#( bruce 'i would die for my family; i cannot look them in the eye anyway' wayne )

[batologia]

It has always been terribly unwise to leave Helena hanging without an answer. He has learned that she is much like her mother in that aspect: she will pry it out of you, one way or another. It is a trick Bruce has fallen victim too far too many times, stumbling over to appease his daughter each time tears begin to fill her eyes — both the manufactured &&. the authentic — ready to bend his spine until it breaks for her. If only it would mean that she will never have to weep again.

  Bruce is a fool. He has always been. Such is why despite knowing the dangers of ignoring her in favor of his brooding silences, Bruce continues to do so. He does not look up when she approaches him. It is still too shameful: too much like admitting defeat, like confessing that he is still not capable enough to be this — a father, a constant, a hero. The Bat is not a hero. Bruce Wayne is not a hero. But for Helena, for his daughter, he will piece himself together into the semblance of one because every child deserves a father as a hero. But he is failing her. He is hurting her.  

  He cannot make himself smile at her when she mentions the band-aids she used to covet like national treasure, a collection that prioritizes aesthetics over functionality which Bruce can never quite stop her from applying on his wounds anyway. He wants to, but his mouth refuses to cooperate. It gets stuck in between, caught somewhere between his molars &&. his ribs, &&. it aches: all of it aches. He wishes he can give his daughter what she wants from him. He wishes he can say something, he can form his lips into some semblance of a smile, all to appease her.

  Instead, he allows Helena to take his hands in hers. Even now, her hands are small in his: so breakable, so tiny. He knows it isn’t true. He has seen her in action. Helena has the strength to take down anyone who stands in her way. Helena has the capability to tear the world apart if she wants to. His daughter is the last thing from fragile, from helpless. Bruce still thinks that she is breakable: like fine china, like it will only take one wrong move before she crumbles apart in his hands and then he will have to watch, helpless again, as she leaves him, too. He knows she has the strength to. He doesn’t know why Helena hasn’t yet left.

  Her hands are careful as she tends to his wounds, &&. Bruce can only watch. He doesn’t encourage her, but he doesn’t stop her either. He simply sits, quiet &&. indulgent in the only way he knows how to be, &&. he watches her work. This is his daughter. He should be tending to her, not the other way around. It should be his duty to take care of her. It is late, she should be asleep — or pretending to be asleep, or going out with her friends, or sinking into Gotham’s thick smog with a kind of ease that only a proper born &&. bred Gothamite knows how. She shouldn’t be worrying for him. Helena should have never worried for him at all.

  ❛ I’m sorry. �� Bruce’s voice is hoarse, as if unused. As if he had not been barking orders into the comms just a few hours ago, before the fall had incapacitated him, before he had to keep his tongue tucked in between his teeth so he doesn’t give away anything. ❛ Thank you.  ❜

“dad?”  brows scrunched in worry as petite figure stood standing, helena was well aware her father he wasn't a man of many words but it's her intuition. she can read him, knows his mannerisms well enough, when he's far too trapped in his own mind. she cares deeply, always has on helping him to come out of the entrapment of his own head and this time... is no different as the anger washes away from her visage & is now replaced with only worry. it disappoints her thinking he thinks he can never rely on her for help, but somewhere, she understands it despite it being irritating when he's risking too much by not asking for her help.

“dad, please?”  speak up this time. “just let me know you're okay, at least.” and then she begins to move, feet trailing over with concern in her mysterious hues when her gaze spots the crimson dotting his palms. fear sinking her heart, just another cruel reminder her dad isn't super human– he is just a man, her father and can be taken away from her so quickly. that's enough to push her anger to the side completely. much smaller hands scoop up her father's bigger ones, scowling at him for not letting her help will come later... but right now, this is more important. observing the damage, it's not as bad as it could be... but it still pains her to see him hurt. “here, i'll take care of these cuts.” helena announces, speaking kindly, “i'll get the glass out, put a little medicine just to make sure they heal properly and of course. not without the hello kitty band-aids, remember?” trying to remind him of those cartoon themed or girly band-aids she always put on his wounds when she was smaller and still keeps them.

[paintball-writes]

Day 3 - Identities

Day1 - Day2 - Day3 - Day4

Marinette had been living with the waynes for over a month now. The reason? Tom and Sabine sent her away to her biological father. Apparently To Dupain was not her biological, but Bruce Wayne was.

Marinette had a sliver of hope, A really, really thin one. Which had faltered by the month.

Marinette had defeated Hawk Moth with Chat Noir. Apparently Plagg found the brooches along with two sleeping kwamis accidentally. At night when Gabriel and Natalie were asleep, He had stolen the miraculous. On the patrol that night, Chat had told her that the miraculous were right under their noses. He gave her the two brooches and told her that Plagg had found the brooches in his father’s study. He told her that Gabriel was Hawk moth and Natalie was Mayura. Then he de-transformed and handed her the ring saying that he wanted to continue his life as a civilian.

Later that week it was announced that Chat noir found out who Hawk Moth was and he had stolen the miraculous at night. He then said that Gabriel and Natalie were the Villians. He then revealed himself saying that he was innocent, and he had no idea that his father was Hawk moth. Marinette had thought that with Hawkmoth gone she could beat Lila, But no, it Backfired. That was the reason she was Shipped off. Like an object. She was replaced just like an object.

Her only wish was to die. But she had tried to do that multiple times. Someone always managed to save her. So no, that option was unavailable. She had thought that she would finally be able to die in Gotham by sucide, But no, Selina, Cassandra or Jason always managed to save her.

By now she had started to see the woman as a mother figure. The Waynes hated her. They didn’t even listen to her side of the story. Only Cass and Jason had seen that there was more to the story. Selina and Alfred too, of course. The waynes saw her with disgust. They laid out certain rules.

And of course she figured out they were Bat family. She may not be from Gotham, but she wasn’t certainly stupid. She had to admit, The Waynes were really good at hiding the Batfam thingy. But what gave them away? Misplaced Batarangs by Tim. Then Tikki had also found the cave. She wasn’t stupid, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne were good friends and certainly Batman and Superman. The people of Justice league stopped by often at the Manor too.

Speaking of the Justice League, They had given her an offer to join the League, but she declined. They had given her a satellite phone for emergencies to contact the league. They had praised her high and low. Batman was even Concerned for her when he found out her age range. Concerned! If they knew that Ladybug was their new sibling who was claimed to be a bully, she’d be declared a threat and her take Miraculous away.

Her routine was the same. Wake up. Eat breakfast in silence as she was being glared at. Study something. Do commissions while talking to her boyfriend, Luka and the others. Eat Lunch while being glared at. Study the Grimoire with Alfred. Sketch some designs while talking to Selina and Cass. Draw illustrations while Jason talks. Eat dinner in Silence. Stay up till 3 am doing commissions. Sleep.

Last week she had introduced Luka to Cass, Selina, Jason and Alfred. It went really well. Especially when Jason found out he was Jagged Stone’s son.

She was thinking how she could step up her game with the Waynes. In her thoughts she didn’t see Selina coming in.

“What are you thinking about Kitten ?” Selina asks, seeing the half sketched dress.

“Gah! Selina don’t scare me like that! Anyway I was thinking, ``What do I do to annoy the waynes?” Marinette asks the Master of scheming Cat-woman.

“Hmm, what about going to your true self? Being in headphones, ignoring them, Snide answers, and stuff like that?” Selina says thoughtfully.

“Selina, that's brilliant! You’re the best Mom!” Marinette says. She covers her mouth with her hand realizing what she said.

“Aww, Com’ere Kit. I love you.” Selina says softly.

“You’re not mad?” Marinette hesitantly asks.

“Of course not!” She says.

“You’ll be more of a mother than Sabine will ever be to me.” Marinette says with a small voice and hugs the older woman.

Then the Chaos was unleashed. Whenever the Waynes wanted to ask her something she’d ignore them and she always had her headphones on.

- - - - - - - -

“Marinette, tell me why did you hurt the poor girl?” Bruce asks in a stern voice. Of course Mari didn’t hear him because of the blaring music.

“Marinette, Why did you hurt the poor girl?” Bruce asks again, obviously annoyed.

“MARINETTE-” He was cut off from Alfred of course.

“If I may Master Bruce,” he says, earning a nod. He gently taps the girl’s shoulder. Marinette moves her hair away and removes her Airpod. The music is loud enough for everybody to hear.Meanwhile Bruce flushes in embarrassment. “Miss, Your father wants to ask you something.” Marinette nods. She turns to her Father.

“What?” She asks.

“I asked, Why did you hurt the poor girl marinette, around two months ago?” He asks, patience bearing thin.

“Oh? I didn’t know that I could make a clone of myself and Send one to the fencing class and the other to beat her up at the Seine?” She says in a bored tone. Jason and Cass, not being able to hold their laughter any longer, burst out laughing.

Later that night they checked her attendance, sure enough she was in the fencing class.

- - - - - -

One day Marinette got a call from the Justice league, Stating an emergency. She quickly transformed to Ladybug and Portalled to the Watchtower.

“Ladybug, welcome to the Watchtower,” Wonder Woman welcomed, standing at the head of a group of heroes. Interestingly enough, Batman and all of his brood were among them. Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Bat, and Robin and the others.

“Wonder Woman,” she greeted back. “What’s the problem?”

“Your former partner has been kidnapped.”

Ladybug’s face turned pale, but she took a deep breath instead of panicking. “What do we know?”

“Ra’s al Ghul has taken the former Chat Noir in an attempt to convince the Guardian of the Miraculous to turn over the jewels to him,” Batman reported.

Her face turned up into a snarl. “The League of Assassins,” she spat.

They were surprised that she knew Ra’s. But they hid it well.

“I take it you understand why we cannot allow the Miraculous to be surrendered to his control,” Batman continued.

Wonder Woman stepped in before Ladybug could reply. “Ladybug, we need you to tell us who the Guardian is so that we may protect them.”

Ladybug let out a cold laugh. Shivers ran down everyone’s spine. “Wonder Woman, you misunderstand. The Order of the Miraculous is all but dead. I’m all that’s left. You want the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous?” She spread her arms wide. “You’re looking at her. And Ra’s al Ghul can have them over my dead body. ”

The gathered heroes looked stunned. “Now where is Adrien?”

Red robin started, recovering first. “You’re not going alone.”

“You’re right,” Ladybug cut in. “I’m not. I’m gathering my team.”

“What Red Robin meant to say is that Batman and his assembled partners are going with you,” Wonder Woman soothed. “They have experience dealing with Ra’s and would be a great asset.”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes, at the most.” She said. Everyone nodded. She portalled away to gather her team.

Five minutes later a portal opened and stepped out Honey bee, Dragoness and Cobra in the Glory. The portal snapped shut when Ladybug entered.

“This is not enough! We’re dealing with Ra’s al Ghul and the league here!” Ladybug said. “We need her. She’s the last resort if we lose!” Dragoness exclaimed. The Justice league was confused. Who were they talking about?

“You’re right. Bee, you’re the only one who knows where she is. You’re her best friend. I can't find her in all of paris!” Ladybug asks, turning to Honey bee.

“You’re right, I do. It’ll be easy to find her. She’ll be in her room. She’s always Isolated, so don’t worry about getting caught.” Honey Bee answers.

“Isolation! I thought I told her to Socialize!” Ladybug exclaims.

“Yeah, but her family treats her like a pariah except some people. But Ladybug I don’t know if she’ll be able to fight.” Honey bee says.

“Rossi?”

“Rossi.”

“Now location please.” Ladybug says.

“Right. Wayne Manor, Gotham, New Jersey.” Honeybee whispers. Earning surprised looks from Ladybug and the Supers.

“Alright.” Ladybug portals away. This was all staged of course. She had recently found a spell to make a clone of herself.

“Why won't the hero be able to fight? She’s a hero!” Batman exclaims.

“Depression, you overgrown furry, Depression. She’s tried committing sucide several times. We saved her.” This earns many shocked looks.

Cue opening a portal. All of the Paris heroes Gasps. All in glory Multimouse is standing there.

When Honey Bee saw Multimouse, she gasped and enveloped her in a hug, muttering French endearments and saying how much she’d missed her. Dragoness stole Multimouse for a hug next before passing her on to Viperion who also received an extra peck on the lips in return, while Ladybug watched with a soft smile.

With Kaalki involved, it was child’s play to get into the assassin stronghold. Team Miraculous filled the gaps and worked seamlessly in their own right, simply a step away from Gotham’s Bats. They beat assassins on their own. The Bats just watched in awe.

It didn’t take them long to make their way to Ra’s.

The man wore a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he greeted him from his throne. A bruised and bloodied but otherwise intact Adrien was being restrained on the dias a few feet away.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Team Miraculous,” Ra’s mused, looking down the line. His eyes paused on Multimouse and his expression shifted to intense amusement. “And if it isn’t the latest in the Detective’s brood. I suppose heroics truly do run in the family after all.”

A number of shocked and confused gazes snapped to Multimouse, who simply stared at him down with cold eyes growling quietly.

“And yet she isn’t why we’re here,” Ladybug cut in coldly, shoving that problem in a box for later.

Ra’s shifted his oily attention to her. “Yes, I believe I requested the Guardian, young Bug.”

“And here I am,” Ladybug said simply. “But I will never cede the Miraculous to you.”

“Well, then I suppose the Blonde Cat dies.” The assassin near Adrien tried to kill him only to turn to orange smoke. Ra’s growls when he realizes he was tricked.

“Your reign is over. Your crimes won’t continue much longer. Tell me, just how long have you been using the Pits to keep yourself alive?”

“Goodbye, Ra’s al Ghul,” Ladybug intoned. “We’ll leave you to what remains of your empire.” She turned and motioned for the Fox to open the portal to the Watchtower. The Bats followed behind.

Adrien was at the fringes, attempting to escape a hero that was trying to get him to the Medbay for medical attention. He only had eyes for Multimouse.

“Marinette!” he called.

The Bats were shocked at both the name and the blatant outing of a secret identity.

Adrien broke free from his wounds. “Marinette, I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly.

It was quiet for a moment. “I take it they told you why I left, then,” Multimouse said, carefully devoid of emotion.

“I never thought-”

“Don’t, Adrien,” Queen Bee snapped.

Adrien gaped at his friend, shocked at the venom her words carried against him.

“But her Lies, they weren't hurting anyone!”

“How?” Multimouse snapped, her voice cracking. She took a deep breath. “How was it different? Because you told me I had to ‘take the high road?’ Because her lies would unravel themselves? Because she wasn’t hurting anyone? Bullshit, Adrien! They were hurting me!”

“She followed your advice at first,” Queen Bee said sharply. “She shouldn’t have, but you were her friend and she trusted you. By the time she realized that it had been a mistake, it was too late. Everyone else was in too deep and you did nothing . When Mari tried to tell everyone that they were being lied to, she was made to look like a liar. A bully.”

“Do you realize that the rest of us had people on watchlists?” Ryuko said bluntly. “People at risk of Akumatization that could bring the city to its knees. Aurore, because of Stormy Weather II. Ondine, because of Syren. But do you know who was on top?” She let the silence sit. “Marinette. Marinette was on top of that list. The only reason she was above Ladybug was because Marinette was drowning. But any time she tried to get through to the others, Lila hit back harder and you would ask Mari to back down. Because we don’t want to upset Lila, right? We don’t want her to become an akuma. Again.”

“My parents believed her, Adrien,” Multimouse said quietly. “They sent me away because I was ‘out of control’. I’m treated like a criminal where I am now! So I’m sorry, Adrien, but I can’t forgive you. You said you didn’t want to live with more lies, but then you stopped telling the truth when it threatened your ‘peace’. Even when that ‘peace’ might have ruined my life.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “But you know what they say, right? Never meet your heroes.” She turned and looked straight at Batman. “They’ll always just disappoint you.”

- - - - - - - -

The next week was tense at the Wayne manor. But eventually they apologised to marinette. She became close with them. She and her family then sent lawsuits to the Akuma class.

The saying is true then. “All’s well that ends well.”

@maribat-bdbwm

[collectivefandomstuff]

Family Roadtrip

[Car 1]

Dick: [driving] I spy with my little eye... something green!

Damian:

Dick: aaaand... small...

Damian:

Dick: [obviously eyeing the christmas tree ornament hanging on the rearview mirror] aaaand poiiinty...

Damian:

Dick: it's moooving....

Damian: It's July, Grayson. Have some respect for yourself as a man and rid your vehicle of that seasonally inappropriate garbage

-

[Car 2]

Selina: [in the passanger seat] we should play a game!

Bruce: [driving] ...perhaps we could review our performance during the past month

Cass: [puts in her airpods and starts blasting music]

Selina: [looks disgusted]

Bruce: [less confidently]...but as a game?

Duke: [groans from the backseat] why did I have to come? And why did I have to ride in THIS car?

Selina: [points behind them with her thumb] would you rather be in that one?

-

[Car 3]

Steph: [in the middle back seat, reaches in front and punches Jason so hard he careens into the door] YELLOW CAR

Jason: [in the passenger seat] WE'RE PLAYING ZITCHDOG

Tim: [Driving, casually punches Jason in the gut] Zitchdog

Steph: Let's listen to Spice Girls!

Jason: [wincing and rubbing his stomach] Yeah, replacement. Let Posh Spice cull your violent tendencies

Tim: MY violent tendencies?

Steph: Yeah, Timmy, no need to be aggressive

Tim: If I put on Spice Girls this whole car is gonna be one giant aggression

Steph: oh, c'mon, you love 90's pop no need to- [is interrupted by a text alert]

Jason: [checks his phone] oh fuck you too Bruce

Tim: What's he saying?

Jason: "I'll be connecting all cars to a telephone conference shortly so we can play a game together" I swear to god-

Steph: What game? [looks through her bag for her phone] oh! Cass texted. She says Bruce is making everyone discuss their battle performance "as a game" how is that a game?

Tim and Jason: ...

Steph: [sighs] I guess we're just gonna have to suffer through it

Steph, Tim and Jason: ...

Jason: ...or-

-

[Car 1]

Bruce: [through the speakers] ...and after you've detailed the fight everyone will grade you on a scale from 1 to 10-

Dick: Bruce, this really isn't a fun family activity

Bruce: [through the speakers] It was suggested to me that we should play a game

Selina: [through the speakers, exasperated] for gods sake Bruce what's wrong with "Zitchdog"??

Damian: Father, I cannot believe that you would allow Grayson to keep Christmas decorations up past January. It disgraces the whole family.

Dick: we need to sort out your list of priorities Damian

Duke: [through the speakers, aggravated] oh. my. GOD.

Dick: Anyway, I- [stops as he watches Car 3 zoom by at breakneck speed] uh...

Bruce: [through the speakers] what are they DOING? Selina, add Tim's car to the call

Everyone: [flinches violently as loud music screams from the speakers]

Jason and Steph: [through the noise from the speakers] I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT

Steph: [through the music] I WANNA HUH-

Jason: [through the music] I WANNA- OW WHAT THE HELL

Tim: [through the music] ZITCHDOG!

Jason: [through the music] HANDS ON THE WHEEL

Tim: [through the music, in a manic voice] WE DIE LIKE MEN

Steph: [through the music, screaming] I WANNA REALLY REALLY REALLY WANNA ZIGAZIG AH

Dick: [hurriedly cuts off the feed from car 3] ...

Bruce: ...

Selina: [through the speakers, sullenly] THEY'RE playing zitchdog

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober2021 - October 4th - Taken Hostage | Pushed

Gift fic to @fidothefinch <3

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Near death experience, hostage situations, implies Bruce as a shitty dad but I don't go into detail on it.

---

If there’s anything in the world that Dick hates more than being restrained, it’s being held hostage. Especially if he’s being held hostage as a threat against Bruce or Batman. One thing they don’t tell you in the foster system is that if you’re adopted by a rich and famous to the Kardashian level man, is that you’re often the target of criminals who think snatching a kid on their way home from school is a surefire way to make a million bucks. It’s no better in the vigilante business either, because often any hero in Gotham is only seen as a stepping stool to getting to Batman.

Honestly, at this point Dick’s used to it. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it, though. Not so much because of the initial kidnapping part, but because he’s worked hard to become his own person, his own man with his own life. He moved to Blüdhaven to be anything other than the son of Bruce Wayne; to be his own hero that villains learn to fear. And then the second he sets foot back in Gotham, for whatever reason, suddenly it’s all about the reclusive eldest Wayne child returning home! Suddenly, when villains see him at night, it isn’t “Oh shit, it’s Nightwing!”, it’s “Shit, it’s a Sidekick! Where’s the Bat?!”

Anyway, long story short, Dick came back to Gotham for one weekend to visit family, and now he’s dressed as Nightwing, standing on a roof with duct-tape keeping his wrists together behind his back and a knife to his throat belonging to a shady businessman who’s finally caught the attention of Gotham’s heroes.

And it’s sorta pathetic how Dick ended up in this situation. It wasn’t like this was going to be a particularly difficult mission. Just sneak into the building, grab the evidence he needed to get this bastard behind bars, and then get out. Unfortunately, someone tipped the man off without Bruce knowing about it. When he went into the main office, he was met with a very strong guard hiding behind the doors, and after a hefty blow to the head and a few concerning minutes of blacking out, Dick opened his eyes—thankfully still masked—to find himself kneeling on the rough cement of a skyscraper’s roof, completely stripped of any of his useful tools. He has a small knife in one of his gauntlets, but it’s not exactly in an easy to reach position. It would take time to grab at it, and that’s not counting the high probability he’ll be spotted by Jerome McCoy--Gotham’s latest shady businessman--or any of his goons.

Besides, Tim is already up here listening to their demands to get Batman up here or Dick dies. It shouldn’t be long before Bruce gets here and kicks his ass. That’s not even accounting for the facts that Jason, Steph, Duke, Dami, and Cass are all in town.

These idiots have no clue how close they are with dealing with close to every single bat if something bad happens to Dick tonight.

And everything was going fine until Tim suddenly stopped mid sentence in reminding McCoy that Batman was on his way and brought his hand to his communicator in his ear. When Tim paled ever so slightly, Dick knew something had gone exactly NOT according to plan.

“What is it?!” McCoy demands, pressing the knife against Dick’s neck with worrying pressure. Dick leans his head back slightly to lessen the risk of his neck being cut and meets Tim in the eyes through their masks.

Tim swallows. “Batman is being held up-”

Dick resists sighing in both disappointment and lack-of-surprise as McCoy practically explodes.

“What?!

“Only for a few hours,” Tim rushes to explain. He’s lifted his hands in a placid manner and softened his voice, which can’t be good. “He’s… met an unexpected complication along the way that he cannot ignore. Please, just tell me what you want, and I can take my partner and be out of-”

“I don’t have a few hours,” McCoy practically screeches. “Either Batman makes it his priority to get here, or Nightwing gets it!” to make a point, McCoy lifts the knife from Dick’s neck and waves it in front of him. Dick slides his eyes over to the other goons on the roof; there’s only a few. Maybe… if Dick plays his cards right… “That was the deal!”

“I understand-”

“Tell Batman to get here now, or Nightwing’s blood is on his hands!”

“He’s busy- I can’t just-”

Dick slams his body back, pointing his elbow the furthest he can with the way his arms are bound and jamming it into McCoy’s stomach. McCoy lets out a startled, breathless gasp as Dick uses his surprise to escape from his grasp and jump to his feet.

“’Wing!” Tim yells at the same time McCoy wheezes “Get that fucker!”

Dick has just a second to notice Tim’s shock at Dick’s sudden attack before Dick’s having to defend himself with his hands literally tied behind his back. Sorry, kid, Dick thinks, ducking around a pair of beefy arms, but we’re out of options.

It was going well until it wasn’t. Tim was even about to step in. However, while waking up from his lovely whack to the head, Dick failed to assess just where he was on the roof.

All it took was for the back of his heel to tough nothing but air for his heart to jump to his throat. Instinctively, he tried to wave his arms to catch his balance, but was quickly reminded of his predicament when the tape tugged against his wrists. For a moment, pure panic filled his entire body, here, wobbling backwards off the edge of a roof dozens of stories above the ground. He could feel his heart pound, hands shake, breath catch, hair rustle in the wind, but he couldn’t do a thing to stop himself from falling backwards. He’s pretty sure he hears Tim scream his codename, but he’s not totally focused on anything other than his pending doom right now-

A heavy hand wraps around his upper-bicep, stopping his almost-promised journey to pancake town. Everything is silent on the roof for a solid moment, as Dick practically hangs over the ledge of the roof with his feet just barely still on solid ground, a goon holding him juuuuuust enough to make sure he doesn’t fall. Tim looks even paler than before, looking like he really did watch Dick go over the edge. McCoy looks a constipating mixture of smug and outraged while the other goons stand nearby like useless props.

Then, McCoy speaks with anger as heavy and level as stone. “Tell Batman I want him here in ten minutes.”

Tim meets Dick’s eyes, and Dick sees everything that he needs to. Whatever is holding Bruce up, it’s more important than Dick, and Tim knows it’s useless to even try.

“Please,” Tim says, voice wobbly. He’s a detective. He knows what’s about to happen. “Just give us more time-”

McCoy snaps a finger, and that’s that.

The hand on his arm pushes Dick away and opens it’s grasp. It doesn’t matter anymore that Dick had his feet on the roof, because the rest of his body is falling.

Falling.

Dick’s completely off the roof in a blink of an eye and he’s falling.

The air is rushing past his ears and through his hair, so loud he can barely think. That’s if he’s thinking at all, as story after story passes him by. He’s falling, and for the first time in a long time, he’s afraid of falling, because this time there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He doesn’t have any tools… he doesn’t even have his hands, nor enough time to even try and get his hands free. He’s falling, rushing to the ground. He can already see in vivid detail what his body will look like when it hits the pavement.

He’s falling. He’s standing at the top of a beam, watching his mama and papa fall. He’s falling. He’s screaming as the sound of their bodies landing and snapping reaches his ears. He’s falling and he’s going to die in the most Grayson way possible.

He’s going to die the same way his parents did, a way that he’s worked hard to not be afraid of ever since he first moved in with Bruce, but was always secretly terrified.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to watch. He’s afraid, and Tim will watch from above and blame himself and he never wanted any of his siblings to blame themselves for his death like how he blamed himself for his parent’s for decades and-

And the wind is knocked out of him, but not from his body slamming on the ground. A strong arm wraps painfully around his stomach, and suddenly the world turns sideways and his eyes shoot open in shock.

“Fuck,” Jason grunts, holding Dick with one arm and the other wrapped tightly in a grappling line. “Fucking hell.”

And Dick… doesn’t know what to do. He feels muted, like a YouTube video playing at 144p and buffering still. The adrenaline is pumping so loudly through his entire body that the fact that Jason’s caught him doesn’t register until Jason’s landing roughly on the ground and lowering Dick to the asphalt.

“Started heading over the second that bastard said he wasn’t coming,” Jason explains. Dick nods numbly, his eyes locked on the oil covered road below him, his mind still trying to process. “Said he ran into some bastard working for Two-Face holding some rich family hostage. Said we could handle it. I can’t believe I got here just in time. Fucking fuck-face fucker.”

There’s a splash of two feet landing on the permanently puddled street beside them, and Dick can hardly contain his flinching at the sound, but thankfully Jason doesn’t notice. He just stands up and faces where Tim has landed quite suddenly from where he must have grappled down from the roof. Dick continues to look at the ground, wringing his knitting together in front of him. He… hasn’t noticed Jason undid the bindings.

“What happened to McCoy?” Jason demands, and Tim takes a gasping breath and shakes his head.

“They ran into the building while I… jumped after N.”

Jason growls, taking a step forward but Tim stops him. “Orphan said she’ll handle it, she sounded pissed.”

Jason backs off, but anger still curls in his stomach like an old friend. His fists clench to his side. “Once I see B, I’m gonna punch his teeth up to his brain.”

And it must be proof of how shaken Tim is, because he doesn’t argue.

Then, like a pin hitting tile, a small sound catches Jason’s ears. He looks down to where Dick is still sitting in the grime of Gotham’s street. His heart sinks to his gut.

“N?” he asks, and Dick doesn’t respond. “Nightwing, you’re… crying.”

That directs Tim’s attention down where tears are certainly streaming down Dick’s cheeks from under his mask. His lips are wobbling, and the second Jason kneels down to put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, a wounded sound escapes his lips.

“Dick?” Jason asks, his voice sounding shocked and unsure.

Dick looks up at Tim, looking one breath of the wind from falling apart. “You jumped after me?” His voice is small and brittle. When Tim nods slowly, Dick whimpers, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a sob. “You almost watched me die,” is all he says before he finally breaks down into mournful cries.

Jason looks up from where Dick’s now shaking and gasping into his hands and meets Tim’s eyes. Neither of them… has ever seen Dick get like this before. It feels wrong, like something in the world has shattered and can never be replaced.

“Lets… get him home,” Jason says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” is all Tim can smartly bring to his lips while Jason scoops Dick into his arms and stands up.

Dick’s so out of it with his sobbing that he hardly reacts, just curls against Jason and continues to cry.

“You know,” Jason says quietly, “the scariest way to die, for me, is to overdose.”

And Tim understands.

“I… see.”

Jason nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. So let’s just call it a night, get him some Alfred cookies, and just… let him take this at his own pace, okay?”

Tim nods, knowing that after years of Dick always going out of his way to help them with their trauma, their issues, and never asking for anything in return… it’s now their turn to return the favor. Dick looks so much smaller than Tim swears he’s ever seen him, curled up in Jason’s arms, trembling and sobbing. He silently promises to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make sure Dick gets through this, just like what he’d do for them, always. And Tim’s positive the rest of Dick’s siblings will do the same.

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 6

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader

word length: 2.9K

chapters: 6/?

warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, click through the read more, CTRL + F “content warnings”.

notes: slightly shorter than my usual, but i needed to get some stuff fixed up. if ya’ll like my stories please consider donating to my ko-fi— a bitch is poor lmao

Steve swept you up in his arms and turned to deposit you on the landing upstairs, evidently trusting the others to keep you contained for a moment. There was an audible scuffle going on in the den, Bucky would be heard growling from outside—snapping at someone who made the mistake of asking how he’d gotten out there so fast? Tony was growling at Peter who looked seconds away from begging for forgiveness.

“You guys made it safe, I’m happy to see you Nat,” Steve drew the redhaired woman into his arms and sighed in relief, but you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement; honestly you were having trouble thinking, your brain clouded with the sudden onset of absolute and uncontrolled panic.

The moment the black-haired man had been pulled away by the delta currently stomping back up the stairs, clarity had returned to you like a slap in the face. The golden fog that obscured your vision immediately dissipated and just as quickly you’d been overwhelmed with gut wrenching fear. You didn’t actually remember kicking Steve in the face or making a break for the stairs, but evidently you had and you cursed your hindbrain for running towards the stairs—you should’ve jumped straight out the window; you had a better chance at out running Bucky and whoever else was down there than the two alpha primes and their surrounding packmates.

Before you could even take a step towards the still wide-open window, the black-haired man appeared with a green flash and wrapped around you tightly. “Shhh , pet, no. No windows for you, darling, come now—back to your nest.”

In a moment of truly unusual harmony, your consciousness and hindbrain agreed that the bed was the last place you wanted to be. That wasn’t your bed, the omega hissed tearfully, you’d never made a nest—that wasn’t yours. It could barely be called a nest, even. There hadn’t been any careful consideration regarding the placement of the pillows and blankets, there were no articles of clothing or soft items that had been scavenged or stolen to elicit a feeling of safety or comfort. Worst of all was the way it smelled. Obviously, it didn’t reek, the mix of individual scents wasn’t a bad conglomeration, but your hindbrain whined at the unfamiliarity. This wasn’t your pack’s scent.

The cohesion was jarring, and you groaned. Regardless of the reasoning, your hindbrain was aware that you didn’t get to have a pack and that reminder always hurt. It desperately desired one, but an omega’s primary objective was survival.

After all, you in all of your fully conscious state knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would never have a pack—it wasn’t a matter of wanting or not wanting at this point in your life. You were too old to be regressed into the type of omega that packs wanted, your body too badly reliant on the chemical reactions produced by suppressants after fifteen years to stop taking them. At your age, to be found by a pack meant death.

They would get sick of trying to fix you. You’d die from quitting the suppressants cold turkey. They’d beat you for disobedience until your body gave up. You were nearly thirty and that was ancient for an unbound omega and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially an old dog who was bound and determined not to be taught.

“LOKI!” Bucky bellowed as he stomped past Steve and the redhead on the stairs, looking three shades past furious.

The man holding you let go very quickly after that, spinning you away and moving to intercept the furious delta with an equally unpleasant expression. Why couldn’t you have just fucking kept it together upon meeting Bruce—that blood in the water, shark nosed asshole, if you had reigned in your panic there was no way he could’ve scented you through your suppressants. Steve was a different story, but if you’d been quick and calm you probably could’ve made it.

You scanned the room quickly; Bruce was on the bed, checking on Wanda. Bucky and Loki were on the floor fighting, half entangled with Peter and Sam who were doing their best to put their own fight aside to keep the deltas from killing each other. Steve was still halfway down the stairs with the other redhead, talking to her quietly. Tony was—

“Okay, princess, okay,” Tony was wrapped tightly around you from behind, carefully keeping your head braced between his chin and shoulder when you tried to thrash. “This isn’t fair to you, you’re way too fragile for this right now. Put your head here, breathe with me.”

“Please let me go,” you didn’t realize you were crying until you spoke, words coming out in sobs. “I don’t want to die like this, please—”

“You are not going to die, little love,” Thor sounded so sad from where he came to stand in front of you. “I’m not going to bond you, not while you’re so upset. But the results of the tests Bruce ran showed that you are in danger. I cannot allow that and no matter how angry you are with us, we will not let you suffer needlessly.”

“I’m not suffering! I swear, I swear I’m not suffering I’m, I’m happy! I’m happy living my life the way I have been. Please, let me have the choice, I want to be alone, it makes me happy!”

Trying to explain to a literal God why you deserved personal agency was an exhausting business, especially when said God was as condescending as Thor. His indulgent and sad smile was nearly enough to tip you over the edge, but there really wasn’t a point in getting angry—he obviously couldn’t even fathom the concept that what he was doing was wrong. It’s not like you could do anything anyway, you weren’t built for violence but for running away. Every bone in your body vibrated with rage; the injustice was overwhelming.

For fifteen whole years you’d been just fine. You would’ve continued to be just fine, if it weren’t for some super nosed freaks crossing your path. What were the odds of the only people in the world who could scent you from beneath more than a decade’s worth of suppressant use would have a cabin in Quebec that you happened to clean—and run into said people because they happened to show up early; an incredibly unusual situation.

It made you think about Mrs. Hunt. She’d only called to give you a heads up because of the last time, when the homeowner had tried to assault you even while he’d thought that you were a beta . You wondered how long it would take her to realize something was wrong; it was getting late and you’d yet to return her cart despite telling her you’d be there shortly.

The real question would be whether she tried to help or not once she discovered your presentation. She could try to help, try to stick them with omega theft, but they could claim civic duty like Peter had earlier. Besides, that was contingent upon her wanting to help you considering you’d lied to her for so many years.

“You’re so distressed, won’t you let me purr for you?”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare take away—”

“Little love, please—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t even know me,” you spat, turning to address the room at large. “What kind of fucking superheros are you? Let go of me! Let me go!”

Tony sighed and hefted you up into his arms, one wrapped around your torso while the other hooked under your knees and pinned you carefully across his body. You struggled uselessly against his strong hold; he wasn’t as strong as Thor or Steve, but his bicep was massive next to your head and you could feel his muscles through his clothes as he walked to the bed.

“We can’t, princess,” he murmured into the side of your head as he lowered both of you to the bed, sitting propped against a mass of pillows in the corner. “We’ll never find an unbound omega in your age range again. Plenty of omegas have been offered to us, but they’re all practically children. You’re our last chance—”

“There are plenty! You said plenty! Pick the oldest who wants to be in this fucking shit show and leave me alone!” Everyone tensed when the tone in your voice approached a shriek.

“We’re not taking an omega who’s not even legal to drink—”

“That alpha is like eighteen!” You tried to gesture to Peter, who gaped at you like you’d wounded him, but your arms were still pinned tightly to your sides.

