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melwilson · 11 months
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thinking about him
LOVE LANGUAGE ?
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headcanons about peter’s love languages !
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☆ PETER SUTHERLAND x f! reader | no word count
warnings — fluff x2900. kissing. swearing because that’s how i show my excitement. me willing to give my whole life for this man <33
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MASTERLIST ! NIGHT AGENT LIST ⟢ NAVIGATION
kaus’s note 𓈒⟡ ݁. seen someone talk about his love language being acts of service and i thought a lot of things so here we are! time to get to work! | gif credit — @edmundo-diaz
˗ˏˋ reblogs & feedback are appreciated ! ˎˊ˗
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ACTS OF SERVICE !
let’s start strong and very fucking on point.
he’s such a amazing boyfriend sometimes it makes you wanna cry.
holds the door for you everywhere you go. sometimes he even jogs a little to get to the door before you.
even if your hands are full or not— and they never will be because he’s willing to hold EVERYTHING for you.
OMG! when i say everything i when everything! you don’t want to carry your purse anymore? he can hold it. he’s soooo sweet!
if you do try to open a door, he’s most definitely pouting about it later but he’ll let you have it.
also he pulls out your chair for you.
is the type to take off his shoes so then you can have them if you’re feet are hurting in heels.
is it raining and you don’t have the right jacket? he’s giving you his. no questions asked. he doesn’t want you to get a cold.
makes breakfast in bed for you. even though you keep telling him he needs to be asleep. he just doesn’t listen.
WORDS OF AFFIRMATION !
please don’t let me get start on this man and his beautiful words.
in his eyes you can do no wrong. like ever. and if you ever think otherwise he’s saying the sweetest things to you.
peter will never be shy about his words to you.
if it has anything to do with you and absolutely praising your whole existence he’s going to say it.
leaves you the cutes notes if you’ve taken a nap with him and he has to go to work and he knows he’s not getting you up anything soon.
randomly sends you texts about how work is going and always asks you what you’re doing.
calls to check on you when he’s in the basement.
i can just imagine him calling you when he’s walking to farr’s office and he’s like “just called to ask what you were doing.” you will only be able to laugh. “peter, you just left.”
QUALITY TIME !
loves going shopping with you! omg! he fucking loves it and he will admit it.
he just loves to see that cute little smile on your face when you see something you like. makes his heart arch.
he also likes going grocery shopping with you. that’s really just to spend good time with you.
loves brushing his teeth in the morning with you. he isn’t sure why but just loves talking to you when you’re half asleep.
is willing to go anywhere with you. and when he finally gets a week or two off? man just know y’all are flying somewhere.
maybe even a good old road trip of you’re down.
i feel like he’ll love going places where there’s a beach. he’s definitely either in the water playing catch with some random kids or man.
OR he’s taking pictures of you. staring at you. telling you how good you look in the sun and in that bathing suit.
calls you when he’s completely bored and lonely in the basement, and he just can’t help but think of you.
“don’t you have to be listening for the phone to ring?” you would tease and he would practically hear the grin on your face. ”yes, but they can wait,” he chuckled, waving the phone off with his hand. the two of you only laughed.
RANDOM SHIT I THOUGHT ABOUT !
your friends most definitely love him. they are forced!
they kinda hate that they like him so much.
peter doesn’t care too much for himself most of the time so you have to look out for him when he isn’t.
if you’re the type where you love being up all night and watching movie. peter is your guy!
when he’s off he’s most definitely watching movies with you or sleeping on your lap.
that just got me thinking of sleeping positions.
and he most definitely lays his head on your chest like a big baby. his arms are wrapped around you and all that.
you’re little spoon! yes, he may be a baby but this makes him feel like he’s protecting you so you’re little spoon.
off topic but he most definitely kisses you on your shoulder and face in the mornings to wake you up.
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𓏲 ★  2023 starr-k !!
finished this up at like 4am started at 2am. thought it would’ve taken me longer.
℘ click here to be apart of my taglist ! ✶ ݁.
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melwilson · 11 months
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My Everyday
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Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes was aggressive, annoying, and—worst of all—a hockey player. Not your type. At all. But, unfortunately, your roommate. 
Word count: 5.5k
Warnings: Minor injury, idiots in love <3, some angst, pining
a/n: My first fic in a century!! Thank you so much for reading if you’re still here. Depending on how this does I hope I’ll have motivation to write more! College athlete Bucky never fails to get me inspired :)
Masterlist
~~
“What’s this punks name again?” 
The breath you let out was long and excruciating. “I am not repeating myself.” 
“C’mon, y/n,” Bucky whined, knocking his head back on the couch. He watched you bustle around the kitchen from his inverted vantage point. “How the hell am I supposed to swoop in and save the day if I don’t even know the kid’s name?” 
“Okay, well, first of all—” the fridge door clicked shut with a swift motion of your hips “—he’s not a ‘kid’. I’m pretty sure he’s a few months older than you.” 
“Semantics.” 
“And second of all,” you stressed, pointing a butter knife in his direction. “There will be no ‘swooping in’. I’m going to have a nice date and you are going to go hang out with your puck rabbits or whatever they're called. There will be no thinking about me and no swooping in my vicinity.” 
Bucky rolled his eyes, kicking up from the couch and rounding the kitchen counter to pick at your sandwich. You knocked his hand away several times, but you both knew it was futile. In the months you’d been living with the hockey player—who was far too big for the small, shoebox of an apartment you leased—you’d learned that food was non-negotiable for Bucky Barnes. 
There were many other things you’d learned about him as well. He sang in the shower, but only when he thought you weren’t home. He had an annoying penchant for using your $30 lotion—again, when he thought you weren’t home. And he loved to throw his massive, smelly gear just about anywhere it would land right when he got home from every practice. 
He didn’t really care if you were home for that last one. 
Bucky was the last person you thought you would be rooming with when you posted that ad last summer. A small, quaint room previously occupied by your now engaged (and traitorous) best friend, you assumed someone like-minded to yourself would have taken you up on your offer. The price point wasn’t egregious and the building was relatively close to campus. 
But weeks ticked by, and you started getting desperate. Your landlord wasn’t a nice lady, something you were positive she took pride in, and she decided that a rent increase was the perfect way to ring in the new school year. You were on the verge of destitution, and as it so happened, the only other person as desperate as you was the starting center for your college’s hockey team. 
You hardly got along. It had taken weeks for your eye to stop twitching every time he tumbled through the front door at three in the morning, and even longer for you not to feel an infuriating aggravation at his random, nighttime smoothies. You supposed he probably felt the same about your cleanliness rules and your incessant reminders about trash days. Because Bucky was in charge of bringing the trash down those long, apartment steps. Not you. 
But you’d be lying if you said things hadn’t gotten easier as of late. Conversation flowed more smoothly, things that made you seethe before were only mildly annoying, and Bucky was being… considerate? You weren’t quite sure what to call the random cups of coffee he brought home on occasion. Or his sudden urge to warm up your car when he had a morning class before yours. 
