...)

#(forever pissed that taika waifuck-face killed off thor's party >>)#(thor had such a lovely cast and the warriors and the princes together were all such a lovely dynamic)#(i can only imagine the shenanigans they'd all get into and out of)#(how they'd all protect each other and playfully bully one another)#(and i like to think they had their good and bad moments - and that the friendship DID extend to loki even if loki didn't see it)#(loki's the rogue of the party tbh. the self-designed loner of the group)#(but i'd imagine all six members of thor's posse all thought highly of one another and were all great friends)#(and it's a darn shame we couldn't see more of them O.S. in /non-deleted scenes/)#(the ones we do get are so fun!!! they really do feel like something of a D&D party with all of the ways they get along)#(it's really cute is what i'm saying and i just think this particular aspect of thor's life is grossly overlooked)#( ooc . ) — stories that leap from the page .#( headcanon . ) — glory to the man who toils for his land . may it ever prosper .#( the warriors . ) — the dearest are my heralds swift to spring to my command .

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lovelybarnes · 1 year

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Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises.

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you.

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug.

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains.

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably.

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously.

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks.

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?”

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.”

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons.

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose.

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend.

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path.

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down.

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh.

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back.

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve.

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit.

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily.

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can.

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability.

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.”

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues. “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

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samyanggs · 1 year

Text

“I’ve rejected affection.. for years & years..”

Prompt:buddha, thor, jack and some other character telling Reader theyre pretty After Reader has rejected affection for years b4 Meeting them ans They don’t know how to respond so they just say that he(thor, buddha, jack and some other) that Theyre pretty too?

Characters are slightly ooc sorry for that, they/them or you for reader (mostly you), the “some other character” will be revealed for you to see later (this is rly js an excuse so I can figure out who to write) requests are open and please tell me someone gets the song reference in the title I think I’m smart for it 😭 my first time writing thor so sorry for ooc

Warnings: non other than obvious favoritism (from me)

Buddha

Buddha didn’t get why you seemed so confused over affection. He figured someone as nice, kind and cool as you would be used to affection. He soon found out why you were confused about affection later once you had opened up to him and ever since then he’s been showering you in affection. He found your reactions cute whenever he complimented you or showed you any type of affection. This time was no different than all those other times. He enjoyed teasing you about your confusion a lot. “You’re pretty.. you know that?” He said, a hand stroking your hair while you both were cuddling. He looked down at you on his chest expectantly. He loved seeing your reactions whenever he complimented you, it was adorable. Though he wouldn’t say that out loud.. not until you get comfortable and used to the affection he gave you. You however, reacted the same like you always did, confused on how to respond and blushing. “You’re pretty too..?” You responded unsure of what to say. His eyes widened slightly. Out of all the things he thought you would say he never thought that would’ve been your answer. Snapping back to reality, he grinned, “thanks” he said pulling you closer to him.

Thor

He may be a stoic person, always bored and uninterested but there’s a reason why he chose you to partner with. And that’s because he loved you, truly. He was happy when you guys finally got together. However the both of you were not good with affection. Thor decided that they were going to shower you with affection every time he could, after you told him about why you weren’t used to affection or knew how to show affection, after all he was your partner. Who would he be if he didn’t at least try to show and shower you with affection. This day wasn’t that different, you and him were peacefully doing your own thing while close to each other, silent but calm and pleasant. You were both often liked basking in each others presence rather than going on a date. “You’re quite pretty.. don’t you think?” He said breaking the silence looking up from his book to look at you. He watched as you froze, unsure on what to say or do. He watched as your face became tinted with pink. He huffed out a small, silent chuckle. You looked up at him looking at him in the eyes. “You’re quite pretty as well..?” You said confused and unsure about what to say or do in this situation. Thor, however, felt blood rushing to his face, tinting his normally pale skin a tint of pink. He mumbled out a thanks and got back to reading his book, flustered. You chuckled at his reaction before going back to what you were doing.

Jack The Ripper

Jack wasn’t bothered by your lack of affection. In fact he asked you about it and asked if you were okay with it. He sat you both down for tea and asked you about it. He partnered with you for a reason, he held you dearly in his heart. Whenever he complimented you, your colour showed one of discomfort and confusion. He didn’t want you to leave him, so he did what he thought was right. Asking you about it and making your boundaries clear for him to follow. He disliked the colour of discomfort on you. It certainly didn’t look nice on you. However, once you told him why exactly you didn’t know how to respond or react to his affection., he understood and tried his best to make you as comfortable as he could manage. He showered you with attention and affection everyday since that day, hoping that once he complimented you enough, you’d get used to the affection and wouldn’t have that colour on you again. Today wasn’t any different than the other days. “You’re rather pretty don’t you think dear?” He said, while he combed your hair. He enjoyed times like this because he could get close to you and you both could spend time together. He must admit he’s rather clingy.. but that hasn’t been a problem for either of you rather enjoying it. He combed through your hair while looking at your face. He felt you tense as a colour of embarrassment and confusion washed over you. he smiled softly, treading through your hair with the hairbrush waiting for you to relax. “I think you’re rather pretty too..?” You admitted softly, unsure of what to say but saying what you said truthfully. He stopped brushing your hair to look at you fully. He didn’t expect that from you.. but he’ll still treasure it in his heart. He continued brushing your hair smiling softly. “Thank you, dear” he said, putting the comb down. “I’m done now” he said, you hummed in response. Getting up and giving him a kiss on the cheek before leaving towards the kitchen to prepare some tea for the two of you leaving a flustered Jack in your shared bedroom.

Sasaki Kojiro

Surprise its Sasaki it’s my first time writing him too, sorry for ooc!

He helped you get comfortable and used to receiving affection after you told him about your past and why you weren’t sure on how to react to receiving affection from others or knowing how to show affection to others. He taught and helped you get used to showing and receiving affection. He told you everything you needed to know about showing affection. Due to you being unused to showing affection it took a while but sooner or later you got used to it. Not only that but you were also clingy, always being close or near Sasaki made you happy and who was he to ruin that? He loved showing you affection. While you two were together, you watching him train and him training, he always made sure you had everything you needed. “You know. You’re very pretty” he said in the middle of training. You were surprised. You didn’t expect him to say such a thing at a time like this.. but it was him anyways the man who beat Poseidon. He continued training unfazed by what he just said. You didn’t know if he thought he said it to himself or if he meant for you to hear it. “You’re pretty too..” you muttered, mostly to yourself but he heard it which was expected, you were looking out the window unaware on how Sasaki had stopped training. And was now looking at you, a light tint of pink colouring his face. “Thank you” he said softly before going back to training, flustered and shocked. You looked at him before chuckling a little going back to what you were doing.

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bones4thecats · 3 months

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hiii sorry and please can i request T-T

Tansaisekun!fem reader (like before) x Odin and anubis (seperately)

Soo im pretty bored since that can i request how a day in the life of reader and their lover and child would be , just fluff and pure crack and how would they find when one of their close friend are being bullied(jokingly) by the mischevious calamity Goddess??

(something like this)

Alright thats all tyyy

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Odin and Anubis Name: {Character} x Tansai Sekun! Reader with their Child Requester: @lizuannn Original Request: Here

A/N: I haven't written for these Record in Ragnarok characters to much, so they may kinda be a hint OOC. So I'll apologize in advance just in case.

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🪶 Everyone is so confused on how the hell you both even got along because of your differing personalities, not to mention started a relationship

🪶 Not many knew, but the reason he loved you was your differences, whenever he compared himself and his constant stoic expression to your more upbeat and sadistic smile-covered face, he would feel a flutter in his chest

🪶 When you guys heard you were expecting your first child, nobody was more shocked than Zeus, who never expected his oldest ally to have children of his own, he even bet his fellow Gods on it!

🪶 Now the guy owes around one million things of different kinds of money to different Deities, what a dumbass

🪶 Anyways, Odin was on the edge of having a child, he didn't want the kid to be 'on-the-edge' of sanity, that may end up causing mass chaos on the entirety of Valhalla

🪶 But, when your son, Thor, came in the world, he resembled his father far more than his mother, which made you tease him for it, trying to get him to smile more often than not

🪶 You bonded with Loki far more because of your sadism, and it wasn't new to your son or husband to see you both messing around with another God with your classic sadistic smile

🪶 The closest you have ever gotten to being the sadistic mother-son duo with Thor is whenever you were talking about bloody battles you both participated in, and hearing you both stay so calm while describing a mutilation honestly scares everyone within hearing-distance, your husband is even on edge around you more now

🪶 Now, everyone knew that you teased everyone. But when, during a Gods' Council meeting, you began to screw around with Zeus, driving him to the near-brink of insanity, Odin just mentally face-palmed, how does he put up with you?

🐶 What a surprise? The happy-sadist and the insane-golden-retriever Deities have now gotten together!

🐶 Anubis was known for his happy-go-lucky and partially sadistic personality, while you were known for your full-blown sadism to anything that walked, especially if the thing was humanoid

🐶 You guys got along quite well before it was announced that you guys were, in fact, a couple and were intending to marry one another once the day arrived, and it didn't shock anyone, you guys were quite similar and lived off the other's energy

🐶 No, your relationship didn't shock anyone who heard about it, rather, they were shocked when they heard you guys were expecting a child

🐶 Once your daughter, which you both named Kebechet, came into the world, anybody who looked at her could tell, she was definitely going to be as compulsive with her actions like you and her father was

🐶 As she aged, she showed more signs of a small-sadistic side hatching inside of her like a seed growing into a blooming apple tree

🐶 Anubis loves playing with his child, and most of the time, it ended up with them playfully bickering as you would film it to show off to the rest of the Egyptian Pantheon

🐶 Due to her more sadism showing, many began to fear the three of you being together in the same room whenever announcing something that they knew would at least aggravate one of you, since it most likely would result in all of you getting angry

🐶 Now, Anubis was fairly close to Hades, since their occupations involved being around one another sometimes, since Anubis brought souls to the Underworld while Hades ruled said land and measured each soul that passed

🐶 When he was dropping off a small group of souls and he saw you floating around the head of his friend's, Anubis smiled and was about to call your name when he faltered, seeing Hades jump as you summoned a small lump of what looked like body parts

🐶 Watching as you still pressured Hades into snapping, Anubis decided to take a break and watch. Why not? Two of his favorite people messing around? Yes please

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xx-lemon-drop-xx · 2 months

Note

Thor, Shiva, Poseidon, and Hades meeting their child, but they are created by humans using splices of their DNA during battle. Would they kill their child, or surrender the fight for their child?

