i tried to make her read it online but she's technologically confused

themusicplayedherlife  asked:

Ooh! Can you do 46? With Bucky or Steve (if you have any plans for writing for any other character, if not Bucky is perfect!)

atm i’m a bucky hoe, but i’ll see about writing for other characters in the future! this one was kind of challenging but i think i like where it went?? idk… tell me what you think!

#46: “I’m in love…shit”

Everyone was a little bit surprised when Stark announced you’d be going on the mission. Even Natasha, who rarely gets surprised by anything. It’s just, you never go on missions - ever. Not once since you’d moved into the Avengers compound. Stark always said you had ‘talents’ that were only required in certain circumstances, and apparently those circumstances hadn’t happened yet.

Until now. Bucky is very, very intrigued.

He’s always liked you, even though you’re quiet and hardly ever join in on group training sessions. Actually, he likes you because of those things. Bucky is adjusting and he’s part of the team, but there’s always a part of him that feels like an outsider and there will always be that need to just go off on his own and breathe for a while.

You understand that better than anyone, and always give Bucky the space he needs. Even though you’re a part of the team as well, you give him a place to go that feels separate from all the Avengers stuff. Together, you can just sit and read or watch movies or bake with no expectations. Like normal people, almost.

Bucky adores the rare moments you coexist together. But he is no liar - he’s dying to see what skill set you have that got you into the Avengers in the first place.

The mission is fairly straight forward, but the stakes are high. A group of tech nerds cross Hydra wannabes have assembled a gigantic explosive that, if not stopped, could probably level a small city. They’ve rigged it so it’s not just a matter of disabling the bomb, because it’s linked to a four different timers on separate, highly protected servers not even FRIDAY can hack into. If even one of those timers stays online, the bomb will go off and the tiny Texas town you’re all flying to will be a smoking memory.

Clint lands the quinjet a fair distance from the warehouse Stark has tracked the explosive to. Bucky fidgets with his throwing knives while they all wait for you and Natasha to catch up - for reasons unknown to him, Clint and dropped the both of you off in Dallas with promises you’d meet them there. Apparently there were a few things you needed to pick up - all it did was make Bucky even more anxious to see what you could do.

“I think three teams will be best,” Steve says, looking into the distance with his Captain America Thinking Face on. “Clint, Tony, and Natasha will take the east side. Wanda, Sam, and I will take the west. (Y/N) will find the control room and take out the timers - Bucky, you’ll cover her.”

“Can we pick team names?” Clint asks. “I wanna be Team Churros.”

“Alpha, Bravo and Charlie will do,” Steve says, frowning in the way Bucky knows means he’s trying to hold back an eyeroll for the sake of seeming professional. Bucky kicks at his ankle and raises his eyebrow at Steve, just to let him know at least someone on this team has his number and it’s ‘Steve sarcastic ass Rogers’.

A rumble of an engine announces yours and Natasha’s return from Dallas, and eventually a pick-up truck zooms into view - Natasha is definitely behind the wheel. It screeches to a stop with a spray of dirt right by the quinjet, and Natasha hops out with the biggest grin on her face Bucky has probably ever seen in his life. It’s downright weird, and gets weirder when Natasha skips over to the group and looks directly at Bucky as she says, “You’re going to die when you see (Y/N).”

Bucky is, obviously, confused. The shy, soft girl he makes lemon drizzle cake with on Sunday afternoons and reads next to late into the night is all he can picture. It’s why, he assumes, he’s been assigned as your cover for the mission. He doesn’t know what Natasha could mean - that is, until you round the truck and walk into view.

Natasha sidles up to Bucky’s side as his jaw drops and coherent thought leaves his brain. You look- there are no words. Chunky boots and combat pants laden down with knives, a glock, and what looks like some of Natasha’s Widow’s Bites make your hips look phenomenal as you walk towards the group. It’s hot, so you’re in just a khaki tank, hair tied back and goddamn aviator sunglasses. You look like something out of a movie, and it’s making Bucky’s head spin.

But all of that becomes background noise, because Bucky cannot get over the huge fucking submachine gun strapped to your back. It’s almost as big as you and is probably the most beautiful weapon Bucky has ever seen in his unnaturally long life. Bucky is equal parts jealous and-

“I’m in love,” he says like it’s been punched out of him, quiet enough so only Natasha can hear him. “Shit.”

Natasha cackles at Bucky blushing like an idiot, staring at you as if he can’t look away. You reach the group and grin, lopsided and beautiful. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“You have no idea how good it feels to have Angie back,” you say to the team, looking happier and more alive than Bucky has ever seen you.

“Angie?” Stark questions, and Natasha snickers.

You reach over your shoulder to pat the barrel of your gun (and the fact that is a submachine instead of assault is fucking poetic to Bucky, holy Jesus) and say, “Meet Angie, she’s my baby. I had to rescue her from a safe house before I could even think about going into the field.”

Bucky’s mouth is so dry he couldn’t speak if he tried. It’s like you know, because you won’t stop looking at him with your bright, amused eyes and smirking whenever his eyes trail over to Angie. Bucky is so gone, it’s not even funny.

“So is this your special talent you’ve been hiding? A big ass gun?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised.

You roll your eyes and say, with a wink to Bucky, “Nope, Angie is just for fun.” You tap your temple and add, “The big guns are all up here.”

“She’s basically telepathic with technology,” Stark explains. “She can hack, reroute, reprogram, create or dismantle any system on the planet.”

“It takes a big toll, though,” you say, and turn to grin at Bucky. “That’s why I need some cover, in case I pass out or something.”