There was also the case of that party last weekend. A frat party with far too many drunk men and not enough common sense, you had had the urge to leave the second you got there. But Wanda had dragged you along for the sole purpose of driving her home after she got hammered, so you were essentially stuck. 
It was fine at first. Hot and crowded and loud, but fine. You kept a general eye on Wanda and scrolled aimlessly on your phone in the armchair you claimed. And then it wasn’t fine, because a man twice your size was encroaching on your space and unrelenting. 
“What kinda girl comes to a party and doesn’t even wanna talk to anyone?” 
“You want to come up to my room and watch a movie or something?” 
“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch.” 
You weren’t even aware that Bucky had been at that party. It wasn’t surprising—the line between fraternities and sports was blurred at your college—but the space he took up as he intercepted the man in front of you was.
~~
“There a problem here?” Bucky posed, crossing his arms over his chest, his presence looming above your seated position. His weight shifted to his toes.
The man didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you. Move.” 
“Wanna fucking tell me what to do again?” 
“Fuck you, man.” 
A harsh shove to Bucky’s chest was all it took for a right hook to echo in the living room of the frat house. There was chaos. Grunts and screams from the drunk people surrounding the unnecessary fight created a cacophony of unpleasant sounds that seemed to get the attention of someone in charge. The man—Brian, you had now learned based on screams—was pulled back from Bucky and getting chewed out by some president or manager of something. 
And Bucky was seething, chest rising and falling laboriously as he wiped at the new bruise forming on his face.
Fights were not uncommon. But this one had been about you. For you.
“Bucky?” you asked when the crowd calmed and Brian was no longer in the room. 
You watched his back release its tight coil. He turned. “Are you okay?” 
The words were almost lost in the noise of the crowd, but he was close enough that they created a tactile vibration across your skin. His pupils were dilated and he looked so disheveled it would have been charming if there wasn’t also a cut forming on his brow. 
“Y/n.” 
It took you a moment to realize that you hadn’t answered him. Your response fell out of you as if you’d been shoved. “I’m—I’m fine.” 
He grunted, but it was more of a puff of air. “The fuck was that guy?” 
“I don’t know,” you replied, realizing by the way you swayed that you had stood up at some point. “He just—” 
“We’re going home.” 
“What? I can’t, I’m here with Wanda. I’m driving her, Bucky, I can’t just leave.” 
He grabbed your wrist, the grip achingly soft compared to the blows he was landing minutes before. “She left with that British guy she’s been on and off with. Asked me to tell you.” 
That explained his random appearance. Your brows pinched as you took in the information, eyes cast down to the angry red marks marring Bucky’s knuckles. He’d been in fights before. So many fights. On the ice. 
This was different. 
“I haven’t been drinking—I can drive myself home. You don’t have to leave,” you shouted over the music now bumping in the room. 
He didn’t respond, not verbally. He pulled you to his front instead, leading you through the impossible crowd until cool night air began melting into your skin. His silence was strange. Bucky’s favorite activity was talking your ear off until you told him to shut up, but right now… nothing. Even his earlier words had been clipped. 
You felt responsible for easing the tension in the air as Bucky continued to guide you to your car. You hadn’t told him where you parked, but he seemed to know the exact location anyways.
“You really don’t have to leave with me,” you mumbled. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything.” 
“It was a big deal.” 
~~
The drive home had been silent. The walk to the door had been as well. Bucky spent a few minutes appraising you in the overhead light of the living room when you got inside, but after that there was nothing. He went to his room and you went to yours. 
There was no discussion about it the morning after, either. Bucky apparently wanted to pretend nothing ever happened, so you respected that. Even now, you ignored the fading cuts on his hands as he shoveled food into his mouth.
Bucky’s next words were muffled by a mouthful of bread. “Well where’s this dude taking you at least?”
“Ice skating.”
The cough and sudden exasperation was very expected out of the man next to you, Bucky’s next words hardly containing syllables. “Huh?” 
“We’re going ice skating,” you reiterated. You picked up your lunch and headed for the living room, ignoring the slightly heaviness in your chest. “It’s winter and ice skating is festive. The rink on campus has decorations.” 
“Without me? Y/n, you’re gonna let some guy who probably doesn’t even know how to skate—” 
“Bucky—” you attempted to interrupt. 
“—drag you around the rink like a rag doll?” he continued, holding his hand up to mute your incoming speech. “I’ve asked you to come by the rink, like, a ton of times. You’ve never shown any interest.” 
You rolled your eyes and shot him a cross look as he picked your feet up from where they rested on the couch and dropped them into his lap. He went on with his rant for a little while longer, knocking his head back against cushions and accusing you of being a bad roommate. You had a few rebuttals of your own, but there was a reason you had never accompanied him to the rink. 
A good reason. 
You didn’t date athletes. 
It was true that simply going to visit Bucky at a practice, or letting him be the one to drag you around the ice like a rag doll, wouldn’t mean you were in a relationship by any means. But it would be an extra step. And if you were being honest with yourself, it would only take a few of those extra steps for the irritation you felt towards Bucky to melt into something else. 
And you didn’t date athletes. 
You did not. 
You didn’t have the time, nor the patience, to put up with the cheating, the anger issues, or the crazy schedules. And there wasn’t a single athlete you’d met at your sport-centered university that was willing to compromise on any of those subjects. Especially the cheating. You’d learned that the hard way after dating a lacrosse player for approximately one month before receiving the dreaded DM from a girl you had never met. 
The man hadn’t even given you the courtesy of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. He just admitted to his wrong-doing and shrugged. Shrugged. 
So athletes were not exactly in your good graces when it came to dating. 
“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky cut through your thoughts, patting your shin in impatience. 
You blinked and reoriented yourself, focusing on the hairs that fanned across Bucky’s face. “Of course I am,” you lied. “But my answer is still the same. I’m going on my date and you are not going on my date.” 
He groaned, apparently giving up as he cradled your legs closer to him to lean over and grab the remote from the coffee table. He flipped the channel to ESPN—typical—and you ate your sandwich, silently cursing him. He had a TV in his room. 
“When is it?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had knitted itself into a comfortable blanket over the room. 
“Tonight,” you answered plainly. 
The arms atop your legs tensed. 
~~
The dichotomy of the man sitting beside you was impressive. On one hand, he was so full of himself that he had missed almost all of your conversation starters due to being so transfixed by his reflection in the rink’s glass. He had yet to ask you a single question about yourself and had insisted that the four other girls skating tonight were in love with him. 
On the other hand, he was, quite possibly, the most uninteresting person you had ever met. You were usually very quick to laugh, but every word out of his mouth was almost painful. He wouldn’t stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, gave you one word answers about anything other than baseball, and was honestly really terribly at ice skating. You were no pro either, but you found yourself on your back every time he tried holding your hand.
The tumble five minutes ago had you seeking out the penalty box on the side of the rink. You needed a break, you had told him, hoping he would continue on making a fool of himself and give you a moment alone. But he followed you instead, and was now sitting beside you, talking about baseball.