💜 Anon <3

Thank you for the request! I ate this up like a fucking gourmet meal. I had a bit of a hard time on Hades part deciding, and like you asked in pms I didn't add in Shiva. Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: reader death, gn reader swearing, angst, Poseidon being Poseidon, wounds, ooc characters.

Request: Yes.

Words: 3,064.

Thor

Humans were distasteful, obnoxious and utterly shameless creatures. That was known to the gods as soon as they chose to pave their own paths and religions. And destroy the land granted to them by doing so. Ragnarok was a pointless arena full of boisterous clowns who’d assumed they had a chance. Thor was going to shatter those hopes.

The arena was deathly quiet as Thor was introduced as the first God up, Zeus’ plan to crush the hopes and dreams of fellow humans. On the god’s side of the arena, Goddesses, demi-gods, nymphs and others alike cheered at his arrival, despite his silent annoyance.

Heimdal cleared his throat, speaking into the mic to introduce Thor’s opponent. “And on the human side we have a guest made specifically to mimic the humans creators. Using the DNA of the righteous Thor. A man-made god. Child against Father. Introducing (Y/n)!”

It was a shushed silence of horror between man and god, a tense silence and a deadly aura. Zeus was shocked, though a look of slight interest was on his face. Aphrodite and Hermes had their hands over their mouths. And as expected Ares was yelling out a string of curses against the humans who dared defile godly presence.

Brunhilde, ever the calm, had her arms crossed over her chest whilst Goll couldn't even bring herself to speak. A man-made god? It sounded distasteful and shockingly sad.

The humans all had different reactions as well, Qin was overly interested, Adam was disappointed, Sasaki could only voice his thoughts in bitterness. “Their whole creation.. For a fight? How pitiful.”

Of course, the norse gods were to be affected the most out of this. The room's atmosphere seemed to darken, Odin’s nails digging into the chair and crumbling it under his strength. Pesky humans, making a child out of Thor’s dna? The thought alone caused his blood to boil, soaking the others in his rage as the aura of the room grew dark. Of course he couldn't leave it to those human pests to play fair, rather to stoop low enough to challenge their pride.

Loki’s smile shaped across his face big enough to threaten to tear the skin at his cheeks, his fingers grasping at his cheeks and dragging them down his face, tongue snaking out as his eyes trend towards that damned Valkyrie. What an interesting specimen indeed.

Thor had a straight face, though underneath that facade was a brewing storm. How.. Interesting. Facing what would be his child in a battle to the death. A kin he’d never met before, a kin he had no share of memories with. A kin he didn't even know he existed. Mjollnir felt heavier in his grasp for a moment. And he didn't quite understand why. You resemble him quite a bit. But was that something he should be proud of, as a person he’d never known existed.

Then, why was he so hesitant? Even the birds flying ahead seemed to quiet right down, joining the silence in the stadium.

“What is your name?”

“(Y/n).”

You had his quiet atmosphere too. How intriguing. Or perhaps you were stripped of those emotions a long while ago? He would have those human heads on a rope after he finished this fight.

“Ready yourself. Show me what a child of thunder can possess.”

Grabbing his hammer from its place next to him, he readied himself, and the clash between child and father began. You used no weapon, only the condensed electricity you created from fingertips. What an interesting being. No. How interesting his child was. You had complete control of lighting, redirecting his own power and using it back against him. You were quite fast too. Was this a branch of the power you controlled in that tiny body of yours, (Y/n)?

The insane grin that nabbed at Thor’s face while he fought felt like parental bonding. If only for a fleeting moment. He wondered, did you enjoy fighting as much as he did? The adrenaline, the pain, the excitement? But nothing showed through those unperturbed serious eyes of yours.

He of course noticed your changes. Your body couldn't handle the surplus of power. You were deteriorating. Such was the curse of a god being produced by a human. Your mortality would be your demise. So why did he want to stop despite all of the emotion of the fight running through his veins like smoldering lava?

Stopping wasn't a possibility though. In this tournament of power it was kill or be killed, slay or be slain.

Somewhere deep down, Thor knew you knew this was it. The final remnants of battle. Your finishing move skewered the sky apart in a flurry of blinding light, The loud crackle of lightning hitting the ground had everyone but him closing their eyes and turning away as dust blew through the stadium. He felt it though. The pain you felt in your attack. Against your creators, your family, against him. Against the world. The bloodthirsty need for revenge.

As it died down hitched gasps of shock and whispers of sweet ignorance rang through the air. Thor could feel that damned Valkyries eyes cutting through him like razor blades.

Falling to the ground, You broke apart into gorgeous green crystals that blew through the stadium in a soft wind. Through chill, glazing over eyes you saw Thor standing above you, nodding his head in proud approval. And what a wonderful emotion that was, flooding through your systems. The tears that filled your vision blurred out the world, hand outstretching in a final attempt to reach towards him but falling short. Your body stiffened, deteriorating.

Maybe in another time, things would have been different. Things would've been happier. Maybe you would've survived. Maybe in a different universe you and him were close, maybe you knew each other. The world was full of unfilled and empty maybes. Like a tapestry of lies.

“Rest, dear child of mine. I will seek the revenge your soul deserves.”

Poseidon

This whole thing was an annoyance to Poseidon. A Valkyrie thinks humanity deserves a chance and the gods agreed? What petty foolishness. They should have wiped the floor with those pesky vermin without a second glance. Yet here he stood, with half the stadium full of them and the other half full of slightly smarter idiots.

Only one person here deserved any glaces; and that was his elder brother and Hades alone.

After giving the obnoxious audience some time to calm down, Heimdal began to speak, “And for our humans side, produced from splices of the sea gods dna himself, I present to you, (Y/n!)”

The stadium went utterly silent. As if everyone was afraid to move a muscle, despite (Y/n) herself, walking up through the water with ease. The aura in the stadium was changing, darkening down in the belly of anger. Loki was ferocious, but amused all the while, hands coming up to cup his face as insane laughter echoed through from his place on one of the other thrones. Were these humans crazy or just stupid? Making a man-made god from one of the most feared to walk the mortal realm and Valhalla itself? Why of course they had to be, no one in their right minds would do such a desperate thing to win. Aphrodite and Shiva were in a silent state of shock and anger, while from a different room, Thor lifted his head in interest.

Brunhilde held a grin that showed her pearly whites, loving the gods' reactions. Did they truly think she wouldn't pull the strings as tight as they could go? “Sis.. That's.. That's terrible!” Goll was in a state of denial shock, looking down at the arena where the two fighters stood.

Sasaki’s hand rose to rub his chin in thought. “What matching auras those two have. I wonder, do they have the same mind, or were they carved into indifference differently?” Raiden laughed, one of borderline disbelief. “That poor kid. Made just for the fight huh?” The emotions ranged differently. Tesla wanted to know through what where you produced? How many failures were there before you? Science.

Zeus’ aura threatened his temper, his muscles bulking up and his hand raising to stroke his beard in interest. Through what thought process did those humans thought they would get away with something like this? Hades was in a silence, deep in thought and emotions indecipherable. Ares was in an uproar and Hermes was sipping tea in amused interest.

Poseidon himself had no thoughts or words despite what he came here to do. It didn’t matter if you were made from his Dna or from his skin alone. Standing in front of him was another being unworthy of his time and his precense. Though, you both did look alike and share the same steely resolve.

“Insolent pest.” You both shared a mirrored scowl, your head tilting to the side in mocking defiance.

“Lily-livered snot sniffer.”

Zeus let out a laugh of pure amusement. eyebrows shooting up, whilst a smirk curled up on Hades face.

Poseidon faced what seemed to be a mirror image of himself. And that was not something he took kindly to. Especially not your attitude either. With a burst of speed Poseidon was on top of you, Trident already thrusting directly at your face. Although, you weren't his child for no reason at all.

Poseidon narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as you parried his attack with water. That was his domain. Though it seemed now it ran through the blood relation you both had. How interesting it was, such an inadequate person could control such a sliver of water with a few twitches of fingertips. Blood splattered across the floor or the arena before anyone could muster up a gasp, eyes widening.

“Th-There seems to have been blood dropped already! (Y/n) has sliced the Great Poseidon straight across the chest!” Heimdal screamed out, much to both of your annoyances. So this, this beast of a man was your father? No wonder you acted like a snob. The both of you disappeared from sight again, after images fleeting across the arena as you both taught toe to toe. Like a dance. Poseidon was almost impressed. But his copy was just a copy and the original was always the better of the options.

He spun around his Trident, dripping with the blood from your cheek and shot forwards, releasing a barrage of attacks. Amphitrite. Though you weren't so slow not to catch up, even shooting past some of his attacks enough to make him back up. More blood splattered across the floor of the arena. The both of you now suffering wounds.

You manipulated water with ease, he had picked up on, making weapons out of it and shields. Even waves to try and knock him around. Though you weren't the only one that could control water. Your movements were filled with underlying anger, he'd noted. Anger towards what? He didn't know and he didn't bother to ask either. He didn't come here for a sob story.

You pierced him through the side with a spear of water, and he did the same to you, the both of you twisting around. You were beginning to get dizzy, blood loss affecting you. He'd noticed the rings on your hands seemed to be your divine weapon. Though you could likely control water just fine without it too.

The fight ended three minutes after it started, his Trident plowing through your stomach. He let your body slide down towards him, your hands gripping onto the poke of the Trident. “Not bad.” He said bluntly, eyes widening as you raised a hand, severing his arm from his shoulder in a lasting rage before breaking apart into the air in a flurry of green.

He moved off the arena with silence, leaving you to disperse into the rest of the air. Good enough to be his child, no. But.. A worthy opponent indeed. You'd even managed to take off his arm.

“Not bad at all..”

Hades

Hades was here for one reason. To avenge his dear brother. He didn't bat an eye at the disputing differences between humans and the other gods, his eyes held a calmness as he was introduced into the arena. The crowd sounded excited to some extent, he'd noted. Yet again, it wasn't everyday you got to see the god of the underworld come up for a fight. He had business to attend to yes, but this was much a more important matter to handle.

“Created by humans in the image of Hades, I present to you, (Y/n)! Representing humanity for this round of Ragnarok! Don't let them surprise you, made from Hades Dna, they're expected to pack a punch.” Heimdal introduced you to the field, much to his interest and the gods' anger.