“Peter is twenty-four, actually,” Tony spoke with mirth when Peter jumped onto the bed and crawled until he was pressed against Tony’s side and your back. “And before you ask, Wanda is twenty-six.”

“We’re so lucky to have found you,” the alpha half purred, pressing his nose into the back of your neck. “We’ll make you happy, happier than you are now.”

“It’s gonna be a rough start,” Bruce laid down in the nest a few feet away, welcoming the woman you recognized as the Black Widow into his arms when she slithered into the bed. “We have to balance your hormones, or you will die. You wouldn’t have lasted another year on those suppressants.”

“Death would be a reprieve,” you hissed shortly, freezing when the tone of the room immediately changed.

All attention was suddenly on you, Bruce still making direct eye contact with those sad puppy eyes, “I know that feeling, sweetheart—”

“We will do it another way then,” Thor interrupted, sending Bruce a quieting but loving look. “I said I would not bond you while you are in distress anda I will never break a promise to you. Open your mouth, this will be quick.”

Steve seemed to sigh in response and followed to stand next to the other prime, “I lost my chance. You’ll help her?”

Thor leveled the shorter blond with a careful look before nodding, both showing signs of deference and affection and respect that you did not care for. The rattle of a belt prompted Tony to turn you, setting you carefully between his legs while continuing to hold down your arms with what could appear to be an affectionate bear hug. He even linked his fingers with yours, squeezing gently as you tried to squirm.

“No. No, no no no, that’s disgusting, I won’t—”

“Shhh , I’ll do all the work little love, all you need to do is swallow.”

He was jerking his cock carefully, a flick of his wrist near the head catching your eye. That was a dangerous weapon, the same way you’d come to learn Steve’s was and you had no intention of letting it anywhere near your mouth. You clamped your lips shut, teeth grinding.

“Stubborn,” Peter snorted a laugh and you would’ve snapped at him had his hand not dove between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick lips of your cunt until he found your clit.

You had to stop yourself from screeching, the head of Thor’s cock directly in front of your face. “Very. Come on now, open up.”

The fingers pinching your nose shut came as a shock, you’d crushed your eyes shut out without realizing it and they snapped open when your face was assaulted. Steve was kneeling on the bed, carefully cutting of your air supply with one hand and stroking your head with the other.

“Come on, precious, you’ve gotta breathe,” he stated softly, smiling when you were forced to pull your lips back to gasp for breath—until he realized your teeth were still locked together. “Really ‘mega?”

The next thing you knew his thumb was shoving against your molars, literally prying your jaw open. There was no way to fight it without hurting yourself, especially once he wedged his thick thumb between your top and bottom teeth. You barely had a second to anticipate the horror before an unnecessarily large cock found it’s way between your lips.

You tried to shriek, your brain finally catching up to the whole series of events, but it was no use. His scent was overwhelming and his dick stretched your lips, your jaw forced completely open. Thor groaned, a triggering noise as he very carefully pressed forward until your mouth was completely full and he was settled against you tongue.

“Suck for me, little love, just a little,” he grunted, just barely working his member between your lips while his huge hand stroked the rest.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time for a massive load of cum to shoot into your mouth. It was thick, and the way that Thor growled immediately made your pupils blow wide like you’d done a line of coke.  

Your body went lax immediately and you swallowed on instinct when a hand gently rubbed your throat. The fuzz in your brain was the result of arousal, a brutal orgasm that rocked your body at the sound in combination with your body’s sheer delight at the taste of alpha cum. Somewhere you realized that was disgusting but the haze in your brain made you more focused on the hand between your thighs rather than the indignity.

“Man, this shit ain’t fair,” Sam complained, panting from the exertion of trying to prevent Loki and Bucky from killing each other. “They get to cuddle and we—Hey!  Quit that, man!”

“All of you stop fighting,” Steve’s alpha order was brutal and effective.

The sounds of scuffling from behind Thor stopped immediately and there were huffs and snarls and low grumbles but the nest started shifting all around you. You were dropped back to lay against Tony’s chest, having inadvertently swallowed the entirety of the god’s massive load.

“She’s so cute,” Wanda cooed from somewhere to your left.

“We’ll need to go over what we’re doing from here,” Steve sighed once everyone had settled, still watching your dazed expression with a small smile. “But let’s just… nest for a bit, okay?”

The word nest triggered something in your half alpha-cum stoned brained and you looked around the den with a displeased expression. It was a terrible nest; all of the pillows and blankets were in weird heaps and the scent was so wrong. You didn’t really want to nest here, your hindbrain grumbled in agreement, but you’d fix the damn thing. You whined and wriggled until Steve gave Tony the go ahead to stop fully restraining you.

The bed was incredibly soft, which was an upside and crawling across it was like sinking your knees into clouds as you collected the soft heaps of blankets and pillows as you went. You wanted everything off so you could start from scratch, brain muddled by the wrongness of the current layout. You wanted to wash the sheets, the pillow cases, the blankets, all of it. The scent wasn’t right.

“Help her.” It was a quiet request from the Black Widow, who’d also started shifting around to remove the items. “She doesn’t like it like this.”

It was easier to get everything pushed away and in neat piles with the packs’ help, everyone immediately moving to help organize the pillows. You only snapped at the blond beta—Hawkeye, your memory supplied— once for putting a soft blanket on the pile with the not soft blankets. He immediately gave an apologetic burr to which your hindbrain purred back instinctually; evidently a good reaction.

“Why does she like Clint? They haven’t even spoken.”

“She doesn’t like him, she snarled at him!”

“She hasn’t purred at anyone else!”

“Shut up, fuckin’ idiot.”

The noise you made was one of discontent and disdain, the arguing deltas immediately quieting. You didn’t argue with the chirping growl that meant displeased omega, not in a real pack where the goal was to keep omegas pleased and docile. Somewhere your brain reminded you that this wasn’t your pack but the alpha hormones filling your blood and confusing you and yet somehow all you could focus on was whining and pushing at pack members to get them out of the way as your rearranged; clicking your teeth grumpily when you were handed a blanket instead of a pillow or vice versa.

You found yourself being corralled back into the corner, where Natasha and Wanda immediately wrapped themselves around you. Thor had found Bruce and settled beside and settled near your feet where you’d built an intricate nest wall of pillows and blankets. Two of the deltas, Tony and Loki seemed to be glaring at each other—even as Tony laid himself completely on top of the other and they both relaxed into comfortable holds.

It was interesting, watching the pack dynamics as they moved between each other. Clint wrapped around Natasha from behind the same way Carol found her way behind Wanda. Peter had weaseled his way into curling against Loki’s side while tossing a leg over the man’s hip, subsequently laying it over the backs of Tony’s thighs. Sam, Bucky and Steve all found their way into a neat grouping on the bed closest to the stairs, piled as close to the subsequent piles of superheros as possible.

There was some sort of pattern beginning to form in the back of your brain but you were still too confused, too sucked into your own omega hindbrain by the overwhelming introduction of alpha hormone to your system. Instead of following the thought through to the end, you found yourself warm and comfortable and full and falling asleep tucked between the groupings of presentations as if it wasn’t totally, 100% against your will.

 content warnings: forced cum eating, chemical manipulation, dead dove: do not eat

[kaz11283]

I really like the prompt list you reblogged it’s got some good stuff. What about 37. “Because I love you god damn it!” with Loki if you are still needing inspiration.