You supposed that was better than making you fall while talking about baseball.
“I bet we could do that,” he remarked, pointing out onto the ice and catching your attention. A couple who clearly had more experience than you was twirling each other around. “We definitely could. I pick up good speed.” You cringed. “I really don’t think we should try, Sean. My tailbone is already pretty bruised.” 
“Oh, c’mon! I won’t try the throwing part, just the twisty stuff.” 
“We are literally on rental skates. You will kill me,” you deadpanned. You were tired at this point and seriously questioning why you thought ice skating was a good first date idea. 
Well, there actually was an answer for that. But you were not going to think about the hockey player that popped into your head when Sean asked you on a date in the dining hall last week. 
Definitely not. 
“I’m not going to let my date think I’m boring,” Sean groaned, yanking you up from your seat. 
You gave a few tugs and words of resistance but they were ultimately useless. You figured it would be just as useless to tell the guy you already thought he was boring. He probably wouldn’t even hear you. 
On unsteady skates, Sean guided you to a mostly cleared corner of the rink and gripped your forearms. He squinted as he surveyed the area, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your stomach roll. This entire date had been a bad idea.
“Maybe we should just watch them do it,” you tried, words wavering. 
“No!” he grinned. “No, we got this. It’s gonna look so cool.” 
And then you were spinning. You’d never been spun against your will before, but it sucked. Your skates kept getting stuck in the divots in the ice and the grip on your forearms was close to bruising. You were starting to get dizzy and Sean showed no signs of caring. God, he really was dragging you around the rink like a rag doll. Bucky was going to get a kick out of this.
“Okay, ready?” Sean called, an unwarranted jubilation in his tone. 
“What?” you yelled. 
He didn’t answer you. Instead, he let go, and you went flying in another direction without a clear path. It only lasted a moment, but the sound of your head smacking onto the ice signified the end of that movement. You landed on your arm next, and then your back. Again. 
This time felt different though. Your head was spinning and there were muted pinpricks trailing up to your wrist. The ache there was dulled compared to the biting iciness in your back, but as soon as you tried leaning on it to get up, it became sharp.
“Oh shit!” came Sean’s laughter-filled gasp. “My bad. I really didn’t mean to let go.” 
You blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from your vision but it proved unhelpful. “I think… I think my arm’s broken.” 
“Wait, seriously?” he asked, wobbling down to a seat beside you. 
“Yeah, it’s—”
“Everything okay over here?” a voice interrupted. You tried blinking again to take in the man that towered over the two of you, but the lights overhead washed him out. 
You recognized him…maybe? You felt like you were going to throw up. 
Sean answered for you. “Yeah, man, we’re fine. She just fell.” 
“Y/n, are you okay?” the man asked, ignoring your date completely.
“Do I know you?” you slurred.
You thought you heard a curse. “What made you think throwing her around was a good idea?” 
“Dude, it wasn’t even that fast. Or my fault. She just couldn’t keep her feet under her.” 
“Well, dude, maybe you should go home.” 
Sean scoffed. “Right, and who’s going to take this one home?” 
Your head was starting to hurt with all of the back and forth. The man that just joined, the taller one, kneeled down beside you. His blonde hair cast a harsh glare that had you squinting again. 
“You want me to call Bucky?” he asked.
Bucky? How would he know Bucky? Blonde hair began morphing into a man in your memory, and you reached for the material of his shirt, looping it between your fingers.
“Steve Rogers?” you mumbled. 
The man, now identified as Steve, sighed. “I’m calling him. Go home, Sean. Her roommate is coming to get her.” 
There was more discussion, something about Steve having the authority to kick him out and Sean not understanding what all of the fuss was about. Steve warned him about something and Sean scoffed as if the situation was beneath him. And then he left. 
Steve was then in your line of sight again, brows pinched together and a bright orange vest covering his shoulders. His hands hovered in front of you as if you’d break if he touched you and you almost found it funny. Steve was a huge guy with a lot of authority on Bucky’s team, but right now he looked like a scared animal. 
“Why are you dressed like a construction worker?” you asked. 
A small smile graced his face. “I’m working at the rink today. Everyone on the team has to take shifts during the holidays.” 
“Hmm,” you hummed. “I think my arm is broken.” 
“I know. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. Let’s get you off the ice, yeah?” 
You tried to nod, but that hurt too much so you let Steve assist you in shakily standing up. He guided you to the seats by the rental skate counter with a soft but sure hand on your back, asking some guy named Antonio for an ice pack. Everything around you felt like a fever dream. 
Gentle touches rolled the sleeve of your sweater back to reveal a swollen wrist that Steve immediately covered with an ice pack. 
He cursed again. “Well he’s gonna be pissed.” 
“Who?” Your head swayed with the question. 
Steve looked up to meet your gaze, lips parting to answer, when he was replaced by a different face. Your brain was having trouble keeping up with everything, obviously, because Bucky was in front of you now. He was kneeling between your legs with his hands on your face and you had no idea where Steve went. 
“What the fuck?” you blurted out. 
“Hey, y/n.” Bucky spoke your name low and soothing, his fingers moving to your eyes where he pried them open one at a time and looked for something you couldn’t see. His next words were directed over his shoulder. “Maybe a concussion. Tell me what happened again?” 
“Sean Marcus was being an ass. Flung her all over the place,” Steve replied. 
“Why are you here?” you interjected, trying to focus on one thing at a time. “I told you not to come on my date.” 
Bucky moved his assessment to your arm next, shifting the ice pack. “Never really agreed to those terms.” 
He turned back to Steve after that, having another discussion that you barely understood. Bucky absentmindedly fiddled with the material of your jeans as he spoke, and you put all of your energy into not face planting on the ground. This past week had truly been a series of terrible events with terrible men. 
After some amount of time elapsed, you were walking to the parking lot with a jacket thrown over your shoulders and Bucky continuously jutting a hand out each time you took a step. He was very well versed in concussions, apparently. 
“Okay, in you go, killer,” Bucky prompted, opening the passenger door. 
You eyed the front seat, scrunching your face up. “My arm hurts.” 
The man in front of you seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping on a long exhale. “I know, sweetheart. But we gotta go to the hospital to fix that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“I should just call Wanda. Or Nat. You don’t have to be the one to take me.” 
“I can take you just fine.”
“Why do you want to you? Aren’t you busy?” 
Another long sigh, this one accompanied by hands on your shoulders, fingers at the base of your neck. “Get in the car.”
His eyes were boring into yours, searching for something, or maybe already finding it there. You still had your arm cradled to your chest and you titled your head to the side as you observed him. There was something else to his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe. It reminded you of his expression after he came home from a rough game. Angry. Discontent. 
“You’re being weird,” you commented, breaking the silence you had created. 
“You broke your arm and smacked your head on the ice,” he simply replied, as if the statement was an explanation. 
“Yeah, but—” 
“And then that douchebag did nothing about it,” Bucky interrupted. “So please, y/n, get in the car so I can help you before I find him and kick his ass. Because you know I’m not above fighting people.” 