What did they mean, a human made god? What bullshit. Shiva laughed at the thought of it, hiding a bout of anger under it all. How annoying. Those humans really thought they could create a god of all things. Why, it was just laughable. Buddha's eyebrows shot up in keen interest, a smirk taking up on his lips. “Well well.. Looky here. Brunhilde, you sly Valkyrie, using Hades' love of family against him.” Loki and Aphrodite's mouths were slightly slack as they stared down at you. “Well.. Aren't they just gorgeous?” Aphrodite murmured.

Brunhilde held a wicked grin as her and Hades shared eye contact, her smile only widening in amusement. Ah, the looks on their faces. It was something she could lounge in for days.

The humans were filled with interest, Adam sitting up a bit against Eve's lap. “A man made god? But how?” Technology wasn't his thing, suffice to say the least. Qin was quite amused, leaning forwards to view the arena better. And Jack hummed. “I sense quite the amount of anger in that young one's veins.” “Anger?” Adam questioned, frowning. “Why of course, good sir.” Jack poured some tea, “Hoe would you like, being created simply for the purpose of war? A shame it would be, yes?”

Zeus and Adamas stared down into the arena, eyes wide in utter shock. “What do those filthy pests think they're doing!? Using my brother's DNA to make.. Make a pawn!” Adamas bellowed out, making his anger known to the group. “Calm now, dear brother. Humans can stoop quite low when they feel threatened. I expected no less.” Zeus rasped, clearing his throat. “You're just okay with this!?” Ares choked out, “Why no, I'm quite.. Pissed, Ares.” Zeus responded, steam rolling into the air from his small noodle body.

Hades held an expression nothing less of surprise, though it calmed almost immediately. So, this could be considered his child? Why, they both did look strikingly similar. From the nose to the eyes down to the tips of their toes. How interesting. He took a step towards, though not a threatening one, holding his weapon with a firm hand. “I am here to avenge my brother. My apologies, little one.”

“I am here.. Because I have to be.” That didn't seem a reason that involved importance. Rather more than force. But could he really do this? Yes, his brother was family but this.. Spawn was as well. Hades wore he would protect his family to the best of his ability, wasn't that going against his words?

He launched forwards, and you dodged him with ease, slicing your skin open with the iron claw-like ring you wore on your finger. And the blood transformed. How interesting. He dodged the incoming weapon, made from straight blood and twisted around to stab at your side, catching the skin of your shirt only. Well aren't you just a quick one on your feet?

That was something he could respect. You seemed well trained. Despite the blows dealt between the both of you, Hades could tell there was an underlying rage. Towards humans? He'd wondered. Well, that would make sense. You've been used from the day you were born. How much of that could you take though.

He sent you flying back into the wall with a timed attack, watching you crawl back to your feet. “Not bad, for someone not trained by a god's hand.”

“Not bad for a dead man.” Your words were blunt as you charged forwards, and Hades' side stepped, at this point just toying with you a bit. This was a hard decision. And Zeus and Adams were on their toes about what his answer would be.

The fighting lasted for a good long while, the both of you covered in blood. You staggered forwards after a long while. Honestly, he was impressed. Hades never knew someone could withstand blood loss as long as he could. Perhaps it ran in the genes. His opponents' defenses were open.

The tip of his bidet tore into your skin, and he watched you prepare through the ending blow. Pulling away his bidet with a drawn out hesitant breath, Hades knelt down, and brushed some hair from your eyes, before extending his hand.

“Come on, (Y/n). Let's go home.”

The series of words were weird and (Y/n) wasn't used to them. No, you weren't used to them at all. But his eyes held the gentleness of a warm bath after a long tiring day. He supported your weight as you both stood up, surrendering the fight to the humans.

“I won't let you fall into their hands again, kid. We have a lot to learn about each other. You are angry. And you deserve to be angry. And you deserve to process.”

Hades wondered what Poseidon would have thought of this? Would he think of him as a coward? That didn't matter now. He had a child to introduce to the family. His head raised, looking into the wide eyes of a stunned audience as the both of you walked on out of the torn apart stadium.

#x reader #gn reader #record of ragnarok #ror hades #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror headcanons #ror poseidon #ror thor #snv thor #snv poseidon #snv hades

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swallowtailcherry · 1 year

Text

Lactation {Pt 2}{Ror Version}

Characters: Poseidon, Thor and Nikola Tesla

I decided to do a part 2 cuz why not? Poseidon may be ooc here so I apologise for that.

Probably less suggestive than the first part, but that's what most of us are here for, right?

Poseidon (I want to sit on his lap)

Sitting on the Sea God's lap while he wrapped you in an embrace was one of the last things you'd expected from such a stoic god like him. Big, strong arms wrapped around your waist, while your hands rested on his shoulders.

"P-Poseidon..." Your voice was barely audible. Poseidon moves his lips up your neck, his hands travelled up to your chest, gently groping your breasts.

"A-Ah..." You gasped, gripping his shoulders. Poseidon notices some dark spots directly where your nipples were and stops squeezing.

"Sorry." You mumbled quietly, looking away. Without saying a word, Poseidon takes your top off and takes one of your leaking nipples in his mouth.

Thor

When he isn't looking for someone to fight, he'd come looking for you. One of the other thing he likes to do is be with you.

His fingers traced your folds, leaning his head against your shoulder. The red head's hot breath tickled your neck gently, sending shivers all over your body.

Thor moved his hand up and gently caressed your breast, rubbing his thumb against your hardened bud. Your legs trembled at the sudden touch. The god himself felt something wet on his thumb, looking down to see some milk leaking out.

"Interesting." Thor mumbled, squeezing your breast. He inserted his two fingers inside your pussy, moving them in and out.

Nikola Tesla (Ignore how horribly I made that edit-)

You could barely concentrate when the scientist had his fingers inside you, moving them at a painfully slow pace. He used his other hand to write equations on the board. Your breath moved in near sync with Tesla's breaths.

"Truly beautiful..." Tesla muttered, his breath hitting your ear. Your eyes fluttered from the pleasure given to you in your lower region. Two wet spots where your nipples were appeared.

"M-My-" You were cut off by Tesla's fingers moving faster. Suddenly, a familiar liquid leaks out of your nipples. Tesla stops once he notices. He puts down the chalk and squeezes one of your breasts, more milk coming out.

The fingers inside your entrance went harder and faster. You threw your head against his shoulder, your eyes rolling back as he continued to pump his fingers in and out.

#record of ragnarok #snv poseidon #snv thor #snv nikola tesla #back at it again 😂#I love doing these #what's wrong with me 😂

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mrsquill · 8 months

Text

Two Chances

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader (Outbreak-Free AU)

Summary: You love your job at your local dog shelter, but weekends are precious to you. Enter Joel Miller and his daughter, looking to add to their family.

Notes: Well, here’s this. My first x reader fic! Based on a gorgeous little something @fuckyeahdindjarin inspired me to write a little while ago ❤️ I’ve tried to be as inclusive as possible here, but please let me know if I’ve missed the mark at any point. This, as usual, is short but hopefully y’all enjoy. Thanks to all those in this beautiful community who have inspired & helped me along the way.

Warnings: Fluff, reader has smutty thoughts about Joel cuz she’s only human (18+ minors DNI), no specific age of reader (but she is an adult), slight angst, discussion of parent death and awful fathers. Joel could potentially be a bit OOC here but *shrugs* I think that’s everything!

You couldn’t wait to finish your shift. Not that you didn’t love your job, but it was hot as balls out today, and all you were dreaming of was an ice cold beer and the pool in your neighbour’s backyard, nothing but silence in your surroundings. It’d been an exhausting and physically demanding day at the shelter - 25 dogs needing to be fed, watered, exercised and cared for round the clock. It would do that to anyone, let alone you, who’d taken this on as a part-time job and just kinda got stuck.

Your braid was falling out, sticking to the sweat pooling on your neck as you swept the concrete outside the kennels; straps of your white cotton camisole slipping down your sore upper arms.

Ten minutes, you assured yourself, silently puffing stray strands of hair away from your forehead and glancing at the clock. The raucous din of the dogs chattering to one another bounced off the walls around you. Ten minutes ‘til your weekend was finally yours.

Still, you could think of worse places to spend your Saturday, watching as the two newest arrivals - brother Boxer puppies, Thor and Loki - chased one another’s tails round their pen. The residents here shattered your heart and made it feel so full at all once; some having the most horrendous skin-and-bone start to their lives on the streets, others lasting only a couple of months with a family after being purchased as a barely thought-out Christmas gift. Gaining their trust could be hard, but it was worth it every damn time; nothing was more rewarding than those wet puppy kisses after hours of gentle coaxing.

“I’m heading out, hon,” Mo calls out to you with a wave from the makeshift office at the end of the kennels. “See you Monday!”, you reply with genuine enthusiasm, as you watch your boss head off in the direction of her house. You loved Mo; she had a way with all animals that you were sure would guarantee her entry to the pearly gates one day.

She curated a home for the dogs here that you were more than happy to assist with. Being just the two of you, things could get a little intense, but you were fond of each other, and had no qualms about alternating who would close up on the weekend.

A couple more minutes go by as you absent-mindedly check off the few remaining tasks on your list, head more full of the decision of which Ben & Jerry’s flavour to pick up at the gas station on the way home. It’s then you hear the crunch of the gravel outside as a car pulls up; silently cursing as you note the time. 5:01pm.

Sighing, hating the notion of turning anyone away, you dust down the front of your cutoffs the best you can and chewing your lip uncertainly. You guess you can spare some time; if these people are serious about adoption, it’s a win-win situation for everyone involved. The traffic through the shelter was steady, but you could always be doing better. It’s sad to see a dog go - of course it was - but seeing them head off with their new family was all the reward you needed in the world.

A pair of footsteps and muted chatter come round the corner from the parking lot, and suddenly you’re doing everything you can not to openly stare at the man approaching you on the concrete, a girl of around five or six that you can only imagine to be his young daughter swinging off his hand.

It’s not that he’s especially tall or anything. But man, is he broad. Strong shoulders under his denim shirt, biceps nudging lovingly against his sleeves. Not the kind of muscle from the gym, though; no, this guy clearly spends his days outside doing something physical, judging by the dust on his boots and the worn material of his jeans at the kneecaps. The idea of him, sweaty and shirtless and perhaps a hammer in hand, has you feeling like you need to grip the walkway rail a little harder. Pathetic, you reprimand yourself internally. You don’t think you’ve been this bowled over by a gorgeous man since your grandmother sat you down to watch Indiana Jones as a kid.