After a second, Bucky realises he’s supposed to respond and gives a stiff, jerky nod. You bite your lip, looking like you’re a second away from bursting out laughing. It’s the same face you give him when he gets flour in his hair or doesn’t get a joke in a movie - you’re still the same (Y/N). Just ten times more badass.

Under Steve’s command, you all split off into your assigned teams and head for the warehouse. You link arms with Bucky as you walk, the other teams turning into small dots in the distance, which is good because Natasha doesn’t need any more ammunition to tease Bucky with than she already has after today.

You lean into Bucky’s ear and say, “I’ll let you hold her when we get back, if you want.”

Bucky’s so caught up in your breath on his ear and the smooth sound of your voice it takes him a second to understand what you’re saying. He clears his throat, ignoring your giggle, and says, “Sounds good.”

You laugh and break away from his arm, skipping ahead and spinning around to walk backwards so you can grin at Bucky in a way that looks slightly dangerous. You raise your eyebrows and say, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!”

Bucky nearly bites off his own tongue.

tenderness

summary: In the year of her sixteenth birthday, Alya shares something important with Marinette.
a/n: A classic trope of the “coming out” story. Not going to lie, if Adrien wasn’t in the picture, I would totally ship the hell out of these two. Maybe it’s Korra and Steven Universe making me amp up the lady love in every show I’m watching lately, but I’ll just call their ship name “Buggy Wifi”. Even though this isn’t a romance story, just a friendship. ^_^ (Also, this is in second-person, and has hints of Ladynoir).


There was an old saying your father told you, when he bounced you on his large knee and covered your nose in flour. He said that everyone has skeletons hidden away in their closet, phantoms of a past that refuse to die. 

Of course, you didn’t know what he meant being only seven and more interested in pretty cakes than anything else, but it was a way to get closer to your bumbling bear of a parent, so you listened to his inane quotes as if they were the wisest council in the world. 

“Mari, I… will you listen to me? Without being… whatever I tell you, will you promise this won’t come between us?”

It’s only as you get older do you realize how right he was.

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Strangers 52

Read below or on FFN. I did promise I knew what I was doing…


I’m All For You

The moment Soul hangs up the phone, he tosses it on the couch and vows to ignore it until Maka gets back. Except, what if she’s upset or needs help or needs him? He’ll check on it in a little while. First he’s going to be true to his word and make some damn breakfast like a functional human being and not the trash heap he feels like.

Her room is on the way to the kitchen though, and he’s been doing such a good job not being a creepy asshole. He could just reward himself with a little nap on her bed. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“It would be pathetic is what it would be,” he mutters, more to himself than the cat, who sits perched on the coffee table like she owns the place.

The self admonition doesn’t stop him from wandering over to her door and peeking inside. And once the door is open, it’s a slippery slope that leads him to fall face first into her pillows – he can’t be blamed for having intense snuggle withdrawal symptoms. Her bed is impeccably made, as usual, but there’s something lumpy under his head that calls Soul’s attention. He yanks it out to inspect and it takes a few seconds for him to fully comprehend that he’s holding his own shirt that he thought he’d left behind in New York – the one Maka always stole to use as pajamas. The last two months… she’d been keeping it?

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Swans, Toy Trains and Other Treasures

25 Days Christmas Romance Challenge || Day 4

Character A is desperate to find a particular item (book/toy/etc.) as a present for someone, but it’s been sold out everywhere. Character B helps.

A prequel of sorts to Tea, Vaccines and Other Necessities which I wrote about a year ago also for Christmas :)

Swan, Toy Trains and Other Treasures; ~ 2, 000 words; FF.NET || AO3

“Bloody America!”

Emma groans. Perhaps a bit too loudly, considering the look David throws her way.

She doesn’t care. Emma has been listening to Killian Jones moan and groan and mutter under his breath about “Bloody America” and “centre of commercialism, HA” and “disorganized Yanks” for the last week.

Disorganized? Really, Jones? Really? He’s one to talk.

She is at the end of her tether and yet… If she asks, she shows interest and showing even the barest interest in Killian Jones is what Emma Swan has been solely focused on avoiding since he joined the Creative Department 8 months ago.

But, if those 8 months have thought her anything, it is that she cannot watch Killian Jones struggle. It gnaws at her, bothers her in ways few things do, does something irritating as all hell to her heart strings and generally doesn’t leave her be until he is back to his naturally lost and (not ‘impending doom’ lost) state.

And he sure is good at struggling.

In less than a month Emma was convinced that Jones was a brilliant designer, a royal pain in the ass and the kind of friend that can save your life.

But in less than a week she was convinced that Jones was the most disorganized person she had ever come across and the creature with worst self-preservation skills on the planet.

No, seriously, it was like observing a whole new kind of species. There are only so many times you can watch someone almost staple their hand by accident. How he still has both of those is a mystery to her.

So, knowing her wrist (that particular spot that seems to be a ‘Killian Jones is in trouble button) was going itch all day and probably well into the night again, if she didn’t try to help him, Emma decides to just bite the bullet. Nonchalantly, of course.

“What has the country that took you in and gave you a job done wrong this time, Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, lass, I can go back and get the same job on the other side of the planet.”

Which will probably make her life a lot easier and calmer and quieter and, generally, will suck. But Emma chooses to banter instead of dwell on that thought.

“And yet here you are. So what have we “Yanks” done to offend your Irish sensibilities again?”

“For a country that prides itself on having completely dehumanized and commercialized the Christmas holiday, you sure do make it difficult for a man to do a spot of Christmas shopping,” he sighs, and after a few more angry hits at his keyboard, pushes his chair away from his desk and leans his head back with a groan of defeat.

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