You blinked, and then slid into the front seat. 
The drive was quiet. You’d never been in Bucky’s car before, but the spinning in your head didn’t give you much space to inspect it too closely. You caught hockey gear in the back, a keycard to the rink dangling off the rearview mirror, and a small collection of hair ties in one of the cupholders. One caught your attention.
“Hey, this one’s mine.” You picked up the purple band and rolled it between your fingers. “Thief.” 
Bucky snatched it back. “Mine now.” 
He made a sharp turn that had you sucking air between your teeth and repositioning your arm. Bucky sent you a quick, achingly apologetic look. 
“Sorry, almost there.” A long beat of silence and then a mumbled, “I should keep your hair tie. You won’t be able to do your hair alone with a broken arm anyway.” 
~~
Your wrist was fractured, not broken. You also only had a minor concussion. This was all great news to you, especially since they told you after administering a hefty amount pain reliever. To Bucky, this was apparently terrible, life-altering news. 
After practically body slamming into the front door of your apartment, he chucked his wallet and keys down on the kitchen counter and began grumbling to himself as he opened and closed kitchen cabinets. You watched from a distance, half amused, half concerned for the rusting hinges. He finally found what he was looking for—a cup—and continued to mutter to himself as he filled it with gatorade. 
“Are you… okay?” you asked tentatively. 
Bucky ripped the freezer open and manhandled three to four ice cubes. “I’m fine. You are not.” 
“I’m okay now,” you assured. Bucky stalked over to you anyways, pressing the sports drink into your hand that was not wrapped in a cast.
You looked down at the glass and sent him a baffled look. He nodded at it and raised his brows, a silent demand for you to drink. 
“Okay. And why do I need to drink gatorade?” Your words were slow. 
“You were just on the ice and haven’t had any water for at least three hours.” 
“Bucky,” you began. “I was ice skating recreationally for about thirty minutes. I don’t need to replenish my electrolytes.” 
“Will you just… will you just drink the damn drink?” he groaned, gesturing to it with a firm hand. “Jesus, I can’t take care of you when you go and get yourself hurt by idiots. So just let me do what I know I can do, alright?” 
“You don’t have to take care of me.” You were beginning to raise your voice, matching some of the frustration in the room. 
Bucky threw his hands in the air, tugging at his roots on the way down. He moved further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with stiff, rod-like arms propping him up. And then he sighed, long and profound as if this was the hardest conversation he’d had all year. His head hung heavy between stiff shoulders and you felt the environment shift. 
You almost wanted to intervene on his thoughts again, to make some comment about the dishes in the dishwasher or pretend you were going to go take a nap. But he had something to say, something you needed to hear, and so you stayed. You blinked and clenched your fist in the uncomfortable silence, but you stayed. 
“Y/n, I want to take care of you,” Bucky breathed out, words still directed toward the floor, almost too low to make out. “I’ve been tryna get you to see that for weeks now, but you’ve either got no clue or you want absolutely nothing to do with me.” 
You stopped blinking, stopped fidgeting, stopped breathing altogether. You watched as Bucky drummed his fingers against the counter and still refused to look up. You swallowed hard because you weren’t clueless, but also because you wanted everything to do with Bucky Barnes. 
And nothing at the same time. 
“Bucky…” you began, with a tone of surprise you weren’t sure was believable.
“Don’t do it yet,” he stopped you. “Don’t…don’t tell me no yet. I’m still pissed as hell that you got hurt and you shouldn’t be alone with a concussion. I don’t need you avoiding me when you can’t even drive a car.” 
“You’re being presumptuous.” 
He snapped his head up, his eyes rushing back and forth between your own. The drumming on the counter ceased, instead replaced by balled up fists turning white under days old cuts and fading bruises. He didn’t say anything. You searched the empty air for a reply. 
“I wouldn’t avoid you. I don’t know if I could avoid you—not anymore. You’re sort of a big part of my life now.” A good start, you thought. Not a real answer, but not a rejection. 
Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and eyed the drink still perspiring in your hand. You set it down at his observance, moving closer to his slumped posture in the kitchen. 
But Bucky stood up straight at your movement, becoming guarded, stiff. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Bad timing, just forget it. You should try and get some sleep.” 
“I don’t want to forget it,” you softly spoke, shaking your head.
He clenched his jaw. “And I don’t want to hear that you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you. Not right now. I feel like I’m going insane, watching you go out on dates and having my best friend tell me that my girl—that’s not really my girl—is all banged up on the ice because of some asshole.” 
You opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky kept going, now pacing in the kitchen. “I mean, y/n, you’re my everyday. I wake up and you’re making coffee. You text me in class to ask what I need at the grocery store and then I call you after practice to make sure you got back to the apartment. I think about you so god damn much and I can’t believe there was a time in my life that I didn’t get to end my day in a home that has you. And you’re just my roommate. You want nothing to do with athletes, I get it—” he added, catching your eye in the middle of his rant, “—but, shit, I haven’t even looked at another girl since… well it doesn’t even matter.”
“Tell me,” you whispered. There were a million other things you could’ve said, a million explanations that would have made sense. But the two soft words stopped Bucky from tracking holes in the ground. They shoved him from his shallow breaths and made him look at you. 
And, god, did he look at you. You must have been worse for wear. A hospital visit mixed with one too many tumbles onto solid ice probably had your hair in disarray and your face pressed with exhaustion, but his gaze was revering. Candy-coated red with soft blues melting below brows that fluxed with the movement of his lips; Bucky was beautiful, and he was looking at you as if you matched.
His tone confirmed as much, light and saccharin as he said, “That dumb movie a few weeks ago, the one about the superheroes. Your friends wouldn’t watch it with you so you made me. You were so excited even though it was awful and you were out like a light within the first hour. You rolled over onto me and I wasn’t gonna wake you up so I sorta just held you.” 
He paused, trailing his eyes up to the light fixtures. “At the risk of sounding pathetic, it felt like I had you, you know? Like we were going through all our usual motions, but after I annoyed the hell out of you and you told me off, you were mine. I can’t… I can’t really picture that with another girl.” 
There were very few times you had considered yourself speechless. But with Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, red-faced and vulnerable and still wearing the stupid hospital nametag they made him put on in the waiting room, you had no words. There was none of the arrogance you usually associated with him, no short-temper or pestering taunts. It was just Bucky, and he was pouring his heart onto the kitchen floor. For you. 
“You get why you can’t tell me no just yet?” he asked, trying to get something out of you. Anything. “You can break my heart, but let me just make sure you’re okay first. And I can’t beat the shit out of Sean if we aren’t on speaking terms.” 
The laugh that left you was one of disbelief, but the breathiness and accompanying tears fit the heaviness of the room. Your glossy eyes met Bucky’s and something flashed on his face, but it was soon out of your line of sight because you were kissing him. You were kissing him hard and your bodies were too close for the cast between you but it didn’t matter. 
He didn’t respond at first, hand hovering at your back. But then he did and the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor was gone from your bare feet. He sat you on the counter, so gently, as if you were glass, and you let your hand brush against the cracks and divots of your home. The one that Bucky came back to every night to see you. 