You sneak a look at the smattering of hair at the base of his thick neck; his rugged jawline, beard creeping over just so. He runs a hand through his curls, and he catches you staring. Fuck. He looks back down at his daughter; and you’re all at sea after looking into his eyes. Darkest brown, drinking you in. You draw yourself up to your fullest height and grip the broom a little harder as they reach you. It wouldn’t do to be caught - again - staring at him like some lovestruck teenager.

“We’re too late, ain’t we?” he chuckles, narrowing his eyes in anticipation of your response. “Not at all!” you smile, perhaps a little too brightly, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you by the quirk of his brow. “This one was none too happy with me makin’ her wait till the weekend to come here, so thank you for seein’ us,” he murmurs, gesturing to the girl beside him as she grins at you shyly, one front tooth missing.

You introduce yourself to them both, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach as his large hand envelops yours easily. “‘m Joel, and this here is my daughter, Sarah,” he nods affectionately towards the young girl; her eyes already shining with excitement as she catches sight of the two Boxer puppies gambolling around behind you. “Would you like to meet them?” you ask Sarah, and she nods so enthusiastically you worry her head may fall off.

“We have an enclosed meadow out back,” you point your thumb behind you, “and we can take these little guys over there, if you’d like?” you offer, and Joel grins. “Only if it ain’t too much trouble, sweetheart,” he murmurs with that Southern drawl, and suddenly you feel all your earlier desire to head home evaporate like a creek in the summertime. You assure him it’s fine; and with both puppies soon under your arms with practiced ease, you head over to the meadow, Joel and Sarah in tow.

You find you hit it off with him instantly; first asking the important questions such as their living situation, if they’ve owned a dog before, or if they have any other pets at home. “Quite the questionnaire, darlin’,” he chuckles lowly, arms folded over his chest as you both watch Sarah giggling, legs crossed in the sunshine as the puppies climb all over her. He, in turn, takes it upon himself to ask you how long you’ve worked here, what it is you enjoy about it the most. Realising you’re here for the long haul - and not being one bit mad about it - you gesture Joel to sit at a bench with you; averting your eyes when his thighs stretch over the wood opposite you. Get it together.

“Sarah certainly seems to be a dog lover,” you smile to distract yourself, and Joel hums his agreement. “Would you be prepared to take on a puppy?”, you ask. “I’m sure you’re aware, but they do require extensive training - potty, obedience and socialisation.” Joel raises his eyebrows then, biting back a smile. “Ya think I’m gonna be able to walk away from here without one?” he says, indicating the scene before you both. “Just more questions I have to ask,” you tease lightly. Joel shrugs in defeat; rolling his shoulders, your eyes drawn to the sliver of chest hair peeking at you next to the buttons on his shirt. Stop, you remind yourself for the third time.

“It’s Sarah’s birthday soon, and I wanted to make this one special for her,” he confesses, and you hate to say it, but it needs to be done. “Joel.. Can I be frank?” you start, and those eyebrows are raised again. “I thought ya already told me your name, back there,” he points back towards the shelter, trying not to grin. “Funny,” you admit, before pressing on. “We have a lot of families coming through here; wanting to make a birthday or a Christmas special. I’m not doubting your commitment, but I’ve seen too many dogs dumped back at the shelter with little to no explanation after the excitement wears off,” you say, watching Loki snooze on Sarah’s knee whilst Thor tries to pull at the laces on her sneakers.

“Can you see where I’m coming from?” you ask tentatively; hoping not to come off as a total asshole to this man for more reasons than one. Joel exhales heavily, a calloused hand coming up to scrub over his face. He follows your gaze towards his daughter; and it’s then that you notice the true adoration in his eyes - he looks tired; exhausted, even - but the love there. Jeez. It’s really something. It makes you think of the opposite you saw in your own father: a dark road you’d rather not go down.

He begins to tell you it’s the first birthday since Sarah’s mom died after a short illness. They were divorced, but had joint custody, Joel mostly taking over on weekends. He’s trying to nail the whole solo parenting thing - trying, but feeling like he’s failing. He admits regretting not asking his late ex-wife so many things; how to care for their daughter’s hair full time, how to manage to get her to school and then to soccer practice without being late, how to essentially keep her alive, happy, safe. It’s then that you stop him; a gentle hand on his forearm. “I’d say you’re already doing better than you think,” you offer, not shy of your smile this time.

“I don’t know why I’m tellin’ you all of this,” he admits, “ya must just have that kinda face.” And you tell him it’s true; your grandmother always said you were an old soul, with a face people just wanted to open up to with no preamble, no filter. Maybe that’s why you and Mo get along so much, you ponder for a moment. “My mom died, too,” you say quietly, Thor having wandered over to the two of you, sniffing round Joel’s boots before slumping belly-up in the shade. “My dad - he, uh, he wasn’t so great. And not in the way you think you’re not great. He truly was the definition of an asshole,” you try not to shiver, despite the cloudless blue sky above you.

“‘m sorry that happened to ya,” Joel mutters, eyes on his knuckles as they flex instinctively. “It’s okay,” you shrug, “was a long time ago. I had my grandma, we did just fine. If you want my take.. There’s so many lousy parents in this world, and it’s better to have been loved fully, despite the loss that can and will come, than never at all,” you surmise; nodding your head toward his daughter, flat on her back in the grass with Loki on her chest, her eyes closed in a picture of perfect peace. The sight makes you smile.

When you turn to face Joel, you find him looking at you intently, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. It’s covered in scars; some faded with time, others fresher, just scabbing over. “I’m gonna ask ya for two chances,” he says, full bottom lip between his teeth. Your head cocks to one side, interest suitably piqued. “Is that so?” you ask, a fluttering in your chest that you can’t quite seem to stall. He nods, and you roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. “One,” he begins, “you give us a shot at this adoption. That girl needs someone else around who ain’t her daddy, and I promise ya I’d do right by that dog,” he points over to Sarah and Loki; his daughter whispering conspiratorially in the puppy’s ear. “I do think we have a winner there,” you admit, hands up in defeat.

“Two,” Joel continues, “could I ask ya on a date, darlin’? Assumin’ you’re not spoken for?” he asks, quieter than before. Almost.. shyly. It seems strange; like a skin he wants to shed, only used to being the most commanding person in the room. “Ya know, to keep an eye on our progress ‘n everythin’,” he adds quickly, before you can open your mouth. You feel your belly squirming at the idea of seeing this man again; your gaze drawn once more to his hands as they brace against the bench, wondering how they’d feel if he cupped your face between them right before he kissed you, then splayed against your ribcage, thumbs just brushing the underside of your breasts..

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice jolts you from your reverie, “ya can say no to me, but ‘m afraid you’ll have to be the one tellin’ her,” he whispers, Sarah ambling over to join you both, puppy asleep in her arms. “Do I need to give him back now?” she asks politely, her daddy’s brown eyes blinking at you earnestly. “No, I believe he’s yours to keep, after we do some paperwork,” you grin, “but I might stop by soon to see how he’s getting on. Would that be okay?” you ask, and her face opens up like a butterfly, elation sewn into her features. “Yeah, that would be okay,” she muses shyly as she falls into Joel’s side. He wraps an arm around her, and presses a kiss to her hair. He winks at you, then; and you have a feeling both chances will end up coming good.

#ahhhhhh omg #anyway #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #sarah miller fanfic #sarah miller fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction

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hyperactivewhore · 14 days

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Hey! I hope your having a wonderful day <3

I was curious to see how you feel about those stories where the OC is significantly more powerful than the Mikaelson Family? Like the ones where people just add the OC as a Scarlet Witch. I honestly don’t think any of the Mikaelsons would react very well to having someone significantly more powerful than them in their vicinity. As shown in quite a few episodes. Let alone one of them being romantically involved.

Hi! I'm fine, how about you?

I'm not gonna lie, these kind of stories are hard to read most of the time, especially because the powers these ocs have are practically never executed well. Why do they have that magic, who gave it to them, how do they even manage to live having that much amount of power? If people are so desperate to have their ocs be the next Wanda Maximoff, at least try better. Make their parents a god or goddess, perhaps both, someone like Thor, Loki, Freyja, especially considering the Mikaelson worshipped the Norse deities.

I honestly don't see any of them reacting well at all, especially Klaus and Kol. For a thousand years, they believed themselves to be the most strongest beings on earth and often were proud of it, knowing it meant they were "untouchable" and the few who dared to go after them were easily dealt with (excluding Mikael). We've all seen how they reacted to their parents, Bonnie, Dahlia, Inadu, Lucien, and all the people who came close to killing them, so imagining them having to deal with someone who is in Wanda level, who can warp reality and create life from nothing would be an interesting dynamic.

Trying to kill this kind of ooc would nearly be impossible, but knowing how prideful the Mikaelson are this would not stop them at all. I can see Elijah trying to negotiate some kind of truce should the need arise, and I can easily see as well Klaus and Kol trying to seduce her/him to put themselves in their good side if they've run out of chances, but this would likely be the last option considering how much it would eat them inside to have to "yield" to someone who tried killing them/is more powerful than them.

However, Kol was also absolutely terrified of Silas, to the point where he tried to kill his sister to stop her from waking him up, so it's hard to determine with him. It's very likely in my opinion, that he sided with this ooc if he got something from it, some sort of protection or escape from his family - but this alliance would prove to be very short, as all the Mikaelson are cockroaches who can never be truly away from each other.

Rebekah, on the other hand, is a hard guess for me too, considering how short her time on both shows was. Someone more powerful than her family, than her brother, who often abused her? Depending on which Rebekah we're talking about, I can see her trying to charm her way into this ooc's heart to have a defense against Klaus. But TO Rebekah would without a doubt stand with her family against anyone.

Any Mikaelson falling in love with this person, however, is unlikely to happen in my opinion. As I said before, I can see them - all of them, to be honest - making this person fall in love with them to have her/him "under control" or to have a secret weapon, but love is a very different thing from manipulation or lust. I can easily see them developing a toxic relationship that lasts through centuries if they do happen to fall in love, and being some sort of "frenemies" with the Mikaelson, but all of this is hypothetical, of course.

Thanks for the ask!

#klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #rebekah mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #the originals #the vampire diaries #legacies #tvd #to #inadu #dahlia tvd #bonnie bennett #mikael mikaelson #esther mikaelson #lucien castle

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tepkunset · 10 months

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Rating all* the Hellfire Gala 2023 Outfits in my Correct Opinion

*At least, all that I can find, because Marvel decided fuck making that easy in a little book or a single post like last year.

(Long post alert!)