37) Because I Love You God Damn It!

~~~~

The Secret Is Out

Characters: the Avengers Bunch, Loki, Thor, Clint

Warnings: Dirty words, slight angst

Summary: after putting your life in the line for a teammate you accidentally let a big secret slip.

Announcements: I will always need insperation and requests! They feed my soul! Haha. I'm not gonna lie. Im skipping back and forth on my requests though. I have a really good story line for one but its just so emotional(thats were Im hoping it goes at least) that I didnt want to write it tonight and put my self in a mood. So instead I guess im goimg with a form of anger? Meh. Anyways... I absolutly love love love everything from you guys! The reblogs, likes, and comments are amazing and I am very greatful for all the love I am getting!!!! 💚💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~

The fight had been rough but not as rough as you were feeling in the moment. You had gotten serverly hurt and had been in the medbay for about a week now and you had a longer road ahead. There had been an explosion and instead of turning to run away you had ran toward one of your team members that had been to distracted to realize what was going on, you had successfully gotten him shoved out of the way but you had taken the brunt of the blast.

Now you were laying here staring at the celing trying to stay distracted as Bruce and Tony looked at your completely shaddered knee and the burns up your leg. Fingers crossed that they would have good news soon.

"Well as of right now kid your out of commission." Tony said helping you sit back up.

"Meaning?" You pulled one of the pillows down so that you could sit up without being uncomfortable.

"Meaning right now, the way it all looks, your gonna be stuck in the bed until it fully heals and after wards theres really no way to tell if your going to be able to work in the field again." Burce said looking at the xrays again. "And your gonna have to have surgery in order to put all the right pieces back in the right places, but we cant really do that until some of the burns heal or at least start to heal. Its gonna be a long drawn out process unfortunately." He sighed setting the charts back down and walking over to you.

"Fucking hell! You mean I'm gonna be pushing paper work? I might as well go work in a damn office with four white walls and a poster that says 'hang in there, its almost Friday'." You placed your head in your hands.

"Hey! At least our paper work is more exciting than just running numbers." Tony said placing a hand on your back. He had been like a fsther to you, taking you in when you didnt have anywhere else to turn except the streets. Your own family had abandoned you at a young age and you had been leaning toward a dark path until Tony. "Besides with your expertise you dont have to sit behind a desk, your fingers arent blown off, you can still hack into stuff I'm sure."

"Tony we had a deal when I moved in. No hacking but you would train me and I could actually do good. Now look at me."

"I said no hacking the good guys, and if I remember correctly you were the one jumping close to the bomb not away from. I hate to be this way y/n but the only one to blame is yourself on this one."

"He would have been worst off than I am if not killed. I think I did the right thing. Besides you would have done the same thing if you had been closer." You sighed.

"Honey the diffrence with that is I have a supersuit, you wear a skin tight, spandex one peice, that I'm not a fan of." He laughted. Bruce had went to go get you some more pain killers to shoot into your IV.

"Tony if I were you I would shut up. Your starting to sound like you might actually love me, might even say your starting to act like a dad." You laughed pulling him into a hug.

"Shut it kid, cant let the others know I have a soft spot for the hacker orphan kid i took in all those years ago now can I." He said kissing the top of your head. "Do you need anything else before the drugs kick in and you pass out again?"

"Yes, can you please bring me my phone charger, laptop, and that really fluffy blanket that you and Pep got for me for Christmas."

"Dont ask to much of me now."

"I wouldnt be asking if you would just let me stay in my room. I hate it down here. I wanna be were the people are." You were starting to get loopy from whatever Bruce had given you.

"Ok little mermaid, get some rest I'll get your stuff." He laughed walking out the door letting you fall into a restless sleep.

You didnt know how long you hade been asleep but you woke up with a groan trying to sit up so you could atleast stretch your back from laying in one spot for to long. You flopped back down dramatically with a sigh. You could sense someine else in the room with you, you always knew when he was around.

"You dont have to hide in the shadows Loki. Your more than welcome to keep me company, you should know that by now." You smiled as the prince walked over and sat in the chair beside you. You could tell he hadnt been sleeping, his hair was fixed as always but his clothes looked worst for wear. He had on a plain black shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants, both of with had wrinkles in them either from tossing and turning or from not being changed in a few days.

"Whats wrong? And dont pull that 'nothing is wrong dear. I'm absolutly fine.' Bullshit. You look horrible." You reatched out to grab his hand. What you and Loki had was diffrent. You didnt just see his as a friend, he didnt just see you as that either though. You had spent many nights sitting up with the silver tounge man many nights laying on the couch watching movies, reading, talking about each of your pasts. He knew more about you than even Tony did.

"I'm still currently trying to wrap my head around why you pushed me out of the way and took the blow when you had a chance of dying from it. You shouldnt have been so thick headed my dear." He took your hand and raised it to his lips kissing the top of your hand.

"Loki." You sighed rolling your head to look back up at the celing. "You would have been hurt alot wordt than I am now, that blast could have killed you."

"I am a god y/n, that blast wouldnt have caused me nearly as much damage as it did you." His voice raised slightly.

"Thats what you think. You think that because you are "immortal" that you can take anything thats thrown at you. That no one really cares about you, that you wouldnt be missed? So why not try to take a blow from a bomb? My god your so stupid sometimes."

"I know I can. Norns y/n I've jumped into space, been brain washed, tried to take over New York, gotten smashed around by the Hulk. I was raised with Thor, he doesnt really go easy on a person. What I'm saying is I dont understand why you, a mear midguardian, would sacrifice themselves for me. If anything would have happened-"

"Nothing did happen though. I'm fine-"

"You have steel sticking from your leg, theres no telling when or even if you'll be able to walk again, and there are highly server burns that will leave scares. You cannot sit there and tell me that you are fine."

"Your right it does suck that I'm jot gonna be able to pull off shorts or a bikini anymore."

"This isnt a joke y/n. You almost died!" He finally yelled.

"And i would do it a thousand times over if that ment saving your damn ass again!" You shouted back.

"Why though?! Why me y/n? I've done horrible things, killed people! My life is meaningless." Tears had sprang to his eyes as he looked away.

"Because I love you God damn it!" You stopped suddenly your jaw dropping at the admission that you hadnt ment for him to hear. His head jerked back to you.

"What?" Shock was all over his face as he stood to walk closer to you. "What did you just say?"

"Because I love you Loki Odinson. Because if you were to die I dont think I would be able to go on living. Because even if you see all the bad things that you've done I can look pass that amd see all the good that you are doing." You reached up placing a hand on his cheek and wiping away a tear.

"I love you too y/n. I have since the day I met you. The girl that didnt care what anyone said when she spent time with me. The girl that can see through every face i put on. I love you so much darling." He placed his hand on your face and leaning down gently kissing your lips.

It felt like you thought it always should you felt electricity run through your body and the two of you connected. It was like getting a breath after not being able to for so long. He pulled away smiling at you.

"What do we tell the others?" He asked laying on with bed with you being easy with your leg. He placed his arm around your middle and pulled you as close as he could.

"I honestly dont care what we tell them. They can figure it out themseves for all I care." You smiled lacing your fingers with his, you yawned placing your head on his shoulder closing your eyes.

"Sleep now my Dove, I will be here when you wake." He felt your gentle breath slow as you fell asleep, the rhythm you of your breath lulling him into his own sleep.

Tony and Bruce walked in the next morning stopping dead at the sight in front of them. You and Loki were still cuddled on the small bed sleeping peacefully.

"Should we wake them up?" Bruce asked looking at Tony.

"Na, let them sleep. Dont want to let them know that we know." Tony saod grabbing Bruce's arm and turning to walk back out of the door.

~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

[kimberly-spirits13]

Random Characters with Singer S/O HC (...cause I can...):

Characters: Dick Grayson (YJ Robin), Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Bart Allen, Garfield Logan (YJ), Kon Kent (90’s), Random One (Batsib)

Dick Grayson (YJ Robin):

·      You were John Constantine’s apprentice and daughter

·      Since it’s cannon that he was in a band, imma say it, you can probably sing

·      You grew up searching the world for your father since you were raised some by your mother until you fled her (demon mom) and ended up searching the world and practicing your magic with people that knew who you were based on your parents

·      You gained skills playing all sorts of things

·      The first time that John heard you was in your bedroom listening to music

·      Well he thought you were listening to music

·      You were actually playing guitar and singing

·      He was shocked and eventually you got to show him all of the songs you were actually playing guitar in

·      He took you to a recording studio one day for the hell of it and BOOM

·      You were off

·      Now about the team, you wore a mask just because of who you were

·      It was technically a magic mask and just kind of like a mind blur thing where if people already knew both sides of you, they’d know who you are but if it was someone new, they would just know you by your hero name

·      Pretty practical

·      So, when you had gotten big, you made sure not to sing or do anything that would give it off

·      But one day when you thought that the cave was empty, you had an idea for a song and just sang it into your phone

·      Then you started singing one of your own songs while making lunch cause you were bored

·      Robin heard

·      “Wait... WAIT”

·      You had that look that John does when he wants to roll his eyes and throw his head back in exasperation but if he did he’d die

·      “bullocks.” That was all that came out of your mouth

·      You told him, he knew, it was kind of just a thing

·      Now once you guys were dating, and even before, he’d go to every. single. concert (that you played near Gotham or where he was at least)

·      Loudest in the crowd

·      Got VIP seating

·      He’d be the one that knew ALL of the lyrics

·      Definitely not because he was a big fan before he knew .... oh no... “totally not”

·      He’s your date to every single event

·      Interviews together

·      When he takes you to galas, you’re both outshining everyone

·      You let him listen to every single song that you put on albums first since it’s important

·      John got jealous over that

·      Dick knows that some of the pyro that you have at shows is actually magic and that’s why it’s so cool

·      If there’s anything that’s like a hologram that flies over the crowd, he knows that that’s you

·      I think as a given, everyone in this wears your merch even if it’s a bit

·      If I say anything about it it’s cause they wear it a lot

Tim Drake:

·      You two met at one of your own concerts

·      You were on tour and he got a VIP meet and greet pass

·      He was so nervous but really excited at the same time cause he didn’t want to screw up and look like an idiot

·      You two talked longer than you were supposed to actually

·      In the end, the two of you managed to exchange numbers

·      He almost died

·      When he got home he was smiling so wide Dick had to know what happened

·      Even Bruce commented on it

·      Dick squealed when he found out

·      BIGGGG time

·      You and Tim immediately started texting back and forth

·      First of all, you texted first since Tim was too nervous he’d bother you

·      You didn’t really know where to start so you guys just talked

·      That night you just knew this was going to be something good

·      You kept the relationship under wraps for a few months

·      Not until the two of you were comfortable with everything

·      Eventually, you went out for a gala and the media was blowing up

·      It was like an explosion

·      Tim was hesitant to take you to meet his family but you all got along very well

·      Even you and Damian

·      He complimented your skill

·      Everyone almost fell over dead

·      He loves to listen to your music

·      You are both up at inhuman hours working

·      Tim likes to have you by humming or quietly singing to something in your earbuds

·      Sometimes you’ll just interrupt the silence and ask if a line sounds good

·      He almost always says yes and if he doesn’t, he gives a suggestion on a change

·      He’ll come and watch videos be filmed which is always cool to him

·      Comes to every show

·      You guys hate being far away from each other for too long anyways

·      Eventually, you’ll get a penthouse in Gotham and move in together

·      Has the best security just in-case

·      It also has a recording studio built in

·      It isn’t uncommon for one of his brothers to drop in

·      He is always a blushing mess when a song is about him

·      It’s pretty funny to you

·      Likes to listen to you play an acoustic version

·      Those are his favorite no matter how much he likes the original

·      He will also help you pick out singles

·      Sometimes if you’re playing one he’ll just stop and say single and you know what he means

·      One time you were at the studio and doing a soundtrack song for a movie with another singer and the two of you killed it

·      The high notes were your best and Tim was floored

·      You laughed a ton at his reaction

·      “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Surprise Timmy.”

·      You have sweatpants in your merch just because you know he’ll always wear them

·      You also have coffee mugs and tumblers because you know he’ll use them

Damian Wayne:

·      You both grew up in the LoA

·      You were his second hand from the start and also a top general

·      Got to leave to go on tons of missions

·      Before you’d leave, his only demand or request (after some time) was that you came back with a song that played from the outside

·      You always did

·      At night, you’d softly sing them on the rooftops looking out at the stars at night

·      He wouldn’t admit it but those were his favorite nights

·      After a mission, that was when the compound was attacked

·      You and Damian were swept off your feet

·      Into this new place with Bruce

·      You had learned to play piano very well so once you found that there was one, you were attached to it if it wasn’t training

·      Coping mechanism for you

·      Damian would hear it sometimes

·      Eventually you made your first record and skyrocketed

·      You were lo-key kind of terrified from the attention thinking it would get you killed somehow

·      Spoiler alert

·      It didn’t

·      Some of the songs you wrote were so sad and dark that in interviews when you’d be asked about it, you’d have to just straight up lie

·      You can’t just talk about being an assassin for your entire life and the repercussions of that

·      You’d say it was inspired by the moral compass of characters you read about

·      Damian knows what all of the songs are about since he grew up with you

·      In school, you got tons of attention and hated it

·      That was because you knew that none of those people were real

·      Not at all

·      When you and Damian went public a good percentage of the population at Gotham Academy was mad since they wanted to date you

·      Not for any reason but money a lot of the times of course

·      The press thought you two were really cute

·      You both also intimidated the hell out of everyone

·      No one really knew why it was just your demeanor

·      Late at night on the rooftops of the manor or even just the fields outside of Gotham is where you sing new songs to him

·      He loves it and admits it

·      You guys have the best conversations there

·      It’s something you look forward to every day

·      At shows, he sings along to the songs

·      When you wave to or wink at him he blushes and tries to hold in a smile but fails terribly

·      There’s always a video of it somewhere

·      If you get even a tiny bit of emotional on stage, he gets that way too

·      He understands all too well

·      Loves to go to the studio with you if you invite him

·      He says he likes every single song but you can tell which ones he likes best by his reactions

·      Those are a dead giveaway

·      If he gets that sad look, you know you’ve written a good song

·      If he gets a gleam in his eyes, you know you’ve written a good single or peppy song and it goes like that for everything

Bart Allen:

·      You met right before the Outsiders phase

·      Just joining the team, you were a seriously famous singer and a metahuman

·      Everyone knew since you were open about it

·      Bart thinks you’re really cool

·      Listens to your music all the time but will never admit it and if he’s caught especially by you, he’ll be an embarrassed mess

·      When you were dating it was pretty public

·      He loves going out with you and showing off

·      It’s just kind of his thing to do that

·      You always think it’s funny or you roll your eyes jokingly

·      Either way he will do it without fail

·      Goes to all of your shows

·      You know that one person at big concerts that are lit up in lights screaming the lyrics?

·      That’s Bart

·      You cannot change my mind otherwise

·      Will actively try and make you laugh onstage but not mess up

·      Oh no

·      He would never

·      Now he just openly jams out to your music which at first was kind of awkward walking into but you got used to it

·      He likes it when you just randomly start singing

·      When you two leave the base, you end up getting your own place pretty close to it

·      Just not too close

·      Team listening parties to new songs

·      Some are just really sad and no one has dry eyes since they might be about missions or the aftermath of them

·      Watching the number of buys just sky rocket on an album’s release day is the most fun

·      Once you hit every thousand or so it gets really fun

·      It’s like a race in the sense that everyone is just pumped and wants it to surpass the last number of buys and streams from your last album

·      If Lex or someone criticizes the Outsiders for whatever reason, your fans are on it like crazy

·      You started an organization and another safe house for meta teens

·      Helped give funds to add another wing to the Star Labs base for the kids

·      Everything got updated with that as well

·      Benefit concerts for them

·      Once the meta teens get a grip on their powers, they get free passes to the concerts and VIP passes

·      You also drop by often to hang out with them

Garfield Logan (YJ):

·      You had both known each other before Outsiders

·      You got along really well and were best friends

·      M shipped you guys along with everyone else and when that ship sailed, she was over the moon

·      Okay so when you got big, it was a bit before his acting career kicked off

·      The two of you paved the way for meta teens coming out as metas

·      It was a MASSIVE deal to have someone like you in the music industry and then Gar in the film world

·      Both go to award shows together

·      It’s pretty fun

·      When he decided that he wanted to cut back from acting more and more, you were supporting him through and through

·      He thinks that it’s cool that there are songs about it

·      They’re not too unobvious either

·      You have interviews together but have both decided that Grant is annoying and she is pretty obnoxious sometimes

·      Same with a lot of the other interviewers

·      They just want to know about EVERYTHING

·      No stone left unturned

·      You got to do music for one of the movies he was in which was really cool

·      You were both at the premier walking the carpet

·      Met galas anyone?

·      The public’s favorite couple of all time

·      There’s no doubt about it

·      You wear each other’s merch

Kon Kent (90’s):

·      You probably did more indie and alternative which he thought was really cool

·      You were one of the only newer artists that he really liked

·      One day you just run into each other

·      He doesn’t know what to do for a second cause internally, he’s freaking out

·      Eventually, you pull him into a different building to avoid the mob of people

·      Of course, people see but it didn’t headline the next day which was amazing

·      “Sorry about that. I just figure the mob of people and pap aren’t worth standing outside for.” You said looking outside from behind a shelf of the store.

“N-no, it’s fine.” He replied running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, you’re Superboy, I’m Y/N.”

“You can just call me Kon.”

·      While he was at it, he got your number too

·      You guys actually spent a decent amount of time talking in the store before leaving separately

·      He texted first telling you he liked the album that you had dropped

·      From there, after a few days he asked you out which you were totally down for

·      Then when everything went public, there was no breathing room if you left your place or any other private property

·      He would go to all of your shows and be hit on by the locals

·      Not your fans though

·      Ohhhhhhhhh no

·      You’d tease him about it sometimes but if you could tell he was just dying in the crowd because of girls or boys, you jokingly call it out from stage

·      Think Harry Styles kind of calling it out

·      It’s those vibes and attitude

·      SOMETIMES he might loudly call a thank you or something funny that makes everyone laugh

·      Then the show goes on as normal

·      He sits in your dressing room during meet and greets most of the time

·      You’ve got his favorite snacks in there because of this

·      When you go to events like the Grammys or Teen Choice, you take over the red carpet

·      Everyone goes wild

·      It’s kind of nerve wracking but easier when he’s having to go through the same deal lol

·      The couple that wears disguises sometimes

·      It’s nothing too big, it is enough however

·      He teases you if you wear a wig or something

·      Vacations with no press or anything are amazing

·      They also keep you sane

·      Wears your merch

Random One (Batsib):

·      Your entire family is on board with this

·      They support you throughout the entire thing

·      You have a hit debut album and tour for the next one

·      Eventually, Bruce will let you homeschool which is amazing for you since the people at Gotham Academy know no limits to weird

·      Someone literally tried to ghost write a song for you and then stuffed it into your locker before you were there

·      You knew immediately

·      It’s not that hard

·      During interviews they’re in the background as moral support

·      Extra attention from press at galas

·      Thankfully not really the old rich people though

·      Bruce and the entire family wear your merch

·      You have coffee mugs just for Timmy

·      Dick and the girls wear the merch the most

·      Steph and Cass are squealing if you win an award or drop anything

·      They and your oldest brother are publicly your biggest fans

·      Bruce is secretly your number 1 fan though

·      Plays the songs at the watchtower when he’s working sometimes

·      You know this

·      Everyone does

·      It just happens and you’re not complaining

·      Especially when Billy Batson found out about you

·      Part of Batman’s group AND a superstar

·      You do still typically do the vigilante thing but not as much on tour

·      It’s hard since you actively are trying NOT to die even harder since you kind of are a world -wide sensation

·      On tours, your family is the LOUDEST group in the crowd

·      No doubt

·      They try and make you laugh on stage

·      When you do, you’ll call them for it sometimes

·      *Brothers yelling something at the stage when you respond trying to roast you*

·      “That’s pretty rich coming from batarang ass lookin hairline over there.”

·      Or it might be something like, “Wait, what did you say? Sorry I can’t hear you over the 15,000 other people that are here watching my show.”

·      Those are the best moments

·      Hands down

·      If anyone goes after you on Twitter or something, they’re goners

·      They’re going to have a million other Batfam members and even leaguers coming for them

·      It’s pretty hilarious to see Clark Kent write an editorial on why a person was wrong and why your album was superior to all

·      Wonder Woman saying she listened to your music

·      *passes out*

·      Not that you didn’t already, know, you were just in awe of her lol

[crimson-mage-02]

A True Blessing

Summary: This is my first day prompt for Damirae Week of 2021. Damian and Raven are expecting their new child and were both looking forward to raising their child together and overcome their fears and worries as they got support from their loved ones.

Damian was helping his father with the paper work in his private office while thinking of Raven who was stuck at home, tending to herself and their baby that is growing in her belly. He cannot believe he was going to be a father! He hasn’t told his family yet and was struggling to break out the news to them to the rest of their family and friends.

And on that side note, he and Raven aren’t married yet. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face tiredly. He looked over at a box on his desk and grabbed it, opening seeing a ring with green and purple gemstones. “Damian?”

He gasped softly and put the ring in the drawer and stood up from his chair and grabbed the papers. “Metropolis needs all of the files that you had made, Father.” Damian said quickly looking at his father who had a smirk on his face.

“Damian, you need to stop worry the future and start focusing on the present. I am sure Raven is thinking the same thing, son.” Bruce chuckled at his son as he sat down putting the papers on his desk.

“This was not apart of the plan, Father. We planned to wait for another few years. I must admit I am ecstatic of this news, but….it is too soon.” Damian admitted. The thought of becoming father is terrifying……he doesn’t know what to do or what he can do to help Raven.

“I know. It is difficult at first, but all you need to do is to be there for her. As she has always been by your side. Do you love her?”

“Forever until the day I die.” Damian replied certainly seeing his father smiling brightly.

“Then be with her. Share your hardships with each other. There is no shame in that. Dick and Kori had no problems in raising their daughter even they aren’t married yet. They just needed each other’s support.” Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder.

Damian smiled back with a nod. “Thank you, Father. And I am sorry. I am really trying here to work at your company, but I think…I may not inherit this company after all.”

Bruce smiled in understanding and put his hands together behind his back. “I know. Dick has told me of your dilemma. I understand that, Damian. You have changed for the best. For your friends and for her.”

Damian smiled at his father and stood up straight. “Thank you, Father. I…I really needed that advice. I’ll also look over the report you have then I am done of the day.” Bruce nodded and let him do the rest of his work while he walking out of his office. He smiled at the thought of having a new grandchild or grandchildren.

It was a stressful day for Damian and his father, taking care of the files they needed sorting. The young Wayne sighed deeply and leaned his head back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling while imaging Raven holding their child in her arms, so calm, so loving and nurturing. He was shaking nervously thinking of the moment when he will be holding his own child in his very his hands. He fears he’ll drop his own child and be embarrassed for the rest of his bloody life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and got it out seeing a text message from his teammates, Garfield and Jaime. I can tell them, right? Maybe a drink for tonight won’t hurt since Rachel is out with Kori babysitting her daughter.

He texted them back and looked at the time seeing his shift was over. He got the things he needed to go home and saw his father talking with Selina. Damian smiled and greeted his soon-to-be stepmother.

“Hello, Damian. I hope you are doing well.” Selina greeted him with a soft smile.

“I have been well. How are you?” Damian asked her while carrying his case.

“Well, the wedding is going smoothly of course, and we need to work on the other types of stuff, like the food, the tables and the colours of the cloths oh, and the flowers.” Selina said, remembering she has to order which flowers she would like to have. “Anyways, enough about the wedding, how are you and Raven? Five years has passed, ready for the next step, big fella?”

Damian chuckled at the thought of him and Raven being together for five years. “We have been well, we have our own apartment and we certainly are taking things slow.” Not forgetting with the fact we are expecting a child.

“Oh how wonderful, but you were leaving the part where you are expecting a child soon.” Selina winked at him. Damian glared at his father who smirked at him. He must’ve told him after their break and after his meeting.

“Yes, we are expecting our first child together.” Damian nodded.

Selina grinned bigger as she patted his shoulder. “Boy, you are working with your father, as a vigilante at age 22. Hmm, does sound hectic.”

“We are not yet married as well. That is the part I am most afraid of.” Damian said, looking away, looked down at the floor.

“Son, you two will be fine. I promise. Everything will work out. You deserve some rest after today. Go have fun with your friends and Raven.” Bruce said softly.

He thanked them and took his leave. He walked down to the carpark, grabbed his keys, and started to drive to the bar where his friends were. He hoped that the night will be much better that he is spending more time with his friends, then after that he could see Rachel at home.

Meanwhile, Rachel and Kori were spending equality time with each other while Mari was playing around, doing her own thing, and behaved very well. “Thanks.” Rachel thanked the Tamarian Princess.

“Of course. I made this special iced chocolate just for you! And for my darling daughter.” Kori smiled lovingly. “Dick is out with the boys and probably Damian.”

“Yeah, he texted me a while ago. He said he’ll come by home late tonight.” Raven smiled at her friend. She also rubbed her stomach, though Kori loved seeing her beaming with excitement. “How does it feel? You being a mother?”

“Oh it is wonderful Raven. It may be nerve wreaking at first, but it is all worth it when you have someone by your side to encourage you.” Kori smiled assuring her friend. “I must tell you Dick was pretty much a mess before she arrived in our lives.”

“I can imagine. But I don’t know what Damian’s reaction might be.” Raven said, looking down at the young girl in front of her, giving her soft toy to hold. She smiled and held it for her as she ran to the kitchen to get something to eat or drink. “She’s a well-behaved little girl.”

“She is. And Dick is such a great father. He comes home early just to see her. And often brings some toys home for her.” Kori chuckled with amusement as she watched her daughter getting a cup of milk for herself and a cookie in her hand. “I am sure Damian will dote on your child.”

“God, I hope that Damian and Dick won’t compete with each other when the baby will arrive.” Raven chuckled nervously as she fidget with her hands, thinking of numerous scenarios where the two brothers will compete one another. It’ll be amusing. But over time, it might be overwhelming for her and Kori. She hoped that she can be a good mother to her heart’s content. She never knew much of raising a child but, Kori had given her advise on raising her newborn baby when the time comes.

Damian has his own doubts and they have been talking about it for a while now. It calms her down that they do talk a lot of things beforehand. She loved how he assures her every time that everything will be fine.

Damian had arrived home in their apartment put his keys on the counter and saw a few books on the table and his girlfriend’s laptop opened. He saw the site was about childbirth and taking care of new born.

“Rachel?” Damian called out to his girlfriend who was out of sight. He put his suitcase on the table, took off his jacket and searched for her in their apartment. He saw Titus was sleeping peacefully on the couch, snoring softly with his chew toy by his side. He walked up the stairs and went in his bedroom seeing Rachel was watching videos of mother’s taking care of their new babies in their arms. Looks filled with love, care, and devotion. He saw how a mother cradled her baby in her arms. Handled with great care. He vowed to be the same with his child and to be able to protect the woman he loves.

“Rachel?”

Rachel turned to see her boyfriend had arrived home from work. “Oh, Damian. Sorry, I was uh, just doing some research.”

“I could see that. I know you are concerned about this, Rachel. You know I will be here for you. No matter what.” Damian assured her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Everything will be fine as long as we have each other.”

“I am just nervous.” Rachel said, hugging him tightly around his neck.

“Nervous? You are never nervous.” Damian raised an eyebrow, wrapping his arm around her waist while his free hand was placed on her belly. But she was rarely showing.

“I uh, we never know what might happen once our child will come. How do we even know I am going to be a good mother?” Rachel asked worriedly.

“Rachel. You will be a great mother and I know it. You have been preparing for this since we found out you are pregnant.” Damian smiled at her softly.

“How about you? Aren’t you afraid? Nervous?” Rachel asked him, caressing his neck.

Damian sighed and kissed her on the lips softly before answering her question while looking into her eyes. “Yes, I am nervous. Terrified in fact, but I have you. And you.” he knelt down to hug her around her belly with a smile, making her laugh.

“Damian, there is barely any bump.” Rachel chuckled.

“I don’t care, I just want to hold our son or daughter. I’ll take good care of you two. I want to be a good father to our child. Even though we aren’t married yet.” Damian realising they’re still in a relationship and not married.

“Well, we all have the time in the world. We’ll have each other, no matter what happens, we be there during our toughest times.” Rachel smiled at him and kissed him on the lips passionately.

“Oh, I am so excited to see my darling niece or nephew. I will absolutely plan all of the playdates in the future for our children.” Kori squealed as Raven chuckled softly while rubbing her belly.

(~)

“So, a Baby Roth-Wayne is on the way now! Not long to go!” Garfield grinned brightly. “How you feeling, bro? Nervous? Excited?”

Damian turned to his friend beside him, holding a glass of beer. He was feeling all kids of emotions inside him and cannot describe how he was feeling of becoming a father. He smiled softly. “I am just nervous and excited. As well as Rachel.”

“I am sure everything will be fine. I know so. If you need any help, we have your back.” Jaime offered, patting his back.

“Yeah, we can babysit your kid so you can have lots of time with your girl.” Connor winked at Damian who rolled his eyes playfully. As great as that sounds, but they are both planning to raise their child first and then possibly get married in the future after a few years. When their first child is ready for another sibling in the family.

“Well, that I do not mind, but we are just focusing on our first child.” Damian said, drinking his beverage.

“So have you thought of names?” Wally asked eating a few food from his plate and drank his beer.

This hit Damian so hard he remembered he hasn’t selected a name for his child with Raven. He groaned softly and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “No, we haven’t. We uh, didn’t think if a name. But we don’t even know the gender yet.”

“I bet it will be a girl. It’ll be nice to see you with a baby girl in your arms.” Garfield teased as he was smacked on the head by him.

“Or a new Wayne baby boy.” Jaime chuckled as he drank his beer. “You could have one boy and one girl. You’ll have one of each!”

“Ooh twins! Now that is more exciting.” Wally laughed wholeheartedly.

“And exhausting to be honest, but still we do not mind if we have twins. It will be a true blessing to have two children.” Damian smiled lovingly and imagined them holding their child in their arms. He thought from the very beginning he would not find anyone until he met Raven when he first came to the Tower. He felt an instant connection with her as soon as he laid eyes on her. he felt an instant connection with his beloved.

“So, any mood swings, cravings surfacing?” Wally asked as he finished the last bit of the chips with a grin seeing there aren’t any left for them to eat. “Sorry. Speedster thing.”

“Quite alright. I’ll be eating with Rachel this evening and she has been craving for a lot of food. She has been driving me crazy with them, but I have to live with that.” Damian chuckled remembering how Rachel was asking for some more food at midnight and he had driven to the nearest store to get what she really craved. He has no complaints at all whatsoever. He wanted to ensure she was looked after.

But one time, he had suffered her enraging moon swings with her powers being out of control. The minute she was all cheery then she was a raging pregnant woman. He was glad he had survived that night. He shuddered at the thought of her using her powers on him and making him sleep on the couch. He noted himself that he’d never anger her ever again.

“Aww, Damian has all softened up. That’s nice!” Garfield teased him. “The first time we saw him he was all grouchy, silent and ignorant runt. Now look at him, he’s all soft, kind, caring and sweet to Raven.”

Damian growled softly as his friends chuckled softly. “May I remind you I did not know how to socialise when I first met you all?”

“Yeah, but Raven has changed you for the better. You have changed because of her. She was a great influence in your life. She loved every part of you. And she never given up on you. She hasn’t at all.” Jaime smiled.

Damian smiled lovingly remembering all of the moments he had shared with her. She is everything to him and he swore to protect her and their child. No matter what. He’ll always be there for her. Through thick and thin. “Yeah, I am glad……that you have found happiness, Damian.” Connor nodded in agreement.

“Thank you, boys. For this heartfelt talk. I must go. I promised Rachel I’d be home early. And by the way, I’ll be paying. It’s my treat. Only this time.” Damian stated with a smirk.

“Alright, thanks.” Wally grinned as he watched his friend paying for their beers and food. “Wow, he is really becoming a father soon. Can you imagine one of us will become a father?”

“Yeah, never imagined they didn’t use protection when they did it.” Jaime chuckled with amusement as the others laughed softly. “But still, it is amazing they have will have their kid soon. Does anyone knows who is the godfather?”

All of the boys all looked at one another until they all shouted. “I CALL GODFATHER!” Then they all argued on who claimed to be the godfather of Damian and Raven’s child. They all were shouting and breaking some of the cups and plates into the bar, causing all of the people looking at the entertainment they were giving them. Later after 20 minutes, they were kicked out of the bar after creating a disturbance.

“Great, this is my favourite bar, I have never been kicked out in my entire life.” Garfield whined with tears rolling down his eyes. “You ruined it, guys.”

“Ugh, let’s just go back to the Tower, we’ll grab more beers on the way home.” Jaime said as he started to walk along the footpath.

(~)

Later that night Damian had arrived in his apartment, opened the door, and looked to the side seeing Raven was cooking some dinner for them but she was eating a piece of a chicken drumstick already. He chuckled softly at the sight of his girlfriend cooking. He took off his jacket and placed his case on the table. He walked towards her slowly and wrapped his arms around and rubbed her stomach with a loving smile. Moved her long hair out of the way and kissed her bare shoulder. “Hello, beloved.”

“Hi. How was your day?” Raven asked kissing his temple with her hand running through his hair.

“It was stressful, I went out for drinks with the boys then it got better when I am home with you and with you.” Damian placed a kiss on her lips before he bent down to kiss her stomach to feel their child. Their child was already kicking like a true little Robin.

“Well, I am making your favourite. Curry. Don’t worry, it’s a little bit spicy.” Raven smiled softly, letting him rub her belly and back to make her feel more relaxed. She always had felt so relaxed whenever he comes home to give her soothing rubs on her back.

“Smells amazing, beloved. How was your day?” Damian asked her.

“Well, I talked to Kori and she wants our child to have play dates with Mar’i in the future. Hope that is alright with you.” Raven replied as she got the rice all ready to go with him helping to get the plates out on their small table. Soon after the baby was born, they might need to find a bigger house for themselves.”

“I am fine as long as Grayson won’t go overboard with this competition of his.” Damian smirked, placing the cutleries on the table along with their plates and bowls. He helped her to get the pot on the center of the table. “I swear he has been listing the things he wanted to do with our child and his own.”

“At least our child will be able to experience to have fun. Unlike us, we…we shared the similar childhood. I want to make sure that our child will have a happy childhood.” Raven hoped as she started to eat her meal.

“I do hope so too. And I was wondering, Rachel.” Damian said, pouring some water for her and himself.

“Yeah?”

“Have your thought of names yet?” Damian asked her while watching her eating mouth full of the curry. She swallowed It softly before she thought of names for their new child. She has been thinking about for it for a very long time. “It’s okay if you haven’t.”

“No, no. I have. If it’s a girl, I want it to be after my mother, Arella.” Raven smiled lovingly as she rubbed her bump while he did the same. “How about you? You thought of any names for a boy?”

“I have not. But I would want the middle name to be Thomas. After my grandfather. On my father’s side.” Damian replied with a smile.

“I was thinking the name Ravian. As the first name.” Raven smiled as she ate her rice curry. “I have been combining our names together and that was the best one so far.”

“Ravian. Sounds wonderful, beloved. I love it. So we have Arella Jade Wayne, Ravian Thomas Wayne. I also have Martha Violet Wayne. Another option for a girl.” Damian smiled, drinking his beer.

“I love it. I love them all, Damian. I cannot wait until we get to see our baby.” Raven smiled lovingly at her boyfriend. “I was trying to brainstorm for another name for a boy. I was thinking Rian.”

Damian hummed as he rubbed his chin. “Sounds like a very strong name. yes, I do suppose we can have that as an option.”

“So, uh, how was talking to your dad? I saw the text that you had talked to him before today with Selina.” Raven said, finishing her meal as she drank her water from her purple cup that was next to her books.

“Ah, yes, he was very supportive. And he has given me very good advice.” Damian sighed softly. “he was also excited to have another grandchild in the family.”

Raven chuckled softly. “Of course and uh, Selina had given us a new bassinet for us. She had given us another one. It’s like she was predicting we’d have twins.”

“It would be nice. One girl and one boy. But tiring to manage two babies all at once. I talked about this with the boys in the bar.” Damian chuckled nervously as Raven knew he would be nervous to raise a child at this young age. “They are all excited to see our child once it he or she is born.”

“I am also excited as well Damian and I cannot wait to be a mother to your child.” Raven caressed his cheek softly. “We will get through this, together.”

“Together.” Damian kissed her on the lips passionately while he placed his hand on her bump feeling his baby kicking softly.

(~)

Months later, all of the Wayne and Kent family had arrived at the hospital along with the Titans were all waiting. Patiently and anxiously. It has been a few hours after Raven had gone into labour. All of them had heard her pained screams.

Then after a few hours, the nurses had come and collected their families. They all went into their private room seeing Raven cradling one baby in her arm with Selina gasping excitedly until she stopped in her tracks to see her stepson was carrying another baby with a purple blanket. She looked between the two as Bruce by her side realised, they had twins.

“Twins?!” Selina exclaimed softly, stroking of the baby’s head.

“The both of us did not know. The doctor had got the ultrasound wrong. We have two beautiful girls.” Damian said, lovingly sitting on the sofa, cradling his youngest twin daughter.

“They both are beautiful. Which one is which?” Bruce asked, softly smiling lovingly at his granddaughter.

Raven had said that the one she was carrying in a light blue blanket is named Arella Jade Wayne and the one her boyfriend was holding is Martha Violet Wayne. Damian turned to his father with a smile and let him carry Martha in his arms. “We both had decided to name her after my grandmother, Father. I do hope it is alright.”

“It is a great choice, son. I am sure she would be so proud.” Bruce smiled, carrying his granddaughter while Raven let Selina carry Arella. “I assume you named her after your mother as well.”

“Yes, I have.” Raven nodded.

“And they are beautiful names. Oh, how they are precious!” Selina kissed her granddaughter on the forehead. She bounced her in her arms lightly with Damian kissing his tired girlfriend on her hospital bed.

“How you feeling beloved?” Damian whispered.

“Tired. But I want to see everyone.” Raven chuckled tiredly. With that being said, their other family and friends have walked in the room quietly and saw their beloved twin daughters. It was a wonderful moment they all had with their loved ones and had vowed to protect, to cherish their moments with their daughters.

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - THREE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The team goes on a mission. You meet someone who might expose you. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence 

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :) Sorry for being MIA for so long. I’ve been sad. Blegh. 

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

Over the few days that follow, you become increasingly paranoid. It’s your own fault, because you shouldn’t have lied to the people that have welcomed you into their homes with open arms, but lying is a survival skill that you were taught many years ago, and old habits die hard. You become shadowy, avoid team members in the hallways and common areas of the penthouse floor you all share, and stay in your room as much as possible without alarming anyone. Of course Natasha knows something is up, but Steve doesn’t, and he waves off her concern as you simply ‘needing more time to adjust, Nat’. You watch their body language during breakfast – one of two meals a day you simply cannot get out of without causing anyone’s alarm bells to start ringing – and engage in light conversation wherever possible to keep them out of your hair.