The one that had housed so many nights of confusion and longing and denial.
The one that had Bucky kissing the life out of you on the kitchen counter. 
He pulled away first, forehead pressed to yours. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that.” 
“You can do it again.” 
“Oh, I will, baby.” 
Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many instances like the one he shared before where you were left questioning boundaries and feelings and lines. But, you figured, there would be so many opportunities to tell him. So much time together. 
“I texted Wanda that night,” you shared, interrupting the kisses he was pressing to your cheek. “After I woke up and you had taken me back to my room.” 
He smiled against your skin. “What’d you say?” 
“I told her I was an idiot—that I was falling for the enemy.” 
Bucky ran a soft hand along the back of your head, a smirk lighting up his face. He was slotted between your legs and kept his other hand firmly pressed onto the kitchen counter, caging you in, making sure your arm didn’t hit the cabinets. 
“And is that true?” 
“I don’t know,” you hummed, connecting your foreheads once again, wanting to stay impossibly close. “Try to cure my broken bone with gatorade again and we’ll see.”
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melwilson · 1 year
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GABRIEL BASSO as PETER SUTHERLAND 1x01 The Call, The Night Agent
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melwilson · 1 year
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bby boy, i love this man
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GABRIEL BASSO as PETER SUTHERLAND The Night Agent (2023 - )
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melwilson · 1 year
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i would like to restate this bc i just saw creed three and i was floating the whole time. the soundtrack was amazing
y’all people who write and compose music for movies and tv are seriously not given enough credit. what they do literally takes a movie from being just a movie to being a movie. music allows you to feel and connect in a way that you don’t get otherwise. idk if you’ve ever taken the time to listen to movie soundtracks straight up, but it’s definitely worth it. late at night. lights are off. it puts you in a whole different world. there’s this out of body, larger than life experience you get. i’m a big fan. two claps for all of my composers. you guys are incredible
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melwilson · 1 year
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swoon
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melwilson · 1 year
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no words for how good this man looks
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JONATHAN MAJORS EBONY — Keith Major (2023)
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melwilson · 1 year
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icon
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lo’ak “fuck you” sully
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melwilson · 1 year
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seb, bby, the man that you are
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SEBASTIAN STAN SHARPER World Premiere February 7th, 2023
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melwilson · 1 year
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#he got it from his daddy
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melwilson · 1 year
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TWEETS WHILE BEING FRIENDS WITH AVATAR CHARACTERS PART TWO (multiple !) part one
content — implied ao'nung x gn!reader. tsireya x lo'ak. posted due to popular demand and the fact that i like making them. yn, tsireya and kiri ultimate trip agenda is taking over my life :(((((((( ignore mistakes, im lazy
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melwilson · 1 year
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this is the funniest thing i’ve seen all year
TWEETS WHILE BEING FRIENDS WITH AVATAR CHARACTERS (multiple !)
content — implied neteyam x gn!reader and lo'ak x tsireya. i see these on tiktok and they crack me tf up so i made my own bc i don't feel like writing. the idea of tuk having twitter but under neytiris name bc she basically stole the account is making me laugh. nba yb!loak stan bc i think that shit is funny lol
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melwilson · 1 year
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so sweet
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​​— fly (me to your heart) •°. *࿐
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pairing: Neteyam x f!reader, platonic!Lo'ak x reader length: 5.1k words ✧ genre: fluff, romance, slight angst warnings: mild language. summary: Lo'ak wonders if Neteyam knows that he flies the highest when he is with you. tags — childhood friends to lovers, reader is half omatikayan and half tawkami, kid fic (at the beginning), does not follow the events of atwow, sully fam stays at high camp and their lives continue peacefully (as they should be), golden child neteyam + ultimate middle child lo'ak + you = an inseparable lil trio, mostly bc kiri is off doing her own thing, grandma mo'at makes some appearances. a/n. that one scene where tuk is playing with the plants in the forest with the biggest smile on her face. that got me picturing how happy younger neteyam would look, exploring the wonders of pandoran forest, free of any responsibility and fear. could NOT get that image out of my mind. so here we are ♡
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Neteyam is five years old when he learns the hard way that bringing his dad’s name into arguments does not always guarantee victory. Sure, his dad was toruk makto. He doesn’t even know what those words necessarily mean, but he knows that everyone in the village thinks his dad is the most powerful na’vi. 
“You can’t fly, nobody can!”
“Except toruk makto, he is the only one who can fly.”
“I bet you can’t fly even though your dad is toruk makto!”
“Well, my daddy can fly, so I can fly too, just watch!”
He’s five years old with blood on his knees, and tears in his eyes and the horrible realization that, maybe, he can’t fly even though his mommy said he could do anything if he tried hard enough.
“Hey! Are you okay?”
Neteyam looks up through tear blurred eyes and sees a girl, not much taller than himself looking down at him worriedly. Before he knows it, there’s a huge leaf being used to wipe away the blood from his scraped knees and elbows (and nose too, apparently) with little care for how much pressure is being applied. The boys that encouraged him to "fly" are long gone, leaving him on the ground bloody and just a little upset with this new stranger that Neteyam wants to call friend.
“I’m—” He sniffs back a horrible mixture of blood and tears as he tries not to bawl something terrible. “I’m okay. Just wanted to fly but—“
It’s at that, the realization that he cannot actually fly like he thinks his dad can, despite his greatest attempt, that finally makes the torrent of tears tumble from his eyes. The bruises and cuts are nothing compared to the crushing realization that sometimes there are things that he can’t do. It’s a messy and ugly cry, and Neteyam is pretty sure that there is more snot and blood on his face than there is anything else, but it doesn’t matter to him at that point in time. All that matters is reality taking hold and crushing a childish, but very true, dream.
“That’s okay, my mama said we’re all good at something, maybe you just have to find what you’re good at.”
They are wise words for someone so young, but Neteyam likes how friendly you sound, even if he doesn’t quite understand what it is that you were saying.
You stay with him on the ground, holding the dapophet leaf against the wound on his knees with each of your hands and smile on your face. You are coaxing him gently and trying to make him laugh by telling him the story of the first time you fell from a tree as well, but Neteyam is too distraught to really remember it. He enjoys the soothing feeling of your palm on the leaf as it works its magic, and it nearly has him quieted down by the time his mom comes to bundle him up with warm hugs and quiet words of question.
His last sight of you is of you sneaking off into the bushes, mumbling something about washing his blood off your hands by the river, as he is carried away in his mom's arms.
Neteyam is five years old when he meets you for the first time, but he doesn’t even know what your name is.
He thinks he will catch you around, however as it turns out, the last time he would see you is the morning of the next day when your mother hauled you up onto her ikran. He remembers thinking it's strange how there were so many people gathered by the edge of the cave as he ran up to the crowd. Making his way to the front, he notices your hair—your face! and decides to join in with the others to wave goodbye to you (if a goodbye can count as a snot-faced child standing on the tip of his toes in order to appear taller so you'd notice him amongst the crowd. he isn’t sure if you saw him, but he can swear with his whole heart that your smile was directed to him).