Iceman, I love most of this look. The accented orange is perfect for the mostly blue look, and I love that he has a matching earring for his cuff-links. Such a nice touch! But those rubber boots, man... those rubber boots ruin it for me. 8/10

Fisk is giving off some Doctor Doom vibes with this outfit. I love the regalness of it, especially the golden leaves behind the ear. 9/10

??? I'm not sure who this is, but their outfit looks like they're going to a Halloween party rather than a gala. 3/10

Emma, oh my god, YES. Almost always delivering, and this is definitely one of those cases! 10/10

Xavier... I hate to say it, but I genuinely love this look. He's bringing major space man vibes, and it's super elegant at the same time. 9/10

Bishop doesn't even get points for effort. He got a red suit then slapped some belts on it. Boring as fuck. 1/10

I was about to write another "???" because I had no idea who this was, until it occurred to me that I think this is supposed to be Scarlet Witch? Except she is super duper whitewashed, so I did not even recognize her. Auto-failure regardless of the look. 0/10

Proteus looks moderately snazzy, but out of the Five is the least interesting in my opinion. 3/10

Egg has a cool coat, but those balls around his neck are way too big and awkward. 4/10

Hope looks a little like a fairy princess here, and I like that! 7/10

Tempus looks like she's going to a prom more than a gala, and I don't know what's going on with that giant shoulder piece. Did Cable lend it to her or something? 4/10

Elixir, my golden boy, is embracing the shiny and I love it! 9/10

Exodus seems to be trying out a new costume rather than a gala look, but in terms of style, it's fine. 5/10

Vision's outfit is as boring as he is. 1/10

Miles, holy shit. Miles should be giving lessons to everyone else on how to actually make a suit look unique! Bishop, take notes. 9/10

Old Laura looks like she's dressed for a gothic funeral more than a gala, but at least that's to her style rather than some crazy OOC look. So, points for that. 5/10

T'Challa... I. Am. Swooning. I know he's not a king right now but damn does he ever look like it in this outfit. The beautiful patterns and complimentary colours, holy shit. 10/10

Synch has certainly done way better in the past. It's just a plain black suit without a shirt, for fuck sake. 2/10

Captain Marvel looks like she's a marching bad, lol. The stars in the hair are a nice touch, though. 3/10

Jean's look is, I know, divisive. I've seen some people say they adore this design, and some people say they hate it. I'm personally on the fence. I think it would be better without the stupid helmet, that's for sure. And I think it looks a little too much like an Emma Frost design, if you were to just colour it white. 5/10

Fantomex? Where the fuck have you been? Anyway, he literally just looks like he always looks but with some sunglasses lmfao. 0/10

Dylan looks like a moody teen as ever, lol. I do like the black and white though. 6/10

Black Cat... Like I said, I like black and white together, but this is giving me too much Cruella de Vil vibes. 4/10

Mary Jane just picked up an evening gown off the rack I guess. 2/10

Firestar, I think? Not actually positive if it's her. Anyway, the sleeves are a bit too much for me, but I love the fiery frills on the cape. 5/10

Thor looks so ugly here lmfao I'm sorry but I hate this look. It's way too clunky. 0/10

At first I thought this was Kwannon, but then I remembered seeing panels and I believe it's Kitty/Kate. Anyway, I like the lace-up boots and I like the frills. 7/10

Hellcat looks like she's took some inspiration from a wrestler's pre-fight look, and I like that. It's simplistic but just enough stylish to pass. 6/10

Nova, going with a tits out look as well I see. I like the feathered shoulder pads, and I like the skirt. 6/10

Moon Knight, oh my god, I have a strong feeling it was Steven who pulled the strings to get a gala look, because there's no fucking way Marc or Jake would be caught dead there. Anyway, this is exactly the type of vibe I would expect from MK, maybe even a bit more playful than that with the mesh part of the top. And I really like it up until the strange boots. He and Iceman must've compared notes or something. Still, 8/10

Psylocke - now THIS is Kwannon for sure! I like the classical ninja meets evening gown look, and I like that she's sexy but not to the point of being objectified, which is a refreshing change for how artists often treat her. 8/10

Destiny and Mystique I will rate together because the score is the same: A what the fuck level of 0/10.

Forge looks fucking awesome, especially compared to last year. I love the fringe and the scarf and the jewellery and the cane... it's a complete look that gives me great vibes. 8/10

Cyclops, come on, man. You can do better than this, can't you? He looks like Mister Sinister dressed him or something. 1/10

Cuckoos look like they stepped off the set of Tron: Legacy. Or a Daft Punk concert. Not complaining to be clear, this look fucks. 10/10

#hellfire gala #x men #marvel comics #meta

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micah-drew · 6 months

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Record of Ragnarok Headcanons: Horror Games Edition

—

CW: May be ooc for some characters, spoilers for some games

「 ✦ Round 1: Thor, Lü Bu, Randgriz ✦ 」 Resident Evil 4

જ⁀➴ Lü Bu and Thor were dead silent the moment they started playing, it was almost eerie how silent they were for the first hour. They were so focused…nothing could break them out of that trance.

જ⁀➴ Randgriz had made a small joke about they were reading each others minds and they shared a glance. Whatever that means! Randgriz just decided to just smile and continue watching the game.

જ⁀➴ The moment the Bitores Mendez boss battle started, it was only within seconds. Having the flying general and god of thunder working together in a horror game that involved fighting— yeah, nothing was surviving.

જ⁀➴ The two basically did a no hit run without even trying!

જ⁀➴ Randgriz watched the whole time. She picked up the controller once and almost immediately died, so instead she’s watching the other two play. Despite that, she handles horror pretty well! Nothing scared her too badly, aside from the first Regenerator.

—

「 ✦ Round 2: Zeus, Adam, Reginleif ✦ 」 Little Nightmares 2

જ⁀➴ Zeus didn’t have much to say about the game, and instead he just watched the other two do everything. Less work for him, the better…and the reason he wouldn’t admit, that being the controls frustrated him and he almost broke a controller earlier.

જ⁀➴ Meanwhile Reginleif is over analyzing every single detail. Looking into details of games and books? She’s a pro!

જ⁀➴ Adam liked Mono a lot, and thought the locations were interesting. He wasn’t too fond of the teacher though, watching as her neck stretched to try and catch Mono in the school.

જ⁀➴ Both Reginleif and Adam disliked the hospital by a lot. Why is the doctor on the ceiling? Why is he experimenting on people who are already getting distorted by the TV signals? And why are the patients acting like weeping angels— just why.

જ⁀➴ Eve walked in on the two at the wrong time, seeing Six drop Mono into the abyss as an act of betrayal. She didn’t understand what was happening, but Adam quickly got up to comfort her and had Reginleif finish the game while he consoled his wife.

—

「 ✦ Round 3: Poseidon, Kojiro Sasaki, Hrist ✦ 」 Phasmophobia

જ⁀➴ These three get absolutely nothing done, they’re absolute clowns in the sense Kojiro is just there for a good time, Hrist’s anger side just enjoys messing with the other two, and Poseidon gave up the moment he was handed a controller.

જ⁀➴ Poseidon is the king of dying in the dumbest positions, it’s actually amazing how many times it happens. He hates it, but Kojiro always takes a picture of it.

જ⁀➴ They almost completed one hunt, but got it wrong after Poseidon checked the wrong kind of ghost. Safe to say, he was beyond furious when it happened. Hrist and Kojiro were quick to reassure him though.

જ⁀➴ Kojiro takes every single important item and ends up dying with it on his person, and Hrist always has to rebuy everything.

જ⁀➴ Poseidon hates every second of the hunts, he isn’t amused by anything so anytime the ghost tries to mess with the team he completely ignores it— and gets killed almost every time. The other two are staring to think he does it on purpose to avoid playing.

—

「 ✦ Round 4: Heracles, Jack The Ripper, Hlökk ✦ 」 Five Nights at Freddy’s: Sister Location

જ⁀➴ Hlökk liked the characters designs! They were cute and pink…and then minus the cute part the moment Funtime Freddy’s face opened up. No longer cute, because what the fu-

જ⁀➴ Jack and Heracles got through the main story mode pretty easily, they did struggle in night four though with the spring locks. It took them a few times, but they eventually got it.

જ⁀➴ Then they began playing the custom modes at max difficulty, and everything immediately went to hell because there’s now story in the cutscenes?! All of them are determined to get those endings now, even if it means taking hours on a single mode.

જ⁀➴ They also got the secret ending by escaping going into the scooper room, but the moment Ennard entered the house Hlökk just stared. Jack had to refrain from laughing, and poor Heracles was equally as confused.

જ⁀➴ Managed to complete all the max modes! The three of them were so relieved when it was over, and they don’t exactly want to play that one again. The others? For the lore!

—

「 ✦ Round 5: Shiva, Raiden Tameemon, Thrud ✦ 」 Slender: The Eight Pages

જ⁀➴ Everything went well at first, which is…not surprising. It was tame, and things seemed to be okay. At least that was until they found the first page.

જ⁀➴ The moment Slenderman started showing up, immediately all three of them are challenging him. Shiva with his lust for a fight, he was ready to throw hands the moment he showed his face.

જ⁀➴ Raiden was doing well, at least until they got jump scared the first time and he screamed. It actually startled Shiva by how loud it was, and Thrud was just trying to calm Raiden down.

જ⁀➴ They got close a few times to getting all eight pages, but they finally manage to do it after an hour or two. It was difficult, but they did it.

જ⁀➴ After they completed the game, they weren’t entirely sure what else to do…so they just play again to see if they can do something different, or just see how much they can fuck around while playing. Raiden and Shiva are ready to throw hands with the fictional monster, and Thrud is just trying to survive.

—

「 ✦ Round 6: Zerofuku, Buddha ✦ 」 Poppy Playtime

જ⁀➴ Zerofuku chose the game, thinking it would be tame enough for him to handle. He was ready, he was totally prepared— and then Huggy Wuggy disappeared from the stage and he was clinging onto Buddha.

જ⁀➴ Buddha was pretty relaxed, due to his abilities he was able to predict how the game would go and told Zero to look away whenever he thought the other would get too scared.

જ⁀➴ Zero isn’t too much of a fan of Poppy. Creepy possessed dolls? No thanks! He didn’t like that one bit. Even Buddha didn’t like her, and he was just trying every second to skip the scene with her talking to carry on.

જ⁀➴ The moment Mommy Long Legs showed up they both just noped out of the game and put it down. They were both done with it, not because Buddha or Zerofuku hates spiders, but they were both just so done at that point.