Guilt gnaws at your insides when you find yourself wandering the deserted wrap-around balcony at nearly 3 a.m., brain searching for a clue to any bad things that might happen. If any one of them figures out you’re ex-hydra you’re done for, that much you know, but the man with golden hair and twinkling azure eyes might just be your ticket to safety.

The thought alone sickens you, because you vowed never to mess with someone’s feelings to get what you need ever again. It’s a twisted thought, but the vines of its root wrap themselves around the stem of your brain nonetheless.

A month after first moving in, you’ve already figured out their routines. Steve’s the early riser of the bunch, getting up every morning at 6:30 a..m. sharp to go on a run around the city. On rare occasions, he manages to convince Sam to come along with him, but more often than not, he remains in his bed until at least 10 o’clock, when Steve’s already come back to shower and get dressed for the day. Tony and Bruce are in the lab 24/7, both of them constantly bickering about artificial intelligence and microbiology among other matters you can’t even begin to understand. As a result, you don’t see them around too often, a notion you don’t particularly mind. Clint left to be with his family two weeks ago and hasn’t been back since, and Natasha leaves all the time, sometimes for days at a time. You don’t dare to ask anyone where she goes when she disappears, but nobody seems surprised to find her seat at the dining table empty again.

It’s a gloomy day when you wake up to find the entire place void of all life. Not even Steve, who’s adamant about his morning coffee, is there to grace you with his presence when you walk into the kitchen that Saturday morning. The counter is clean, no empty coffee cups, half-eaten bowls of oatmeal or bread crumbs to indicate anyone’s eaten yet, and all of the chairs are still perfectly lined against the table.

Your pulse involuntarily quickens to an uncomfortable pace, and you bite the inside of your cheek until the metallic taste of blood is heavy on your tongue. With quick steps, you walk towards the common room, footsteps loud in your ears when you consider where they might be. As expected, there’s nobody there. The TV is switched off, there are no dents in the heavy fabric of the couch from where Steve usually sits, and again, no empty cups or bowls can be found on the coffee table. You have the jitters when you finally get to the library, which is again void of all life.

Black socks covered in small holes squeak across the wooden floors when you walk around the room. It’s not surprising to see the library vacant. You’re sure Avengers have more pressing matters to tend to than reading books on any given day, but it was your last hope nonetheless. With your head tilted to the side, you focus on scanning the titles that line the walls. You follow every shelf in the room until your eye finally catches something. You take the book with a sigh, flip through its tattered pages, and wonder for a moment which one of the Avengers has read the crap out of Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not Sam, judging by his internal monologue. That guy doesn’t appear to have an ounce of romanticism inside him.  

 “They’re out,” a gentle voice suddenly says behind you, “Steve didn’t want to wake you up this morning to tell you.”

You slap your hand over your heart in surprise, and inhale sharply, “Jesus Christ, doc. You scared the hell out of me.”

Bruce throws his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders, “Sorry, it’s just me.”

“Are they on a mission?” you ask, feeling your heart jump in your chest like a skippy ball.

“Yeah, they should be back in a few days. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow thickly, noticing all of a sudden how your mouth is dry like sandpaper, “you just spooked me, that’s all. What kind of mission is it?”

“Intel gathering, in an out. That’s why I didn’t come. They only bring me when they need the green guy,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you reply slowly, “how’s he holding up?”

“Asleep,” Bruce smiles, then clears his throat, “for now, anyway. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

You follow Bruce through the rain, which started to gust from the grey sky just as you were getting dressed. You’d rather have said no, but you knew you couldn’t; it wouldn’t be polite to decline his offer. Besides, he’s oblivious, and for whatever reason, he trusts you. When he bites into his chocolate croissant, you know why – Steve’s let you in. This notion once more confirms the thoughts that have been occupying your mind for the last week; Steve is your one-way ticket to inclusivity.

You shudder at the thought and fake a smile before taking a large sip of coffee. The cafe is small, mostly empty, and your seat by the window gives you a perfect view of pedestrians struggling in the howling, icy wind. One year ago, you could never have imagined yourself sitting in a café with a cup of coffee clutched between your fingers, chatting with someone who you could potentially call a friend. The idea alone of being able to enjoy a warm mug filled with freshly brewed coffee would’ve sounded preposterous to you.

There was no warmth with HYDRA. Only cold.

It takes the team three days to return from their mission. Three long days, during which you spend most of your time with Bruce in his lab, perched on a desk-chair with a book in your hands while he works on – actually, you have no idea what he’s working on. You quickly grow to become fond of him, because he doesn’t feel the need to constantly fill the silence between you with empty words. His thoughts are coherent, focused on his project, and the lingo is too advanced for you to understand, which makes it easy to drown out. His inner monologue is quiet, except for a few angry words from the Hulk when Bruce becomes frustrated with his work, but that only happened on day two, and only for ten minutes.

Steve smells like gun powder and sweat when he hugs you softly against his chest after exiting the Quinjet. Natasha waves at you, and the smile that dons her dirt-caked face surprises you, but you return it nonetheless. Sam even ruffles your hair, causes a sound to escape your throat that you haven’t heard yourself make in over a decade; a strange combination of a snort and a chuckle that sounds like music to your own ears. Your heart pounds again, but in a good way this time, because for a small moment in time, you’ve managed to put the guilt on the back-burner. The roaring engine behind you falls silent at last, and nobody else visibly exits the plane before you make it inside.  

“You held up okay?” Steve asks as he follows you back inside the building.

You nod in response and shove your hands deep inside the pockets of your hoodie, “I’ve been helping Bruce with his research.”

“Oh, did you? How’s it coming?” he asks.

His eyes sparkle like two tiny stars even through the exhaustion that nearly forces them shut every time he blinks. He’s exhausted, you can tell, and you have to bite your tongue before you make a comment about the state he’s in.

“I mostly sat there while he did all the thinking. Turns out computer science isn’t really my thing after all.”

Steve fights a yawn that threatens to overcome him, and nods, “yeah, I feel you. I can barely get the damn things to start. I’ve given up on technology.”

He turns back to face you when he’s come to a halt in front of his room.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you where I went,” he tells you, meaning it as he says it, “we kinda left in a hurry, and you were still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “I understand.”

He quickly retreats after that, leaving you once again with nothing to do. You go back to your room to grab the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from your nightstand and, after plopping down on your bed, flip to the page where you last left off. You read for a while, before the idea to make some tea with warm milk and honey pops into your head, and you skip along the hallway to the kitchen with the book securely wrapped in your arms.

You’re surprised to hear Steve’s voice when you enter the common area, and a smile appears on his face the second his eyes fall on you. You raise one arm to wave at him, but a loud gasp and a large thud followed by the sound of breaking glass have you freezing on the spot before you can open your mouth to greet him at all.

Your head snaps towards the source of the sound, causing your neck to twist and crack painfully. Red, glowing eyes meet your large ones when you dare to look up at whoever made the noise, and the book in your hands falls to the ground with a loud bang that startles everyone in the room. You stumble backwards when you can feel the woman standing before you deep inside of your head, and you nearly trip over the rug when you instinctly try to get away from her. Frantically, you scramble to stop her from seeing more than she’s already seen. Still, by the time you manage to build up a mental barrier to keep her out of your head, it’s already too late.

You haven’t seen her before, and you can’t remember for the life of you if the image of her has popped up in any of the Avengers’ heads. Your brain is mushy, images hazy as you try to focus on keeping the woman from digging around deeper. You can see distant memories of your time with HYDRA flash before her eyes, and the images blur with the present in a spasm that makes your eyes water.

Wanda Maximoff lets out a shrill, piercing shriek, one that chills everyone to the bone. Thor, who you didn’t even know was there, is by her side before she can collapse onto the cold, hard floor, and Steve jumps up from his chair before you have time to register his movements. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen, fingers digging painfully in your tender flesh when he pulls you away from the scene. Sympathy fills Sam’s dark brown eyes when you turn back around to look at him, and guilt roils in your stomach when the redhead sinks to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Your arms hang limply to your side when you watch Steve pace back and forth around his room. You’re waiting for him to yell at you, to tell you to get the fuck out of the compound and never return, but he remains awfully quiet. His silence confuses and unnerves you simultaneously.

His eyes, swimming with unimaginable depth, find your face while the scent of his cologne and pure testosterone invades your nostrils. Pressure clamps down on your chest, and the intensity of his gaze causes you to shiver. Never in your entire life have you wanted to read someone’s mind more. 

“Are you alright?” your head cocks to the side, mouth twitching while you try to find words. 

You nearly gave that woman an aneurysm, and he’s asking you if you’re okay?

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Wanda is telepathic,” Steve says, “she has trouble controlling what she sees sometimes.” 

“Like I said, I’m so so-” 

A soft exhale leaves your lips when Steve’s hands find their way to your shoulders, and your voice dies down in your throat when he bends down slightly to meet your eyes. Calloused fingertips penetrate the thin material of your t-shirt, and the warmth of his hands creates a buzzing sensation just beneath your skin. 

“She was in Europe, scouting the location of the mission with Rhodey. She’s been in Eastern Europe for a while, that’s why you haven’t seen her. I should’ve told you about her.”

“Will she be okay?” you ask. You hardly recognize your own voice. 

“Sam’s got her. She’s stronger than she looks. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.” 

You don’t know how to respond. You crave a cigarette all of a sudden, even though you don’t smoke. Alcohol then, maybe, to numb down the prickling sensation of firing synapses and goosebumps that line your bare arms. Yeah, a good couple of shots of whiskey will do the trick. Not vodka though, you hate that stuff. 

You bite your bow-shaped lips and inhale deeply. Steve is so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It’s wrong, being so near him after what just happened. You’re on thin ice. It won’t be long before the entire team, undoubtedly informed by what Wanda just saw, comes barging into Steve’s room, ready to drag you away to prison or worse, put a bullet through your skull. You deserve it, you think, for what you used to do. For who you used to be. You almost want somebody to call you out on your shit, because then at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. 

But seconds turn into minutes, and nobody comes. It’s quiet, except for the sound of Steve’s breathing and the steady beating of his heart, and you realize when he looks at you with sympathy and sincerity that you hate yourself for lying. It’s an ironic realization, because lying is like second nature to you. HYDRA spent so much time ingraining it into your brain that it’s become almost like a second language, a means of communication that flows so naturally that you don’t even have an accent anymore. It’s brought you many things, and ruined even more people.

Your hands are going numb from how hard you’re clenching them into fists. Steve’s thumbs are rubbing small circles on your shoulders, and it takes all of your effort not to shake them off. You’re disgusted with yourself, bile threatening to rise to the back of your throat while the sensation of his warm fingers on you is the only thing left for you to feel. The world is dark and cold, but the heat radiating from Steve’s hands is just enough to stop you from getting frostbite. The concern is evident on his face, from the deep crease between his brows to the thin line of his lips; he’s worried about you, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he would kill if he’d met you under any other circumstances.

You want to go home, you think to yourself, but as soon as the thought appears do you smack it down with your fist. You don’t have a home, you scold yourself, just like the doctors would tell you when you cried and screamed on the dingey operating table in the early days, when they didn’t control you yet. When they still wore their special masks to stop you from controlling their minds so they could freely fuck with yours.

It’s an icy reality, one that rattles you to your core every time it makes an appearance. Steve’s eyes are still scanning your face, which is twisted and contorted into a painful scowl before you even realize what’s happening.

An inexplicable panic washes over you, heart jackhammering in your chest while your cheeks turn a sickly shade of pink. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, followed by cold shivers that envelop your skin in ice. The scent of laundry detergent and cologne hits you like a truck, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice melting and morphing into the sound of rain slamming against the window like gunfire.

“My head,” you cry out in a desperate whimper, “it hurts.”

Steve forces your body down onto his bed, and while you begin to writhe in pain that causes white spots to dance in front of your eyes, he closes the curtains to keep the light from coming in. His mother had head aches all the time, and she’d be in bed for days on end if they got bad enough. He remembers her clear as day, lying in bed with an empty bucket next to her on the floor in the dark, because the light hurt so bad it would make her vomit sometimes. He’d tiptoe around the house because the sound of his feet creaking across the floorboards would pain her. He recognizes her in you, lying on his bed with your hands clutching the sides of your head.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he says, quieting his voice, the incident with Wanda long forgotten as instinct takes over.  

Tears blur your vision at this point, and it takes every ounce of focus that you have left to keep yourself from screaming out in pain. Aspirin won’t help, but you don’t possess the capability to tell him not to bother. You’ve experienced this type of pain before, and have endured it without medicine each time. Many times actually; while you were forced to extract information from the people taken and captured by HYDRA with whatever means necessary. This time however, it’s come as a surprise and it’s caught you completely off-guard, although you suspect Wanda’s poking and prodding has something to do with it.

With all the strength you have left, you manage to pull the covers over your head, engulfing yourself in darkness and warmth to drown out your senses. The sudden darkness is disorienting, but you welcome it with open arms. Steve opens his mouth, but shuts it, and heads for the door without uttering another word.

All you hear when Steve exits the room is the sound of your former victims crying out in despair.

NEXT CHAPTER.

TAGLIST:

@foxyjwls007​ @littlegasps​ @hurricane-abigail​ @idk123906​ @ bubblicious-trashcan @wooya1224

[elizabear]

my home is your body, how can I stay away?

I WROTE MY FIRST FIC. And I was brave enough to post it. So, if you want to read a fake-friends-to-real-lovers Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes post-Endgame AU where we pretend that Steve and Natasha are still alive and well in the 21st century, you can check it out below or read it on AO3.

Title: my home is your body, how can i stay away?

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: it’s like fake/pretend relationship, but it’s actually fake best friendship, fake friends to real lovers, post-Avengers Endgame, Epilogue What Epilogue, Natasha Romanoff Lives, Steve Rogers Stays, is everyone bi?, ambiguous barbershop quarter, bisexual Sam Wilson, bisexual Bucky Barnes, bisexual Steve Rogers, bisexual Natasha Romanoff, Captain America Sam Wilson

Words: 30,367

Link to AO3 here

Summary: "Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave. 

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

After they save the world, after Steve leaves and returns again with a smiling Natasha tucked tenderly underneath his arm, after all the happy and tearful reunions, after Tony Stark’s funeral, Sam Wilson takes a minute to sit his ass underneath a tree and freak the fuck out about the fact that he’s just been dead for the last five years.

He’s listening to a robot tell him for the fifth time that his mother’s number is “no longer in service,” his hand shaking as he presses redial on Steve’s borrowed cell phone. He wants to call his sister, wants to find out what happened to his niece, but he can’t remember his sister’s number and the only thing he can think of to do is just to keep calling his mom over and over again. He’s starting to really settle into the panic attack, gulping for air as his heart pounds wildly in his chest, when Bucky Barnes squats down beside him, perfectly balanced on those lean and powerful thighs.

“You OK?” Bucky asks quietly. Sam shakes his head silently, too overwhelmed to even begin to answer that question.

Like people are just OK after waking up five years in the future. Like people are just OK after turning to ash and then reforming into a human being. What is he even made of right now? Is he made of the same atoms and cells he was made of before he turned to dust? Is he even the same person? Did Sam Wilson die? Is he just a new Sam Wilson that Bruce Banner created out of thin air, a brand new body with the same memories as the first Sam Wilson? God, what is this Ship of Theseus nonsense, everything about this is so fucked up—

“OK, I need you to breathe,” Bucky says gently, interrupting Sam’s spiral into actual fucking madness. Bucky grabs Sam’s hand and pulls it to his chest. “Can you feel my chest moving? Feel me breathing in and out? Stop thinking, close your eyes, and match your breaths to mine.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of Bucky’s chest rising and falling underneath his hand. Bucky’s sternum is flat and bony underneath Sam’s palm, but he can feel the gentle rise of Bucky’s strong pectoral muscles underneath his fingers. Bucky’s skin is warm through his shirt, and Sam focuses on the solid feel of him as he follows Bucky’s slow and deep breathing. Bucky’s thumb presses firmly against the inside of Sam’s wrist. There’s an anxious tingling all over Sam’s skin, washing over him from head to toe, making Sam afraid that he’s going to buzz right out of his skin.

But Bucky is breathing deep and slow, and Sam lets himself relax into it, feels himself fall in sync with this not-quite-stranger, his best friend’s best friend, who is very considerately trying to keep Sam from falling apart.

“You’re doing great, Sam,” Bucky praises gently. “Just keep breathing, you’re doing great.”

“I hate this,” Sam mutters.

Bucky strokes his thumb over the sensitive skin of Sam’s wrist and leans closer, hesitating briefly before resting his forehead against Sam’s.

“Just breathe, Sam. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs softly.

Sam feels a warmth uncurling deep in his belly, reacting to Bucky’s closeness and his quiet praise. Is Bucky the most instinctually effective peer counselor in the world or is he actually seducing Sam right out of a panic attack? Sam absolutely cannot think about this now, he needs to focus on the original source of his practical and existential terror.

“I hate every part of this,” Sam admits, frustrated. “I hate that I can’t get in touch with my mom. I hate that I don’t know if my niece is OK. Bucky, who has been taking care of my niece?”

“Hey, it’s OK, Sam.” Bucky says, his tone gentle and reassuring. “We’ll find your niece. If she survived the Snap, Steve and Natalia would have kept track of her. They wouldn’t have just let her disappear into the system. You have friends.”

“Right,” Sam says, feeling that glacier sitting atop his chest begin to recede a little. “OK. Friends. Steve and Natasha will know how to find Michelle. I just need to ask Steve and Natasha how to find Sarah and Michelle.”

“Great! See, you have a plan now and everything,” Bucky says encouragingly. “Everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, Sam.” Bucky leans back onto his heels, and Sam breathes a little deeper as the world comes into sharper focus.

Sam nods. This is all going to be fine. He’s alive, he’s breathing, and he has his hand on Bucky Barnes’s warm, firm chest. Bucky’s eyes are kind, and Sam can almost understand, maybe for the first time, why Steve cared so much about bringing Bucky home. Maybe Bucky isn’t so bad. Maybe everything is going to be fine. Sam can just about manage, now, to stuff all this panic inside his chest where it can’t hurt him. If he just stuffs it in there forever, he will never have to deal with it.

Sam takes a moment to congratulate himself on his healthy coping strategies.

“You’re not too bad at this, man,” Sam says. “Where did you learn to handle a panic attack like that?”

“Well, I mean, I had a lot of them after realizing that I was responsible for literally dozens of grisly murders,” Bucky replies dryly. “But also I spent like fifteen years obsessing over the state of Steve Rogers’s lungs and trying to keep him from dying of asthma so he could grow up and be Captain America.”

Right. Captain America. That’s the other thing he’s panicking about.

“Hey, what just happened?” Bucky asks gently. Bucky strokes his thumb over Sam’s wrist. “Your blood pressure just shot way up again.”

“Tell me you’re not some kind of human sphygmomanometer,” Sam says. “I don’t have the patience for that level of weird right now. Stop monitoring my blood pressure. That’s creepy.”

“OK,” Bucky says slowly. “Sorry. What’s going on?”

“Steve asked me to be Captain America. Says he’s not retiring, but he’s needed off-world for a while, and he thinks I should be the one to carry the shield.”

Suddenly, just like that, the strange, tentative peace between them shatters. Bucky’s face turns white, then flushes a deep red.

“Steve asked you to be Captain America,” Bucky repeats coldly. All traces of warmth are gone from Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s mouth settles into a grim line. “Excuse me a moment.”

Sam sighs as Bucky stalks off in Steve’s general direction.

Bucky returns a few moments later, Steve in tow, the two of them having some kind of whisper fight that Sam can’t really hear.

“Can’t believe you would do this—”

“—you know he’s a good choice—”

“—supposed to be your best friend—”

“—c’mon, Buck, you know I wouldn’t—”

Bucky yanks on Steve’s wrist as they approach Sam.

“OK, first of all, Steve, where the fuck is Sam’s family?” Bucky demands.

Steve pales, then looks genuinely contrite. “Oh, God, Sam, I’m sorry. I should have told you right away. Sarah and Michelle, they survived. They both survived the Snap. They’re living in your mom’s apartment in New York.” Steve hesitates for a moment, then adds, “Your mom was one of the ones who disappeared. She was at home watching Michelle when it happened. She should be safe. We’ll get a phone to her right away.”

Sam feels his stomach plunge at the knowledge that Michelle is five years older. He already missed two years of her life on the run with Steve after the Accords. Would she even remember him?

“Nat has your old phone stashed away. It should still have all your contacts in it. Natasha—she paid the bill. Every month you were gone. She never gave up hope we’d get you back,” Steve says, looking proud and a little teary-eyed.

While Sam works on processing the fact that his six-year-old niece is now his eleven-year-old niece, Steve rambles on about Natasha, and how brave she was, and what a rock she was, and how she kept everyone together, and how she sacrificed her life to save everyone, for kind of a while. Sam’s honestly kind of surprised. Steve and Natasha have always been close, but Sam’s never seen Steve as openly effusive about anyone other than James Buchanan Barnes Before The War, Steve’s most favorite person ever.

“OK, that’s great, Steve,” Bucky interrupts in a frosty tone. “But what’s this about Sam being the new Captain America?”

“Oh! Carol wants Natasha and me to go with her to a couple of planets that are struggling to organize after their populations suddenly doubled. Actually, I thought maybe you could come with us, Buck?” Steve offers. “I know how much you love space and—”

“No, Steve, I think I’ll stay here with Sam,” Bucky says stonily, glaring at Steve. Sam is a little stunned.

“What? Why?” Steve asks. He looks a bit like a confused golden retriever. “I thought you’d jump at this opportunity, Bucky, you really—”

“I really think I should stay here. Since I’m Captain America’s right hand man and all. And since Sam is Captain America now.”

Sam doesn’t really know what to do with all of this, because it seems like there’s really a lot going on here between Steve and Bucky that he doesn’t want to get involved with. And honestly, he’s not one hundred percent sold on the idea of working with Bucky at all, since they hardly even know each other. Today is the first time they’ve really interacted in a way that isn’t hostile or at the very least kind of pissy, and to be honest the uncomfortable sexual tension Sam felt earlier wasn’t exactly welcome.

But then a thought occurs to him, and Sam is instantly filled with delight. “So wait. What you’re saying is that you’re going to be my sidekick!”

“What, no, I’m not going to be your sidekick, I’m going to be your partner,” Bucky argues.

“Nuh uh, nope. It’s right there in the comics. Bucky Barnes was Captain America’s sidekick,” Sam says with a smirk. “Are you gonna wear the outfit?”

“What outfit?” asks Bucky, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh! The outfit with the little booty shorts?” Steve asks.

“I’m not wearing an outfit with little booty shorts,” Bucky says scornfully. “I’ll wear my regular outfit.”

“Leather bondage gear it is, then!” Sam replies. He feels more cheerful already.

***

“So what else did we miss?” Sam asks later, when they’re all settled in at one of the cabins on Tony’s property.

Steve and Natasha are tangled up together on the sofa, Natasha’s legs slung over Steve’s lap and her head resting against his chest. Steve and Nat have been trading inside jokes and finishing each other’s sentences all night, and it kind of seems like Sam and Bucky must have really missed a lot, because Sam doesn’t remember Steve and Nat being so telepathically linked before he got dusted.

Bucky is sitting alone, tense and uncomfortable-looking, in a chair near the fire. He must still be pretty pissed at Steve for choosing Sam over him as the next Captain America, because he keeps shooting murder glares at Steve through narrowed eyes. When Steve’s not gazing adoringly at Natasha, he’s busy having a silent argument with Bucky through a complicated series of expressions that include rolled eyes, pleading looks, clenched jaws, and prissy, pursed lips. Sam is honestly feeling pretty left out right now, because there’s a lot of unspoken communication going on here between basically everyone but him.

Steve heaves a frustrated sigh, tears his gaze away from Bucky, and responds, “Well, they built a giant wall between the United States and Mexico. It was a pretty big deal, lots of people were really unhappy.”

“Seriously? Half of the entire United States population disappears, and Americans are still freaking out about immigration from Mexico?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Oh, no, we didn’t build the wall. Mexico actually built the wall,” Natasha says. The wicked look in her eye suggests that this is going to be a good story.

“Wait, what? That stupid promise actually came true?” Bucky asks.

“Well, kind of?” Natasha says, giving a little so-so motion with her hand. “Mexico didn’t actually build the wall because of illegal immigration, though. They built it after a bunch of riots and border skirmishes in late 2020.”

“So, what? Gang violence? Drug cartels?” Sam asks.

“Nope. It was the season finale of a television show on the CW called Supernatural,” Steve explains, as if this doesn’t make the whole thing somehow even more confusing.

“You’re telling me that we were gone for five years and now CW shows are a source of tension between the United States and Mexico and they built an entire wall about it,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows.

Sam is dubious as hell about this new foolishness—he’s starting to feel a lot more sympathetic towards Steve’s frustration with all the impenetrable pop culture references people expected him to grasp—but Bucky visibly perks up at the mention of Supernatural. “Oh, how did that go? Is Destiel canon yet?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve responds at the same time that Natasha replies, “Si.” Then they both cackle wildly, as if this is some seriously comedic shit, and honestly, Sam’s getting a little annoyed with all their inside jokes. He sneaks a look over at Bucky to see how he’s responding to all this, and Sam is relieved to feel slightly less like an asshole when he sees that Bucky doesn’t look any more charmed by Steve and Natasha’s Abbott and Costello routine than Sam feels.

“OK,” Sam says slowly, really drawing the word out. “So I guess if I want to understand all of that”—here, Sam gestures broadly at Steve and Natasha, attempting to convey his incredulity at their unnecessary dramatics—“that you just did, and apparently also current U.S. foreign policy, I’m going to have to watch a TV show on the CW.”

“It’s fifteen seasons, it makes for great depression watching,” says Natasha, shrugging. Bucky nods in agreement. “And Steve was pretty genuinely moved by the relationship between the two brothers.”

Steve confirms this with a solemn nod. “They were brothers, but they were also best friends.”

“Anyway it was better than a lot of the junk we watched while you were gone,” Natasha continues. “Half the time Steve and I spent in bed together we were just binge watching trash tv and getting overly invested in the love lives of twenty-five year olds pretending to be teenagers pretending to be detectives.”

Bucky shoots Sam a significant glance at this, somehow communicating half the time they spent in bed together? with the tense raising of his eyebrows alone, and says, “Sam and I will watch Supernatural together. I’ll get him caught up.”

And yeah, maybe fifteen seasons sounds like an awful lot of time to commit to spite-watching a television show with Bucky just to handle how weird he feels about Steve and Natasha’s whole new bed sharing thing together, but then Bucky stretches his arms over his head and reveals a pale sliver of belly, little trail of hair drawing Sam’s eyes pleasingly downward.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam says. After all, this Supernatural show does sound pretty important to this sketchy new future Sam didn’t ask to find himself in.

Bucky turns to Steve. “So when do you and Natalia have to head out?”

“Probably in a week or two. We want to make sure everything’s settled here before we head out.”

“A week or two, Steve, really? You think Sam’s going to be ready to be Captain America in a week or two,” Bucky says flatly.

Sam thinks Bucky sort of has a point, but out of loyalty to Steve and his own sense of competence he keeps his mouth shut.

Steve’s shoulders hunch defensively. “It’s going to be fine, you’re going to do a great job supporting Sam.”

“I shouldn’t have to support Sam, Steve—”

“Bucky, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t have—”

“Not even a supersoldier, Steve—”

“Sam doesn’t have to be—”

Natasha is listening to this argument with a fond look on her face, like she actually missed this shit while they were gone.

“OK, listen,” Sam interrupts before Steve and Bucky get too distracted by their bullshit. “The Captain America thing is huge, yeah. But I feel like maybe we also need to be concerned about the world’s population suddenly doubling instantaneously? That’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh!” Steve lights up. “Natasha’s had a plan set up for that since like a week after you guys disappeared. She’s spent the last five years preparing for every contingency, basically every scientific or magical possibility that might bring you guys back. In fact, phase one has already started, getting lines of communication open to reconnect families and arranging emergency housing.”

Steve beams down at Natasha, and then—Sam can’t even fucking believe this—Natasha actually blushes in response. Steve and Natasha are, respectively, the most repressed and tightly controlled people Sam knows, and now they’re acting like emotionally healthy people who express their feelings in front of other people? Sam is suspicious as hell, and when he looks over at Bucky, Bucky is bug-eyed, looking frantically and significantly at Sam with that unmistakable are you seeing this too, what the fuck expression on his face. Sam hates the fact that things are so weird now that he’s bonding with Bucky over this.

“Pepper Potts is coordinating everything through the Avengers Foundation,” Natasha says. “She needs something to do right now, and she’s basically the most frighteningly efficient person I know, so. Your only job right now is figuring out how to work together without killing each other.”

Natasha eyes them both a bit skeptically, and Sam is instantly offended at this implied slight to his professionalism.

“Bucky and I are going to do great,” Sam says. “We are definitely going to be absolutely fine at working together.” He shoots Bucky a hard look, daring him to disagree.

“Absolutely fine,” Bucky repeats dutifully, then hesitates. “You’re sure, though, right, Sam? You really want to do the Captain America thing?”

“Definitely,” Sam confirms. Bucky searches his eyes for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever he finds.

“Great!” Natasha says with a pleased smile, and shares a satisfied look with Steve.

“Anyway,” Sam says, changing the subject, before they can figure out Sam has no fucking clue how to be Captain America and definitely doesn’t feel certain about working with Bucky Barnes. “What else did we miss while we were gone? How did Brexit go?”

“Oh, God,” Steve says.

***

The next morning, Sam walks down to the cabin’s kitchen for breakfast and finds a disaster.

“Is this a murder board?” he asks, aghast.

The wall next to the kitchen table is absolutely covered in papers that have been hastily pinned up, and there are at least eleven different colors of string stretched together in a complicated web over top of them, forming a bizarre rainbow of crazy. Where did Bucky even find that many different colors of string in the middle of the night? Did he break into a Joann Fabrics?

The kitchen table is littered with papers as well, and Sam counts six different green tea bags sitting on a napkin next to Bucky’s mug. “Have you been up all night?”

“No! And yes!” Bucky answers, his eyes red rimmed and wild, looking simultaneously exhausted and absolutely frantic with energy. He cards his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how much money Stark was spending on the Avengers Initiative after you guys blew up SHIELD? The litigation team! The insurance premiums! The property damage settlements! Weapons and technology! Research and development! Sam, the cost was astronomical!”

“Wait, this is all financial stuff? I thought this was more of, like, a traditional murder board situation here.” Sam pauses, then struck with sudden uncertainty, he asks, “Is financial stuff part of Captain America stuff?”

“Well, I mean, kind of, yeah,” Bucky responds. He stands up and restlessly paces the tiny kitchen. “You didn’t think you were going to just run off with the shield and, like, live off the kindness of strangers or something, did you?”

“Obviously, no,” Sam says, offended. Actually, though—not that Sam is going to admit it—Sam hasn’t had a real job in so long that he sort of forgot that this was going to be an issue. “Wait, did you get all this stuff by hacking Stark Industries?”

“Well, yeah,” says Bucky, defensive now. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask Ms. Potts in the middle of the night. Also I killed her daughter’s grandparents.”

Sam considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he says. “So what about the funding we had before? Is that gone?”

“It’s not gone, but there’s no way the money in Steve’s and my bank account will be enough.”

“Wait, you and Steve share a bank account?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Well, yeah, of course. Why would Steve and I need separate bank accounts?” he asks, looking puzzled.

“Why would you...” Sam repeats faintly. “OK. Moving on from that codependent nonsense, you and Steve were the ones funding us while we were on the run? Steve never said.”

“Well, I mean, I did steal a bunch of money from HYDRA, and Steve had some backpay saved up. But there’s no way Steve and I have Captain America money. Stark barely had Captain America money. Sam, he was spending down his entire fortune on the Avengers Initiative. Did you guys know he was doing that?”

Sam closes his eyes, shaking off the waves of guilt and grief he felt at the mention of Tony’s generosity. “No, I didn’t,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says grimly. “It’s bad. Like, really, really bad. You aren’t an international fugitive anymore. If you want to be Captain America, you won’t be able to just save people, destroy a few buildings, then dash off to the next country before the police catch up to you. You have to actually deal with the fallout afterward. And, most importantly, and I cannot stress this enough, you need actual income. Was Stark seriously the only one of you with a real job?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Of course he was,” Bucky says, deflating and leaning back against the counter with a thud. “God, you’re all idiots. I went off to war in the 1940s and I left one Steve back at home. Then I fell off a train, woke up seventy years later, and found out that Steve managed to find an entire team full of Steves, and each one of you is just as beautiful and heroic and stupid and utterly impractical as he is.” Bucky raises his metal hand to massage his temples, apparently fighting a headache so powerful that even his serum-enhanced regular arm isn’t strong enough to deal with it.

Sam carefully ignores Bucky’s insinuation that he finds Sam beautiful and heroic. Instead he pours Bucky a glass of water and slides it over to him. “OK, so what do we do?”

“Well, you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m not, huh? Just tell me.”

“We have to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky states firmly. “We have to get in touch with Nick Fury.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam says.

“Sam, it’s the only reasonable choice. We can’t afford to privately fund your career as a superhero, OK? I mean, the insurance? The legal team? I’ve drafted fifteen different budgets and there’s no way we can get this off the ground. But if we rebuild SHIELD, there’ll be funding and qualified immunity. You won’t even have to work directly for SHIELD. You could be an independent contractor.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know. But it’s the only way.”

“Is Fury even going to listen to us, though?” Sam asks skeptically. “Like, will he even hire you? You shot him, like, five times.”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, that wasn’t great. But listen, the man’s probably been waiting for this moment for years. If he can get Steve and Natalia’s public support behind SHIELD 2.0? He’ll seize the chance.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

***

When Steve and Natasha come downstairs, sleepy and happy looking, casually emerging from the same bedroom that Sam knows only has one queen size bed, like bed sharing is just a regular part of their regular lives now, Bucky introduces them to the financial murder board.

“So if you really want to do this, if you want Sam to be Captain America, we need to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky concludes.

“SHIELD?” Natasha perks up. “We’re getting the old gang back together?”

“Natasha, like, 40% of the old gang were secret Nazis,” Steve says reproachfully. “And more importantly, Nick Fury didn’t notice they were secret Nazis.”

“He definitely started to suspect something was wrong near the end there, though,” says Natasha.

“Well, he’s our best shot at getting government funding, so unless you want to ask Tony Stark’s grieving widow for money, I think this is the best we can do.” Bucky turns to Natasha. “Natalia, you know how to get in touch with him, right?” he asks.

“I do. Pepper sent out working satellite phones via courier last night. They should have arrived by this morning. I’ll give him a call,” Natasha says. “He’s going to love this.”

“Your mom should have gotten a phone too, Sam,” Steve says. “I’ll text you her number so you can give her a call.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, relieved. While Steve works on sending Sam his mom’s contact info—does Steve’s phone have a holographic display? Does Old Man Steve know how to work a phone with a holographic display?—Sam asks Bucky, “How did you even pull all these records together, by the way? Are you like a secret accountant?”

“Bucky worked as an actuary before the war,” Steve responds absently, thumbing at some buttons on his phone screen. “He was getting his degree in mathematics before he dropped out to enlist.”

“An actuary?” Natasha asks thoughtfully. “I can see that. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“It paid the bills,” Bucky allows.

When Sam receives Steve’s text with his mom’s contact info, he steps outside for a bit of privacy. Sam watches Steve and Natasha leaning together through the sliding glass window as he waits for his mom to answer the phone. Sam feels a pit growing deep in his belly, a black hole that’s been sucking in everything Sam could have lived and built and experienced in the past five years, leaving him empty and lonely and lost, missing parts of himself that he should have been gaining. Inside, Bucky is standing alone in front of murder board, his shoulders tense, while Steve and Natasha talk and smile and touch each other’s forearms.

“Sam? Sam, baby, are you OK?”

“Mom!” Sam exclaims. “Mom, I’m OK. I’m OK.”

“Thank God,” she says in relief. “We’re OK too. Sarah and Michelle, they’ve been living in my apartment. Michelle’s eleven years old now, Sam. We missed five years of her life. How did this happen?”

And Sam tells her how it happened. He tells her about the battle, and then the second battle, and then realizing that he had died and was resurrected by magical stones. He tells her about Bucky Barnes, standing there in disgruntled disbelief when Steve and Natasha explained that they’d woken up five years into the future, his only reaction to state flatly, “I was told that this wouldn’t happen to me again.”

When he tells her that Steve’s asked him to be the new Captain America, Sam’s mom gasps in surprise. “Captain America? Sam, are you sure?”

“Yeah, Mom. I am sure. I think I could really do some good,” Sam says softly.

“Do you have good people around you? Do you have people who will take care of you?”

Sam thinks of Steve and Natasha leaving for space in a few weeks, moving on to bigger and more complicated catastrophes, superheroes who’ve grown so powerful and competent and amazing that they’re needed elsewhere, on worlds larger than their own. And then he thinks of Bucky Barnes staying up all night to do superhero math so Sam can be Captain America, even though Bucky is apparently pissed that Steve chose Sam for the honor instead of him.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I have people who will take care of me.”

***

That evening, Sam and Bucky sit at the table and watch Steve and Natasha put together the most disgusting struggle dinner Sam has ever seen. Steve is piling gross stacks of bologna onto bread and seems to think condiments are optional, while Natasha has dumped a bag of iceberg lettuce into a bowl and poured an entire bottle of ranch dressing on top of it. This, she insists, is a “salad.” Steve and Natasha move expertly around each other in the kitchen like they’re performing a choreographed dance, casually touching each other’s shoulders and hips as they slide past each other. Obviously they’ve created this sort of repulsive dinner situation more than once. What have these two been eating for the last five years? Sam can’t resist glancing up at Bucky to catch a look of horror on Bucky’s face, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

When Steve sets their plates of dry bologna sandwiches and the soggy bowl of lettuce onto the table onto the table, Bucky suddenly announces that he’s vegan.

“You are?” Steve asks suspiciously. “Since when?”

Sensing an opportunity, Sam rushes to support Bucky’s desperate ploy to avoid this dinner. “Bucky and I are both vegan, actually. It’s new.”

“Really,” Natasha says. “You and Bucky do stuff together now. Stuff like going vegan.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says staunchly.

The best way to handle Natasha is just to brazen it out. She’ll suspect that you’re lying, but she won’t actually say anything until she has proof. Unfortunately, she’ll stoop to any and all means—however invasive or conniving—to catch you out. Sam guesses he and Bucky are both vegan forever now.

“Go ahead and eat your dinner,” Bucky says. “I’ll just make Sam and me something while you guys eat.”

While Steve and Natasha eat and trade inside jokes and talk about a bunch of political events Sam does not understand—did Michigan actually successfully secede from the Union?—Sam watches in astonishment as Bucky prepares the most incredible looking burrito bowls Sam’s ever seen in his life. In like twenty minutes, the dude whips up some chipotle lime black beans, diced tomatoes, corn, fajita veggies, and quinoa, then proceeds to make pineapple mango salsa from scratch using a mortar and pestle. Where did Bucky even get these ingredients? The last time Sam checked, the fridge was almost empty.

Bucky looks relaxed and capable, and Sam watches the muscles in Bucky’s back shift and move as he chops and grinds and sautés. Bucky’s got a kitchen towel slung casually over his shoulder, and a few strands of hair at his temples curl a bit in the steam coming off the stove top.

“So what else did y’all get up to in the last five years?” Sam asks.

“Oh! Should we tell them about the—” Natasha begins, her eyes lighting up.

“You mean the dude with the—”

“With the plastic fangs!” Natasha finishes, wheezing with laughter. “What was that guy’s name? Oh, God—”

“—Baron Blood!” they exclaim in unison, cackling.

Sam can’t help but feel a little annoyed by how easily Steve and Natasha finish each other’s sentences. Sam knows, intellectually, that Steve and Natasha lived each one of the five years that went by in seconds for him and Bucky. He knows that Steve and Natasha have always been close and that it makes sense for them to, like, trauma bond after everything they’ve gone through together. But he’s never felt so left out by his own best friends before. He looks over at Bucky, relieved when he sees his own feelings of frustration and isolation mirrored on Bucky’s face.

“Wait, you fought the Bloody Baron from Harry Potter?” Bucky asks.

“No, it was Baron Blood, not the Bloody Baron.”

“Was the guy an actual baron, or were his parents just rich and tacky? Was his first name Baron?” Sam asks, fascinated despite himself.