He soon forgets about broken skin and blood on his teeth, though your kindness lingers in his memory for some time.
He still dreams of flying, every night. Draws pictures and tells his grandma about how he will one day have wings so that he doesn’t fall. “Like an ikran!” He says, cheerfully, chubby fingers pointing at his mom and her banshee, soaring about the sky that they can see from the outer edge of the high camp.
He tells Lo'ak about his dream, almost expecting the younger boy to tell him that there is no way to fly without an ikran, but his brother just thinks about it for a moment, face serious, before he looks at Neteyam very seriously and tells him that, when he does learn to fly, he has to teach Lo'ak because he would very much like to fly as well. They could go on their own adventures together.
Neteyam’s dreams of flying are crushed when, one day, sitting next to his grandma, his dad and some adults come in carrying a boy a few years older than him, injured and screaming in pain. It turns out he has failed his Iknimaya and plunged down into the heavy mist of Hallelujah Mountains. Lucky for him, he landed on one of the floating mountains, narrowly escaping death with some broken ribs, it seems.
The injured boy’s guttural screams of pain and agony is enough to scare him into contemplating his dream to fly. He crawls out of the tent and finds his brother, eyes wide, and fearfully explains that flying may not be such a good idea after all.
“My name is (y/n). What’s yours?”
They are sitting outside, laying on their backs under the tree and hiding from the warm summer sun when a shadow passes over them. Lo'ak immediately grumbles about it, but they both sit up in alarm, confused look on their faces. You are standing before them and Neteyam swears he has met you somewhere before.
“Um, Neteyam.” He pauses a moment, hand shading his eyes to get a better look at you. You’re tiny and almost fragile looking, eyes wide and cheerful as you hold out a hand to them. Neteyam takes it while nodding his head towards Lo'ak who is now standing up on the grass, eyeing you curiously. “That’s Lo'ak, he’s my brother.”
“I thought we could be friends, you look like you're around the same age as me.”
“No way, cuz you're a lot shorter than us.”
Neteyam kicks Lo'ak’s leg, a scowl on his face. The furrow of your brows makes him annoyed at his brother for some reason, he is only ten and he is quite sure no one should be that pretty. “ Don’t mind him, he’s the shortest in our family anyway.”
“Am not! Kiri’s hair is just poofy on top!” Lo’ak gestured to the top of his head before turning to you to explain, “Kiri is our sister, who is the same height as me.”
That makes you laugh, your whole face lighting up in a way that has Neteyam momentarily mesmerized. Yup, no one should be that pretty.
“I believe you,” you reassured the younger boy, seeing how he looks so defensive. “Anyways, you guys have the best place to hide from the sun.” There is that smile again, too bright and Neteyam has a trickle of memory but he can’t catch it fast enough, so he just shifts to make space for you and motions to the newly opened patch of shadow to you.
He offers you a smile of his own. “There is room for one more here.” He ignores the snicker from Lo'ak (the one that he got when trouble was going to abound) and instead focuses on the thank you and the smile from you as you plop yourself down to the grass. You stay there, sprawled on the ground under the tree, for the better part of the day. You are the same age as Lo’ak, a year younger than Neteyam. Your mother is of the Omatikaya people just like they are and your father is a young Olo’eyktan from the Tawkami Clan. You were born and raised in Greenhome, a village deep in the Pandoran jungle. Your father is no longer... (you trail off and your tone gets quite hushed there, and Neteyam knows well enough to leave that alone for now) so your mother brought you and moved back here. 
By the end of the conversation, Neteyam has decided that you are going to be their new best friend, because he and Lo'ak are a packaged deal, and the younger one doesn’t fight it either (he seems to have fairly warmed up to you and your inviting smile, or rather, he is simply happy to have someone else around them who is shorter than him, for once). Besides, he knows you’ll get along well with Kiri. The more the merrier, right?
When you walk past their grandma’s tent later that night, the tsahik is surprised by the joyful shouts from Lo'ak and Neteyam, who both normally stick to the boys in the clan, barely interacting with other girls their age. She doesn't find it in herself to be annoyed at your bright smile that greets the shouts. She just hushes the boys and motions for them to keep eating, otherwise the food is gonna get cold and yes, yes you are allowed to join them for dinner tomorrow if your mother allows you to, now please get back to eating.
Neteyam doesn’t tell you about his dreams of flying, not yet, but he watches you move across the forest with a sense of wonder because, if anyone could fly, it is you.
The three of you become inseparable. You meet up with them almost every other day, whether it be exploring around the village or to play around in the science shack. Even when you quickly become friends with some older teenagers (Neteyam is not jealous of how Tarsem is always acting like your guardian and picking you up, nestling you on his shoulders without breaking a sweat, or how easily Spider makes you laugh. Nope, not even a little bit), you still see each other several times a week.
You play and study together. But Neteyam learns everything with a passion that nearly blinds anyone who sees it. The elders praise him for his skills and propose to his dad that he should start his training as soon as possible.
So when he breaks the record for the fastest time and the youngest hunter to complete Iknimaya, no one is at all surprised. What does surprise you, is his constant refusal to go ikran riding with the other hunter trainees every single time they ask him to. He simply smiles and says thank you, but he wants to hang out with you as his training lessons have left him with less time to spend with you, his best friend (despite you insisting that he go, so that he can be closer with the other trainees and form the friendship that is actually worth his time) and he is more than okay with that.
You call him a skxawng, but are secretly relieved because you are not sure what you would have done without the older Sully around. You still spend your days with Lo'ak, and Spider has been joining you guys increasingly frequently. With Neteyam not being around as much as he used to, Lo'ak gets you in trouble more than ever, especially with the human boy around. Those two can talk you into doing anything. Mostly though, it's because you have to keep your life amusing from the boredom that follows Neteyam's absence.
You wonder if you cross his mind. Ah, he must be too excited about training that you are probably forgotten by now.
For him, even just seeing you and having a quick ‘good luck’ whispered to him in the morning before his training session seems to be enough to get him through the day. And they can be long days indeed.
It is Lo'ak who starts to notice it first, the way that you and Neteyam circle each other like a star and a planet. He briefly wonders who is which and voices it out to Kiri, but she tells him it is pointless, and what is really important is the way you both light up around each other. The way the two of you seem to move together so easily and completely.
It is in the forest where you and Neteyam seem to come alive though. You compete, always racing each other—in a friendly way, with laughter and lighthearted teasing. What you don’t notice is that Neteyam likes to purposely fall behind sometimes, just to take in the sight of you in his young, curious eyes.
You are a natural in the rainforest, fluid limbs and inherent grace that reminds him of waves; something delicate yet full of vigor at the same time. All cresting water and powerful crash in the midst of something so calm. Whereas Neteyam is all strong steps and confidence in his beats, power and elegance as he brings so much life in his movements.
Lo'ak sometimes sits back and watches with amusement as his brother and best friend leap through the branches, synchronized footsteps like bass thrumming in the heart of the forest.