જ⁀➴ Zerofuku loves Candy Cat though, and Buddha found him a small keychain of the blue cat. He would’ve gone bigger, but considering the things he learned about the game and the whole NFT thing, he’ll just get the keychain.

—

「 ✦ Round 7: Hades, Qin Shi Huang, Alvitr ✦ 」 Telltale: The Walking Dead

જ⁀➴ These three are immediately invested. Interesting opening cutscene, and the protagonist seems fun enough. Alvitr loves Lee and Clementine, she’d do anything for those two.

જ⁀➴ Qin Shi Huang and Hades are able to make quick decisions thankfully, but there are some points where they actually have to think because they both choose a different option. It’s a hard debate, but they do pretty well.

જ⁀➴ Alvitr is getting attached to all the characters, though she sometimes gets a bit too passionate. Whenever there’s a character death in a choice she tries to avoid it as much as she can, but then has to accept the inevitable.

જ⁀➴ Qin also gets attached to Lee and Clementine, and is absolutely devastated when Lee gets bit and dies. He saw their bond as something him and Chun Yan had before she also passed on when he was twelve. He had to take a small break before they started the next game.

જ⁀➴ Hades was pretty okay during all of it, but he fell completely silent when the more sad moments in the game happened. He was okay on the surface, but it still hurt after getting attached to the characters.

—

「 ✦ Round 8: Beelzebub, Nikola Tesla, Göndul ✦ 」 Mortuary Assistant

જ⁀➴ These three actually get the main objective complete, though it takes them a while to get there. Beelzebub is already going over the ways to get rid of the demons, meanwhile Göndul and Tesla are paying attention to every little detail.

જ⁀➴ Tesla gets scared twice, whether it’s the first jump scare or the demon straight up on the wall next to him. He isn’t a loud screamer, instead he just huffs and continues on like nothing happened.

જ⁀➴ The moment they have to cremate the demon, Tesla just utters the words “that’s unfortunate” before the player character is blasted into the wall behind them. Göndul tries her best to not laugh as hard as possible, and Beelzebub just gives a shake of his head.

જ⁀➴ These three manage to get all the endings, though they actually struggle to get the bad endings because they just want to do everything correct.

જ⁀➴ Honestly it’s a bit of a relaxed gaming session, they work together to finish the game and they all seem to like the puzzle linked to it. Though Beelzebub always correct the ways the demons should be revealing themselves to a mortal, but it doesn’t last long after he gets every so slightly startled when he turns in game, and the demon is just right behind him.

—

「 ✦ Round 9: Apollo, King Leonidas, Geirölul ✦ 」 Resident Evil Village

જ⁀➴ Leonidas and Geirölul are immediately just powering through everything, they aren’t wasting anytime whatsoever. Get all the good weapons, and get moving. Apollo is quietly watching the other two for the first few minutes, as well as admiring all the details in the locations.

જ⁀➴ They all just share a look the moment they see Lady Dimitrescu, just for a minute before immediately getting back into the game.

જ⁀➴ The moment all three of them got to House Beneviento, all hell seemed to break loose. Leonidas just proceeded to charge in, and then went dead silent the moment he picked up the flask and all his weapons were taken. It just got worse. How could it get worse!

જ⁀➴ The encounter with Mother Miranda right after Heisenberg was WILD. Even Apollo was getting into it right as that happened, all three of them were so hyped up on adrenaline it was insane. There was no rest, they were completing the rest of the game in that sitting.

જ⁀➴ Once the game was over they weren’t done just yet, no, they wanted to play the rest of the series. All three of them were excited to continue, and Apollo just liked watching the other two play. Also because he didn’t want to ruin his nails, he just did them!

—

Enjoy this while I try my best to write something more for you guys 💜

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fandxmslxt69 · 7 months

Text

Loki (TV): Speak Now (TV): Enchanted (part 2)

Loki Laufeyson x f!asgardian!reader

Warnings: Lots of thoughts of insecurity, probably TOO MUCH descriptions lmao umm Loki gets a little sad :( mentions of jealousy, some swearing. Thor being Thor. THIS IS NOT EDITED PROPERLY LMAO I finished it and was Too Lazy to wait for Atlas to get available to edit and read through so thats def a big warning.

Synopsis: After that fateful night, Loki couldn't get you out of his mind, but weeks later at a different ball, he finds you again (or, alternatively, Loki's depressed and Thor Is Thor and decides to help in his special way lmao) Based on Miss Taylor Swift's Enchanted.

A/N: AHAHAHA ITS FINALLY HERE !!!! Anyway Happy Loki Month everyone (idc.) This was so....OOC. I just. Wow yeah I just have lots of things to say abt Loki to they all went here. YEAH I did give it a happy ending okay you're WELCOME. -Clem THIS IS PART 2!! IF YOU WANT THE FULL FIC, YOU CAN FIND PART 1 ON THE MASTERLIST!

Tags: Okay tryna remember everyone who wanted a tag lmao. @divine-knight-hand @the-fox-den @nyxlaufeyson @under00s616 @mischief2sarawr @saturn-rings-writes @sarahscribbles <- if, perhaps, you wanted to read the last little bit <3 If I forgot anyone, please lmk.

Word count: 3.5k (LETS GO!!)

Note: This is from Loki's POV!!

“So what just happened?” Your friends pounced on you as soon as you got settled in your room. You tried really hard, like really hard to ignore them as you carefully undid your hairstyle and brushing out your hair.

“Whatever do you mean?” “Oh, don’t play stupid. You disappear, and then show back up looking dishevelled and flushed!”

“I was not flushed,” You argued. They all looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “Okay, fine. I don’t appreciate this at all. You’re violating me, in my own house,”

“Yes well, our dearest apologies,” One of them said, feigning sincerity. “Now, talk,”

Well, who liked secrets anyway?

* * *

The lingering question kept me up

2 AM, who do you love?

I wonder 'til I'm wide awake

Loki lay in his bed, fiddling with a dagger between his fingers as he stared at the ceiling. As soon as the party ended, he had left straight to his room, stripping out of his suddenly-too-tight suit and into much more comfortable clothing. He couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head. He hadn’t attended tonight’s ball with the expectations of anything big happening, and yet now it feels like his world got turned upside down.

And now I'm pacing back and forth

Wishing you were at my door

I'd open up and you would say, "Hey"

Would she come back, he wondered. Perhaps she changed her mind. He couldn’t stop himself from replaying every second, trying to figure out if there was anything he missed- if any second, you’d come knocking at his door. Thinking back on your entire conversation together, he couldn’t stop the smile breaking across his face.

“Thank you for the dance, your highness,” Your last words rang abruptly in his mind, immediately squashing his good mood again. He closed his fist around the hilt of the dagger and flicked it at the wall. It landed on it perfectly.

“Thank you for the dance, your highness,” The words replayed again, and again. He groaned loudly, running a hand down his face. He rolled over, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a loud groan of anger.

Before he could wallow in pain any longer, there was a knock on the door. “I asked not to be disturbed!” He shouted, but it came out muffled.

Then there was another knock.

“I swear if there is another knock I will-” “You’ll what?” Frigga’s voice came calm, yet in his mind’s eyes he could see the expression of warning on her face. He did not hear the door open, otherwise he would’ve chosen his words much more carefully. He slowly rolled onto his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Mother. I didn’t hear you come in,” “No, I doubt you did with all the wallowing you had been doing,” “I wasn’t wallowing,”

He could see her raise a perfect eyebrow from the corner of his eye. “Really?” She walked gracefully across his room, and her hand reached for the dagger stuck to the wall. She wanked it out, then turned to look at him again. “You enjoy throwing daggers at your wall as a pass time?” He nodded, still avoiding her gaze. “Absolutely,” “Don’t lie to me, boy. I know you better than you know yourself,”

He cringed. Frigga was kind, gentle, caring and loving. Everything he could ever ask for. But she did not tolerate lying.

“Sorry,” He sighed heavily. “Simply a long night,” She tutted quietly, walking over to the edge of his bed. The mattress sunk a little as she took a seat, placing his dagger on the nightstand. “Well?” “Well? What?” He frowned, resting his hands behind his head.

“Well…” She repeated. “What happened?”

He sighed. “Nothing happened. All’s well,” She didn’t offer a response, simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow until he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. “Alright fine. I…” He sighed again. “Must I really? This feels…embarrassing,”

“Oh, I see,” Frigga nodded seriously. “I suppose now that you’ve grown, neither you or Thor see it fit to talk with your mother anymore,”

A smile spread slowly across his face. “No I didn't mean it like that,” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, well, you know how I tend to excuse myself from celebrations, yes?” She hummed. “Yes,” “Right, well, I went out to the gardens in hopes for some peace, only I…ran into someone,” Frigga straightened a little, a smile playing at her lips. “Oh?” “Stop,” He buried his face in his hands. “Stop smiling, Mother. It’s not like I’ve gotten engaged,” “Yes but, whomever it is you met certainly got into your head if you’re this worked up,” She pointed out.

“No. No one’s gotten into my head,” He went quiet for a minute, before groaning as Frigga chuckled lightly. He threw himself back onto the pillow. Even he could hear how much of a lie that sounded. “Mother please. Is it that bad?” “No, you’re right I’m sorry. It’s not bad. But,” She suppressed the grin spreading across her face. He knew discussing this was a terrible idea. “Please, do continue,” “No, absolutely not,” He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the pointed look from her. He figured the more he thought about it, the worse this would get. “There’s nothing else to tell. I only talked to her to get under her skin. She was…quite agitated. But then she turned out to be amusing, and kind, and we talked, and that was it. She went home, I came back in. The end.” He wouldn’t dare mention the kiss, or the dance to his mother. He could already see her scheming just from these pieces, he refused to add to the fire. Besides, the more he thought about the kiss- the way her lips felt, the smell of her perfume, the softness of her skin, the flush of her cheeks and the way her lipstick was smeared slightly- the more dizzy he felt.

“The end? Is that way you’re so…flushed?” Frigga leaned in, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Mm, perhaps you’ve fallen ill,” He huffed. “I don’t-” He bit his lip, deciding to just play along. “Yes, maybe I have fallen ill,” “Hm,” She moved her hand away, and he knew she didn’t believe him. He knew that she was probably thinking a million things about this and going to press later. No one ever got under his skin, or so stuck in his mind, he knew his mother would not stop until she got every last detail.

His heart squeezed a little at how dearly he loved her. While feelings of envy and jealousy were often choking him, it was moments like these that reminded him that he still had Frigga. And that was what mattered, right?