“I think it was, like, a self-appointed title?” Natasha says. “I don’t think he was a real baron. Anyway, Steve decapitated him with his shield.”

“He was a Nazi vampire,” Steve explains.

“Like an actual vampire? Are we fighting actual vampires now?” Sam asks.

“I think so,” Natasha says doubtfully. “Steve had to soak his shield in holy water blessed by the pope first. It was a whole thing.”

“Wait, are you guys talking about Todd?” Bucky asks. “Brown hair, red eyes, ranted a lot about what an important superpower echolocation was?”

“Yes! Did you know this guy?” Steve asks.

“Eh, we weren’t close or anything. But there were some weird ass HYDRA experiments in the eighties and nineties. Most people these days think the Satanic Panic was a myth, but actually HYDRA really did have agents trying to indoctrinate daycare kids into supernatural cults. Todd was one of the evil brainwashed HYDRA daycare kids, volunteered to get some really hinky stuff done to him to try to create a master race of genetically pure vampires. Oh, and he was super obsessed with you, Steve.”

“Oh, God, was he ever,” Natasha says. “Let me tell you what he did when he got Steve tied up in his gross dungeon—”

***

While Natasha says goodbye to Bucky, squeezing Bucky and muttering something in Russian in Bucky’s ear, Sam is startled to feel Steve grab him tightly and pull him into an aggressive hug. Sam takes a minute to breathe in Steve’s familiar, comforting smell—still wearing Bay Rum even after all this time—and rests his chin on Steve’s strong shoulder.

“We love you,” Steve says, then hands him off to Natasha.

Natasha gives him a sweet kiss on the mouth. “We’ll miss you,” she says.

When Steve and Natasha disappear into the distance, Sam looks over at Bucky. “We, we, we,” Bucky says wryly.

***

Six weeks later, Sam and Bucky have formed a pretty solid partnership. They’re still living in one of the cabins on Tony Stark’s property in upstate New York for now, but they’re scheduled to report for duty at the new SHIELD headquarters in New York City on Monday.

Steve and Natasha are coming back to Earth this evening, scheduled for security briefings and press events promoting the resurrection of SHIELD, promising the public that Sam is going to make a great Captain America and that there definitely aren’t any more secret Nazis in the upper echelons of power at SHIELD.

As far as Sam can tell, Bucky’s still pretty pissed at Steve for asking Sam to be Captain America instead of him, but fortunately that grudge doesn’t seem to be carrying over to Sam. Instead, Bucky is perfectly pleasant and helpful as hell, which is pretty terrific considering the fact that Sam could use all the help he can get right now. Learning how to use the shield—especially while flying—is complicated as fuck and Sam probably would have lost patience pretty quickly without Bucky reassuring him that Steve was shit at math and definitely was not doing trigonometric calculations in his head while he fought.

“Does Steve seem like the kind of guy who’s doing a lot of thinking while he’s fighting? No, this is all practice and muscle memory,” says Bucky, clapping Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon, Steve and Natalia are scheduled to get here in like an hour. Let’s take showers and get ready to meet them for dinner.”

It’s humid as fuck outside and Bucky’s shirt is drenched in sweat, clinging so tightly to his skin that Sam can count each one of his abdominal muscles individually. Bucky raises a water bottle to his mouth and takes a long pull. Sam watches a drip of sweat slide down Bucky’s throat.

“Yeah, good plan,” Sam says. A cool shower sounds really refreshing right now.

***

When they meet Steve and Natasha for dinner, Sam nearly forgets that he and Bucky are pretending to be vegan until Bucky orders a wheatberry salad and then kicks Sam underneath the table. Sam grimaces and reaches down to rub his shin, looking regretfully at the shiny picture of the giant burger and fries that Steve ordered on his menu.

“I’ll have the wheatberry salad too,” Sam says, trying not to sound too sad about it.

Steve and Natasha are bursting with stories about space. They’re happy and full of excitement, and if anything, they’re somehow even closer than when they left. They have very strong feelings about Kree politics, and they tell a lot of stories about famous people from space that Sam does not know. They touch each other constantly.

The wheatberry salad is amazing.

“So what else happened while we were gone?” Bucky asks, mercifully changing the subject from the boring Kree legislative process. “How did the last season of Game of Thrones go?”

“Oh, it was incredible,” Natasha raves, her eyes lighting up. “David Benioff and D. B. Weiss were taken in the Snap, so they had to hire this fantasy author named Brandon Sanderson to write it. Everyone was really skeptical about how it would go—especially with half of the cast gone—but he did an amazing job. It’s now considered one of the strongest finales of any show in history.”

“You know, I never could get into Game of Thrones,” Sam remarks. “All those big-budget fantasy dynastic political dramas are just so unrealistic.”

“See, that’s what Shuri said when I told her I was watching it to research living in a monarchy after I moved to Wakanda,” Bucky says. “But then her secret illegitimate cousin traveled from across the sea to claim her brother’s throne in a trial by combat. And then her supposedly slain brother dramatically returned from the dead with the help of a magical herb in order to defeat the usurper in battle, so.” Bucky lifts his shoulders and raises his hands in a sort of smug, so who turned out to be right there? kind of shrug.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point.

“It’s crazy that we’ll never know how much better it could have been with Benioff and Weiss at the helm, though,” Steve says, and Sam’s stomach drops a bit as he’s hit by another wave of wrongness, that same ears-ringing, tunnel-vision-forming wrongness he’s been feeling since he dramatically returned from the dead. Because what’s the deal with Steve being so literate in pop culture that he not only watches hit prestige dramas but actually knows the names of the writers? To Sam, it was just a few weeks ago that Steve declared Star Trek: The Next Generation “a bit too flashy” for his taste.

“Hey, did George R. R. Martin ever finish the books?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“No, he died,” Steve says.

***

Later that night, after Steve and Natasha have conspicuously gone to bed together, Bucky grabs Sam’s hand, puts a finger to his lips, quirks an eyebrow, and leads Sam silently into a small closet on the first floor of the house. The closet is full of thick winter coats that push Sam and Bucky right up against a wall, their bodies pressed tightly together. Bucky turns on the flashlight app from his phone to give them some light.

“What are we doing in here?” Sam whispers.

“It’s the only place in the house where Steve won’t be able to hear us. Just keep your voice down,” Bucky explains.

“Oh, shit. We’re not plotting to overthrow SHIELD again, are we?”

“No!” Bucky says. “It’s been like six weeks. HYDRA won’t have a secret majority interest in SHIELD for another twenty years at least. Look, have you noticed how Steve and Natalia are, like, obsessed with each other now?”

“Yes! What is with that? I thought I was Steve’s best friend!” Sam hisses.

“Well, you and Steve are definitely close friends,” Bucky says skeptically. “But best friendship is an exclusive relationship. It’s the closest and most intimate connection you can have with someone. And you can only have one of them. Your best friend is someone you would kill for, someone that you would die for, someone you would come back from seventy years of brainwashing for. Someone you would drop the very symbol of everything you believe in for. So, I think we can all agree that I was Steve’s best friend.”

Bucky looks pretty self-satisfied after that whole speech.

“I don’t think we can all agree that you were Steve’s best friend,” Sam says, tilting his head skeptically.

“Well, I was, but the point is that I don’t think I am anymore. I think Natalia might be Steve’s best friend now,” Bucky whispers, irritated.

“I know! I hate it,” Sam confesses. “Steve and Nat and I used to all be best friends. Now they have all these inside jokes and I feel left out all the time.”

“Again, Sam, you can’t have two best friends,” Bucky corrects. “Anyway, I know we haven’t always gotten along in the past, and maybe some of us have made mistakes like kicking people off helicarriers or wrecking their cars, but I think if we want Steve back, we might be able to work together on this.”

“I’m listening,” Sam says.

“OK, so I think we need to try to make them jealous.”

“I don’t think Nat gets jealous. Does Steve get jealous?” Sam says doubtfully.

“Oh, Steve gets jealous,” Bucky confirms. “Did you know that like five seconds after I admitted that I remembered growing up with Steve, he immediately started getting passive aggressive about some redhead named Dot that I spent three dollars on back in 1937? It was like the very first thing he brought up.”

“Oh, God, was Dot short for Dolores?” Sam asks. “Steve complained about her all the time while we were out searching for you.”

“That was her!” Bucky says. “Steve was so jealous of Dolores. Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave.

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

***

The next day, while Steve and Natasha are busy in meetings with Rhodey and Fury, Sam moves into his new apartment in Brooklyn. It’s not actually so much his new apartment so much as it is Steve’s old apartment, but apparently Steve doesn’t need it anymore since he’s spending so much time out in space with Natasha and he “can always just stay with Nat while I’m in town, it’s no trouble, Sam, Natasha and I are used to bunking together.”

Sam actually has a lot of questions about how used to bunking together Steve and Natasha are.

Sam’s unpacking his clothes when he hears the doorbell ring. His spine stiffens and his fingers twitch for a weapon. Steve and Natasha are both scheduled to be out for hours still, and Steve’s a pretty private guy. Sam doubts many people know about his apartment.

He grabs a gun from his safe, loads it, and walks silently toward the front door.

“Sam, I know you’re in there.”

The muffled voice on the other side of the door is thankfully familiar. Sam feels the tension in his chest release and he lowers his gun. It’s just Bucky.

Unfortunately, all that tension in Sam’s chest immediately returns when Sam opens the door to discover that Bucky is, for some reason, carrying a duffel bag and surrounded by cardboard boxes. Sam’s stomach sinks.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Bucky complains, shoving past him into the entryway and setting down his bag. “You didn’t even look through the peephole to make sure no one was holding me at gunpoint? If we’re going to live together you’re going to have to be a lot more careful about security. I have a lot of enemies.”

“I’m sorry, if we��re going to live together?” Sam repeats, horrified. He puts the safety back on his gun and sets it down onto the counter.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Um, yes? Remember our whole fake-best-friends plan? You literally just agreed to it last night. Here, help me with these boxes.”

Bucky goes back into the hallway, where he bends over to lift a box labeled “pots and pans,” his skinny jeans stretching obscenely over his ass and thighs.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, and follows him out into the hallway.

***

“OK, so, explain this to me again: why does being fake best friends mean that we have to be actual roommates?” Sam asks later, passing Bucky a beer.

They’re sitting on Sam’s couch now, surrounded by fifteen boxes labeled, variously: “favorite grenade launchers,” “crossbows,” “guns (1 of 10),” “scopes and silencers,” “marijuana,” and “warm sweaters.”

“Is this beer vegan?” Bucky asks, checking the label. “Hold on, I’m gonna need to look this up.”

“Wait, are you actually vegan?” Sam asks, watching in astonishment as Bucky pulls up an app on his phone, types in the name of the beer Steve left in the fridge, frowns, and then gets up to put the beer back into the fridge. “I thought we were just pretending to be vegan to avoid Steve’s bologna sandwiches and that gross salad.”

“We were! But then I looked it up afterward to make sure I could pull this off in front of Natalia and I actually read a lot of really harrowing and kind of horrifying stuff about animal agriculture,” Bucky says, grimacing. “Anyway, if we want Steve and Natalia to believe that we’re best friends, we’re going to have to live together. Steve and I always lived together, and Steve moved in with you like five seconds after he met you.”

“To be fair to Steve, he did make it two very sad years living alone in the most depressing apartment I have ever seen, and he didn’t move in with me until you shot a man through his walls,” Sam says.

“That was just an excuse,” Bucky says, waving his hand airily. “Steve and I spent the entire winter of 1937 living in an uninsulated attic apartment with a broken window. If Steve didn’t want to live with you, he would have just slapped some duct tape over those bullet holes and gotten an extra blanket.”

Sam considers this and then reluctantly concedes the point. He’s seen Steve look unnervingly comfortable in some pretty horrific living situations over the past couple of years.

“All right, fine. But do we really need every gun ever made in our living room? I feel like surrounding yourself with this amount of weaponry has got to be an unhealthy coping strategy.”

Sam feels pretty confident about this—he’d been like three-quarters of the way through his Master’s coursework to become a licensed professional counselor when Steve Rogers bulldozed his way into his life.

“And what are we going to do if we need to take down SHIELD again, Sam?” Bucky demands. “How much do we really trust Nick Fury? Anyway, we aren’t storing these in the living room, Sam, that would be tacky.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says, his stomach sinking. “And where are we storing them?” He has a bad feeling about this.

“In the spare bedroom, of course.”

“What spare bedroom.”

“The spare bedroom-slash-armory! We only really need one bedroom, Sam. Steve and I always shared a bedroom.”

“Did you,” Sam says. “And I suppose you shared a bed too.”

“Of course we did. Why would Steve and I need separate beds? We were best friends.”

Bucky gives Sam an odd look, like he thinks Sam in the one being strange about this. As if indefinitely sharing a bed is just normal best friend stuff. Sam wants to believe that this is some kind of Depression era, growing-up-in-poverty sort of thing, but honestly Steve and Bucky are just so intensely weird about each other that Sam is pretty sure that it’s actually a Steve-and-Bucky thing.

Sam thinks about sharing a bed with Bucky every night. He wonders if Bucky wears a shirt to bed, or if Bucky slides into bed bare-chested, wearing only a pair of shorts or maybe even just some tightly fitted boxer briefs.

“All right,” Sam says, sighing.

***

Later that night, when they’re lying in bed catching up on Supernatural—he has got to know how this show somehow became relevant to international geopolitics—Bucky leans over to pull a huge bag of weed out of the nightstand. Then he slowly, carefully rolls the fattest joint Sam has ever seen. It’s somehow absolutely massive but still structurally sound and perfectly balanced. Sam puts the show on pause because he has a lot of questions about this.

“Where did you learn how to do that? Does marijuana even work on you?” Sam asks. “Did you learn how to do this as part of that whole Eat Pray Love thing you did while Steve and I were looking for you?”

“What? No. Steve taught me how to do this back in the thirties.”

“Excuse me, Steve Rogers taught you how to roll a joint in the thirties? Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers knows how to roll a joint?” Sam asks, scandalized.

“Yes? I didn’t have any other friends named Steve—actually, Steve was always my only friend,” Bucky says offhandedly. “Anyway, Stevie started rolling his own asthma cigarettes when he was like twelve, had those perfect long-fingered artist hands even when he was little. Then when he started art school he started bringing home marijuana after class. He’d roll us a joint and we’d sit out on the fire escape and smoke before bed every night.”

“Steve Rogers,” Sam says, wonderingly. “What a little punk.”

“Right? I’m always saying that but no one ever believes me. Here,” Bucky says, passing the joint over to Sam. Sam hesitates for a moment—he hasn’t smoked pot since before he joined the Air Force—but then he gives a mental shrug, figuring that SHIELD probably isn’t going to drug test him. Yeah, Nick Fury is kind of a dick, but Sam doubts that he’d give a shit about a little recreational marijuana use.

Sam feels a little thrill when he raises Bucky’s joint to his lips, the paper still slightly damp from Bucky’s saliva. He seals his mouth around the end of the joint and sucks in deeply, sharing this wet vicarious kiss with Bucky, who watches Sam’s mouth with interest. Sam feels the sharp burn in his lungs as he holds in the smoke, then coughs violently when he exhales, passing the joint back to Bucky.

“Damn,” he says. “This stuff still works for you?”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “HYDRA wanted to make sure they’d still be able to drug the shit out of me when they were experimenting with their own version of the serum, so unlike some reckless assholes who actually volunteered to get the bona fide serum, I can still get stoned. Which is I guess some small consolation for spending seventy years on some pretty intense amphetamines and weird psychosis-inducing experimental drug cocktails.”

“Yikes. Well, that makes sense, I guess,” Sam says. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky pauses. “Well, it’s not fine fine. But I’m fine. Now.”

“I’m glad,” Sam says, and he realizes he means it.

***

The first time Sam fucks up as Captain America, he finds out the answer to a great personal mystery: why Steve Rogers was considered “the greatest tactician in American military history.”

It’s not because Steve is actually a great tactician—in fact, Steve is an instinctive fighter, brash and brave and most of all impulsive.

Apparently, the real reason Steve was considered the greatest tactician in American military history is because Peggy Carter was the greatest tactician in American military history, and Bucky Barnes was the greatest bullshitter in American military history.

When Maria Hill orders them to Fury’s office for debriefing after that disastrous mission, Bucky grabs Sam’s arm and digs his nails into the tender skin on the underside of Sam’s forearm.

“Whatever you do, do not say anything,” Bucky hisses. “Just shut the fuck up, and let me handle this. I mean it.”

“I need to take responsibility for this, Bucky. Steve would take responsibility for this.”

“Steve would absolutely not take responsibility for this,” Bucky states firmly. “Trust me, I’ve been bailing that little punk out of trouble for one hundred years. Do not say anything.”

When they get to Fury’s office, Sam witnesses an actual miracle. Fury begins by asking them a series of terse questions in a clipped tone that slowly grows more and more agreeable as Bucky’s answers—calm, thoughtful, and pleasant—make Sam’s actions sound both necessary and entirely reasonable. The tone shifts from an interrogation to a more customary debrief, and by the end Fury’s countenance is less thunderous and more just his sort of standard expression of grim disapproval.

The truly bewildering part is that Bucky’s explanations for Sam’s behavior are so convincing that Sam himself is now questioning whether he even fucked up at all. Nothing Bucky says is a lie, and Sam’s not even sure he would characterize anything as misleading, but nevertheless Sam slowly moves from the distinct impression that both he and Fury considered the mission a failure, to the cautious notion that maybe he’d actually made the best of a bad job after all.

When Fury dismisses them, he offers them a gruff, “Excellent work, gentlemen,” and then he actually claps Sam on the shoulder as Sam walks out the door.

What the fuck.

***

“Excuse me, are you some kind of hypnotist or sorcerer?” Sam hisses when they return to their office. “What the fuck was all that?”

“Should we get Thai food for lunch? I’m thinking pad see ew,” Bucky muses, scrolling through the menu on his phone. “What about you?”

“Get me the tofu pad thai,” Sam says. It turns out Bucky wasn’t wrong about the environmental impact of animal agriculture—that’s actually some deeply sobering shit, and Sam feels like he should probably try to be a good role model now that he’s Captain America. “Seriously, though, I did fuck up that mission, right? I wasn’t imagining that?”

Bucky sighs. “Sam, you made the right call. Maybe Fury wouldn’t have agreed immediately, but I didn’t spend my entire life justifying Steve’s aggressive self-sacrificing bullshit to people in positions of authority for no reason. Steve knew when to step up and do what was right, sure, but he also knew when to shut up and let me do the talking afterward.”

Everything about Steve’s career in the Army makes so much more sense now.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, awkwardly. He hesitates a moment, then asks, “You really think Steve would have made the same decision today?”

Bucky gives Sam a long, considering look. His gaze is solemn and sympathetic, and his lips press together in a sad smile. “Sam, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to Steve.”

***

Sam misses a lot about Steve, but he very specifically does not miss running with Steve. That’s because Steve is an asshole, and while Sam may enjoy the view from behind when Steve laps him for the fiftieth time, he definitely does not feel like Steve deserves to act as smug about it as he does when Steve is quite famously the recipient of performance enhancing drugs.

Sam and Bucky are running their usual route in Prospect Park, feet pounding together in rhythm as they listen to the dope ass Carly Rae Jepsen playlist Bucky made for them on their headphones. It turns out that Sam’s been putting up with a lot of shit from Steve that wasn’t actually necessary, because despite being a full year older than Steve—or is it four years younger, now, after the Snap?—Bucky has managed to develop some pretty cool taste in music. More importantly, Bucky seems mercifully content to run at a speed that is completely normal for unenhanced people who are still in fantastic shape and also have great legs.

Speaking of great legs, Sam’s having kind of a hard time handling the length of Bucky’s running shorts today. Bucky’s legs are long and strong, lightly muscled and flexing attractively as his steady stride eats up the pavement, and his thighs—

“So how come Steve won’t run like a regular person?” Sam asks, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from those lean, golden thighs.

“Did he try to give you some shit about how he has to run that fast to stay in shape as a supersoldier?” scoffs Bucky. “No, Steve runs that fast because Steve has anger issues and a high sex drive. Otherwise he’d be starting fights and jerking off four times a day.”

Sam’s breath catches a bit in his chest and he tries very hard not to stumble at that. “Oh?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual. “And you? You’re not jerking off four times a day?”

“Living with you, sweetheart?” Bucky says with a wink. “Of course I am.”

***

This isn’t actually Sam’s first time living with a Russian assassin, because he spent two years on the run with Natasha, so he’s used to a lot of weird ass habits. But one thing that confounds the shit out of him is why Bucky insists on navigating Brooklyn solely through a maze of gross alleyways that smell absolutely foul.

Steve and Natasha are finally home from their peacekeeping or worldbuilding or diplomatic journey through the stars—whatever the hell they’ve been doing for the past few months—and Sam and Bucky are on their way to meet them at a café for lunch.

“Man, are you sure we’re not going in circles? I could swear we’ve passed that blue dumpster at least twice already. Is this some kind of spy thing where we’re doubling back to lose a tail or something?” Sam asks.

“No. And this blue dumpster is the blue dumpster behind the hipster café with the oat milk latte that you hate, the one with too much cinnamon,” Bucky explains patiently. “The other two blue dumpsters are behind the artisanal pickle shop and the thrift store where the secondhand clothes actually cost more than they do when you buy them new.”

“Right,” Sam says with a heavy sigh. Then he perks up when he sees their favorite stray cat. “Oh, hey, it’s Steve the cat!”

“Aw! Hi, Steve!” Bucky coos. He reaches into his pocket to toss a few treats toward the skinny, ill-tempered cat, who eyes them suspiciously before hissing viciously, his scraggly hackles raising. Steve the cat ignores their treats, presumably offended by their insulting attempts at charity, and Sam and Bucky positively melt at this pointless and self-destructive display of spitefulness.

“He’s so cute!” Bucky says.

“I love him so much,” Sam agrees. “C’mon, let’s leave the treats here and keep going. Maybe he’ll eat them after we leave.”

“We should stop at the pet store on the way home and pick up a different brand. Maybe Steve has allergies,” Bucky suggests.

“Good idea,” Sam says, nodding.

As they head toward their lunch with Steve and Natasha, Sam’s surprised to realize that he feels pretty relaxed and confident about their whole fake-best-friends plan. Usually he’d be having some kind of heart palpitations at the thought of trying to pull one over on Natasha, an actual spy who actually lied to the actual God of Lies and actually succeeded at it, but instead Sam thinks that he and Bucky might really get away with this whole fake-best-friends thing. It helps that Bucky looks so cool and self-assured walking beside him, hips loose and easy and confident as those long legs lead them toward their whole best friends debut.

Eventually they weave their way out of Bucky’s trash labyrinth and make it to the café, where Steve and Natasha are waiting at a table along the sidewalk. Steve and Nat look happy, laughing and chatting animatedly, their body language intimate and relaxed. Sam feels a brief moment of apprehension, but Steve smiles broadly when he sees Sam and Bucky approach, and Steve and Nat both stand to offer hugs and kisses in greeting.

“We’re so glad to be home,” Natasha says, sitting back down with a sigh. “Do you know that after spending the past few months trying to navigate alien bureaucracy, I’ve actually missed filling out post-mission paperwork at SHIELD? Do not repeat that to Fury.”

“Fury’s already trying to convince Natasha to train as his replacement when he retires,” Steve brags, putting his arm around Natasha’s shoulders. The flash of envy Sam feels at Steve’s obvious pride in Natasha is swiftly overwhelmed by Sam’s genuine happiness for her. He can’t think of anyone he’d trust more than Natasha to be the next Director of SHIELD. Probably she wouldn’t let in any secret Nazis or mad scientist artificial intelligences at all.

“That’s great, Natalia,” Bucky says warmly. “How soon can you start? I already hate working for Fury.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Fury has like three decoy replacements lined up and at least another decade of weird mind games in him before he’ll seriously consider retirement,” Natasha says, nodding her head approvingly. “And to be fair to Fury, he’s probably still pretty pissed about that time you nearly killed him.”

“Actually, Fury really likes Bucky,” says Sam defensively. “Just last week Fury even thanked him for giving him the chance to fake his own death—said he’d been looking for just the right opportunity for years.”

Bucky smirks and nudges his knee against Sam’s underneath the table. Sam deliberately doesn’t move his leg away, warmth spreading through him from the point of contact.

“I feel like I should be surprised that Bucky won Fury over that quickly, but honestly it makes sense. The nuns loved Bucky,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“Fury does have kind of a weird nun energy, doesn’t he,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “I’ve never really thought about it before but now I’m kind of obsessed with the idea.”

When they’ve finished ordering—bacon cheeseburgers for Steve and Natasha, falafel salads for Sam and Bucky—Natasha asks them how they’re enjoying their new vegan lifestyle.

“Have you been eating a lot of aquafaba?” Natasha asks, too innocent by half.

A surge of triumph wells up in Sam’s chest. He knows that Natasha is testing them, and he knows that they’re going to pass this test.

“Aquafaba’s actually more of a baking thing, sort of an egg white replacement,” Sam explains, biting his lip to resist shooting Bucky a smug grin. “And Bucky doesn’t eat anything with added sugar, so we don’t do a whole lot of baking.”

“And since when is Bucky such a healthy eater?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Some of us got hasty Nazi knockoff serums, Steve,” Bucky replies. “I’m like a hundred years old. How do I know if I can just eat whatever I want and still have perfect blood pressure and cholesterol like you? Also, do you know how much we’ve learned about nutrition since you and I were in school? When was the last time you even got a physical, Steve? Natalia ought to be making sure you take better care of yourself. I make sure Sam exercises and eats a sensible diet.”

“I stay fit,” Sam agrees.

Bucky smirks and lets his eyes travel along Sam’s biceps and shoulders. “Yeah, you do, sweetheart.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to get a physical, OK? But my primary care physician was taken in the Snap,” Steve says defensively. “I didn’t have time to find a new one. I’ve been very busy.”

“I’m actually finding this all very interesting,” Natasha says, her chin propped on her hand and her voice low and amused. “Has Bucky always been this fussy and meddlesome?”

“Only when it comes to my best friend,” Bucky explains with great apparent sincerity.

Steve chokes on his soda, coughing and sputtering violently, and Sam looks up from his salad to grin and catch Bucky’s eye. Natasha gives Steve a few strong thumps on the back.

When Steve recovers from his coughing fit, he narrows his eyes in disbelief. “I’m sorry, your best friend? Is Sam your best friend? Because I thought Sam was more like your best friend’s best friend.”

“We’ve gotten really close since we moved in together,” Sam says earnestly, slinging a friendly arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

It’s not even a lie, really. They’ve got a pretty great routine going, and Bucky’s an easy roommate. They wake up every morning and drag themselves out of their shared bed, sleepy and warm, and head out for an early run, letting Bucky’s bomb ass running playlist and the exertion of their run build up the physical and emotional energy they need for the day. They take Bucky’s weird secret assassin route through the alleys to and from the subway every day, and when they come home in the evenings they catch up on all the movies and music and weird political news they’ve missed in the past five years. They smoke a joint together in bed every night before they go to sleep, and they laugh and swap stories and usually make fun of Steve. It’s all very comfortable and cozy. It’s actually, Sam is startled to realize, the closest thing to home he’s felt in the past two-slash-seven years.

“So you moved in together,” Steve says, his voice awkward and high pitched. “That’s—so great!”

“Speaking of moving in together,” Bucky says innocently. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live? We can move the weapons out of the spare room at our place if you want to move in with us.”

“I’m sorry, the spare room? It’s only a two bedroom apartment, Bucky!”

***

Sam is happy to be back in the field with Steve and Natasha, but he can’t shake the slight uneasiness that comes from thinking he’ll be able to predict their actions, that he’ll be able follow the rhythm of their fight together, only for the two of them to do something totally different than what he expects at the worst possible moment. It turns out that five years was just long enough for Steve and Natasha to fall perfectly in sync with one another and out of sync with Sam.

It’s Sam and Bucky’s first official SHIELD mission with Steve and Natasha, and everything is going mostly fine except for the fact that instead of turning into nice, clean piles of dust like in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, these gross ass vampires are exploding like giant bags of blood every time you slay them. It’s super nasty and definitely unhygienic.

The vampires are feral, mostly mindless leech-like creatures that don’t seem to have a lot going on in their probably decaying brains. So on top of dying in a rather revolting sort of fashion, they’re not even sexy or sophisticated or even European the way pop culture has promised him. The whole experience is a real letdown, and it isn’t even really dangerous so much as it is messy and tedious.

“Last one!” Bucky calls out, firing his crossbow straight into the heart of a vampire standing in front of Steve. The vampire explodes in a disgusting spray of borrowed blood, drenching Steve from head to toe in its recycled bodily fluids. Sam stifles a laugh.

“God damn it, Bucky,” Steve complains, his face twisting in distaste. “Just for that I’m taking first shower on the Quinjet.”

Sam gives Bucky a discreet fist bump when they climb aboard, whispering, “Nice shot, man.” Bucky snickers.

Steve is always so funny when he gets all prim and fussy, like some kind of stuffy Victorian schoolmarm. It’s kind of adorable.

In order to fit a full decontamination chamber and shower into the Quinjet, there’s only one of them, so they have to take turns showering. Sam and Bucky have a sort of medium amount of blood on them, while Natasha has somehow managed to escape the whole gory ordeal without a single drop of blood—or even sweat? Literally how is she so pristine?—anywhere on her. Since they’re only in New Jersey, not too far from home, Natasha decides she can wait until they get back to SHIELD headquarters to shower.

“So what’s the deal with all the vampires?” Sam asks. “I thought you and Steve killed that Bloody Baron guy.”

“We did,” Natasha replies, frowning. “It must have been a nest he left behind. Usually new vampires are too stupid or underdeveloped to feed themselves—they’re sort of like human babies that way—but I guess after their vampire dad guy died they must have gotten hungry enough to try to find something to eat on their own. I would have thought that they’d have all starved to death by now, though.”

When Steve finally exits the shower a thousand years later, he shoots them a smug smile. “Good luck fighting over who goes next, guys,” Steve taunts, in an irritating, self-satisfied sort of way. “There’s probably not enough hot water left for both of you.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Bucky says casually. “Sam and I always shower together anyway. We can share. C’mon, Sam.”

Bucky grabs Sam’s wrist and tugs him along toward the shower, and Sam uses every ounce of energy he has left in his body to keep his facial muscles firmly under control, refusing to offer any kind of reaction whatsoever to that frankly shocking claim. What the fuck, Bucky? On the plus side, though, Sam has the pleasure of watching Steve’s eyes widen and his stupid smirk fade as horror slowly sets in.

Natasha’s face, of course, lights up in surprise and then sheer fucking delight at this unexpected turn of events, because Natasha loves drama.

“What,” Steve says weakly.

“Yeah, it’s no big,” Sam says, nonchalant as hell. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Steve and Natasha whisper furiously at each other as Bucky pulls him out of the room.

When Bucky shuts the door to the decontamination chamber behind them, Sam falls back against it, running an open hand down his face and groaning. “Bucky, man, what are you doing?”

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes wide and guileless. He’s unbuckling the chest fasteners on his uniform, and Sam decides to take a moment to indulge his purely intellectual curiosity about how exactly Bucky straps himself into all that tactical fetish gear.

“Steve and I always used to take baths together,” Bucky says. “Do you know how long it took to heat up buckets full of water on the stove just to take one bath? And by the time one person was finished, the bath water would be dirty and cold! And Stevie was so little, it was just easier to bathe together so we’d both stay warm, especially in the winter—”

While Bucky prattles on about Depression-era plumbing, filthy shared tenement showers, cold water apartments, the potential dangers of cold baths for people with weak lungs, and how extremely normal it is for best friends to shower together, Sam watches Bucky methodically strip down to bare, sweaty skin.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, amusement in his voice.

“What,” Sam says absently. His eyes are intently following the path of a bead of sweat that’s sliding slowly down the hills and valleys of Bucky’s well-defined abs.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Oh! Right. Yes. I mean no! I don’t need help.”

As Bucky turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, Sam undresses hurriedly, tossing his bloody uniform into the laundry container marked “BIOHAZARD” and stepping into the shower with Bucky.

“Now, Sam, I just want to say: it’s OK if you get hard,” Bucky says sincerely, clearly trying but then utterly failing to hold back a grin. He looks directly into Sam’s eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “You know, Steve and I always—”

“Don’t say it,” Sam interrupts. “Do not say it or I will kill you, I swear to God.” Literally the last thing Sam needs, as he desperately tries to redirect the flow of blood running to his cock, is to think about Steve and Bucky showering together with erections. Jesus Christ. Sam is not made of fucking stone.

“I’m just saying, it’s perfectly normal—”

“I will kill you, Barnes,” Sam warns.

“It’s the beauty of nature!” Bucky proclaims with a shit-eating grin, then easily dodges Sam’s half-hearted blow to the face. “And if it makes you feel better, I will be making literally no effort to avoid ogling you, so.”

Sam rolls his eyes and suppresses a smile. “Whatever, man. Help me wash my back.”

***

After they shower together on the Quinjet, Bucky apparently decides that there’s no reason for them to stop showering together now that they’ve started. So every morning when they finish their run, Bucky follows Sam into the bathroom, stripping off his sweaty clothes and just stepping right into the shower, waiting for Sam to join him. And at this point it feels like maybe it would be weird if Sam said something, like maybe he should have said something the first time Bucky decided they were the kind of friends who took showers together, but quite frankly the first time Sam was so distracted by the shift and pull of Bucky’s muscles as he tugged off his shirt that Sam didn’t think to protest.

So now they shower together every morning, and they share the same body wash and shampoo too, because Bucky says that they already smell just like each other from spending so much time together that it doesn’t really make sense for them to use different products. Plus, Bucky explains, with two full grown men in the shower at the same time, there’s just not enough room to clutter up the space with a bunch of different bottles.

Sam is pretty sure that Bucky just likes it that Sam smells like him, though. Bucky’s weirdly possessive that way, and it turns out that maybe Steve is too, because every time Sam gets up close in Steve’s space during training, Steve’s nostrils flare, the briefest look of jealousy crossing his face.

So, on the plus side, their plan is definitely working.

On the down side, however, Sam has exactly zero opportunities to jerk off now, and he’s about to spontaneously fucking combust out of what is probably fatal sexual tension. Because every morning, Sam wakes up to a soft, sleepy Bucky pressed against his back, hips grinding gently against Sam’s ass. And every morning, Sam watches Bucky get sweaty and breathless on their run, thin t-shirt growing slowly more transparent, clinging to those perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. And then, after all that, Sam has to actually get naked and shower with the guy, who is not at all shy about the way his erection springs up out of his running shorts as he pulls them down his hips.

And all of this—this whole fucking blue balls-inducing, brain-melting, sexually frustrating journey into madness—happens before Sam can even get a goddamn cup of coffee. It is eight in the fucking morning and Sam is about to die from his boner.

“Hey, Sam?” Bucky asks, giving himself a critical look in the bathroom mirror. “Can you cut my hair?”

“Do I look like a barber,” Sam replies flatly.

“No, but I feel like if we’re going to your mom’s today, I should probably look sharp, right? And I just don’t feel like the long hair goes with a suit.” Bucky frowns. “There are probably plenty of videos about hair cutting on Youtube, right? I’ll bet you could figure it out.”

Sam does not remember inviting Bucky to his mom’s house with him today, and he has no idea why Bucky is planning on wearing a suit, but he does remember how Bucky Barnes had looked in those old photos, with that classic haircut highlighting his sharp cheekbones and that perfect fucking jawline. He’d looked like an old movie actor, like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, and Sam has always had a weakness for handsome men who look like they could take you to church and then take you straight to bed so you’ll have something to confess about next week.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam agrees.

It turns out there are actually a bunch of tutorials on how to cut hair on Youtube—apparently there was a whole thing that happened in 2020 where everyone had to cut their own hair for a while?—and after two or three videos Sam feels reasonably prepared for this potential disaster.

He sits Bucky down on a chair in the kitchen, because Bucky’s hair is thick and long, and Sam wants to make sure he can sweep everything up nice and easy when they’re done. When Sam runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair to start trimming the length, Bucky groans softly, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Forgot how much I like having my hair touched,” Bucky murmurs.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam says, biting his lip. He wonders if Bucky also likes to have his hair pulled, and for a moment he regrets ever letting Bucky talk him into this hair cut, because he thinks he’d like to see Bucky’s long hair twisted around his fist as he guides Bucky’s mouth down onto his cock.

“I never had a professional haircut before the Army,” Bucky confesses. “My mom always cut it for me when I was a kid, and then when I moved in with Steve we’d do it for each other. We always needed money back then, couldn’t afford a barber.”

“Hold still for a moment,” Sam says, touching Bucky’s jaw and gently guiding his head into the right position. He runs the clippers over the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers pressing lightly against Bucky’s temples to move him where he needs him. Heat blooms deep in Sam’s belly at the way Bucky shivers under his touch. When Sam finishes trimming the sides and back of Bucky’s head, he leans down to softly blow the excess hair off the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky moans quietly, biting his lip and arching his back almost imperceptibly. Pretty little goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.

“Take a look,” Sam says quietly, handing Bucky a mirror.

Bucky turns his head left and right, preening a bit as he admires the tidy cut Sam gave him. He looks gorgeous, hair neatly trimmed in a way that draws focus to that devastating bone structure.

“Not too bad for your first try, sweetheart,” Bucky says, grinning. “Think your mom will like it?”

“Oh, I think she will.”

***

When Sam’s mom opens her door to see that Sam has brought a friend to visit, she looks delighted at this unexpected turn of events.

“Sam, baby! It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!” she exclaims, pulling Sam in for a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before leading them into the living room. “And who is this handsome young man?”

“This is Bucky,” Sam replies, shooting his mom a warning glare. Do not embarrass me, he communicates silently. She widens her eyes in response, giving Sam an overly innocent look and covering her heart a touch dramatically with her hands. Moi? her body language says. Sam is not fooled. “Bucky is my co-worker. And my roommate. And my friend.”

“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling like a goddamn choir boy. “It’s so nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind that Sam invited me along today.”

Sam most definitely did not invite Bucky along today, but he feels like it would be rude to point that out in front of his mom, who looks very impressed by Bucky’s whole general existence. She looks even more impressed when Bucky presents her with the vase of lilacs he insisted upon buying along the way.

“These are lovely, Bucky! I’m always happy to meet one of Sam’s co-workers slash roommates slash friends,” she says teasingly. “And don’t you look nice! Sam, doesn’t he look nice?”

“You didn’t have to wear a suit to meet my mom,” Sam says with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

They already had this whole argument before they left, but Bucky was adamant about wearing the suit, and honestly Sam didn’t work that hard to try to talk him out of it. Sam didn’t even know that Bucky owned a suit, let alone one that was so perfectly tailored to those shoulders and those slim hips and those long legs. Once Bucky actually put on the suit, Sam suddenly felt like all of his objections were a bit trivial and unnecessary. So now, like an idiot, Sam is also dressed up, wearing a button-down shirt and a navy blue blazer to visit his own mother.

“It’s a Sunday, Sam,” Bucky says reprovingly, in a tone that suggests that the day of the week is somehow relevant to his sartorial choices. Sam’s mom nods approvingly at this, so maybe it’s some kind of weird older generation thing that Sam is too young to understand.

Sam feels a bit ill at the unwelcome realization that Bucky is technically older than Sam’s mother.

Sam’s mom serves them tea and cookies while they catch up, and Bucky is unfailingly polite, charming in a sincere sort of way that Sam should have expected from all of Steve’s stories about growing up together in the neighborhood. It occurs to Sam that Bucky probably developed this skill as a self-defense mechanism against the inevitable havoc that Steve wreaked in their lives, using it to keep the two of them out of trouble with mothers and teachers and, eventually, commanding officers.

When the subject of Captain America comes up, Sam’s mother frowns disapprovingly and says, “I just don’t know why that boy asked you to take on this kind of burden. Is he even retired? Why couldn’t he be Captain America?”

Sam’s mother always refers to Steve as that boy.

“That’s what I said!” Bucky exclaims. “I was furious when Steve said he wanted to pass the shield on to Sam. Why did Sam need to be Captain America? Sam was already a superhero. I mean, he was the Falcon! He could actually fly. How cool is that? Steve could never fly—Steve just fell, usually without a parachute. Being Captain America just meant doing the same thing Sam was already doing, but with an unfamiliar weapon and a lot more attention from bad guys. It seemed so risky and unnecessary.”

Sam is a little stunned at this revelation. He thought the reason Bucky was mad at Steve about the whole Captain America thing was because Steve hadn’t chosen him to be Captain America, not because Bucky was worried about Sam.

Sam’s heart thumps a bit in his chest, warmth flowing through his veins to thaw out a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been just a tiny bit frozen, an icy chunk he’s been carrying around inside of him ever since he’d accepted Steve’s offer to be the new Captain America. Bucky looks soft and sincere, and Sam didn’t know how much he needed to hear that someone believed in him just as he was—that there was someone who didn’t just think that he’d make a good Captain America but that he was already a pretty great superhero all on his own.

Sam’s mom nods enthusiastically. “Exactly,” she says, then turns to Sam. “I like this one, Sam. He seems so much more sensible than that other boy. That one was always getting you into trouble.”