He remembers Neteyam telling him, when they were little, that he always wanted to fly. He wonders if Neteyam knows that he achieves that, fights against the gravity pulling them down, and achieves true flight in his happiness the most when he is with you.
He never mentions it to you, just lets the two of you be, literally, around each other. It’s not the wonder of the forest that is responsible for the change in dynamic between you and Neteyam like Kiri believes, because Lo'ak starts to notice it everywhere, like during your weekly dinner with the Sullys (how quickly Neteyam stands up to fetch you a cup of water when you choke on a piece of food, how you lean into his touch as he brings the cup to your mouth while rubbing your back to soothe your sputtering cough) and even in the science shack (the most unromantic place in the world, Lo’ak rolls his eyes). Sometimes he isn’t sure how neither of you have ever noticed it. How could you not feel a pull like that?
Sometimes Lo'ak wonders if his brother is a complete skxawng.
Actually, he doesn’t wonder, he knows. Because there is no way that two people so completely, obviously, and wholly enraptured with one another could possibly be so blind to each other’s feelings. And to their own, for that matter. It simply is not rationally possible.
“Where are you going with Spider?”
You blink and stare somewhat owlishly at Neteyam. “Um, we're going to the Utral Aymokriyä?”
The look on Neteyam’s face lets it be known exactly what he thinks of that plan of action. You cannot possibly be serious right now. Have you not spent enough time with Spider? That boy is always with you and Lo'ak whenever he is gone for training, already well on his way in replacing his spot in your little trio. Are you going to replace him with Spider too?
He walks up to you and stops right in front of your face, all the while staring down at you incredulously. “But Spider doesn’t even have a kuru.”
Lo'ak rolls his eyes and turns back to his book. Knowing his older brother, instead of being honest about his jealousy, Neteyam is going to make it all about the human boy’s lack of neural queue. He really wishes that he’s not here right now.
“It doesn’t matter! Spider said he’s happy to keep me company,” It is almost comical how small your voice gets when faced with a disapproving Neteyam, but there is still a defiance in you, a fire that is not about to be cowed by a furrowed brow and some anger. “Besides, you went there with Ro’ate last week!”
“That was different! That was a date!”
Lo'ak snorts and looks up just in time to see your eyes widen and you fidget somewhat uncomfortably. What does the skxawng think he's doing by saying that?
Adding fuel to the fire, that's what.
Neteyam is fifteen years old when he finds out what jealousy is, the dark yet haunting rage that consumes him for reasons that, at this point in time, he does not understand. He is fifteen years old when he has his first fight with you, one that lasts two weeks and makes everyone miserable (and the coldness doesn’t fade until nearly a month later, after he overheard you turning down a random Omatikayan boy’s invitation to go ikran riding together).
Neteyam is fifteen years old when he discovers that he might be better at falling than at flying, but he is too young to really understand what it could mean.
“You know, when I was five, my mom told me I could do anything I wanted to.”
You make a noise in the back of your throat to let Neteyam know you are indeed listening, eyes still on the sky, body warm next to his as the two of you lay on top of one of the floating mountains nearing eclipse.
You are seventeen and eighteen respectively, and it is time for you to return to Greenhome. Your grandparents have been asking for your presence for you are nearing the age of adulthood. Neteyam doesn’t really know what to do about it. It’s been forever since he has been with you (at least, to him it feels that way even if it has only been eight years) and he doesn’t know how he and Lo'ak are going to cope. Spider too, and Kiri and Tuk, for that matter. Or maybe it’s just him that feels like there is a hole opening up in his chest every time he thinks about your departure.
It feels like he's a toddler all over again, falling to the pull of gravity and knowing, mid-fall, that it is going to hurt like hell when he hits the ground.
And, like when he was five, Neteyam doesn’t really care until he realizes that he can’t really fight this force and, unlike what his mom said, he really couldn’t do anything he wanted to. He couldn’t figure out the tightness in his chest, or the fact that you are leaving, going farther away than you ever had in all your years together, couldn’t—
He must have been quiet for too long, because you finally turned your gaze from the sky to look at him, one eyebrow raised as if to prompt the other.
Neteyam finds it funny that he has known you for this long and has never told you his childhood dream. He laughs and sits up, and after catching a glimpse of your wide eyes questioning him, he tries his best to not look at you.
“You know what I always wanted to do?”
You pretend to think. “Be the best warrior in the clan?”
Neteyam shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Nah,” He tilts his head back to look at cotton candy colored sky, heart heavily lodged in his throat for reasons he can’t quite fathom. “I wanted to be able to fly.”
You leave with promises to come back and visit. And you are good with keeping your word, you visit them a lot, though not as often as Neteyam would like you to. Because whenever you came to visit, you are busy showing Lo’ak the special toys and weapons you brought with you, or you are too preoccupied with showing Kiri the different medicines and plants you had to learn during your lessons with the Tsahik of the Tawkami Clan (one who happens to be your grandmother, coincidentally. She is one gentle yet very fierce old lady). 
Unbeknownst to Neteyam, you are most excited to see him, wanting nothing more than to share stories of your life at your other home, to tell him all about the wonders of Greenhome because oh, how much you wish he could come with you to see it for himself. 
It doesn’t stop Neteyam from pulling away little by little, doesn’t stop him from fighting the force of gravity for a bit longer, just because he can. Because he wants to delay the pain of hitting concrete a bit longer.
He fails as he dismounts his ikran one day, after a hunting session with his dad that he set up on purpose in order to avoid seeing you one more time, only to see Lo'ak leaning against his own ikran, a scowl on his face.
Lo'ak walks up to him, just in time to hear the last part of their dad’s sentence: “... been distracted today. Dismissed.” The Olo'eyktan, upon walking away, turns around to yell to his sons, “And get ready for dinner!”
Lo’ak walks beside Neteyam without a word, but continues to scowl at his older brother as he puts his hunting weapons away. It is uncharacteristic of him to not make any snide remarks that it is making latter uncomfortable, for the silence is a little too loud. He finally faces the other and it takes everything in him to not roll his eyes, because he just knows that Lo’ak is up to something.
“What?”
Lo'ak scoffs. “Don’t give me that bullshit, you know what. Why are you doing this to her?”
Neteyam is silent, refusing to acknowledge that he even knows what Lo'ak is even talking about, despite it being on his mind since forever. He decides to feign confusion and puts on a puzzled face before shaking his head and trying to walk away.
He is stopped by a hand, stronger than he is expecting on his shoulder. “You're being a dick and you know it.” Lo'ak opens his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue, but he stops himself at the last second. 
“Have you seen Neteyam anywhere?” you asked Lo’ak, breath short and puffy, an indication that you had been running around in a rush. And indeed you were, you had been all over the place in search for one boy in particular. You had not seen your 8-foot-tall best friend at all for the past several times you went back to High Camp to visit. 
“Dad took him out to go hunting,” Lo’ak shrugged. The disappointed look on your face did not go unnoticed by the young boy. “Dude, you have the worst sense of timing to come visit.” he joked, an attempt to cheer you up a little. You laughed.