Frigga looked around Loki’s room for a second before getting up from the bed. “Very well. I suppose I’ll let you rest now,” She smiled softly as she walked to the door. “Rest well,” “Mm,” Was all Loki offered. “Oh and Loki, darling-” He could hear the grin in her voice. “Don’t dwell on it too much. I’m sure you’ll see her again,”

“Good night, Mother,” He answered loudly, as if trying to block out her words and end the conversation. Frigga chuckled, and then the door closed as she left.

He grumbled to himself as he tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

This shouldn’t be bothering him.

He shouldn’t be this agitated about a few simple words.

So what, if she knew he was the prince? What did it matter?

Maybe because for once you hoped someone would like you for just you, the horrible voice in his mind let the insecurities run wild.

Maybe he would never see you again. Maybe this was a one time thing and he’d never have the pleasure to see your smile again.

Worse- maybe there would be others. Maybe there already are others. He wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that you were exclusive with anyone- how could you be, when you kissed him? But he couldn’t help thinking that maybe your heart would- or potentially already does- belong to someone else.

It’s not like he dreamt of marrying you. He felt simply…intrigued. No one had interested him as much as you had lately, and the idea that someone else had your attention disturbed him.

Loki was never one to plead, or even pray- why would he, when he was a prince, a god? Anything he wished was at his fingertips. But he couldn’t help the quiet whispers that escaped his lips, begging that there would be a chance to see you again- to enjoy your beauty and bask in your shine. That perhaps, in the near future, he’d be able to hear those witty remarks and feel your lips against his.

This is me praying that

This was the very first page

Not where the story line ends

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

I was enchanted to meet you

He hoped and hoped and hoped that if he closed his eyes tonight and let himself sleep, it wouldn’t mean the end. And most of all, he prayed that there wasn’t anyone else. That this didn’t happen out of curiosity's sake- that the kiss wasn’t just to brag amongst friends. It’s happened one too many times, and still he could hear the whispers of past nights when he frequently realized that no one was interested in him, simply the idea of him- the title he possessed and the bragging rights that came with it.

He prayed silently. Although he wasn’t exactly sure who he was praying to. Did he even need to pray? But perhaps Freyja was listening, and perhaps she’d take pity on him- though he couldn’t be entirely convinced.

But he still did- praying and pleading quietly with the stars right outside his window and the moon shining its light into his room- hoping that you saw more in him than anyone else ever did.

Please don’t be in love with someone else

Please don’t have somebody waiting on you

Please don’t be in love with someone else

Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

And yet, in the dark of his room, with just his mind as company, he couldn’t help but let the horrid whispers of insecurity take over his every thought until he fell asleep doubting his every thought and emotion.

* * *

Weeks passed before the royal family hosted another ball. It was a simple one, and there was truly no special occasion behind it. Loki suspected his mother caught wind of all his mopping and wallowing and hoped to fix it.

Not that it was working anyway. He didn’t want to be here. He’d much rather go back to his room and finish reading his book in peace. Instead, he was forced to put on a polite face and greet guests.

Overall, this night wasn’t going well at all. Not to mention, he still hadn’t stopped thinking about you. Every time you popped into his mind (which was more often than not) his mood instantly soured. It was safe to say he’d been in an ugly mood for a while now.

He stood in the corner of the ballroom, drink in hand and surveying the room after exchanging pleasantries for what felt like hours.

He really really wished he wasn’t here. Thor was talking his ear off- and while he loved his brother dearly, he really wished to be alone right now. Everywhere he looked he saw fleeting glances that reminded him of you. Stupid things like hair in a shade just like yours- a gown with a colour matching the one you wore that night- a laugh that sounded ju-

His head whipped around when he caught the sound of that laugh. His hand went up to shush Thor’s talking.

This wasn’t possible. There was no possible way it could be you.

And yet when his eyes found the source of the sound, his heart soared and fluttered.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

Suddenly, the night didn’t seem so boring. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about what Thor was asking.

He felt giddy inside, like a child experiencing the beauty of the world for the first time, and he couldn’t stop the huge smile spreading across his face. It was you. It really, truly, was you- standing right across the room, laughing with your friends. You looked breathtaking, dressed in a beautiful gown and face shining with joy.

“Oh,” Thor's loud voice brought him back. “Is that why you’ve been so gloomy?” Loki cringed at how obvious Thor made the statement. “Brother, I beg you, stop talking,” “Why?” Thor beamed. “Come now, we shall go over and say hello,” “No we won’t be doing anything,” Loki tried to argue but before he could even finish his sentence, Thor had already left Loki’s side and crossed the room to the group of ladies.

Fuck.

Whatever it was that he was saying had the girls giggling. And, as if it couldn’t get any worse, he pointed very clearly at Loki as he talked, causing the girls to turn and see him.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Loki gave an awkward wave at the group. Your eyes lingered on him a little after the group turned back to listen to Thor, and he flashed you a smile. As soon as you turned back around though, he ran a hand down his face in exasperation. What was Thor thinking? Marching over there like it was nothing. Did he not realize how embarrassing this was? What was he even saying to them? What if he was telling some horrible story? He groaned internally as horrible scenario after horrible scenario played out in his mind. Was he trying to serenade them? Why were they laughing so much? Why was Thor grinning like that? Oh what if he was telling some stupid tale? Or was he making up some exaggerated lie about him? And why-

“You look like you’re trying to glare a hole through his skull,”

He jumped, turned to see you smiling softly at him. When did you even get there? Perhaps he got too distracted with plotting Thor’s death.

“Perhaps I am,” He tried to keep his voice calm, but his heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest? Could you hear how loud it was? Why was it suddenly so quiet? All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. Was he breathing too loud?

Focus. He needed to focus. He’s getting too much into his head. It’s not like he was madly in love or anything- it’s a simple…interest. Yes, that was it. You simply intrigued him, nothing more. So why did his palms suddenly feel so sweaty as you grinned at him, and why was he so damn nervous? He never got nervous. His face felt like he was on fire. Was he blushing? He cursed himself mentally at least a million times.

“Your highness?” Your voice brought him out of his head.

“Sorry,” He mumbled. Stop overthinking it. And why did it bother him so damn much that you used that title? “What was that?”

“I said, what reasons would you have to drill a hole into his skull?”

Gods, you were so beautiful. How could anyone be so gorgeous? How could anyone even be allowed to be this stunning? The way your eyes shone with held back laughter, and the soft grin on your lips.

Oh good Norns, her lips.

No. No. He mentally scolded himself. Stop it.

“Well,” He acted as cool as he felt- basically, not cool at all. “Other than the fact that he’s my brother?” That got a laugh out of you. Loki: 1 Thor: 0.

When did this even turn into a competition? Then again, it really did set a fire under him when he saw how easy you were around Thor.

“Fair enough I suppose,” You shrugged.

He couldn’t stop the question from coming out. “What was Thor telling you about?”

“Oh! His Highness was just chatting,”

“Mm, chatting,” He repeated absentmindedly. You both fell silent for a few moments. “So,” You started awkwardly. “How are you enjoying the party, my prince?”

“Don’t call me that,” He said a bit too quickly- a bit too harshly.

You blinked. “Sorry? Why not? You are a prince,” He shook his head. “I apologise, that was rather rash. I just…well,” he sighed. “That night a few weeks back? It felt…nice, to be just a stranger. You made it feel nice to be a stranger with no burden, no title, no importance. Just…another man. I hope…you would be kind enough to keep it that way, between us,” he explained hesitantly.

“...I see,” You cleared your throat, and he could swear you were fighting back a chuckle. “So, what shall I refer to you as?” “Hm,” He grinned. “Loki works just fine, darling,”

“Loki,” You said hesitantly, as if testing it out and he nearly died right on the spot. “Alright,” You beamed. And then the silence came over again as you both watched people dance across the floor.

But the question still ate at him. “I can’t help but ask again- honestly, what was Thor telling you? Knowing him, it was either an exaggerated lie or the most embarrassing story in all Nine Realms,” You chuckled. “Well, he was telling us a story,” That had to be the most terrifying sentence he’s ever heard. “Really? Please, do tell,”

“Well, he was telling us this story about a really handsome fellow who’s got quite the personality. He’s kind, and charming, with gorgeous hair and really pretty eyes,”

He should just listen to the rest of the story before jumping to conclusions, but he couldn’t stop the image of Thor popping into his mind, followed by a wave of bursting fury. He had the audacity-

“And,” You continued. “Legend has it, he met a brilliant woman- or so they say- but when she left, he fell into a horrible tragic gloom. He was all frowns and grumpy and nothing could ever break through his wallowing and mopping,” He genuinely could not listen to this anymore. His chest felt like it was going to burst from pain and he tasted bile in his throat. Maybe he was falling ill. “I’ll have you know, Thor has been all beams and grins all month,”

Something passed over your face, and you bit your bottom lip. “Who’s talking about Thor?” “You said ‘handsome fellow’ and ‘charming and kind’ and ‘great hair’ or whatever-” “I told you I’m not into blonds,” You interrupted.

Now what does that have to do with anything?

“How does that relate to this conversation?”

You shook your head, shoulders shaking with laughter. How could you be laughing right now? “Okay, I’ll slow down. Prince Thor told us a brilliant story about this beautiful man, and I came to see you immediately after…” You trailed off, as if expecting him to finish the thought.

“Yes, you came to rub it into my face. Funny,” His tone went cold.

You placed a hand on his arm. “Loki, you are the gorgeous man of the story,” Oh.

And suddenly, his heart was back to pounding rapidly. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh I see,” In the back of his mind, he registered how similar this was to the night you met.

You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m glad you got it now,” You smiled widely, your eyes scanning the dance floor before returning to him. “Dance with me?” You repeated the same words he had said.

Oh. Oh dear Norns. His heart felt like it was gonna burst, and his face was on fire.

He nodded slowly. “Oh. Yes, absolutely,” You took his hands and walked to the center of the room just as the music began a new tone. And as cliché as it would sound, he felt everything melt away as you began to dance. It was nothing but him with you in his arms, and the sound of music. And that gorgeous, gorgeous smile of yours.

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

As the song ended, he held you tighter in his arms, his cheeks aching from how hard he'd been smiling. Your face was slightly flushed, and you were a little breathless, but you looked at him with such adoration his heart squeezed.

“You, my darling,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “are enchanting,”

I was enchanted to meet you

And although he knew guests were mumbling at the scene, he couldn’t find himself to care. What man could, when such a gorgeous woman was in his arms, grinning at him so widely?