Bucky chuckles. “Oh, Steve is good at getting people into trouble. But the thing about Steve is that Steve attracts people who are just like him, people who are good and brave and ready to stand up for what’s right no matter what the cost. Sam was fighting for what he believed in long before Steve ever came along. You raised a good man, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling softly at Sam.

And Sam’s heart breaks a little in his chest at this, because he doesn’t think that Bucky realizes that Bucky is the very first person Steve attracted who shared his innate goodness and integrity, because Bucky doesn’t think he’s a hero like Steve and Sam.

Sam’s mom is clearly pleased by Bucky’s compliment, and she looks proudly over at Sam. “Sam is the best man I know,” she says, her voice strong, full of conviction. “I’m glad he has a partner who understands that his heart is just as valuable as his training.”

“Sam’s heart is exactly why Steve chose him as Captain America,” Bucky says. And then he tells her stories about Sam’s new job, stories that are carefully edited to minimize the danger they had faced and to maximize Sam’s capability and competence in dispatching various minor villains. He tells her about all of the countries they’ve traveled to, all the little boys and girls who’ve looked at Sam with stars in their eyes. Bucky makes sure to include Steve in these stories too, subtly but effectively touting Steve’s unflagging loyalty and care and dependability.

Sam remembers Steve telling him that Bucky was the first to shout “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” when they returned from Kreischberg, successfully distracting Colonel Phillips from any disciplinary action he might have been contemplating against Steve for going MIA. It’s hard to throw the book at someone who’s actively being celebrated by hundreds of grateful, cheering soldiers.

Bucky, Sam is beginning to realize, is the greatest hype man Sam has ever seen.

“Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with a kind smile. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Come back next weekend!” Sam’s mom replies enthusiastically, giving Bucky a warm hug. “You can meet Sam’s sister Sarah and his niece Michelle. They’ll be sorry they missed you this week. Sam, dear, come give your mother a hug.”

When Sam pulls his mother in for a hug, she whispers, “I’m so proud of you” in his ear. Sam flushes a bit, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says.

***

That night when they’re lying in bed, passing a joint back and forth, Sam makes a long overdue confession.

“I was mad at you, you know,” Sam says apologetically. “When you ran away. And when you didn’t come back after Peggy died. I thought you weren’t being a good friend to Steve. I don’t think—I don’t think I was being very fair to you. And I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Steve had told Sam a lot of stories about Bucky, about how charming and funny Bucky was, what a good friend he was, what a good sergeant he was. In Steve’s stories, Bucky was a giant, a larger-than-life sort of figure, a man who never gave up and never let anyone down.

And maybe Sam bought into all of that mythologizing, because when Bucky didn’t come back to Steve, Sam felt betrayed on Steve’s behalf. And he realizes now, with a sharp pang of regret, that this reaction was deeply unfair to Bucky, based on the legend of Bucky Barnes rather than the man. Because Bucky was supposed to be the loyal Howling Commando from Steve’s stories, Captain America’s Sergeant and Steve Rogers’s Best Friend, the hero who always rescued Steve when he needed it, even when Steve didn’t think he needed rescuing.

And Steve had so desperately, desperately needed rescuing, especially after Peggy’s death. Sam would never forget the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America, tired and small and so very fragile, dipping under the weight of Peggy’s coffin as he carried her down the aisle.

When Bucky turns to face Sam, there are lines of grief in the corners of his eyes. “I was sorry about Peggy,” Bucky says quietly. “She was my friend too.”

Sam reaches out to brush his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, cupping Bucky’s face in his hand. Bucky raises his hand to cover Sam’s, cool metal against Sam’s skin, and Bucky shivers a little under his touch.

“You’re a good friend, Bucky. I’m sorry I thought you weren’t.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a tired smile.

***

When Steve knocks on their open office door, he looks with surprise at the sign on the doorway. “Sam Wilson and James Barnes?” Steve reads aloud, looking concerned. “Sam, they didn’t give you your own office? I feel like Captain America should get his own office. Do you want me to talk to Fury? Because you shouldn’t have to share with Bucky.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Sam says casually. “Fury gave us two offices, but we just figured it was easier to share since we’re always together anyway. Bucky’s office is our murder board room.”

Steve looks disconcerted by this. “OK,” he says, frowning. “Well, I just came by to let you know that Nat picked up another HYDRA facility on her radar, right near where we found those vampires in New Jersey. She sent you an e-mail with the details.”

Sam doesn’t know why Steve needs to stop by to tell him something that Natasha already sent him in an e-mail, but whatever. There’s something a little bit hesitant in Steve’s expression, a little bit lonely, and maybe Steve just came by because he wanted an excuse to see them.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a warm smile. “C’mon, let’s go over to the spare office to tell Bucky to put it on our murder board. Make sure you tell him how great it looks, by the way. We spent like thirty minutes at Joann Fabrics picking out just the right shades of yarn to tie everything together. He actually has a whole color-coded system for it, with a key in an Excel spreadsheet and everything.”

While they walk down to go see the murder board, Steve tells Sam all about Bucky’s job as an actuary before the war. Apparently all those years doing informal risk assessment calculations to try to keep Steve from killing himself while they were growing up led to an actual career. “He was actually in college for mathematics when he dropped out to enlist.”

“I wonder if he put that on his resume when he applied for the job,” Sam says. “Actually now that I’m thinking about it I wonder how Bucky fit like 80 years of experience as an actuary, a commando, a brainwashed assassin, an international fugitive, and then a goat farmer on a one-page resume.”

“Wait, Fury actually made you two submit resumes?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Nah, just Bucky,” Sam replies, grinning. “I think Fury just wanted to give him a bit of a hard time after he shot him. Bucky actually wrote one up for him too. Wouldn’t let me see it, but if Natasha just so happens to find it anywhere on SHIELD’s servers at some point…”

“I’ll let you know,” Steve says, chuckling.

When they get to the spare office and see Bucky tacking up some new papers on the vampire murder board, Steve’s laughter catches abruptly in his throat. Bucky’s newly short hair is styled today in an appealing combination of his old, neatly parted look and a more modern fashion.

“Bucky?” Steve says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Bucky replies awkwardly, raising his hand to his newly cut hair a bit self-consciously. “How does it look?”

“Great!” Steve says fervently, eyes shining. “You look—God, you look so great, Bucky.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, biting his lip shyly. “Sam cut it for me. Had to look respectable if I was going to meet his mom.”

Steve looks unexpectedly stricken for a moment, but then recovers quickly. “Well, it looks great,” he says. “And you met Sam’s mom! That’s—great. That’s also great.”

“She loved him, of course,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “He wore a suit. And he brought her flowers.”

“Bucky always did bring my mom a flower when he came to visit, even if he had to steal it from someone else,” Steve says wistfully. “That’s—that’s so great that he still does that.” Steve looks dreadfully, deeply jealous right now, although Sam honestly can’t tell if Steve is jealous of him, jealous of Bucky, or jealous of Sam’s mom. Probably a weird combination of all three.

“Well, it turns out Bucky is great with moms. Even put in a good word for your sorry ass while he was there,” Sam says cheerfully.

“Wow! Good! That’s—that’s so good,” Steve says, his voice a little weak now. “Wait, does your mom not like me? Actually never mind. We can talk about it later. I’ll just—I’ll just be going now. I can see that you two have a lot of work to do, so I’ll just—go.”

When Steve leaves, Bucky raises an eyebrow at Sam. “You think maybe the whole make-Steve-jealous plan is actually working?” Bucky says wryly, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a crooked smile.

Sam stifles a laugh. “Yeah, just a bit.”

***

Sam and Bucky are just getting out of the shower after their run on Saturday when they hear an unexpected knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Sam says, pulling on a t-shirt and a hoodie. Bucky’s still standing in front of the closet, clad only in a gratifyingly small towel as he takes his time deciding what to wear today.

When Sam gets to the door and opens it, he’s surprised to find Steve and Natasha standing in front of him. Steve looks a bit sheepish, but Natasha appears utterly relaxed, at ease in the way that she always is no matter what’s going on or how weird Steve is.

“Surprise!” Steve says awkwardly. He raises his hands briefly like he might be attempting some sort of jazz hands or something, then clearly thinks better of it and sticks his hands in his pockets where they can’t get him into trouble. “We’re here to take you guys out!”

“Sam, sweetheart, where’s our blue sweater?” Bucky calls out from the bedroom.

“Sweetheart?” Steve repeats thinly.

“Our blue sweater?” Natasha repeats gleefully.

Bucky emerges from the bedroom, hands smoothing out a few wrinkles in the aforementioned sweater as he tugs it into place. “Never mind, I found it,” Bucky announces. “Hey, guys.”

“Well, hello, Bucky. So you two share clothes now,” Natasha observes, the corner of her mouth curving blithely upward. “Isn’t that interesting?”

What’s particularly interesting, Sam thinks, is that he is ninety-nine percent certain that he saw Steve wearing that same white t-shirt Natasha has tied neatly at her waist just the other day.

“Of course we share clothes. Why would Sam and I need separate clothes? We wear basically the same size, even if Sam’s shoulders are a bit nicer than mine,” Bucky says, winking at Sam.

“Your waist is trimmer, though. You’ve got that nice lean look going on, it’s really working for you.”

“OK!” Steve interrupts, sounding a bit frantic. He and Natasha trade a few weird, indecipherable looks back and forth and Natasha rolls her eyes. “So we were thinking we would take you guys out this morning, have some best friend time.” Steve says this last part with particular emphasis.

“Great, where are we going?” Bucky asks.

“Actually,” Steve says, “we were thinking about splitting up. Sam, how do you feel about going to a ball game with me?”

“Sure,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “What are Natasha and Bucky going to do?”

Natasha and Bucky have a brief conversation in Russian, gesturing back and forth a bit before Natasha flatly states, “Bucky and I are gonna go to yoga and then get mani pedis.”

“OK,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Honestly he probably doesn’t want to know whatever it is they’re really planning to do, if only for the sake of plausible deniability. Sam wonders if he and Bucky should think about getting married at some point so they don’t ever have to testify against each other. He should bring it up later, probably not in front of Steve.

***

Steve and Sam are sitting in the sun, relaxing at a Mets game, and Sam has missed this so much. It’s spring, still a bit chilly, but the sun is out and the day’s warming up quickly. Steve looks happy and relaxed, golden hair shining in the sunlight and a little bit of pink on his cheeks and forehead that will fade away before they’re even home from the game tonight.

“So you and Bucky are getting along well,” Steve says, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eyes.

Sam hums noncommittally, taking a sip of his water. He’d checked the app on his phone to see if any of the beers they had on tap were vegan, but unfortunately none of them were. Which is fine, really, because Bucky’s been nagging him to drink more water lately. In fact Bucky’ll probably ask Sam about it when he gets home, so now Sam will be able to tell Bucky yes, he had a bottle of water today, he’s staying hydrated.

“You don’t think Bucky’s a bit—much?” Steve asks uncertainly. “Some people used to think he was a bit overbearing.”

“Nah, he’s cool,” Sam says mildly, then hesitates. “But, well, he doesn’t have much use for privacy, does he? I mean, he’s always so—around. And so attractive! And sometimes a man needs some time to himself, for personal, intimate things. You know what I’m saying?”

“You’re dying of sexual frustration, aren’t you.” Steve smirks, with a knowing little glint in his eye.

“God, yes.”

“Old Bucky Barnacle. So that’s still his move, huh?” Steve says, his voice wry. “Well, good luck with that. If history repeats itself, I’m sure the situation will eventually come to a head one way or another.”

Sam doesn’t know what to do with that ominous remark, but since it’s such a nice day he decides to let it slide.

“Bucky did say something to me once, kind of struck me as odd. He said that you were his only friend growing up. Which—that’s not true, right? I mean, he’s so handsome and charming and—surprisingly sweet. I feel like a guy like that would have a lot of friends.”

Steve laughs ruefully. “You’d think so, right? But Bucky never really seemed to want other friends, and honestly a lot of people thought there was something a bit—funny, about him. And about me.”

“Funny like maybe you two were a little too close?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “Yeah, maybe,” he admits. “We were always together. God, Bucky used to get so jealous when I’d make other friends. But he loved me, wanted me to be happy. I think he was happiest when we were a part of the Howling Commandos. He just wanted me to be around people who valued me and appreciated me, I think.”

“He liked Peggy a lot,” Sam says mildly, carefully.

“He talked to you about Peggy?” Steve’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“We talk,” Sam says, careful to keep his tone guarded. Sam doesn’t know how much Steve and Bucky have really had a chance to connect after Bucky came back from Wakanda, doesn’t know how much Bucky is comfortable with Sam revealing. He gets the feeling that Steve and Bucky have been dancing around a lot of things for about eighty-five years now. “He likes Natasha too.”

“Does he,” Steve says, with a small, speculative smile.

***

They’re sitting on the sofa, catching up on Riverdale, and Sam can’t believe how much better the show has gotten since the Decimation forced them to write out Archie Andrews. They’ve just finished the episode where Betty Cooper reveals that the murdered Jason Blossom was actually just a clone of the real Jason Blossom—who apparently was in the witness protection program the whole time—when Bucky suddenly announces, “I think we should practice kissing.”

“Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent,” Sam agrees immediately, then pauses. “Wait, why?”

“Well, Steve and I used to practice kissing all the time, so it’s obviously a pretty normal best friend thing to do,” Bucky reasons, gazing earnestly at Sam with wide, too-innocent eyes. “I feel like it would be suspicious if Steve found out I haven’t kissed anyone in almost eighty years and my so-called best friend didn’t help me get back into practice.”

Then Bucky pulls his right arm across his chest, casually stretching the strong muscle in his shoulder, the thin material of his t-shirt straining over his firm bicep. And wow, Bucky really should have been a lawyer or a politician or something, because Sam always finds his arguments extremely convincing. He’s honestly the most persuasive guy Sam has ever met.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says. “C’mere.”

Bucky leans toward him, hand coming up to touch Sam’s face gently. Bucky’s so close that Sam can feel Bucky’s soft breath against his mouth, and Sam leans forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s.

“OK?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam hums in response, leaning forward to touch his lips softly to Bucky’s. Bucky’s hand trembles a little on Sam’s face, nerves or anticipation, but then Bucky’s grip tightens and he pulls Sam closer, opening his mouth to capture Sam’s lips between his.

The kiss starts out soft and sweet, tentative, and then slowly grows more passionate. Sam gasps when Bucky’s teeth pull gently at his bottom lip, tugging his mouth open so Bucky can slip his tongue inside. Sam moans and strokes his tongue against Bucky’s, heating burning through his veins as their tongues slide wetly against each other. Sam can feel Bucky’s heart beating right against his own, through their shirts and their skin and their sternums, a pounding, frantic rhythm that matches the pulse of blood traveling directly to Sam’s cock.

Sam tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair, gripping the short strands in his fist and tugging gently, pulling Bucky’s head right where he needs him. Bucky pitches forward a bit, off-balance, bracing his hands on Sam’s thighs before climbing eagerly up onto Sam’s lap. Bucky is making sweet, urgent little sounds that send a shiver of want down Sam’s spine, and Sam has to pull back for a moment, take a minute to breathe and let his racing heart settle in his chest.

“Sam,” Bucky says, pupils dilated and dark. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, panting and fighting to keep his hips still, trying to keep from shifting them up against Bucky’s. “That was—.”

“Good?” Bucky asks, lips curving into a crooked, cocky grin.

“It was all right,” Sam replies casually, feigning nonchalance. “I think you still need more practice. C’mere.”

***

They practice kissing a lot after that, which is great, and also lucky, because when Bucky hisses “kiss me” to Sam in the middle of a HYDRA raid, Sam doesn’t even hesitate.

They’re sneaking into that New Jersey HYDRA facility Natasha found near the gross vampire lair, and Steve and Nat are breaking into one end of the facility while Sam and Bucky creep through the other. They’re trying to be quiet, don’t want to be caught before Steve and Natasha have a chance to get the data off HYDRA’s servers, so when a HYDRA goon stumbles into the hallway with them, Bucky hauls Sam right up against him and kisses him fiercely.

The HYDRA goon makes a noise of surprise and confusion, clearly baffled by the two heavily armed men making out in the middle of a research facility, but Sam’s having a hard time paying attention to him over the feel of Bucky’s lips, which are spit-slick and firm and insistent against Sam’s. When Bucky starts grinding his hips against him—wow, Bucky is really selling this—Sam lets out a low moan that Steve and Natasha will almost certainly hear over the comms.

“What’s going on here? You’re not supposed to be here!” the goon says.

Bucky releases Sam’s lower lip from between his teeth with a loud pop. “Huh? Oh, sorry, guess we got carried away,” Bucky says sheepishly.

“That’s OK, just—hey, wait! You’re the Winter Soldier!” the goon exclaims, apparently catching sight of Bucky’s metal arm.

Steve and Natasha burst into the hallway at that moment, and when the goon turns back around to face them Sam pulls his shield from its harness and throws it at the man, who falls to the floor like a sack of bricks. Sam catches the rebound.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Bucky says with a grin, casually reaching down to readjust the lines of his uniform from where Sam’s fists had wrinkled it during their makeout session. “You didn’t have to come help out. We had everything under control here.”

“Had everything under control here,” Steve repeats. “We saw you on the security cams necking right in front of a guard!”

“Well, sure, but the guy caught us red-handed sneaking down the corridors. Thank God Bucky’s such a quick thinker or that guard would have thought something was suspicious going on,” Sam says, shooting Bucky a grateful smile. Bucky grins back at him. “Using the old pretend-to-be-a-couple-making-out scam was a great call.”

“A great call?” Natasha says, raising her eyebrows. “You’re dressed as Captain America and the Winter Soldier and you’re right in the middle of their facility. In what way did you appear to be two passionate lovers out for an innocent stroll?”

“To be fair, that guard would have no idea if Captain America and the Winter Soldier had a more than professional relationship,” Bucky points out.

“And are you questioning Bucky’s professional judgment as a master of covert operations, Natasha?” Sam says reproachfully, shaking his head in disappointment. “Bucky was a ghost for over fifty years. I think the man knows how to keep from blowing a cover.”

Steve sighs heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Look, let’s just do a quick sweep through the basement, OK? It’s the only place left that we haven’t checked out.”

When they make it down to the basement, Sam is surprised to find that the whole thing has a very distinct incel-with-a-sex-dungeon vibe to it. Which is not really an aesthetic that he thought HYDRA would be embracing, but he’s learned to roll with it when it comes to the weird shit that HYDRA gets up to. The room looks moldy and kind of wet, with a clammy cement wall that has an actual, albeit cheap-looking, coffin propped up against it, right next to some rusted metal chains that look like a serious tetanus hazard. There’s also a microwave and a pretty expensive gaming PC down here, screen turned on to one of those gryphons and gargoyles MMORPGs.

“Is someone living down here?” Bucky asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Or, even worse, is someone living in that coffin?”

There’s only one way to find out. Steve walks over to the coffin and yanks it open, jumping back in horror when a man wearing a neck brace and plastic fangs pops out and cries, “Steve! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming back for me and my vampire babies. And you’ve found my new dungeon!”

His creepy red eyes are on fire with ecstasy.

“Ew, it’s Todd,” Bucky says, making a sour face. “I thought you killed that guy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve says with a frown.

“My name isn’t Todd,” Todd says peevishly. “It’s Baron Blood. How would you like it if everyone called you Bucky instead of the Winter Soldier?”

“Everyone does call me Bucky.”

When Todd has the nerve to look judgmental at this, Sam narrows his eyes and snaps, “Bucky is a great nickname.”

“It’s very cute,” Natasha agrees.

“I gave it to him,” Steve says, nodding proudly.

“Did you,” Todd says, eyes widening in alarm. “I didn’t mean to imply that Bucky was a bad nickname! Not at all! In fact, I love it. I was just—pointing out that it might be a tad unprofessional to use someone’s regular name in this kind of formal confrontation between a superhero and his archnemesis. I mean, this is really more like a work meeting, so I think it’s best if we just stick to titles, right, Captain America?”

“You called him Steve, earlier,” Natasha says.

“Well, the relationship between a superhero and his archnemesis really is such an intimate connection,” Todd purrs.

“Gross,” Bucky says.

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly, “Sam is Captain America now, I’m just a regular SHIELD agent. And I’m actually kind of in between call signs right now, so you can just—just call me Steve, I guess.” Steve looks a bit queasy at this.

“Wonderful, Steve,” Todd says smugly, his smile sharp and unnerving underneath those plastic fangs. Then he turns to Sam, looking him critically up and down before disdainfully stating, “I certainly won’t be calling him Captain America, though.”

“Why not? That’s pretty rude, Todd. We’re having a work meeting.” Natasha’s tone is disapproving.

“Well, for one, I’m racist,” Todd explains. “But also there will only ever be one Captain America, and that’s Steve Rogers. This guy’s just the Falcon.”

He says it scornfully, and Sam honestly might have felt a little insulted, but instead he remembers what Bucky said to his mother, that the Falcon was cool, that he could fly, that Sam was a superhero before he ever met Steve Rogers. And so Sam stands tall, raises his head high, and does his fucking job because he is a hero and a professional.

“Whatever, Todd,” Sam says. “I’m going to have to arrest you now.”

Unfortunately, Todd chooses this moment to reveal that he has the ability to transform into a swarm of bats, each of them wearing a tiny neck brace and plastic fangs as they form a small cluster and fly right out of the room and presumably away into the night.

Sam sighs in frustration. “You’re out there somewhere, Blood Baron, and I’ll find you!” he calls out after Todd.

“No, you won’t!” Todd shouts from a distance.

Sam puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes. “Yes, I will.”

“Nope!”

Bucky looks around the room, sighing in disgust as he takes in the mess and chaos from dozens of vampire bats flying about, leaving bat fur and guano everywhere.

“Great, now we’re all going to have to get rabies shots,” Bucky complains.

 ***

Sam and Bucky’s whole fake-best-friends plan is working phenomenally well, because ever since that Saturday Steve and Natasha had showed up unexpectedly to take them out, they’ve been regularly scheduling what Steve insists upon calling “best friend dates.” So long as they’re all in the same city, every Saturday they get together in pairs or as a foursome so that no one ever feels left out and everybody gets some quality time with each other.

When Steve and Sam hang out, they usually go to a game or to the gym—not to do any serious training, just to spar, getting sweaty and screwing around trying out new moves on each other. The best part is that for whatever reason the other SHIELD agents seem super reluctant to work out at the same time as them, so Sam and Steve always have plenty of room to wrestle and grapple around on the mats, pinning and taunting each other until someone gets frustrated enough to really slam the other one around a bit.

Sam has no idea what Bucky and Natasha do on their mysterious outings—they claim they’re going to drag brunches or yoga or spin class, but Sam can only guess what kind of sketchy shit a pair of formerly Russian former assassins might get up to together. Thankfully they’re always careful to mastermind their operations in Russian, presumably so that Sam will never be forced to reveal anything incriminating about them if he’s questioned. Bucky takes care of him like that.

Sam’s dates with Natasha are always super weird and fun—they usually end up going to see some kind of crazy conceptual art exhibit or avant-garde foreign film, then get coffee afterward and pretend to be fancy art critics. Or they’ll wander around old flea markets and antique stores and look for insensitive gifts for Steve and Bucky.

Sam is pretty sure that Steve spends his dates with Bucky doing something really homoerotic and intense like drawing semi-nude portraits of Bucky in 1940s military uniforms.

Actually, if they’re not already doing that, Sam should suggest it. He could probably try to pass it off as “healing” or “cathartic” or something, and maybe Steve will even show him the drawings afterward now that Sam has so much experience critiquing art with Natasha.

Today Sam and Natasha had planned on going to an outdoor art fair for their best friend date, because it’s funny to buy Steve tacky cat art and then watch him fumble for an appropriately gracious response, but this morning dawned with the sound of thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. By noon it’s pouring rain, a thick wall of icy water erupting from angry gray clouds, and Natasha is soaking wet when Sam answers the door.

“Jesus, Nat!” Sam says, ushering her into the apartment. “Let me grab you a towel for your hair. Do you want a change of clothes?”

“Sure, but don’t worry about the towel,” Natasha says with a careless wave of her hand. She opens the duffel bag she’s brought with her to reveal a barber’s cape and a pair of shears. “You’re going to cut my hair!”

“Oh, I’m going to cut your hair,” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m a barber?”

Sam leads Natasha into the kitchen and pulls out a chair for her before heading into the bedroom to try to find a pair of sweats that might fit. Natasha’s tiny, petite even when she wears heels, and it’s easy to forget that about her when she always stands so tall and confident. Sam wonders sometimes if that’s how Steve looked before he got the serum, all tiny and full of courage and swagger. Sam definitely does not think about how he and Bucky might have a type, and instead he grabs a t-shirt and the smallest pair of joggers they own, the ones that pull nice and tight over Bucky’s thighs and ass, before heading back into the kitchen.

Instead of waiting in the chair, Natasha’s standing in the nude, unselfconscious, wringing her clothes out over the sink. Her skin is pale and damp, glistening even in the dim, stormy light of the kitchen. Sam swallows and allows his eyes to trace the path of a drop of water sliding down the side of her neck only until it hits her collarbone, then looks away.

Sam clears his throat and tosses her the bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on,” he says, keeping his gaze averted while he grabs her wet clothes out of the sink. “I’ll put yours in the dryer.”

“Leave the bra out! If you put it in the dryer you’ll ruin it!” Natasha calls after him.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I have a sister, you know!”

Sam hangs Natasha’s bra up above the dryer, and damn, he can see why she doesn’t want him to ruin it. It’s gorgeous, black and lacy and expensive-looking—sexier than the three no-nonsense cotton bras that Natasha rotated between during those two years on the run. Sam smiles as he fingers the lace along the band, a gentle wave of happiness cresting over him at the thought of Natasha finally allowing herself to wear something beautiful.

When Sam returns to the kitchen, Natasha’s dressed, cozy and comfortable in Sam’s favorite t-shirt, joggers rolled up around her waist in an attempt to keep them from hanging onto the floor. Sam tries very hard not to feel any sort of way about how Natasha looks in Sam and Bucky’s clothing.

“So what am I doing here?” Sam asks. He flicks on the light and wraps the barber’s cape around Natasha, snapping it carefully at the back of her neck. Natasha’s hair is already damp, and Sam combs it straight, parting it just above her left eyebrow the way she likes. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s watched her straighten and style her hair this way over the years. “Do you want to keep any of the blonde?”

Natasha shrugs. “Nope, just lop it all off.”

“You’re lucky Bucky’s hair was long enough that I had to watch a bunch of videos on how to cut women’s hair too,” Sam says. He uses the comb to pull her hair taut and then trims off the bleached ends. “Actually, you’re lucky you’re beautiful enough that you can pull off an at-home hair cut from a dude with exactly one professional reference.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches back to pinch Sam’s leg in response.

“Careful!” Sam warns, jerking back to dodge her unnecessarily strong fingers. “If I slip with these scissors, you’re gonna end up with the same haircut I gave Bucky. Do you want to be matching Russian murder twins? Steve and I won’t even be able to tell you two apart anymore.”

Natasha gives him a sly look from beneath her lashes. “Are you saying you and Steve would mind if Bucky and I switched places on you once in a while?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek and ignores the massive trap Natasha has laid for him, all giant wooden spikes sticking out of a hole in the ground that Natasha’s barely even bothered to camouflage with leaves.

“You and Steve are nasty,” Sam says. “Don’t get me and Bucky involved in your business.”

“Sam,” Natasha teases in a sing-song voice.

Sam ignores her and focuses on trimming her hair, watching the blonde strands drift down to the tile floor. The kitchen is silent around them, quiet enough that Sam can hear the hum of the refrigerator over the soft sounds of the rain pitter-pattering outside, finally beginning to slow.

“Sam, ” Natasha says.

“I’m almost done,” Sam interrupts. He trims one last stray hair that’s escaped from the rest. “You like it just below your shoulders here? If you part it in the middle you’ll look just like you did when I met you.”

“Sam—”

“Here, take a look,” Sam says, handing over the mirror.

He unsnaps Natasha’s cape and busies himself with cleaning up, bringing Natasha’s scissors over to the sink to wash them. Sam soaps up the scissors and watches the storm move off into the distance through the kitchen window. There’s a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds off to the west, just beginning to hint at the promise of a pretty day ahead.

When he’s done cleaning the scissors, he turns back to face Natasha and catches her smiling at herself in the mirror. “Sam!” she says, her eyes bright and sparkling. “I do look just like I did when you met me.”

“Yeah, Nat, you do,” Sam says with a fond smile, tugging on a lock of Natasha’s hair. “You look just like yourself again.”

The corner of Natasha’s lips tugs up in a wicked grin. “You think I’ve still got what it takes to bring down an entire secret government agency?”

“Nat, you don’t need to bring down an entire secret government agency. You’re gonna run one someday.”

***

The next Saturday Sam and Bucky are making their way through the alleys of Brooklyn on their way to lunch with Steve and Nat, and Sam can’t honestly say that the smell of dumpsters is really doing a lot for his appetite. He’s hopeful that they might run into Steve the cat, but otherwise it would really be nice to just go the regular way for once.

“Man, I don’t think we’re being followed,” Sam says. “Do we really have to go through the whole trash maze today? Can’t we just walk on the streets like regular people?”

Bucky looks concerned. “Wait, what do you mean being followed? Do you think we’re being followed?” Bucky’s spine stiffens and he looks alert, eyes darting back and forth to check the alley entrances for suspicious characters.

“No? But isn’t that why we walk through all these alleys every time we go somewhere?”

Bucky looks shifty for a moment, then embarrassed. “No? It’s really more like—OK, so the truth is—I don’t actually know my way around Brooklyn through the streets,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, you just said what now,” Sam says flatly. “Bucky, you grew up here.”

“I know, OK?” Bucky lifts his arm to scratch the back of his neck self-consciously. “But do you know how many fights Steve got into in these alleys? We didn’t have cell phones back then, Sam! The only way to make sure Steve was safe was just to take the alleys everywhere and hope I’d run across him before he got himself killed.”

“Oh my God, you really are the world’s best best friend,” Sam marvels. “No wonder Steve wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes and trying to hide a pleased grin. “All right, sweetheart, show me how to get there the fancy way. Lead on.”

So Sam leads Bucky out of his weird little warren full of dumpsters and feral cats and into the sunny streets of Brooklyn. Their shoulders and hands bump a bit as they walk along, and Sam’s heart beats a little faster when Bucky briefly tangles their pinky fingers together and gives him a little squeeze.

When they get to the restaurant they find Steve and Nat sitting close together, grinning and laughing and looking fondly at one another, and Sam is surprised to find that he doesn’t feel even the slightest burn of envy at their casual display of intimacy. Instead his heart swells with affection for them, his best friends, and Sam feels thankful that whatever trauma and heartache they’ve suffered over the last five years, at least they’ve finally learned how to express all those emotions they’d been keeping locked so tightly inside of them.

Steve and Nat seem lighter, happier, quicker to offer smiles and physical affection and verbal assurances of love. It’s kind of sweet really, Sam thinks.

Steve and Natasha look happy when they see Sam and Bucky arrive, standing up to give them big hugs and quick kisses on the cheek or the lips. The four of them chat for a while about what else Sam and Bucky have missed over the last five years—they’re still catching up, working their way now through the four legendary albums Taylor Swift released after her boyfriend was lost in the Decimation. She dropped all four albums at the same time, received massive public and critical acclaim, then disappeared for the next four years. Sam is profoundly unsurprised by the revelation that he and Bucky share an appreciation for hot, artistic blonds.

When the subject turns to work and thus to Todd, Sam groans. “So what’s the deal with that guy anyway? I thought you literally beheaded him.”

“I did,” Steve says with a grimace. “But he had that whole neck brace situation going on? So I guess he’s using it to just sort of—hold everything together.” Steve looks a little nauseated at the idea.

“Todd is so gross,” Bucky complains.

“You soaked the shield in holy water blessed by the pope, though, right?” Sam asks, frowning. “Todd’s Catholic, so it should have worked.”

“We did,” Natasha confirms. “Steve took a trip to Rome and went to a special mass and everything.”

Steve turns to Bucky, looking displeased. “Oh! Did you know that they do the mass with the priest facing you now? So now he can see if you’re goofing off in church. And they don’t do it in Latin anymore, so they expect you to actually listen too.”

“Remember when Father O’Connell caught us sneaking comic books into our hymnals and Ma wouldn’t let me see you for a month?” Bucky says, shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. “She always did think you were a bad influence.”

“I honestly thought you were going to die every single night when you snuck up that death trap of a fire escape to my bedroom in the pitch darkness.”

“Well, c’mon, like I was really going to go an entire month without seeing my best friend?” Bucky says, scoffing. “Plus that was like the same month we discovered masturbation so forgive me for being willing to risk death to come see you every night.”

Natasha snorts a little at that, and Sam makes sure to look directly in front of him at Steve so that he does not catch Natasha’s eye.

“Anyway,” Natasha says loudly, clearing her throat. “I think our mistake was in getting holy water blessed by the wrong pope.”

“The wrong pope?” Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “There’s only one pope, Natalia.”

“Not anymore!” Natasha says cheerfully. “After the Snap, there was a huge schism in the Catholic Church between the ‘faithful’ and a group of people who thought that what we actually experienced was the Rapture. There was this whole conspiracy theory that the old pope and a group of cardinals—who were all taken in the Decimation—deliberately suppressed information about the Rapture because it conflicted with Catholic teachings. So the remaining ‘faithful’ cardinals elected one pope, but then another group of cardinals broke off and elected a different pope.”

“What,” Sam says.

“Yup!” Natasha says, eyes alight with amusement. “So the schismatics moved their Holy See back to Avignon in France, but before they did, they—get this—collected the old pope’s ashes and put them on trial.”

“What,” Sam repeats, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

“It was the most batshit insane Medieval farce of a trial I have ever seen, and I grew up in the Soviet Union.” Natasha tips her head in reluctant approval at this lunacy. “So anyway, now there are two popes, and they’ve each ex-communicated the other.”

“So if Todd is a follower of the schismatic pope, then I guess we need to go get some holy water blessed by that guy instead?” Sam says.

“Natasha and I can go,” Steve offers.

Bucky narrows his eyes at this and bumps Sam’s knee under the table. “Nah, Sam and I can go. The last time I was in Avignon, I was in the infantry and it was being bombed by the Germans,” Bucky laments. He knows how guilty Steve feels about the horrors Bucky witnessed in the war before Steve rescued him from Kreischberg. “Plus Avignon is really beautiful this time of year.”

“It will be a healing trip,” Sam says earnestly.

***

One of Bucky’s many mysterious superpowers is that no matter where they are in the world, no matter what part of any city, no matter what language everybody is speaking and whether Bucky can speak it too, Bucky can disappear for fifteen minutes and magically return with the best weed Sam has ever smoked.

They’re at their hotel in Avignon, relaxing after a pretty tense dinner with Pope Stephen X—known apparently to “regular” Catholics as the Antipope of Avignon—and his loony band of schismatics. Sam has already expended the majority of today’s allotted emotional energy pretending that everything this guy did wasn’t deeply weird.

“Do you think he’s actually going to release a papal bull against Destiel?” Bucky asks. He sucks on the end of their joint, cheeks hollowing out attractively as he inhales, before he exhales and passes it back over to Sam.

They’re on the roof of the hotel, where they’re probably not technically allowed to be, but Sam used his wings to get them up here anyway and he’s sure they have some sort of diplomatic immunity or something, right? Probably. They have a gorgeous view of the Rhone, painted dark purple in the setting sun, and the Palais des Papes looks Gothic and romantic as hell surrounded by Medieval ramparts.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam says, shrugging. He feels warm and lazy. “I tried to tell him it’d be political or religious suicide or whatever if he did. Like 40% of the world’s Catholics live in Latin America and they’re all Destiel believers down there.”

They lapse into silence for a moment, and then Bucky says, “Hey, Sam? Do you ever think about submarines?”

“I mean, occasionally, I guess,” Sam says thoughtfully. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Bucky replies, leaning back and looking up at the sky. “It’s just so funny thinking about all the submarines floating out there, hiding from each other. Like, what a ridiculous thing we all decided to do. We just send people out for months at a time and tell them to find other submarines but not to let other submarines find them. And like every major superpower does this, and it costs billions of dollars.”

“That’s a good point, but also you’re high as fuck,” Sam replies, stifling a grin. “Where did you even get this weed?”

“French Mafia,” Bucky responds blithely.

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, wondering when that became a thing. He pours another glass of wine from the picnic basket they brought up with them and takes a sip. “This is a nice ass spread, by the way. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky grins in response, and oh, Sam knows that grin.

“C’mere, baby,” Sam says. “Let’s make out.”

***

It takes a while for Natasha to track Todd to his new lair, but eventually she finds it in the Free State of Michigan. Like everything else about the world after the Snap, everything about that situation is confusing as hell too, because when Michigan seceded from the Union, the Upper and Lower Peninsulas actually split apart from each other. It wasn’t even because one peninsula wanted to leave and the other wanted to stay either—they both wanted to leave, but the Lower Peninsula refused to let the Upper Peninsula tag along with them, arguing that they didn’t contribute enough to their tax base.

So now the Lower Peninsula is an independent country known as the Free State of Michigan, while the Upper Peninsula is still a part of the United States of America and is known simply as Michigan. They fought a lot over which peninsula got to keep the name Michigan, and the Upper Peninsula only narrowly won that battle after Ohio got its trashy ass involved.

Finally, after the Battle of Toledo and the total shit show that was the Second Michigan-Ohio War, the United States government finally agreed to let the Free State of Michigan leave so long as they got to keep the Upper Peninsula and call it Michigan. So now the Lower Peninsula is a libertarian hellhole called the Free State of Michigan and Sam has to use his passport to get there.

“Do you even need a passport?” Bucky asks. They’re in the middle of fighting Todd, who’s not actually that good at fighting but is very good at exploding into a group of bats every time they try to land a punch. “You’re Captain America. I feel like this is a situation like the Queen of England, where she doesn’t need a passport because all passports are issued by her.”

“I don’t think that all American passports are issued by me,” Sam says doubtfully. He should probably check with Nick Fury or maybe the President about that, though.

Todd re-forms back into a person just to be a dick and tell Sam he’ll never be the real Captain America.

“You’re an asshole, Todd,” Sam informs him. Then, before Todd can become bats again, Sam slings his shield, already coated in holy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon, directly at Todd’s neck, busting through his brace and re-severing his head.

 “Nice hit,” Bucky says, whistling in admiration.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to do the trick, because Todd just stands up, gropes blindly for his head, and once he finds it, he poofs into a swarm of bats, each one cradling its little head in its right wing, flying off into the night at a distinctly wonky angle.

“Damn it, Todd!” Sam calls after him. “What the fuck do you even believe in, man?”

***

They don’t stay at a hotel in the Free State of Michigan because it’s a dystopian nightmare where every hotel room is a smoking room and Sam is genuinely concerned about being hunted for sport, so they take the Quinjet back to New York.

They get in late, showering perfunctorily and climbing into bed nude together, too tired to bother pulling on pajamas. When Sam wakes up in the morning, he can see that it’s really more like mid-afternoon, the sun streaming in through their curtains, filling the bedroom with soft, diffused light. Bucky is pressed up against his back, too hot and just a tiny bit sweaty, his hard cock nestled up against Sam’s ass.

When Sam shifts a bit against him, reluctantly considering the prospect of getting up and starting the day, Bucky makes a discontented little noise and wraps his arm around Sam’s chest to pull him back.

“No, come back here,” Bucky mumbles, voice rough with sleep. He throws his leg over Sam’s, trapping him into place, and drops a warm kiss onto the back of Sam’s neck. Sam shivers at the feel of Bucky’s lips against the sensitive skin at his nape, and Bucky’s hand wanders down Sam’s chest and along his flank as he subtly grinds his cock into Sam’s ass.

Sam lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, that’s what you want?” he asks with amusement.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes. “That’s what I want.”

Sam turns over to face him, capturing Bucky’s lips in a slow and dirty kiss. Bucky moans softly, and his hand slides down to blatantly grope Sam’s ass, fingers kneading into the hard muscle. Bucky’s cock is pressed against his, and Sam can’t resist grinding a bit against him.

When Sam pulls back from the kiss, he asks, “You sure about this? Sex changes things.”

“Sure I’m sure,” Bucky says, grinning. “I mean, it’s been awhile, but Steve and I always—”

“Do not tell me you and Steve used to fuck back in the day.” Sam groans, willing his brain not to indulge those mental images.

“Wait, did you and Steve not—”

“No!” Sam says defensively. “Steve and I were best friends, not boyfriends.”

“Sam, first of all, it’s totally normal to fuck your best friend, it’s called friends with benefits. I looked it up, and it’s a thing.” Bucky sounds placid, relaxed, his tone entirely too reasonable, his expression even and unbothered. “And second of all, you and I are only pretending to be best friends, so it’ll be even more fine for us.”

Bucky shifts his hips against Sam again, and Sam stifles a low moan. Sam is absolutely going to go along with this nonsense. God, all of his relationships with all of his friends have gotten so deeply weird ever since Steve came into his life. Steve’s boundary issues with Bucky are infecting the entire rest of the team.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam agrees, then gasps as Bucky leans down to lick and then gently bite Sam’s nipple. The sensation goes straight to Sam’s cock and he can’t resist thrusting his pelvis up against Bucky’s hard abs. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky says, licking his way down Sam’s chest, mouthing and sucking at the skin on Sam’s lower belly and thighs, soft and gentle and careful, like maybe he doesn’t want to leave any bruises. Sam wonders if that’s a leftover habit from fucking Steve, if Bucky hadn’t wanted to leave marks on Steve’s pale, delicate skin, still so quick to bloom purple even now that his bruises fade in a matter of hours. As Sam pictures Bucky’s mouth on Steve, licking and sucking at him the same way that he’s torturing Sam now, heat spreads through his entire body, his skin on fire.