“It’s fine. Dealing with one Sully boy is already too much work for me anyway!” 
“Bro what’s that supposed to mean?!” 
He knew it was not a coincidence that his brother had been gone for nearly the entire day. The first time it happened? Sure, it was perfectly understandable given who their dad is and his strict training sessions. The second time around? Lo’ak’s suspicion started to grow, especially since they had just gone hunting the day before. This time? He was pretty sure he literally overheard Neteyam begging their dad to take him hunting further out from the Hallelujah Mountains.
Lo’ak internally sighed, praying to Eywa for Neteyam to get his ass back to the village as fast as possible before he hears it from Lo’ak himself. “They’ll be back soon though, don’t worry! You’ll get to see him today.”
You shook your head, “Maybe next time, I have to be back before eclipse.”  Though the sadness that stemmed from your longing for Neteyam lingered, you were overtaken by the fear of getting home late. The thought of disobeying your grandmother’s stern words—you shuddered. You dare not risk arriving home late, for the consequence was that you would not be allowed to visit at all. And you absolutely had to be back for another visit, perhaps you would get to see Neteyam the next time you come. 
Neteyam is unconsciously frowning, trying to get his wits together when Lo'ak’s words stop him cold.
“You do not fly as high without her, skxawng.”
Neteyam is eighteen and does not know reality could hurt this much without blood on his body.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Neteyam is cornered, stuck in the confines of his tent (his bedroom, as he calls it), covered in sweat and bruises (he curses that his mom just led you here without question. so this is why she asked where he was and for him to get home immediately. he wanted to punch himself in the face for being so oblivious). She must’ve told you exactly where to go to find him as he throws himself into fishing to forget about your breathtaking smile and beautiful eyes.
He has not forgotten that you are back for a visit. Rather, he does not see a reason to lie to his mom of his whereabouts. He has been careful this time, no more training with dad as both the said man and his skxawng of a brother has now figured out that he is only doing so to run away from you.
He doesn’t want to answer your question, so he doesn’t. He sighs heavily and turns away from you, the perfect picture of his stubbornness that has you cracking a small grin.
At least certain things never change.
After a moment of silence you sit yourself in front of Neteyam and look more defeated than he has ever seen. It makes his chest tighten painfully, but this time he knows why; and it makes him feel even worse.
Neteyam is nearly nineteen when he admits to himself that he is in love with you, his best friend, and has been for far too long and it hurts because he doesn’t have words and doesn’t think he deserves you and doesn’t—
“You know, when I was really young, there is this little kid that I remember meeting,” You are not looking at him, instead you are focused on a photograph of you, Neteyam and Lo’ak, teeth blinding through smiles that are as wide as they can be, as the three of you struggle to hold a really big fish with your small hands. You remember that day like no other, Jake had taken you and his sons to the river and Neteyam caught a fish on his first try.
Neteyam, the Mighty Fisherman.
Neteyam, who excels in everything he does.
Neteyam, the golden child, who easily succeeds at doing just about anything.
“He was pretty banged up, blood everywhere because he tried to fly,” You try to stifle a laugh. “I thought he looked oddly strong, standing there covered in blood and trying not to cry. I helped him, got in trouble because I got blood everywhere on me and my mother got so worried, but—“
Neteyam feels like he can’t breathe, memories bubbling up of big eyes and a soft presence.
“He told me he wanted to fly.”
You finally look up then, a dreamy smile on your face courtesy of the sweet memories as you turn to face him. “I told you that you were good at something, remember?”
There are no words, so the only thing Neteyam can do is to settle with a nod, lump in his throat.
“Turns out you’re good at everything. I just… I just didn’t think you’d be good at making me—”
“I love you.”
It comes out of nowhere, spilling out of Neteyam’s mouth before you can finish whatever it is that you are saying. And he doesn’t know why he says it then, why he waits until you have started to drift apart before he tries to fix it. Maybe because he just realized it himself, realized that sometimes there is something more painful than hitting the ground. And that was hitting the ground all alone.
Then again, maybe he has already reached that point. He has inevitably crashed to the ground head first and it is painful.
When Neteyam looks up, he doesn’t know what to expect. You look stunned, mouth still open and eyes wide. It takes a moment for you to even blink, as he can see that you are processing his words. And you are taking forever—how hard is it to understand three simple words? He knows that you know what the words mean. His dad tells his mom those very same words all the time. It’s a phrase from the sky people, is what Neteyam was told, and it holds a great significance about your feelings for another person.
The smallest of smiles tugs on the side of your mouth.
“What do you mean, Neteyam?”
He sighs heavily and shakes his head. This is the point of no return, he realizes. He will have to try his best to explain what he means, make you understand that he is in—
“love, I mean uh,” Dammit, why is his brain and his mouth not cooperating right now? “With you, I just can’t. You make it hard for me to— you just—“
You laugh, light and free like heavenly bells ringing that makes Neteyam’s cheeks heat up and stomach churn. But if he thinks that is thrilling, like the feeling before gravity takes hold, it is nothing compared to the feeling when your lips crash into his, laughter smothered between the two of you.
It’s awkward and his lips are chapped and rough, and neither of you really know what you are doing, but that doesn’t stop it from being the best damn kiss Neteyam will ever experience. It’s falling and flying and soaring in the sky all at once and the exhilaration is overwhelming.
He has no doubt that he looks completely stunned when you pull away. Taking a deep breath, he decides to try again.
“I see you,” Neteyam whispers, very tenderly, as gentle as zephyrs blowing below the violet.
You look at him with unwavering eyes and your hand finds his, intertwining your fingers together. As if you’re enchanted by his whole being, his voice, his determined gaze looking into your own. “I see you, Neteyam.”
You have to resist the urge to lean in, because all you want to do right now is to kiss him, to feel his lips on yours again. 
“And you know, I love you too.”
Neteyam is nineteen when he finally knows what flying feels like.
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a/n. haven't written anything in like, over a year and a half. im rusty and i needed quite some brainpower (ಥ﹏ಥ) got this idea during winter break vacation but couldn't start writing until i got back. here we are 2 days later with this the outcome.
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melwilson · 1 year
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He just wants to fit in, man
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melwilson · 1 year
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i’ve determined that this is a question of the universe and can never be answered. my opinion changes day to day. one day i’ll be on my knees for evans and the next hemsworth 🥲
y’all i’ve battling over which chris is more attractive and i’ve come to the conclusion that hemsworth could have it all. there. i said it. chris hemsworth is so mf fine. i love evans…i do, but HEMSWORTH
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melwilson · 1 year
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ANGELA BASSETT ━ Best Supporting Actress in a Motion Picture for “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” at the 80th Annual Golden Globe Awards (January 10, 2023)
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melwilson · 1 year
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i will NEVER forgive the writers of vikings valhalla for giving us the purest, sweetest soul in mariam and then taking her away from us LIKE THAT. they did leif so dirty. let the man LOVE.
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