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki #Loki (TV)#Loki (Taylor's Version)#loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki odinson

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youlackconviction · 4 months

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The second season of the Loki show was just as terrible as the first season. (Spoilers ahead)

Loki says he attacked New York because he was angry and having a bad day. Which is so wrong and insulting to his character. Maybe he was joking, but instead of that, couldn't they just address the fact that he was under the influence of the mind-stone? Or the fact that he was tortured by Thanos? They don't even talk about his Jotun heritage. I hated it so much.

Also, it is never explained how Loki gets the time-slipping powers. Apparently, Sylvie kicking him through the door at the end of time in previous season gives him that power here. But that's just a fan-theory. It's never explained in show how he got those new powers. And Sylvie or Ravonna don't get those powers despite going from end of time to other places too. It's a plot-hole ridden mess. (Also instead of giving Loki completely ooc powers, couldn't they just focus more on his powers which were already shown in the movies? Or powers which he has in the comics?)

And okay, I am glad that Loki is saving everyone. He has always been heroic, so it's not a surprise that he sacrificed his freedom to spend an eternity in loneliness just to protect the timelines. But what I do have a problem with is, that his primary motivation for saving the timelines comes from wanting to protect TVA. He only cares about his 'friends' over there. He comes across as a fascist in the show and that's disgusting and ooc. I would have preferred if his motivation was to save everyone in the prime timeline, especially Thor. But that's not the case here.

Also, why does he need preachings from Sylvie and Mobius about what he should be doing? He should have come to his own conclusion about wanting to protect the timelines and freewill. Why did he need to talk with Mobius and Sylvie to realise that? It's as if he literally did not care about freewill and only changed his mind when Sylvie talked him out of it.

And he needed centuries of time to understand how time worked and how the machine made by O.B. worked. Loki is a genius in the comics. He shouldn't need so much time to understand something. The show keeps trying to make him dumb.

His friendship with B-15 was non-existent since they almost never talked. They needed more interactions. Ravonna and Miss Minutes were written so terribly, and their plotline was just ignored in the end. And don't even get me started on that Brad guy. What was even the point of his character?? And Loki torturing him (despite having gone through torture himself) was horrible and ooc to watch.

Also, TVA people kill thousands of timelines and an uncountable number of people. Yet they get redemption. But poor Loki gets villainized.

Sorry for the rant. I hate that show so much. The only good thing they did was toning down the Sylki romance, then again there wasn't any romance there to begin with lol, since she always just hated him. And Loki's friendship with Mobius was downright disgusting. I hated all of it.

i've not managed to bring myself to watch that shitshow yet. i still plan to but not with any hope of enjoyment.

thought others might appreciate your summary - thank you for providing it! you are doing valuable work, probably saving others from the torture.

#anti loki series #loki deserves better #in defense of loki #2011-2013 loki supremacy

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samyanggs · 1 year

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Heyyyyy! Can you please write hcs about Thor, Loki and Poseidon with a human s/o who is wise beyond her years and is perfectly fine with her own mortality and human nature, she is easy-going and gets along with literally anyone, doesn't expect anything in return from her boyfriend despite them being powerful deities and doesn't ask them for stuff, being completely fine with just spending time with them. Bonus points if you include something along the lines of "Don't you want to become a deity?" "Why would I? I like being me and that includes all my faults and virtues". Thanks!!! Sending you lots of love and hugs!!!

Hihii! Yea I can do those and thanks for the love and hugs! I’m currently having nausea, migraine, slight dizziness and a stomachache so I’m sorry if this is bad or isn’t what you’re looking for I’ve also never wrote Poseidon before so sorry for ooc

Warnings: none

Don’t be afraid to reach out to me for any reason, you can ask me questions about me and request smth for me to write or you can js ask me a question you’d like for me to answer!

“My mind is well beyond my years..”

Thor

You were.. odd.. you were a human yet wise and smart beyond your mortal years. That must’ve been why Thor had been attracted to you, the moment you showed your intelligence. A few weeks into your relationship he started noticing how you were definitely much more smarter than the average mortal of your age. People also flocked to you because you got along with everyone with no problems. He questioned you, curious. You were both relaxing, eating dinner together like he has asked you too and you complied. It was silent, just how you both liked it- that was until he spoke.

“Don’t you want to become a deity?” He asked, out of the blue. He bit into his food and chewed it, looking at you expectantly for your answer.

You chuckled before shaking your head. “Why would I? I like being me and that includes all my faults and virtues. I can’t control what I am so there’s no point in wishing that I could be one when I’m not one.” You replied simply, going back to eating your food silently. He blinked, nodding slowly.

He looked back down to his food and continued eating, smiling softly. You really were wise beyond your mortal years.

Loki

He, as a god, always thought that the ones who could be wiser than any other human would be the gods. Oh, how he was proven wrong the moment you came and showed your fantastic and amazing intelligence. You were wiser than anybody that was the same human age as you. And he dare say that you were wiser than some of the gods. He was immediately attracted to you the moment you showed your intelligence. Many people, and he means many, could get along with you easily. You were smart and you could interact with people even better. You were definitely if not, his type. But he always found himself wondering why you never wished to become a deity. So he decided to ask you while you both were in his room. You were reading a book while he was playing a game.

“Don’t you wanna be a deity?” He asked eyes fixated on the screen, moving quickly between you and the screen.

You looked up from your book and looked at him “Why would I? I like being me and that includes all my faults and virtues.” You said, smiling softly at him. “I can’t control what I am so there’s no point in wishing that I could be a deity when I’m not one.” You said going back to reading your book.

Loki paused his game and turned to look at you. He blinked slowly before going back to his game, unpausing it. He chuckled softly. You really were wiser than your mortal years and more selfless than many gods and humans.

Poseidon

If you told Poseidon that he was going to court with a human in the future, he would’ve ignored you with a hint of distaste on his faces . He supposes that he couldn’t do that now, after courting a human.. who was much wiser than humans and (some) gods alike— the reason why he thought that you were worthy enough for him to look at you. While he was reserved, quiet and disliked other people, you were the opposite. You were extroverted, polite and liked people. You got along with everyone while he didn’t. he supposed that, that’s what they mean by opposites attract. He does question why you don’t want to become a deity despite your own strengths and personality. So he decided to question you one day while you both were together.

“Why don’t you want to become a deity?” He asked, looking at you. He rested his cheek on his fist waiting for your answer with that same cold expression on his face.

You looked at him, unfazed by his coldness. “Why would I? I like being me and that includes all my faults and virtues. I also am not able control who and what I am, therefore there is no reason for me to wish to become a deity when I’m not one.” You answered calmly.

He blinked at you slowly and nodded, his cold expression turning into one of confusion and acceptance. He smirked to himself quietly. He really did choose a wise partner to court.

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bones4thecats · 5 months

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poseidon, rudra, buddha, thor with disney! Jasmine? (Ngl the "I'm not a prize to be won" quote is a life motto itself) *and she's with humanity in ragnarok despite being a goddess *

A/N: When I saw this, I had just finished re-watching Aladdin, so, hey, perfect timing, Anon!! I'm not sure if I got her character right, so she may be OOC. Sorry for the rambling, enjoy~~

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🔱 He did not like you at all

🔱 You and him had far different views on many things, including Humanity’s survival

🔱 Poseidon and you just glared at each other when Zeus and Adam fought, he knew you cared for Adam to an extreme amount, and Zeus was his brother, so he had to care for him

🔱 But, during the Gods’ Council meetings, and many, many seduction attempts by Zeus, Poseidon enjoyed watching you chew others out

🔱 He also enjoyed watching your tiger, Raja, pounce on those who defied you

🔱 Now, at a Gods’ Council meeting, Zeus had been discussing the many different things that Humanity had done, you defended them, giving good reasons, reasons that even had Poseidon rethinking his placements, for why they had done what they had done

🔱 But, many Gods did not listen as well as others…

🔱 When a minor God yelled back at you, he took his trident and slammed it onto the ground, sending a wave of shock against the God across the room

🔱 You just stared at him and smiled slightly, maybe you guys were kind of alike?

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⛈️ Let’s get this straight, personally, I don’t believe Rudra hates Humanity as strongly as many other Gods

⛈️ He understand why they do certain things, as not all lives are as fair as others, and sometimes desperate times lead to desperate measures

⛈️ When he heard you were siding with Humanity, Rudra just sighed and patted your head as you walked out of the room, many whispered about you behind you back, causing you to raise your voice

⛈️ Rudra looked at you as Brunhilde grabbed your arm and dragged you away, probably needing to find human fighters immediately

⛈️ Between every round of Ragnarok, he would meet with you between the two species’ areas, he just held you in the shadows, knowing if anyone saw you guys, either you would be yelled at, or he would be exiled until the end of Ragnarok

⛈️ But, no matter the cost, you, his little stubborn Arabic Goddess, and he, your wonderful Hindu God, could go through anything

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🍭 You and Buddha had met merely a few hours after he was blessed with Godhood

🍭 Buddha saw a minor God scolding you for being ‘unlady-like’ and ‘in desperate need of being controlled like any other woman’, and you snapped like a pencil

🍭 When you kicked the God across the head and began yelling at him, he just laughed and watched as he ran away

🍭 Once Brunhilde confronted you both about Ragnarok, you two had decided in fighting in the ring together and siding with Humanity to antagonize the Gods

🍭 Hearing the Gods yell at you both was like music to your ears

🍭 Once your battle was over and you and Buddha were relaxing, Raja, your tiger, had walked up to him and laid a box in his hands

🍭 That was when he proposed to you, it was quite the interesting timing, but he had quite the interesting lifestyle, so, yeah

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🌩️ He and you did get along quite well before Ragnarok

🌩️ You two bonded over the dislike for many social interactions, but you seemed to do it way more often than him

🌩️ Thor and you had married before Ragnarok, but your beliefs in Humanity did differ, but he was fine with it, he loved you, not what you believed in

🌩️ When he was set for his first match, Brunhilde could tell you were fighting your beliefs and your heart at the same time, so she told you to go relax with the rest of the fighters while she and Göll watched your husband and your ally Lü Bu battle

🌩️ You refused and stood strong, determined to watch this happen, even if Humanity lost this round, or if the God’s lost, you wanted to see the loser’s last moments, it was a sign of respect

🌩️ Seeing Lü Bu die hurt, but seeing your husband just look so down after the amazing fight hurt you more

🌩️ Your stubbornness caused you to walk away and towards Thor’s room as he healed, you scolded him and listened to him as he mourned, in his own way, for the loss of Lü Bu

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