Bucky spends an excruciatingly long time just teasing and kissing around Sam’s cock before he finally, finally runs his tongue slowly up Sam’s hard length.

“Fuck,” Sam curses, fighting to keep his hips still. Bucky looks up at him from beneath those long lashes, and Sam feels a sharp tug in his lower belly at the sight of those gorgeous gray eyes. “Fuck, please.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Bucky says soothingly.

He presses a soft kiss to the tip of Sam’s cock and then wraps his pretty lips around him and slides down, maintaining eye contact as he takes Sam deep into his mouth. Sam gasps at all that wet heat surrounding him, shocked by the fire racing down his spine as he feels Bucky swallow him down.

“Bucky,” Sam says helplessly, reaching down to put his hands in Bucky’s thick hair, soft and still messy from sleep.

Sam shifts restlessly, trying not to fuck Bucky’s mouth as Bucky leisurely drags his mouth up and down Sam’s cock, his pace maddeningly, frustratingly slow. When Bucky slides all the way down to the base of Sam’s cock, taking his entire length into his mouth, Sam’s hips jerk involuntarily and his fists clench in Bucky’s hair.

“Fuck, baby, I need—I need—”

Bucky pulls his mouth off Sam’s cock and Sam moans at the loss of that tight heat. Bucky’s eyes are knowing, his lips spit-slick and pink, so pretty and swollen.

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says sympathetically, wickedly, his voice rough from Sam’s cock down his throat. “You gonna let me fuck you, Sam?”

“Yeah, God, yeah,” Sam says. Sam’s pulse leaps at the thought, and he takes a deep breath to try to force his racing heart to calm down, to steady his shaking hands.

Bucky kisses his way back up Sam’s chest, leaning over Sam to whisper in his ear, “So gorgeous, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good, Sam.”

Bucky reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a condom and a bottle of lube. Sam starts to turn over, to bring himself up onto all fours, when Bucky stops him and says, “No, stay there, sweetheart. I wanna see you while I fuck you.”

Bucky grabs a pillow and slides it under Sam’s ass, pulling Sam’s knees up and spreading his legs apart so he can look at him. Sam trembles under Bucky’s gaze, his skin prickling as Bucky’s eyes roam greedily over Sam’s body.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky says reverently. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam gasps, arching his back when he feels the slick press of Bucky’s finger at his hole.

He tries not to clench up, tries to relax his muscles as Bucky slides a finger smoothly inside him. Bucky is sweet and soothing, praising Sam as he works his finger in and out of him, telling Sam how beautiful he is, how good he feels, how much Bucky can’t wait to be inside of him. Sam’s poor, neglected cock is dripping precome onto his lower belly, and Sam reaches down to take himself in hand, giving his cock a gentle stroke.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his eyes hot and admiring as they watch Sam’s fist moving over his cock.

Sam keeps at it, leisurely jerking himself off while Bucky works a second and then a third finger into him. Bucky’s eyes are dark and hungry, and Sam feels aroused and exposed and needy, desperate for more, ready for Bucky’s cock to fuck him open and fill him up. He’s panting and gasping, chanting, “Please, please, please” as Bucky’s fingers stretch and pull at his loosening rim.

“You want it?” Bucky says, ripping open the condom package, pulling out the condom and sliding it down the thick, flushed length of his cock.

“Please, yes, I need it,” Sam begs.

And Sam’s embarrassed by his eagerness, how desperate he is for it, but the humiliation only makes him more aroused, his cock hardening further under his hand. He’s always so quick to say yes to Bucky, so quick to be tempted even against his own common sense, and Jesus fuck is he grateful for that now because that is Bucky’s cock sliding into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle at Sam’s entrance and filling him up.

Bucky grabs Sam’s legs and hitches them up around his waist, sliding another inch of his thick cock deep inside Sam, who’s gasping and panting beneath him. Sam’s knees tighten around Bucky’s sides, gripping him tight and using his leverage to pull Bucky deeper into him. Sweat begins to form at the small of Sam’s back and behind his knees, prickling at his overheated skin.

“Sam,” Bucky moans. “God, Sam, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Bucky bends down to steal a wet, filthy kiss as he slides his cock deeper, pushing that last, final inch all the way into Sam. Bucky’s hips are flush against him, and Sam feels so connected to Bucky, with Bucky’s tongue sliding slickly into Sam’s mouth and Bucky’s cock thrusting deep into Sam’s ass, and Sam swears Bucky’s heart is beating in time with his, twin rhythms pounding faster and faster until Sam feels like they’ll both burst into flames.

“C’mon,” Sam urges. “I need it. Please, baby.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, leaning down to give Sam one last kiss before he braces himself on his arms and starts moving, slow and deep and dirty, into Sam. Sam’s head falls back as his back arches, and Bucky’s teeth nip gently at the exposed skin of Sam’s neck. Sam reaches down to grab Bucky’s ass, and Bucky inhales sharply when Sam pulls him, hard, so far inside him that Sam feels like he’ll choke on Bucky’s cock.

“Sam—Sam, you—”

“Yeah, baby, please—”

“God, Sam—”

Bucky fucks him so slowly, so sweetly, that Sam feels like he’s going to float off into space, lost in the feel of Bucky’s cock hitting that sensitive spot before dragging back out against his tender rim. Sam moans every time Bucky hits his prostate, feeling his balls begin to tighten and draw up against his body. Bucky’s pace slowly shifts from controlled and relentless to wild and irregular.

“Sam, Sam, look at me,” Bucky groans. Sam opens his eyes to find Bucky looking wrecked, his lips swollen, eyes dark and dazed, looking beautiful and so utterly focused on Sam. Their eyes meet and Bucky holds the contact, biting his lip and moaning. “Sam, Sam, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, c’mon, do it—”

Bucky comes with a choked cry, shuddering and thrusting his hips erratically against Sam. His body shakes and shivers, breath coming in heavy gasps against Sam’s mouth.

Sam groans and focuses his attention back to stroking his cock, his hand moving faster and faster as Bucky pants and recovers above him. Sam’s almost there, so close, when Bucky leans down to kiss him, teeth biting gently at Sam’s bottom lip, and stars explode behind Sam’s eyes as he spills over his fist.

Bucky is slow to pull out of Sam, kissing him lazily before removing the condom and then collapsing on top of him. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky as they breathe and let their hearts settle, pressed tightly against one another.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, voice muffled by Sam’s neck, sounding happy and exhausted and overwhelmed.

Sam lets Bucky rest on top of him for a while until he begins to feel suffocated by the weight of an entire supersoldier resting on him. He nudges Bucky to the side a little, and Bucky rolls onto his back, pulling Sam over to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Sam wonders if Bucky understands that “friends with benefits” usually don’t make love to each other the way that Bucky just made love to him.

“Good, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

“Yeah.” The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up in a grin. “You did all right.”

“You were pretty good yourself,” Bucky says appreciatively. “Thought I was going to die when I got inside you. Christ, sweetheart.”

They lapse into blissful silence for a moment, and Bucky reaches over to grab Sam’s hand and pull it onto his chest. He plays with Sam’s fingers idly, intertwining their fingers and then pulling back to stroke his thumb over Sam’s palm. Bucky seems utterly relaxed and content, and Sam hates to break the comfortable silence but he just has to ask.

“So,” Sam says casually, “is that always how you fuck? All slow and romantic and full of eye contact?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve only ever had sex with Steve, so I guess so?” Bucky says, frowning. Sam is a little stunned at this revelation, eyebrows shooting upward in shock, because Bucky is one of the most attractive men Sam has ever met and Sam now knows for a fact that Bucky knows how to seduce someone if he wants it. “I guess I’m not really sure how I’d fuck someone other than you or Steve. I mean, maybe Natalia—”

Sam decides to interrupt Bucky before he finishes that interesting thought. “Rumor has it that you were a real smooth operator back in the day, though, taking ladies out on the town and double dating with Steve and going out dancing all night. You’re saying you never seriously tried it on with anybody else?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Well, I mean, there were girls,” Bucky says slowly. “But I sorta got the feeling that they didn’t really take me seriously? Like, they were happy to go dancing with me, and they’d give me a sweet kiss at the end of the night, but if I tried for anything more they’d just pat me on the cheek and tell me to say hi to Steve for them and I really should take out their friend Betty next week.”

Bucky shrugs, obviously baffled by this behavior, but Sam suddenly understands exactly why Bucky wasn’t very successful with the ladies, and Sam really should have been way less surprised by the fact that even the sheltered Catholic girls of 1940s Brooklyn could tell that Bucky and Steve were deeply weird about each other and Bucky wasn’t exactly available.

“Did you ever want to get married and have a family?”

“Sure, someday,” Bucky says carelessly. “But Steve and I were still young when the war hit. I thought we’d have more time together. And then we didn’t, and Steve met Peggy, and you know how everything went after that.”

“It didn’t bother you when Steve found Peggy?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky says, his eyes shining and earnest. “Peggy was a doll. And I’ve been in love with Steve my whole life. I knew we’d always be best friends. It never even occurred to me that I could ever really lose Steve, not in a way that mattered. After all, who can ever really come between someone and their best friend?”

And that—explains a lot about Bucky’s near fanatical devotion to the very concept of best friendship. Sam shakes his head at this, knowing that there’s probably no point in trying to shake Steve and Bucky out of the wacky coping mechanisms they’ve developed for 1940s homophobia. After over a hundred years that shit has got to be way too deeply entrenched in their psyches.

Sam resigns himself to embracing their crazy on this particular issue. At least Bucky is hot.

***

Sam and Bucky are visiting Sam’s mom, and Sam doesn’t know how his mom knows, but somehow she definitely does know that something is different between Sam and Bucky, and boy does she look thrilled about it.

“Thank you so much for the lovely flowers, Bucky!” Sam’s mom gushes. “And you thought to bring a dish for dinner! Sam never used to bring a dish with him to dinner.” She beams at Bucky, so clearly approving of all of the changes Bucky has brought to Sam’s life, then looks meaningfully over at Sarah and Michelle. “And don’t they look handsome!”

Michelle simply nods obediently at this, because she’s eleven and not particularly impressed by Sam’s too-formal attire, but Sarah gives him a quick once over and then raises her eyebrows in mild surprise at his tailored blazer.

Sam and Sarah have a quick conversation through facial expressions, communicating “What’s all this then, Sam?” and “Don’t make a big thing about it, Sarah,” and “Is he your boyfriend?” and “Shut up, Sarah!” through a series of suggestively waggled eyebrows and narrowed eyes and teasing smirks.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to plan a meal without meat, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with concern. “If it’s too much or you don’t want the hassle of meal planning, you’re all more than welcome to come to our apartment for dinner on Sunday nights.”

And the thing is, Bucky’s not being smarmy or insincere about it at all. He would be genuinely happy to have Sam’s family over for dinner every Sunday night, because Bucky likes cooking and he likes Sam and he likes families, and maybe Sam’s starting to feel some kind of way about all of Bucky’s effortless charm and openhanded generosity and muscular thighs.

“So you and Sam are living together,” Sarah says with interest. Even Michelle perks up at this, finally glancing up from her phone, where she’s been texting rapidly or possibly live tweeting this entire embarrassing conversation.

Bucky puts a casual arm around Sam’s shoulders, and come on, Bucky has to know how this looks to Sam’s family, right? “Yep, for probably around six months now, right, sweetheart?” Bucky says, smiling at Sam.

And suddenly Sam realizes that maybe Bucky doesn’t know how this looks to Sam’s family, because Bucky has such an extreme lack of awareness regarding normal friendship boundaries, and also because they’re so far deep into this whole fake-best-friends thing that this is just the way that the two of them act now, all the time.

And, really, Sam has to blame Steve and Natasha for this too, because the two of them are only encouraging this madness with all the “best friends dates” and the excessive physical affection and their own overly invested relationship. Literally no one in Bucky’s life is modeling basic relationship boundaries for him, no wonder he slipped through the cracks of normal human friendship behavior.

And Sam must be crazy too, because he just smiles back at Bucky and says, “Yep, that sounds about right, baby.” Because Sam isn’t really all that concerned about normal human friendship behavior when Bucky looks at him like that, gray eyes all warm and soft and pleased, like Sam’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Sam’s heart beats a little faster in his chest, warmth traveling through his veins, and oh, this is a thing.

“You know, when you and Steve were living together, he never invited us over to your place,” Sam’s mother points out. Thanks to all of Bucky’s hard work rehabbing Steve’s tarnished image in Sam’s mother’s eyes, Steve has been upgraded from that boy to Steve, always stated with a faint moue of distaste.

“Steve and I were international fugitives, Mom,” Sam replies, his tone patient. “We didn’t have a stable place to invite you to.”

“And whose fault was that!” Sam’s mom says triumphantly.

“Mom, I made my own choices when it came to the Accords.”

“Sam’s not a follower,” Bucky agrees, and it’s sweet that Bucky thinks so but Sam realizes now that that is a complete lie, because Sam has done nothing but follow Bucky along in this foolishness ever since he felt Bucky’s body pressed up against him in a closet. “And if anything it’s probably my fault how everything went down. I was the one they blamed for that bombing—Steve and Sam were just trying to help me. They really are the best friends I could ever ask for, and I’m still not sure I was worth everything they went through for it.’”

And maybe it’s just a fluke of the phrasing, maybe Bucky didn’t really mean it, but Sam can’t help but notice that this is the first time Bucky has ever used the plural form of the term best friend.

“Oh, dear, that wasn’t your fault!” Sam’s mother protests. “You were framed for that bombing!”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Steve’s fault either, Mom.”

Sam’s mother sniffs. “Well, I still think Steve could have made more of an effort to get to know your family.”

“I’m still friends with Steve, Mom,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Our friendship is not past tense, we’re not, like, broken up or something.”

“Then why isn’t Steve here for Sunday dinner with the rest of the family?” Sam’s mother gestures around the table at the five of them, and Sam’s heart skips a beat as he realizes that his mother is including Bucky in the family.

Sarah and Michelle are observing this conversation with ill-concealed glee, unabashedly enjoying Sam’s friendship-slash-relationship-slash-familial drama. Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around Sam, his thumb rubbing absent little circles on Sam’s shoulder, and Michelle is tapping away on her phone as she watches. Sam doesn’t have high hopes for this staying off the internet when he catches Michelle snapping a surreptitious photo of Sam tucked in snugly under Bucky’s arm.

It’s Bucky’s metal arm, too, so no chance of passing Bucky off as some random dude.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thinks. He leans over and gives Bucky a soft kiss on the mouth right in front of his family.

***

Sam and Bucky are fooling around on the sofa after finishing season one of The Mandalorian—apparently Pedro Pascal’s bedroom voice really does it for both of them—and Sam is finally getting the chance to trace Bucky’s abs with his tongue the way he imagined every single time he jerked off in the shower back before Bucky started taking showers with him.

Sam shifts down to suck a bruise into the sharp jut of Bucky’s hip bone, and Bucky moans underneath him. Bruises don’t last any longer on Bucky than they do on Steve, but Sam still likes seeing Bucky’s fair skin mottled with fresh marks, likes the possessive little thrill it sends through him to see Bucky’s perfect flesh marred by Sam’s mouth and teeth.

“Sam, please, suck me, sweetheart,” Bucky begs.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, pulling Bucky’s boxer-briefs down his hips and watching in satisfaction when Bucky’s hard cock springs forward, flushed and thick and perfect. Sam is impatient tonight, wants Bucky’s cock in his mouth now, and he leans forward to swallow Bucky down in one long, slick slide.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky moans.

Sam grabs Bucky’s hips as he bobs his head up and down, fingers digging in tight, bruising, to keep Bucky from thrusting into Sam’s mouth. Bucky is strong enough that he could easily break Sam’s hold but he doesn’t, squirming restlessly underneath Sam, frustrated and needy and desperate.

Sam pulls off Bucky’s cock long enough to take in a big gulp of air before he slides back down, taking Bucky as far back into his throat as he can, and Bucky moans brokenly when Sam tightens his mouth and lips around him. Sam sets a steady rhythm, swirling his tongue around the head of Bucky’s cock and then sucking him back down again, spit slicking up the way. Sam reaches up to roll Bucky’s balls between his fingers, squeezing and tugging gently, admiring the heft of them in his hand.

“God, Sam, Sam,” Bucky chants, hands fisting in the sheets to keep from grabbing Sam’s head and fucking his face. “Sam, sweetheart, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Sam moans around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky cries out, tapping Sam’s shoulder in a desperate warning before he breaks Sam’s hold on his hips and thrusts forward, flooding Sam’s mouth with come. Sam swallows him down, bitter and salty, and then leans forward to rest his head against Bucky’s pelvis and catch his breath.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, panting. He looks flushed and beautiful, and Sam’s heart feels like it’s going to explode in his chest.

“I love you too,” Sam says helplessly.

Bucky looks awestruck for a moment, then says, “C’mere,” in a rough voice.

He pulls Sam up and gives him a quick, hard kiss, then reaches down to unbutton Sam’s jeans and slide his hand around Sam’s cock. He strokes Sam firmly, a brutal pace that drives Sam half out of his mind. Sam’s already so hard from sucking Bucky’s cock, can still taste Bucky’s come in his mouth, and he won’t need much to get there.

“Baby, please, I need—”

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says comfortingly. He buries his head in Sam’s neck, biting down on the thick cord of muscle that leads to Sam’s shoulder, and Sam’s back arches in pleasure. Bucky strokes him just a little faster, almost enough, thumb rubbing at that sensitive spot right beneath Sam’s glans. “C’mon, sweetheart, come for me.”

And Sam does, come splattering over his lower belly, mind going blissfully blank and toes curling in pleasure. While Sam comes down from his high, Bucky reaches up to cup Sam’s face in his hand, stroking his thumb tenderly over Sam’s cheek. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Sam leans forward to kiss him, losing himself in the warm heat of Bucky’s mouth, their lips moving in a slow, gentle slide against each other. They make out lazily for a while, hands roaming appreciatively over each other’s bodies, until Sam reluctantly pulls away to clean up.

When Sam returns to the living room, Bucky is sitting in the dim light of the television, chewing anxiously at his lower lip. Sam plops down next to him, turning on his side to face him and putting his feet in Bucky’s lap.

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asks uncertainly. “It wasn’t just, like, a heat of the moment thing?”

“I did,” Sam confirms, his voice sure and steady. “Did you mean it?”

“God, yes, Sam. I love you.”

They look at each other dopily for a while, then Bucky tugs at Sam’s legs to urge him further down the sofa, closer to Bucky. They curl up together and enjoy the comfortable silence until Bucky says, “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Sam thinks for a moment, then groans. He covers his face with his hands, peeking embarrassedly through his fingers, and says, “OK, so I went through a phase, when I first got out of high school, where I told everybody to call me Snap Wilson.”

Bucky laughs incredulously, then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it, mostly unsuccessfully. “I’m sorry, you told them to call you what now?” he asks gleefully.

“I told them to call me Snap Wilson,” Sam grits out. He is already regretting this, but Bucky looks so fucking elated that Sam can’t bring himself to care too much about the inevitable teasing he’s going to receive. And it’s Bucky, not Steve or Natasha, so Sam knows that the ribbing won’t be too savage.

Bucky is already trying to suppress his wild grin, pressing his lips together until they turn almost white. “So was this like a rough time you were going through, like trouble at home or something, or did you just think Snap Wilson sounded cool?” His voice is a mixture of genuine concern and barely concealed amusement.

“I just thought it sounded cool,” Sam confesses.

Bucky laughs in delight, and Sam gives him a sour look, poking him in the side. “Yeah, yeah, your turn now, buddy,” Sam says. “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Bucky sobers up, clears his throat and says, “I didn’t enlist in the Army.”

“What?”

“I let Steve think that I enlisted, because I didn’t want him to know that I had to drop out of college to pay for his medical bills when he got sick the winter of ’41. Got called up shortly after, told him that I enlisted.”

Sam’s heart breaks a little at that, for Bucky, because he would have done anything to take care of Steve, and for Steve, who never would have forgiven himself if Bucky had gotten drafted and sent home in a body bag on his account. To this day Steve still feels guilty about leaving Bucky behind in that ravine, even though he had no reason to believe that Bucky could have survived the fall, and anyway Steve drove a plane straight into the Arctic like a week later and couldn’t have rescued Bucky anyway.

“So wait, how does Steve think you paid for his medical bills?”

“I told him I got paid to pose for some dirty pictures,” Bucky says with a saucy grin. “Then he asked to see them and I had to beg one of his photographer friends to take some for me to try to sell the whole embarrassing lie. Honestly I was a little flattered that Steve had exactly zero questions about the whole thing, like of course someone would pay to see me jerking off wearing a pair of women’s stockings.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at that. “Any chance those pictures are still around somewhere?”

“I’m pretty sure Steve burned them all before he headed out on the bond circuit,” Bucky says with regret, then brightens. “But on the plus side, I think I just came up with a great idea for the erotic portrait series Steve’s been working on during all of our best friend dates.”

Sam grins cheerfully at this. “Nice.”

***

A month later, they’re in Eastern Washington with Steve and Natasha, fighting off a horde of formerly human white nationalist cult members who are now a group of largely mindless but probably still racist vampires.

The vampires aren’t much of a threat, but there are a bunch of them and they’re good at causing enough chaos that it’s hard to get close to Todd, who’s in a neck brace again and back on his bullshit.

Sam’s done a ton of research on Catholicism since the last time they met and he’s still not sure how to finally kill this guy. The holy water blessed by the Roman pope didn’t work, and the holy or possibly unholy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon didn’t work, and Sam’s pretty much run out of popes to get holy water from. Out of a commitment to preparedness Sam’s brought along vials of leftover holy water from each pope, but he’s honestly not sure if they’ll be much help to them if neither of them even works.

Sam, Bucky, and Steve are all covered in blood from the vampires they’ve slain so far, but as usual Natasha still looks perfectly pristine as she lectures Todd on his many sins and hypocrisies. God, she even had the audacity to wear a white uniform to this. Sam’s heart swells with affection for her.

“I thought you were supposed to be Catholic, Todd. It’s not very pro-life of you to create all these vampires,” Natasha says, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I’m just trying to make humanity great again,” Todd snaps defensively through his ridiculous plastic fangs. “Society works best when there are a few strong leaders and many weak, dependent followers. HYDRA believes in order. The Catholic Church used to believe in order too—it used to understand the value of an authoritarian system of governing its followers.”

And just like that, Sam understands Todd’s belief system. “He’s a Sedevacant!” Sam announces, pointing a finger in triumph.

“What?” Bucky asks, firing a crossbow into a vampire trying to latch its fangs into Steve’s calf. The vampire explodes in a shower of red, and Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust but keeps fighting. At this point there’s not very much of Steve that isn’t covered in blood, and Sam hopes they aren’t all going to have to worry about bloodborne diseases from this whole gross situation.

“Remember all those changes in the Catholic Church since you and Steve were kids? Those all came about after the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. Sedevacants believe that the church lost its way and fell into heresy when it embraced modernism. So according to them there is no valid pope—the seat of the pope is actually vacant,” Sam explains, tossing his shield off to behead a vampire looming over Bucky.

“Thanks, sweetheart!” Bucky calls, blowing him a kiss.

“Great,” Natasha says, irritated. “And how are we supposed to get holy water blessed by no one? Wouldn’t that just be regular water?”

Sam frowns in dismay at this terrible, zany loophole Todd has apparently discovered.

Todd cackles triumphantly. “You can’t! You’ll never be able to kill me—there’s no holy water on earth that’s been blessed by no one,” Todd boasts. “I’m invincible!”

“Not so fast,” Bucky says, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Sam, do you still have both vials of holy water?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Mix them together!” Bucky says. “Holy water blessed by the pope plus holy water blessed by the antipope will cancel each other out.”

Todd’s eyes widen in horror. “No, that won’t work!”

“It’s simple math, Todd,” Bucky says smugly. “Sam, do it, I’ll cover you!”

Sam’s hands are steady as he unscrews the tops of the bottles, sure in the knowledge that Bucky will have his back if any vampires try to latch onto him while he’s busy. He coats the shield in holy water from each of the vials, making sure to cover every square inch. Then, with a mighty throw, he launches the shield toward Todd, nailing him directly in the throat.

When Todd’s head is blown back off his body, he explodes into a bloody, disgusting mess.

“Gross,” Steve says.

The baby vampires stumble around, confused and lost without their leader, and it only takes about twenty minutes for Sam and the others to slay the rest of them now that Todd’s dead.

 Sam makes a mental note to use all of his influence as Captain America to get Bucky an honorary doctorate in mathematics from Harvard or Yale or something after all this.

***

Sam and Bucky spend forty-five long minutes showering off all the blood after their showdown with Todd and his racist vampire gang, the last fifteen of which are spent with Bucky pressed up against the shower wall with Sam’s tongue in his ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please,” Bucky begs. He’s trembling and squirming, spreading his legs shamelessly for Sam. “Fuck me, Sam, please.”

Sam reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock, liquid heat pooling in his belly at the thought of sliding his cock into that tight hole he’s been eagerly, methodically loosening. Bucky’s hands are pulling at his own ass, spreading his cheeks so sweetly, so obediently for Sam’s mouth. Sam traces a finger around Bucky’s wet rim, poking in just a bit to test him out, and Bucky’s thighs twitch and shake around Sam’s face.

“You think you can take it standing up?” Sam asks, giving Bucky an assessing look.

Bucky bites his lip and sobs a bit, panting and gasping, his face pressed up against the shower wall. Bucky looks wrecked already, so pretty, and Sam decides to take pity on him.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go to the bedroom,” Sam says, standing up and shutting off the shower.

He wraps Bucky in a towel and leads him to the hotel bedroom, and Bucky shivers prettily in the cool air, goosebumps rising on his clean, damp skin. Sam crowds Bucky against the mattress to warm him up, leaning his head down to dip into the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, sliding his tongue against Bucky’s in a dirty kiss that leaves them both moaning.

Sam grabs the lube and Bucky spreads his legs eagerly, obscenely, and the sight is so erotic that Sam feels like he’s been punched in the gut, breathless with desire and desperate to plunge his cock into all that tight, willing heat. His hands shake a bit as he fumbles with the lube, and he coats his fingers until they’re nice and slick, ready to slide right in with just the slightest amount of pressure.

Bucky gasps when Sam slips one long finger into him, biting his lip and arching his back. “Sam, more—I need—”

“I got you, baby,” Sam says, sliding another finger in next to the first. Bucky’s mouth gapes open, his throat emitting a choked off little cry, and Sam’s cock is achingly hard at the sound, weeping messily against Sam’s belly, dripping little trails of precome. Bucky’s a quivering mess underneath him, and Sam presses wet kisses between Bucky’s thighs as he ruthlessly opens him up. “God, look at you, baby.”

Sam gives him another finger, and Bucky takes it, keening and begging. “More—please—Sam, I want your cock.”

“Oh, you think you’re ready for it, baby?”

“Yes, please, Sam,” Bucky whines, and Sam reluctantly removes his fingers, climbing up to settle his body over Bucky’s, letting gravity pull him down so they’re pressed tightly together. Bucky may be sweet and pliant underneath him now, but Sam knows how strong he really is, how easily he can bear Sam’s weight.

When Sam starts pushing his cock inside of him, Bucky gasps, mouth opening in a small o of pleasure. Sam fucks Bucky shallowly until he grows impatient, needs to go deeper, grabbing Bucky’s thighs to pull them up so he can bend Bucky in half underneath him. Bucky’s limbs are long and flexible, moving easily as Sam moves him right where he needs him. Sam bites his own lip, hard, as Bucky’s hole pulls him in, clutching greedily at Sam’s throbbing cock.

When Sam slides all the way home, Bucky gasps and says, “Sam, Sam, wait—”

Sam pauses, his cock buried fully inside Bucky, panting harshly at the effort of keeping his hips still.

“Yeah, baby,” Sam says, voice straining. “What do you need?”

“Sam,” Bucky says, and he sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes and visibly working to control himself. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

Sam looks down at Bucky and waits, letting Bucky take the time he needs to settle. Sam’s hips are flush against Bucky’s ass, his cock seated fully inside of him, and he feels so connected to Bucky, like they’re two parts of the same whole.

Bucky pants raggedly for a few moments, squirming and restless under Sam, until he calms again, opening his eyes to look at Sam. Bucky’s lashes are long and gorgeous and damp, his pupils dark and dilated.

“Sam, I have to tell you,” Bucky says, flushing prettily, his wide eyes so earnest and sweet. “I—somewhere along the way, I want you to know, everything became real for me. You—you really are my best friend.”

Sam closes his eyes, heart so achingly full in his chest.

“You’re my best friend too,” Sam says softly, seriously, because he knows this is important to Bucky. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Bucky’s eyes are wet and shining.

Sam grinds his hips against Bucky’s ass, his lips curving up in a dirty grin. “You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sam asks. Bucky gasps, hands coming up to grip Sam’s back, fingers digging in bruisingly hard.

“Yeah, Sam, yeah, fuck me,” Bucky breathes.

Sam pulls out and then slams his hips back into Bucky, who gasps in surprise, spine arching in pleasure. Sam sets a hard and deep rhythm, letting loose all of the leftover tension and stress from the fight earlier, taking all that frustrated energy out on Bucky’s willing body. When Sam nails Bucky’s prostate, Bucky’s hands scrabble over Sam’s back, clutching and pulling at him frantically. “Yes, there, there,” Bucky says, voice desperate and breathy.

Sam drives his cock into Bucky faster, pounding harder as he feels his balls tighten and heat race up his spine. He’s close, so close, and he leans down to brace himself on one elbow so he can reach down to grab Bucky’s hard cock. He can tell from the noises Bucky’s making, those sweet, high whimpers, that Bucky isn’t far behind him. When he strokes Bucky hard, his fist sliding brutally up and down Bucky’s cock, Bucky arches his back and comes, spilling all over his sweaty chest.

The sight of Bucky’s come, pearly and glistening over his taut abs, sends Sam over the edge. Sam’s hips jerk and stutter, his thrusts erratic, shuddering as he feels his balls empty into Bucky’s tight hole. He wants to collapse, wants to let go and fall onto Bucky, let Bucky catch him and hold him, but instead he pulls out. Bucky whines quietly at the loss, and Sam can’t resist reaching down to rub his fingers against Bucky’s wet, puffy hole, admiring the slow trickle of Sam’s come dripping out of him. Bucky shivers at the touch of Sam’s fingers to his abused hole, probably raw and oversensitive, and Sam reluctantly drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he says, kissing Bucky’s knee in apology.

“S’ok,” Bucky slurs. “Like it when you get all vulgar and possessive on me.”

“Speaking of possessive,” Sam says, heaving out a heavy sigh and collapsing back onto the bed next to Bucky, hooking his ankle over Bucky’s. “Can we talk about the whole fake-best-friends thing? Like, where are we with that and what was our endgame there?”

“Well, I guess I was wrong about only having one best friend,” Bucky admits, looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye and grinning bashfully. “And I guess the plan was just—make Steve jealous.”

“And?” Sam prompts.

“And—I think that was it? I’m not really sure where I saw it all working out,” Bucky confesses.

“I feel like maybe you’re not all that great at planning without a murder board.”

“I’m a visual planner,” Bucky says defensively. “And it seemed kind of disrespectful to make a murder board about Steve given the fact that I did, in fact, try to murder him several times as the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s fair,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point. “But we’re good now, right? I mean, we’re best friends with each other, we’re best friends with Steve and Natasha, Steve and Natasha are also best friends—and I’m kind of crazy in love with you.”

“What I’m hearing you say here is that my crazy plan worked.”

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, hiding a smile. “Maybe it did.”

***

It’s a Saturday, and Sam and Steve are on their best friend date, and Steve is kicking Sam’s ass in the gym. Sam knows, intellectually, that he’s in fantastic shape and that there’s no shame in being beaten by a scientifically enhanced human being. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt his pride—and his back, motherfucker—when Steve manages to take him down hard without even having the decency to break a sweat.

“I think that’s about enough for today. I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job wearing you out,” Steve says, smirking like an asshole, because he is an asshole. “Let’s hit the showers.”

When they get to the SHIELD locker room, it’s nearly empty, the way it usually is on Saturdays. There are still a few particularly dedicated SHIELD employees roaming about, mostly new guys. For whatever reason most of the seasoned employees stay away from the gym locker room on Saturday afternoons when Sam and Steve work out. Today, when people catch sight of Sam and Steve walking in, they blanch and immediately speed up with whatever they’re doing, hustling out of the locker room like it’s on fire or something. In under two minutes, Sam and Steve are the only ones left.

“It’s weird how everybody always leaves when they see us coming in to shower together,” Sam remarks, stripping off his sweaty shirt and tossing it in his locker.

“I wonder if they’re intimidated by us,” Steve muses, then takes a moment to admire Sam’s bare chest. Steve’s eyes are hot and appreciative as they travel lazily up and down Sam’s torso.

Sam shrugs in response, then winces as he feels a muscle tighten up in his back. “Ouch,” Sam hisses. “Man, I know I’m not twenty-five anymore, but damn, I really don’t need the reminder, you know?”

Steve’s brow furrows in concern. “Here, let me take a look at that when we get in the shower.”

They finish undressing and then get into the shower together. They share a stall, because Steve read an article about water conservation that he apparently found very inspiring, and also because sometimes it’s nice having a buddy with you. Sam lathers himself up, and then out of habit he reaches over to spin Steve around so he can wash Steve’s back too.

“God, that feels good,” Steve moans, the sound of it echoing in the strangely empty locker room. Sam spends a good few minutes really working Steve over as he scrubs Steve’s back, groping and kneading at Steve’s lats and traps while Steve moans and arches his back in pleasure.

When Sam finishes, he gives Steve a little pat and says, “OK, you do me.” Obligingly, Steve turns around to rub Sam’s back, massaging the tight muscles, his hands sliding easily over Sam’s skin with the slick of Sam’s body wash.

“This where it hurts?” Steve murmurs, digging his fingers into Sam’s lower back. “God, you’re really tight here.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, groaning at the pleasure-pain of Steve working at the sore point in his lower back. He huffs a frustrated, petulant sigh. “You know, sometimes I feel like the more I lift, the tighter I get.”

“Maybe you should start going to yoga with Bucky and Natasha,” Steve suggests. “Actually, they’re starting a class in about twenty minutes. If we hurry up in here, we could probably meet them there if you want.”

“Wait, Bucky and Natasha are at yoga today?” Sam asks in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Bucky and Natasha go to yoga? That’s what they’re doing on their best friend dates?”

Suddenly, Steve looks very anxious and very guilty.

“Wait,” Steve says slowly, apprehensively, “Bucky does tell you what he does on his best friend dates, right? He—I mean, you do know—”

“Yeah, Steve, I know,” Sam says, his tone dry. “I just thought yoga was, like, a cover for something. I didn’t think they were actually going to yoga.”

“Oh!” Steve brightens. “Yeah, it’s doing some really amazing things for Bucky’s flexibility. And for Natasha’s ass.”

Sam shrugs. “All right, then, let’s head over.”

Sam and Steve finish up in the shower, moving more quickly than their usual leisurely Saturday afternoon locker room shower pace. Sam’s skin is still a bit damp under his fresh gym clothes, but the air outside is warm, and he’ll be sweating again soon anyway once he starts working out in the humid yoga studio.

When Bucky and Natasha see Sam and Steve, their faces light up with big smiles.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Bucky says, coming over to give Sam a hug and a kiss while Natasha does the same to Steve. “You and Steve are done earlier than usual.”

“Yeah, he whooped my ass,” Sam admits, scratching his jaw.

Sam and Steve switch hugging partners, and Nat’s body feels small and strong in Sam’s arms when she goes up onto her tiptoes to give him a warm hug and a kiss on the lips. And when Sam sneaks a look downward, he notices that Steve was not lying about all the great things yoga’s been doing for Natasha’s ass.

Sam lets go of Natasha and turns back to Bucky. “So you and Nat really do yoga,” Sam says, shaking his head ruefully. “You know, all this time, I thought you two were doing some secret spy shit that you were trying to keep me from having to answer questions about? I was half-convinced that we should be thinking about getting married just so we wouldn’t have to testify against each other.”

Steve and Natasha raise their eyebrows in surprise, but Bucky looks pleased at that. “Well,” Bucky says, lips curving up in a crooked grin, “let’s not take that marriage idea off the table just yet.”

Natasha clearly aims for a sober expression, but the corner of her lip twitches and her eyes sparkle with mirth. “You know, I can’t say that we’ll definitely never get up to any secret spy shit, Sam. Maybe it’s not a bad idea to keep that in your back pocket.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and nods thoughtfully. “Plus, do we even know if Bucky’s still considered an American citizen?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Bucky admits. “But being married to Captain American should grant me automatic citizenship, probably.”

Sam shrugs placidly and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

After all, Sam’s mom always did say that happiness was being married to your best friend.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

whumptober

12 October: grief

Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

"Could you tell me what happened?" Bruce asked.

Clark paused to consider the question, or, rather, the shape of it. In the kitchen at the lake house, steel and black marble surfaces dimly glittered from the glow of a single lamp on the windowsill. He didn't need light to see by, but he found himself almost desperately curious to parse Bruce's inquiry and, in the effort, to watch Bruce for some further clue. 'Could' had been proffered. The chosen form wasn't an order. Bruce's posture spoke of ease, as though he asked nothing tasking from the barstool opposite the one Clark sat in. What did Bruce assume he'd say; what would be the subsequent result for any given response?

Clark was rarely bothered by inclement weather. The hollow feeling in his chest was not caused by the extant temperature of the room.

“I understand Diana's the one who's concerned," he said, "and it's on me to reassure her--"

"We're all concerned." Bruce held up a hand before Clark could protest. "We know Circe didn't hurt you physically, other than throwing you into animated suspension for a few minutes to keep you busy. We don't think your ability to do your job has been compromised. We're not." He stopped and looked at Clark. "We are not worried about that." 

It seemed to Clark that Bruce struggled, just a little, on the word 'we'.  

"Circe showed me something," Clark said, feeling some part of himself begin to slip out of kilter, as if he were sinking beneath a sheet of ice, paralyzed. "Not a dream, nor a hallucination." He cleared his throat. "Or I don't think it was." 

Two heartbeats silenced, blackened agony gaping in him wide and infinite. 

Bruce had gone motionless, watching Clark with dismay plain in his expression. Bruce hated missing things, Clark knew; he would hold himself personally responsible if something had harmed Clark and he hadn't even known to try to prevent it.

Clark didn't have the energy to bear the way Bruce was looking at him, not with having slept at most no more than an hour or two at a stretch for going on two weeks. Easily remedied. He closed his eyes. 

"What she showed me, I." The words stuck. He pried and a few more came loose. "There's another universe, or timeline -- another Earth with another us." Clark took a shallow breath; an echo of pain cracked against his sternum. "And in it, I'm everything you've ever feared I could become."

He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. His fingertips dug into his palms. 

"Whatever you think you were shown, you're not him." Bruce spoke at a pace so steady it had to be deliberate. "Clark," he said, his voice just a little sharper on the name. "You must know that." 

"It doesn't make the people he's killed less dead." Clark wanted to spit the words out like blood, but instead he'd barely raised his voice. He knew Bruce would hear anyway.

"And that's what you've been grieving," Bruce said. "That other world." 

Clark shook his head. He finally opened his eyes, to Bruce waiting with as much patience as Clark had ever witnessed from him. 

"It should be, I guess. Those victims deserve to be mourned." Clark uncurled his fingers, kept his stare on the furrows in his palms. His lungs were filled to drowning. Saltwater stung the back of his throat, his eyes. "The other me. He loses his family. It… Everything he does afterwards is because they die at his hands, or that's his excuse, anyway." 

He could feel, at the furthest edge of his senses, the way Bruce was counting his own breaths to keep from interrupting, how intensely he was listening. Clark knew it should have been a comfort, but there were all these words left, a chain of them winding around his chest in a vise as crushing as Circe's magic had ever hoped to be. 

Because Bruce was being kind and because he was his best friend, Clark managed to say, "I keeping thinking about how when I was a kid, I was scared of everything. Of being found out, of what people might do to me. Of hurting someone accidentally." Words like ropes, like rusted nails, like knives that would flay humans with the lightest pressure. "Maybe most of all, I was scared I would never have a family of my own." 

He was almost out of air. He inhaled shakily. Too late to quit. 

"I knew my parents loved me; I knew Lana and Pete loved me. The idea that I'd never find anybody to share my life with -- it was sorta more terrible than I could even let myself think about." He gave a small laugh. His cheeks were wet, and Bruce's eyes were too dark to look into. "But for all that, I never thought. I never thought it might be better if I didn't find...if it really was dangerous for people to be with me…"

As a writer, Clark weighed words constantly and therefore understood their limitations. Sometimes, however, they were all that was left of the truth. "I'm a weapon," he said, the words tumbling out like flat stones he wouldn't be able to budge once they landed. He'd closed his eyes again. "I'm not supposed to be someone's home." 

There was a noise only Clark's abilities would've caught, as though a thin blade had been cleanly slid into the most vulnerable point beneath a ribcage. He didn't catch up quickly enough to realize he himself wasn't the one who'd made the sound before Bruce said, "You haven't eaten much recently."

Clark blinked. "What?"

Bruce's expression had changed to open, neutral, downright placid. "Food, Clark."

