Clothes sharing is just like the ultimate fluffy trope. Like fuck yes, give me one person in my otp letting the other wear their letterman jacket around school like every cheesy high school romance in existence. Give me the smaller one walking around in the bigger one’s oversized, worn sweatshirt and socked feet, with their hair all messed up from sleeping. Give me my otp wearing those dumb but adorable coupley shirts that match each other. Just give it to me in every variation possible I love that shit it’s so cute I can’t handle it.
I have seen many great men, and known countless honors. But the greatest honor of this ancient and tired soul has been the privilege of fighting beside you, and calling you my friend.
They’re sitting on the cool tile floor of a fourteenth story apartment in Panama City, backs to the white-painted wall while the television, far across the empty expanse of living room, is playing reruns of General Hospital in Spanish. Barton and Romanoff have been here for three weeks, slowly melting in the muggy heat, and while the food is excellent, now that Noriega’s deposed the city’s just gotten boring.
Kimchi and Justice 