"Ah. No. I haven't been hungry." Clark shifted on the barstool. He blinked again, wiped his face, clasped his hands together. Some strange veiled heaviness had been lifted from his peripheral vision, from his shoulders and hips. 

Bruce was stretching his legs and standing up, headed a few feet to the large refrigerator. "I should call your fretful mother and tell her you're wasting away."

"Don't. Guilt tripping me by invoking my mom is dirty pool." Was this what whiplash felt like? Clark wondered. He couldn't remember. "You don't have patrol tonight?"

"It's raining," Bruce said, like something as common in Gotham as rain was a well-known Batman deterrent.

Clark hadn't noticed the water sheeting down the windows, nor the insistent drum of a downpour on the roof; probably not the best sign of mental stability. "Pizza'd be all right, if ChowWagon will deliver out this far."

"They would. I'm Bruce Wayne," Bruce said with the flair he usually reserved for taking the piss with reporters who weren't Clark. He tugged open the bottom freezer drawer and removed a large disc. "But we already have pizza."

"Convenient. Alfred?"

"Hn. I can forage for sustenance all on my own." Bruce poked at the oven display. "I can even toss a crust and slow-simmer a red sauce." He picked at an edge of plastic wrap until he figured out how to unwrap the pizza and made a cagey face at Clark for a second. "Don't suppose you'd care to share who other-you was married to."

Clark suppressed a groan. He sighed and said, "Lois. You absolutely cannot mention it to her, ever."

Bruce quirked up an eyebrow. "Noted."

"It's not-- She's great." Clark winced. Well, she was. She was one of his smartest, scariest friends. He hadn't been anguished specifically about her counterpart's death in another reality, or even the thought of her and a child they might have together dying because of him. His grief, he'd discovered, was less bound to them, there, and more rooted in his own terror in this world. "I'm keeping this info in my arsenal, for future occasions where she's so mad at me she's about to kill me."

Bruce's other eyebrow appeared to have an opinion on the matter.

"I'm counting on being able to make her laugh hard enough to forget why she's about to kill me," Clark said.

"Good plan." As Bruce placed the twelve inch pie on the middle rack, he said, all mildness, "You know why your conclusion that 'Being alone forever is best' is bullshit."

It didn't seem like the kind of not-question he needed Clark to answer. 

"First," Bruce said, "to merely temporarily remove you from action, a powerful sorceress tortured you for one hundred and eighty-nine seconds with visions of another universe the existence of which you cannot possibly be expected to either confirm or ameliorate. Second, whoever you saw in those visions who looked like you isn't you. Worth repeating. Third, you are not responsible for him." 

Clark didn't quite believe him, and didn't quite trust Bruce believed such logic either. But Clark could let him finish his lecture. Bruce had opened the long fridge door and taken out two beers in bottles. He gave one to Clark, pausing for a second as if making sure Clark was paying attention. He sat back on his barstool, and Clark clutched at the cold glass with both hands.

"Fourth. There aren't any guarantees about what may or may not happen to anyone who becomes part of your family," Bruce said, like it wasn't the biggest understatement he could utter. "You meet people every day who've suffered the worst, most unimaginable tragedies, sometimes of their own doing, and they take that pain and loss and accomplish astonishing things with it. They found non-profits and fund scholarships, serve their sentences, advocate for victims' rights or new legislation. They get better. They live to honor their loved ones. Most people, in mourning or otherwise, don't become homicidal despots. You're not as strong as them?" He took a drink of beer in a manner that Clark would describe as almost smug.

Clark thought about both pinching and hugging him. The heaviness in his shoulders had come back. He was hunched forward, trying to breathe against it. He wasn't sure he was even strong enough to keep having this one conversation.

When Bruce spoke again, there was no trace of arrogance in his tone. "What are we up to, fifth? Fifth, not to be mean about who you were as a kid, but." He tapped his fingernail against his bottle. His thoughts on Kansas farm life and Clark's once-upon-a-time place therein had been the source of delicate ribbing as long as they'd known each other's real identities. 

Bruce gave a rueful head tilt. "You missed a key element of the bigger picture when you were younger and you're doing it now, and not just because of course you, you specifically, are supposed to have a family." His voice sounded a little odd. But then he went on, turning so that he was looking out the window. "One person isn't really a family." More softly, he said, "If you decide to keep everyone away, it also means you're keeping out someone who might want to be your home."

Clark's hands seemed too stiff. He put the beer on the counter to keep from shattering the bottle and opened his hands, feeling the cold lift away from them. When he looked at Bruce's profile, he saw him exhale very, very slowly, as though he were lowering to the ground something immense but easily fractured. Clark heard the rain on the metal roof of a barn seventeen miles away and the ticking the oven made as it came up to full temperature. He waited until Bruce looked over at him again. He sat perfectly still and held his gaze as gently as he could. The minutes passed between them, quiet, shadowed, and warm, until Clark was able to find a place to start whatever was to come next.

"What's on the pizza?" he asked eventually, not bothering to be embarrassed at the roughness in his voice.

Bruce smiled small at the corner of his mouth. "Mushrooms, tomatoes, green olives. Asiago with extra mozzarella." 

An order in a greasy pizzeria years ago, the two of them battle-wearied and starving at three a.m. One of the first times, perhaps, Clark had sat across from Bruce and thought of him as anything more than a teammate. 

"My favorite," Clark said, reaching for Bruce's wrist.

"I know," Bruce said, letting him.

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1977

Under the cut.

Marilyn McCoo & Billy Davis, Jr. – “You Don’t Have To Be A Star (To Be In My Show)” -- January 8, 1977

They will be happy with each other as they are, not needing a "star." It sounds literal, like they think most people only want to have relationships with celebrities. It's got some bounce and a beat, but it's very light and not poetic at all. Meh.

Leo Sayer – “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” -- January 15, 1977

Shouty falsetto. It might be disco if it were faster. I am not listening to this whole thing, because it will give me a headache.

Stevie Wonder – “I Wish” -- January 22, 1977

One of the greatest musical intros. It's a funk song about nostalgia, wishing for childhood again, and I normally hate that. But the music is amazing.

Rose Royce – “Car Wash” -- January 29, 1977

This was an intro song for a movie of the same name. I had no idea. I just thought someone decided to sing about working at a car wash randomly. The song is a little bit Motown, a little bit disco. It's fun.

Mary MacGregor – “Torn Between Two Lovers” -- February 5, 1977

It's slow, it's soppy, and it's about how she's cheating on "you" with someone else. She truly loves you, but she's not gonna stop seeing the other guy, whom she loves too. It sounds like she wants to try this whole poly thing she's heard about. But is the guy she's singing to gonna be okay with that? Probably not. Most people aren't. Maybe though. I don't care. For being about a subject that should be heartrending, this song sure is boring.

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – “Blinded By The Light” -- February 19, 1977

This version made it to #1. Bruce Springsteen's original didn't even make it to the charts. This version is really bad -- it sounds like a recitation surrounded by goop, not a song. Bruce Springsteen's version is one of my favorite songs. I am going to sulk now.

Eagles – “New Kid In Town” -- February 26, 1977

Huh, an Eagles hit I've never heard before. This is about fame, how everyone loves you at first, then forgets you when the next big thing comes along. They try to shoehorn some stuff about romance in -- "Will she still love you when you're not around?" -- but it doesn't really flow. Also the song sounds like it should be playing in the background of a cabana. Fittingly for a song worried people will forget them, I have already forgotten this song.

Barbra Streisand – “Love Theme From A Star Is Born (Evergreen)” -- March 5, 1977

I listened to this song for 30 seconds. No more. I cannot stand Barbra Streisand. I don't think I'd like this song anyway, as it's glop, but maybe a different singer could have made it tolerable.

Daryl Hall & John Oates – “Rich Girl” -- March 26, 1977

Rich girls get picked on while rich boys are the ones who usually get away with everything. This song was actually originally about a rich guy, too. It would have been better. It's still good musically, but it misses the mark. Not that rich girls don't also get away with plenty, but compare and contrast what happened to Paris Hilton for her venial sins, versus the entire existence of Donald Trump.

ABBA – “Dancing Queen” -- April 9, 1977

ABBA was a good group. They were hated on, and now they're more likely to be exalted. They didn't deserve the hate (save it for the Bee Gees), but they're not the second coming or anything either. They were just a good, fun group. This song can be danced to, but it's a song more about dance than a dancing song. It's a rare song observing a young woman dancing while identifying with her, rather than lusting after her. "You can dance/ You can jive/ Having the time of your life." It's good.

David Soul – “Don’t Give Up On Us” -- April 16, 1977

The narrator did something really bad last night. Cheating? Worse? Now he's telling his lover not to "give up on us." As soft as the song is, "tell" is the word, not "ask." And he doesn't apologize once. Also, David Soul was a professional actor, but there's no worry in his voice; he's nothing but smooth and assured here. Blech.

Thelma Houston – “Don’t Leave Me This Way” -- April 23, 1977

It's disco with a large dose of Motown, or Motown with a large dose of disco. Either way, it works. Everything lines up with precision, and then Thelma Houston comes in over all of it with huge emotion. The contrast is sort of fascinating. Oh, and her huge emotion is that she wants sex. "Then come on, satisfy the need in me/ 'Cause only your good loving can set me free." She's not begging, but she's not exactly commanding either. It's really good.

Glen Campbell – “Southern Nights” -- April 30, 1977

It's Kidz Bop honky tonk. That's probably not fair; Glen Campbell grew up in a family of poor sharecroppers in Arkansas. But it's what I hear. It's happy clappy, and scrubbed clean of anything real.

Eagles – “Hotel California” -- May 7, 1977

Whatever you think this song is about, it's not about that. The Eagles wrote it with a mish-mash of stuff in mind, but mostly trying to be ambiguous. What that means is that whatever you think this song is about, it is about that. It's a choose your own adventure psychological horror song. I love it. It makes me happy in that way that good poetry and good music do -- and this is both.

Leo Sayer – “When I Need You” -- May 14, 1977

This song is cheese. Absolute, unadulterated cheese. But it's not bad cheese. It's a good solid cheddar. It's slow but not too slow, soft but not too soft, and it manages some interesting percussion. And Sayer sings like he means it. It's about missing his lover while he's on the road, and he imagines she's with him to get by. "When I need you/ I just close my eyes and I'm with you." It sounds kind of like a Broadway ballad. It's enjoyable.

Stevie Wonder – “Sir Duke” -- May 21, 1977

A song about Duke Ellington, which is a subject I approve of. Stevie Wonder also lists a few more legends, including one of my favorites: "And with a voice like Ella's ringing out/ There's no way the band can lose." It's a love song to music itself. It's sort of big band, sort of funk, and sort of Motown, and it works. The lyrics do get too repetitive for me near the end, though.

KC & The Sunshine Band – “I’m Your Boogie Man” -- June 11, 1977

It's a wordplay on the "bogie man" monster. But the boogie man wants to show up and give you whatever you want whenever you want however you want. Sexually. The song actually has more lyrics than most KC & The Sunshine Band songs, but it's still a song to dance to. Not to have sex to. But for dancing? Yep, it's good.

Fleetwood Mac – “Dreams” -- June 18, 1977

YAY! Okay so I have no interest in Fleetwood Mac without Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. But when they joined in 1975, Fleetwood Mac became truly great. And this song is from Rumours, which is their best album (forged out of a hell of a lot of intragroup pain), and written and sung by Stevie Nicks, who was their best artist. My parents played this record and their previous self-titled one all the time. I didn't fully understand the songs when I was a kid, but I loved them. As I grew old enough to understand them, I loved them more. And now I love them more than that. I can't analyze this song. I love it too much.

Marvin Gaye – “Got To Give It Up (Part 1)” -- June 25, 1977

At first, he was uncomfortable at parties and didn't want to dance. But then he loosened up enough to dance, pretty obviously as a way to pick up chicks. There's the horrible line "Let me step into your erotic zone." The music is experimental. Marvin Gaye's falsetto is fine, but it's still a falsetto the whole damn song. And there are people making party noises in the background the whole time. I find this song painful.

Bill Conti – “Gonna Fly Now (Theme From Rocky) -- July 2, 1977

You know this instrumental, you've heard it tons. It's a good movie theme -- I think. It's hard to say, when it's something that's been so often present in so many different contexts in my life.

Alan O’Day – “Undercover Angel” -- July 9, 1977

The undercover angel is a make believe woman from a sex dream. At the end of the song, he's telling "you" that you remind him of the undercover angel, so you must be meant to be with him. It's an extended "I've seen you in my dreams" pickup line. It's so dumb.

Shaun Cassidy – “Da Doo Ron Ron” -- July 16, 1977

This is an excruciatingly boring cover of The Crystals' classic 60s girl group song.

Barry Manilow – “Looks Like We Made It” -- July 23, 1977

He's singing to an ex. They both "made it" because they found other people. Until "Looks like we made it/ Or I thought so till today/ Until you were there everywhere." If they get back together it's not going to be easy, because they'll be leaving relationships that seem happy. I don't think they'll get back together -- besides, she may not feel anything for him any more. It's a more complex song than it sounds. And Barry Manilow sure can sing. I wish he'd gone with the jazz songs he preferred, but then he wouldn't have been hugely successful. He decided to pull the rhinestone cowboy trick, and I can't blame him. He did make the soppy 70s charts more tolerable than they would have otherwise been.

Andy Gibb – “I Just Want To Be Your Everything” -- July 30, 1977

For instance, without Barry Manilow, Andy Gibb would probably have had more hits. Gibb's voice is thin. If you're going to sing a line like "Oh, if I, if I stay here without you darlin' I will die," you need some power and drama behind it. This guy sounds like he's trying to sell kitchen tile. It's a relatively fast song, but the beat is somehow irritating too. Blech.

The Emotions – “Best Of My Love” -- August 20, 1977

It starts with a blast of horns, and then a blast of singing. Then the chorus is quieter than the rest, which is weird to me. I can't put my finger on why this song bores me, but it does.

Meco – “Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band” -- October 1, 1977

A disco mashup of the Star Wars theme with the cantina band theme. That happened. I love John Williams' music and I think he deserves credit for at least half of Star Wars' success. But I think this remix sounds extremely dumb. Someone slowed down the cantina band theme a couple years ago and that sounds very noir and cool. This doesn't.

Debby Boone – “You Light Up My Life” -- October 15, 1977

The person who wrote this song was completely and absolutely terrible. But Debby Boone isn't. She's a Christian singer, but seems to be one of the nice ones, not the wingnut fundie ones. Anyway, she wasn't a Christian singer in 1977 (though she was Christian). And she had a good voice. But she sings this song painfully slowly. It sounds like she comes in after where she's supposed to come in and then draws out the notes longer than she's supposed to. I don't know if that's her or the song itself. I sped up the song to 1.25 and it's a little more palatable, but it's still bad. It's a trudge. I don't feel lit up after this.

The Bee Gees – “How Deep Is Your Love” -- December 24, 1977

It's not falsetto, though Barry Gibb does go uncomfortably high some. But it's still very bad. It's a string of bland cliches over bland music. And the weird 70s male romance song entitlement: "And it's me you need to show/ How deep is your love?" Shut up.

BEST OF 1977 -- "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac  WORST OF 1977 -- "Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band" by Meco. People really would disco to anything, huh?

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Intruder (It’s The Avengers)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

ONE SHOT

Warnings: mention of ghosts and intruders. No Ghosts were harmed in the making of this fic though I’m pretty sure the ones in my room were shocked at this piece of fic. I can feel them scrunching their nose at me right now.

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

One Shot: You are alone at home and hear a noise...

Almost forgot to mention the reason for this one-shot. (Belated) Happy birthday @nygmobblepot-trash

Word Count: I cannot believe myself and my desk. All this time its been holding stuff when it could have been helping me write stories like throwing cash money at respected strippers in the da club. Yup, my readers are those lovely strippers and their comments and love are their services for me. Does this make sense?

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

Somewhere in the dark, a pair of eyes watched you reading some book in the library, sitting under that one bulb illuminating the desk where you sat alone, lost in those yellow pages. Your one hand kept over the book while the other rested on your face, your little finger playing along your lips.

Click.

A sound came from some unknown source. You inhaled a lungful, never blinking away.

Click-click.

You blinked and looked up, turning to see outside the door of the library. Nothing but darkness said hello back. Not thinking much about it you went back to the book, taking your little finger under your teeth and leaning back in the chair on an angle.

Click.

Click-click.

This time your ears were sharp, your head tilting quickly in the direction of the sound. Straining your auditory nerves, you kept looking in the direction of the door for a good while.

Click-click.

That's it. I'm checking it out.

Old experiences and a lot of late-night crime and horror documentaries had taught you to be discreet when it came to weird noises of the night. But what you figured out yourself was that a book would not be the most suitable weapon against whatever was lurking out there. So, picking up Rhodey's trophy kept in the showcases of all the awards collected by the Avengers over time, you pushed your slippers over to the carpeted floor while slowly moving out of the warm space.

The clicking sound now echoed through the compound. So did the sound of ducks quacking in the pond outside; quite possibly at the stray cat that you'd brought home once and tried to hide from Tony. Ultimately you had to leave it outside when it scratched Vision for turning off his body heat because little Mew Mew didn't want to get up from his lap. In Vision’s defence, he’d lost a bet against Pietro and had been dared to that.

The fact that everyone else was out of town was not helping with every little tinker of noise you were hearing or your mind was making up.

Friday. I still have Friday. She'd take care of me if there was an intruder, right?

You wanted to ask her so bad. But the fear giving away your location in the dark was too much of a risk right now.

Maybe it's a mouse.

Click click click.

Yeah, it's just a mouse looking for some chee-

A cold chuckle came from the lounge along with a faint glow, freezing you in the open corridor that led to Bruce and Tony's lab. A crack of lightning lit up everything around you before the thunder rumbled, sending jolts to your already weak heart that saw a figure pass lounge- from the kitchenette towards the dorms- with a candle in its hands.

Had you not forcefully been made to exercise to strengthen your muscles you could've sworn you might have peed right there out of sheer fright.

There's someone out there. THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE FREAKING LOUNGE!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT! OH MY GAAAHHHDD!! SHIT SHIT SHIT SH- Wait. If there was an intruder Friday would have warned me right? But she didn't say anything. *Gasp* Did they-did they kill Friday?!

Queue lightning and thunder!

Oh my G-no no no I'm sure Friday's alright. Oh God oh God oh God oh God! Okay okay okay breathe. Yes, breeeeeathe. Good. Good. Now, if it wasn't an intruder and Friday is okay does that mean it's a ghost?

Just when all those thoughts were running inside your head like a freight train, a figure in the shadows lingered behind you, getting closer by the second at an incredibly slow pace.

Oh FUCK WE HAVE A GHOST IN THE COMPOUND!

The figure in the dark behind you was nearly over your shoulder when you felt your hair rise in anticipation of the presence behind you. And like any bad horror movie, your reflex worked to turn you around with the trophy pointed outwards at...nothing.

N-no one's there. Okay, I'm clearly creeping myself out. What if...w-what if it's a friendly ghost. What if it's a Casper? I'm sure we can check that out, right? You asked your inner voice.

Do you want to die? 'Cause that's exactly how you die, came the reply.

Oh, come on! We can't possibly hide from a ghost anyways. And I'm sure Mr Stark has equipped the compound with something against ghosts. Hopefully.

Your inner voice chuckled.

What is he? A daddy of fourteen kids?

...dude.

Yeah, I know the answer to that question. My bad, she shrugged.

A door creaked somewhere in the dorms, bringing you back to reality.

Maybe we should check it out, your inner voice suggested, making you question its sanity.

Aren't you supposed to protect me against danger?

Ay, she sharply pointed at you, I'm also supposed to satiate your curiosity. So, this time the cat might just, I don't know, die.

Wow, you are a nasty one, you implied at your inner voice.

It's ookay, she cooed, you can call me a whiney whore. We both know who is the only one working whenever we see someone that bedazzles you.

Snorting at her, you made your way towards the lounge.

Friday isn't even lighting up the corridors.

The distant roar of thunder was unsettling and the patter of raindrops over the glass part of the roofs and walls did not help when you strained your ears for the slightest of discord.

From the edge of the doorway, the kitchenette seemed empty under that faint blue hue of lights under the slabs that lit up for the nightcrawlers looking for water in the wee hours of the night or early mornings. Many times a couple of them have scared each other for looking like ghosts under that dull blue glow.

The sofas were vacant as well, painted in colours being thrown in their direction from the big screen that you very well remember turning off the moment Steve had dragged a very reluctant Scott and Bucky out and not letting them watch the last fifteen minutes of The Witcher finale.

Maybe I didn't turn it off.

Maybe the ghost likes Geralt of Rivia, your inner voice called out. Or Yennefer, if they're adventurous.

Thump!

You jumped where you stood, the grip on that trophy tight. The noise had come from the dorms followed by a low grunt.

Casper doesn't grunt like an a-an angry demon.

The sweat collecting on your back was now making a trail down your spine, adding a chill when the cold wind brushed itself against you, coming from a door left unlocked or a window left open.

You know what, you breathed in, fuck this. If this is how I die, I'll at least be haunting my own family.

You started walking silently in the lounge, turning to walk towards the dorms where light filtered out through a partially opened door.

What if it's not a ghost, your inner voice tilted her metaphorical head in innocence, what if it's an intruder. A man at that.

You stopped five feet short of that door, everything going blank at the worst words your insides could've have spoken.

I...should hide then. Right?

You were about to turn around when you heard muffled footsteps come from the end of the corridor and the doorknob to Scott's door suddenly twist to be opened with a ghastly creak.

Cursing in a muted rhythm, you dashed inside the very room you were trying to avoid- which was your own.

Two huge strides and you were skidding on the other side of the bed, clearly missing the candles kept on a table right in the centre of your room. Wait what, your adrenaline-induced brain shot itself out to bring back the frames you missed.

Before the ten thousand four hundred and seventy-one theories could take a better form inside your head, the door to your room let out a groan, stopping your heart.

You laid yourself on your stomach to be as much out of the view of the intruder as you could.

The door clicked close. Footsteps walked away from it towards the centre. A sigh followed.

It is an intruder.

Your veins wanted to freeze over. Your heart was already shouting 'NOPE' and your inside wanted to come out.

A ruffle made you slide a little to peek from the corner of the bedside. A figure stood with its back to you in a black trenchcoat, unbuttoning the fabric tortured by the rain.

He's distracted, your inner voice shouted from your shoulder, now's our chance.

On your knees, you stepped out, positioning yourself low right behind him.

Gloved hands brought the cap of the trenchcoat down before going for the shoulder shrug to remove it.

Now!

Raising your weapon of choice over your head, you aimed for the loose strands of raven hair that suddenly were turning away to bring forth green eyes watching you in horror as cold pale hands blocked your attack- but not your rage-filled shriek- and forced you halfway over the bed.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

Loki's hands still held you down, his wet strands gracing your fear-burned cheeks with water droplets.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! You are supposed to be out on a mission with the rest right now?!"

Your voice shook but the anger you were feeling could be seen in your eyes by the God.

"Leave that," Loki commanded, pointing to the trophy still in your hands.

"No!" you spat back. You couldn't. The shock had frozen your hold.

"I said leave it."

"No!!"

"Were you really going to use it on me?"

"Of course I was going to use it on you!" you scoffed and raised the fiery embers just a smidge in your tone. "I was going for the spot and wanted to make sure you were shivering on your knees when I was done."

"Oh my God," a tired voice came from outside your door, making you both dilute the confusion and fire to look in that direction.

"I go out for five minutes to find ribbons and flowers and this is what I get back to. Give me a fucking break!"

You furrowed your brows at the door.

"Is...is that-"

"Yeah," Loki answered, never taking his eyes off the door, which clicked open with an annoyed Clint entering the space.

"Why do you guys have to talk like that during normal stuff," he mumbled, closing the door, "do you know how many times you've given me a heart atta-"

He stopped short. His eyes absorbing you lying halfway on the bed with Loki over you, his hands wrapped around yours, keeping your arms over your head while his legs locked yours in place. What was worse for the man was you looking at him with suspicion.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

"She tried to blow me."

Clint's eyes went three times wider, his jaw on the verge of falling.

"You were supposed to be out! I thought you were an intruder, you idiot!!"

Clint's hand came up as a sign to apply the breaks at this entire conversation.

"You thought he was an intr-oh ohh OH!!! Okay." He finally breathed, trying to feel his heart by placing his hand on his chest. "It's okay. It's okay."

"Now, am I an intruder?" He asked you, his eyes going soft, his hold loose.

"...no," you replied softly, letting go of the hold on the trophy.

Placing his knee on the edge of the bed, he pushed himself up, bringing you with him by your hand.

"Why didn't you guys tell me you were here? I nearly shat my pants!"

Loki and Clint exchanged a look, clearly hurting you for not knowing what was going on.

Clint sighed, lowering his head.

"Well, you weren't supposed to know till the next-" Loki looked down at the watch on his wrist- "twenty minutes. We were supposed to take you somewhere."

"Where? And why?"

Loki stepped aside to show you a small mountain of gift-wrapped boxes kept on the table in the middle with a balloon tied to the one at the top- the floating green thing spelling out a very obvious greeting.

Loki smiled at the unadulterated shock rushing over your face as your eyes grew wide and a muted gasp left your parted lips.

"Happy birthday."

[wonderlandleighleigh]

TimKon or anything from the Tuna Melt-verse, which is fantastic, by the way.

Thank you!!! Here’s some unfinished Tuna Melt Fic. Maybe one day it’ll get done. It’s called “His Day in Court.” The Joker origin referenced is lifted from Batman: Streets of Gotham.

“Mister President.” 

Bartlet looks up from his desk and grins, before getting to his feet slowly. “Judge Walters.” 

As they shake hands, Jed marvels, not for the first time, at just how tall, and just how green Jennifer Walters is. She’s a beautiful woman. 

She’s just…

Well, she’s She-Hulk.

Well, she used to be She-Hulk.

Now she’s a United States federal judge.

Like Mendoza, getting Jenn appointed as a federal judge had been a nightmare. She’s green, she’s huge.

She’s hardcore leftwing.

“Please, have a seat,” he offers, gesturing towards the couches and chairs. 

Jenn nods, and does, settling into one of the chairs carefully,  always hyper-aware of her own body and its impact on the world around her. 

“I assume you know why I’ve asked you here,” he says, settling onto the couch next to her, clasping his hands in his lap. 

“I have a pretty good idea,” Jenn smirks, leaning back a little. “The Joker case?” 

Bartlet nods. “The Joker case. The prosecution is putting everything together, and I’ve been informed you’ve been chosen to preside.” 

Jenn doesn’t say anything for a long moment, watching the president carefully before speaking up. “Permission to speak my mind?” 

“Of course.” 

“This whole trial is bullshit,” she says. 

“It’s the law.” 

“It’s bull. Look, I believe in our justice system when it works the way it’s supposed to, but jesus, this isn’t a case of innocent until proven guilty, this is a case of the defendant boasting in a public forum about the very fact that he is guilty. He’s killed thousands of people. He’s maimed and mentally and emotionally scarred more. Why put the survivors and the families of the dead through this? And how the hell are we supposed to choose a grand jury? An enormous percentage of people in this country, and just about everybody on the East Coast has been affected, in some way, shape or form by the Joker.” 

“So you think we throw United States law out the window and just kill him?” Jed asks, lifting his eyebrows. “You don’t think that might look bad to the rest of the country? That they’ll start pointing fingers at whoever the hell, and asking why those people haven’t been offed too?” 

“I think the Joker is different,” Jenn says. “I think he’s this country’s modern day boogieman, and I don’t think he deserves a traditional trial. And anyways, it’s not out of the question that the Joker could die...other ways.” 

“Jennifer.” 

“Don’t you have the Red Hood on speed dial?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Didn’t I hear that somewhere?” 

“Like that kid hasn’t been through enough,” Jed grumbles. “The last time somebody tried to take out the Joker because they thought it was the right thing, it ended in an office full of dead FBI agents and an attack on this White House. We do this the right way.” 

“The right way would have been lethal injection at Arkham twenty years ago,” she tells him. “Everything beyond that is just us cleaning up decades-old messes.”  

“Jennifer, are you saying we should find a different judge to preside over this case?” Jed asks, looking at her seriously. “Because what you’re telling me is that you cannot possibly be fair-” 

“I’m telling you there is no fair,” she interrupts him. “Mister President, the Joker has eschewed legal council. He’s defending himself, which means he will run around my courtroom like the damn lunatic he is before he gets bored and attempts to massacre everyone in it.” 

Bartlet closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again. “Jenn, all we can do is prepare for the worst. But we don’t have any other choice.” 

***** 

“It starts tomorrow, you know.” 

“Hm?” 

“The Joker trial,” Danny clarifies. 

Maggie nods as she steps past him and back into her cube. “And you’re pissed.” 

“A little.” 

“Because you’re not the one writing about it,” Maggie goes on. “Because there’s no way to be impartial when you thought he was gonna kill you.” 

“There’s not an impartial journalist in the world when it comes to this maniac,” Danny points out.

Maggie sits and looks up at him. “You can still go to the trial you know. Take a few days off. Head up to New York. You could even write an independent piece and farm it out to the Atlantic or whatever.” 

Danny shakes his head. “Not worth feeling that angry. How are you doing with all of this?” 

“I...have to be fine,” she says, blowing out a breath. “So I’m fine.” 

 “What are you working on? Anything good?” 

“Well…” 

He frowns, tilting his head. “What?” 

“I...it’s just...how does somebody like the Joker, become the Joker?” Maggie asks. “What drives a person so far over off the deep end that they become...that?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Doesn’t it?” 

“So you’re looking into who the Joker really is,” Danny surmises. 

“I have some leads,” she admits. “The problem is that he’s killed so many people, it’s hard to figure out what was personal and what was just...his version of a good time.” 

“But you’ve got a hunch.” 

Maggie nods, looking troubled. “I have a hunch.” 

“Well?” 

She blows out a breath. “About five years ago, Joker cornered an aging Mob Boss named Guzzo.” 

“That guy was no joke,” Danny comments, pulling up a chair and taking a seat. “My mentor did a write-up about him back in the day. The stuff he did was almost as bad as the Joker. This was a few years ago, right?” 

“Right. So...Joker corners him on amusement mile and sics a pack of hungry hyenas on the guy,” Maggie says. “All that’s left are a few teeth, which is how they identified him. What’s confusing is that if you look at the interviews done of the for-hire goons back then, Joker and Guzzo didn’t know each other. And if you look at the way the city was split up before Guzzo died, Joker’s usual territory was as far away from Guzzo’s as he could get.” 

“Like he might have been avoiding the guy.” 

“Maybe…” 

“You think there’s a connection?” Danny asks. “Joker kills Guzzo for revenge?”  

“I think Guzzo hurt a lot of people over multiple decades,” Maggie tells him. “What if one of the people he hurt was Joker, before he was Joker?” 

“So you think Joker’s got a sob story.” 

“I think he was once something resembling a person,” Maggie corrects him. “And if you wanna take down a monster, you show the world its weak spots.” 

***** 

“Maybe you should come home for a few days.” 

Jason closes his eyes as he listens to his older brother over the phone. 

“All anybody is gonna be talking about down there is the trial,” Dick goes on. “Or hey! We could take a roadtrip! Load up the car with snacks and sodas and get outta town for a while.” 

“Dick.” 

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Dick admits. 

“I’m not.” 

“Fine. I don’t want you to be so far away from me that I can’t be there for you,” Dick adds. “And neither does Bruce.” 

“Is he testifying?” Jason asks. 

“Yeah,” Dicik confirms. “He’s showing up in full bat-gear and he’s testifying.” 

“That’s nuts,” Jason points out. “This whole -” 

“I know.” 

“Fucking - why can’t I just kill him?” 

“Because it won’t help you,” Dick says sadly. “Little Wing, just because the monster is gone, doesn’t mean the nightmare never happened.” 

Jason goes quiet. “I wanna go to the trial.” 

“Jay-” 

“I wanna go. At least to the first one.” 

Dick sighs sadly. “The last thing I want is for this to be the thing that breaks you. You’ve been doing so well...the job, and the girlfriend...you looked so happy at that wedding we all went to. What if going to that trial just sets you back.” 

“What if he hurts somebody?” Jason asks. “What if he takes down an entire courthouse full of people?” 

“Then it won’t be your fault,” Dick says gently. 

“One of us should be there every day of that trial,” Jason argues. 

“Maybe. But it shouldn’t be you.” 

“The hell it shouldn’t!” 

“Jay,” Dick says firmly, but worriedly. “Look, with what he did to Babs...I have a good excuse to be at the trial every day. I’ll go. I promise. But you need to stay home.” 

“You don’t get to-” 

“Jay.” 

Jason goes silent, and Dick can hear deep, heavy breaths. 

“I’ll be there every day,” he says. “I promise you, Little Wing. I’ll go every day. Whatever happens, I’ll be there to help stop it.” 

***** 

“You’ve reached the office of Jason Todd, Wayne Technologies Liaison to the White House. I will be out of the office until the end of the month. You can reach my fill-in, Luke Fox at the following number…” 

***** 

“He took the entire month off?” Leo asks, staring at Luke Fox, utterly bewildered. 

“He did,” Luke nods. 

“To do what?” Leo snaps. 

“Not go crazy,” Luke says simply. “This Joker thing has him fifty shades of fucked up, Leo.” 

“The DoD hate you more than they hate him,” Leo points out, relaxing a little. 

Luke chuckles and shrugs. “I know it freaks those old farts  out to have to deal with a black man who is younger, smarter and more attractive. That’s what makes it fun for me.” 

Leo sighs but grins wryly. “It’s gonna be a helluva month.” 

“Oh it definitely is,” Luke smirks back. “You want lunch? My treat?” 

"It’s hard to say no to that.” 

[singeramg]

Midnight: Chapter 6

Pairing: Clark Kent-Superman/ Metahuman!Black! OFC

Rating: M

Warnings: Nothing much, Angst-y maybe

A/n: Hey everyone! I am back. I have been trying all week to get this up. (Life UGH) 

Catch up Here: MasterList

Midnight: Chapter 6

We made it back to Bruce’s plane, and once inside I waved my hand, changing back into my clothes from before I met the team. I still needed a shower but it felt good to be out of the tight suit. 

     “Kinda wish I had that power! Hold that thought.”

I watched as Barry zipped off and came back in his jeans, and old hoodie.

     “Alright I’m back. What did I miss?”

We all laughed, I was highly amused at his energy. It was a nice change from constant brooding that Bruce did and the current intensity of Clark. 

    “Nothing, Barry, literally nothing.”

I said with a smirk. Arthur and Diana went off to change, along with Bruce, leaving me alone with Clark.

  “Gia, are you really not going to speak with me? Pretend I’m not here?”

I crossed my arms, trying to push how annoyed I was across to him in emotions (Empathetic powers: Another useful power from energy manipulation) . I didn’t actually speak to him.

  “I can feel how annoyed you are with me. I think it warrants a conversation.”

I simply stared at him or should I say I glared at him. He stepped toward me, but I stepped back. I could see the hurt flash on his face.

   “Please Gia, talk to me.”

I could feel the tears build up in my eyes as I had to deal with my own emotions as well as Clark’s. I quickly realized he was basically throwing them at me so I could feel them.

   “Clark stop it. Never thought you would stoop to emotional manipulation.”

Big blue eyes radiated sadness, I couldn’t stare at them. I remembered nothing but pain looking at him. More like nothing but heartbreak. 

   “It’s not manipulation if it’s what I feel.” He says and I know it was his truth.

“It is if you know I don’t want to feel it.” I say with a glare. 

   “At least you are speaking with me. Gia it’s been years. It feels like yesterday to me, but years to you.”

  “Exactly that means I’ve had years of practice without you in my life. I think I’ll go a few more.” Pain radiates from him again directly to me. I resist the urge to pull him into a hug like I used to. 

  “You cannot mean that, Gia I think you are being unreasonable...” 

He tries to step closer again. My temper flared, energy forming at the tips of my fingers. 

  “Unreasonable? Clark you made your choices a long time ago. I made mine too. Keep that same energy.”

I tossed my hands up, shaking them along with my head. I needed him to stay back. 

   “You helped bring me back. You can’t expect me to believe that you want nothing to do with me.”

Said holding his hands out in disbelief, clearly wanting to touch me, but I wouldn’t allow it. 

  “The only reason I’m here is because a long time ago you saved my life. I owe you that much. Now that you are back, we are square. You can go live your life exactly how you want. I can go live with mine. I hung up Midnight. I’m free of her and free of you.”

I walked away from him with a force field up so he couldn’t follow and so I couldn’t  feel any relief I knew he had to be feeling having been finally  free of me. I walked past the team who had all gathered in the same wide area all witness to what I hoped was the nail in the coffin of Clark and I’s friendship. Before I made it out of the room I heard a gruff.

“Damn Superman. What did you do to her?” From Aquaman.

I slammed the door shut to the room, quickly falling back into the memory of how Clark and I had met.

*Flashback*

I was running for my life. Years for being trapped underground, jailed in a cage where I was only fed the same thing day in and day out. At 20 or at least that was how old I thought I was. I wasn’t sure anymore. I had been taken about 5 years ago.

Gia Delilah Smith. 

That was my name.

At least it was. I had been stripped of individuality a long time ago, only left as a number 578.

That’s what they called me. 

I had no one to care about my real name anyway. I was a foster child. I had been since I was 12 when my mother died. It had been sudden, quick, I wasn’t prepared and neither was she. 

I became a ward of the state, and as luck would have it I went to a group home where they had a high number of runaways. Only come to find out those children weren’t runaways. 

I became a statistic in the eyes of the law. A runaway that they couldn’t find. They never looked, I wasn’t far. The owner of the group home made his livelihood off selling his young wards to a faceless group of people determined to create their own Metahumans. Ones that they could use  to commit atrocities in their name. 

I became one of the test subjects. I never let on that their experimentation was working. Hell, I never knew it was working until tonight. I felt this surge of power rush through me as they shocked me for the umpteenth time that day. I decided I had enough and a blast of power surged from me destroying all of the nearby computers in a fiery blast, the feedback of their energy making me stronger. Alarms sounded, but I just blasted through people and walls. Ignoring the smell of burning flesh and the fire crawling up the wall.  I didn’t stop until I was free. I couldn’t. 

The smell of the fresh air was amazing to me. I had no clue of where I was, but I knew I would kill anyone who dared to stand in my way. The people who held me captive had somehow gotten me surrounded, and I screamed in frustration. I wouldn’t go back because I knew I would die there, especially if I had achieved what they wanted. They would take my mind next. I didn’t want to become a killing machine, that was exactly what they got me to do on the way out.

I dropped to my knees, gathering as much power as I could to impact as much damage as I could. I was going to go out in a blaze of glory. Tears running down my face, I waited until they came closer, attempting to restrain me, just as I was about to blow, a mighty force exploded landing in between me and the group of armed men. I could feel the amount of energy pouring from him. I had never felt such power and ended up in a ball. Completely scared that I was about to die from whoever this figure was. He took out the guards first, striking the ground knocking them off their feet in yells and screams, bullets ricocheting off of his body before they could touch me.

“I will not hurt you.”

He lifts me up as I’m still in a ball, afraid to even look at him with my heart practically beating out my chest and eyes squeezed shut. The next thing I know I hear no more screaming and gunshots, all I hear is air rushing past my ears. Sensing he was telling the truth at least for now, I latched my hands around his neck, until he landed.

Nervously, I let go as my feet touched the cold ground. Scurrying away you a nearby wall, I took the time to look at my savior, or at least that was what I hoped he was. He was tall and broad shouldered, donned in a tight blue and red suit. His cape fluttered in the slight breeze of the night. His hair was dark and his eye sharp and blue. He was far enough away from me that he was unassuming despite his obvious power. 

“Who are you?” Asked nervously

“Well I can’t tell you my name, but everyone else has taken to calling me Superman.”

“Superman. Hmmm... I guess I should thank you for saving me. How did you know I wasn’t the bad guy...girl...woman.”

I was fumbling with my words and despite being fresh out of captivity, I was still clearly a woman with eyes. He was very easy on the eyes and his gentle nature was a balm to already harsh life.

“I heard that scream. No one screams like that unless they are in pain. It seems yours may be internal rather than physical. What is your name?”

“It’s Gia.”

“Gia, is there anywhere I can take you? Do you have anything warmer to wear somewhere?”

I looked down at my state of dress, I didn’t have much. A pair of grey sweats and a dirty, ratty white tank top with no shoes or bra. I knew my hair was in thick, impossible knots and nasty toward the ends. (I didn’t realize he could see all of my emaciated skin, previous broken bones and bruising that littered my skin) Busy in my grief I didn’t notice the look of sadness on his face.

I looked at him with tears welling up in my eyes, remembering that I had no one. As the memories rushed by, I slid down the wall wrapping my hands around my knees, back against the brick wall of the ledge. Superman came over kneeling down in front of me as I silently cried. 

“Easier question how did you end up with these gifts?”

“You mean this curse?” I mumbled but he heard me clearly. 

“No. I mean gifts. I spent a good portion of my life believing I had been cursed. I had to leave that thinking behind me. My dad told me that I had to decide who I wanted to be because I would change the world. I’ve got a good feeling about you and curses don’t usually give me good feelings.”

I looked at him and I wiped my face as he smiled down at me. 

“Is that one of your powers?” I said with a small smile.

“Call it an extra sense if you will. Now Gia,  will you allow me to take you somewhere safe, maybe you can call some family or something?”

“I would if I had someone to call. Honestly Superman, I just want to be safe. I would sleep under an overpass if it meant I could stay away from those people. Take me somewhere you think I would be safe. I trust you to do that much.”

I wanted to just give up control for a moment, despite having to fight so hard to gain it back. He furrowed his thick eyebrows as if to deeply think. 

“I am going to take you somewhere. Somewhere where I know for certain you will be safe. It has food and warmer clothing. Will you grab on for the ride?”

He held his hand out and I stepped closer. Somehow it takes me by surprise when he lifts me into his arms, a surprisingly gentle cradle hold that held me against his chest and I tossed my hands around his neck again, much like I had when he flew me away. I yelped on takeoff, Superman gives an amused deep chuckle before flying off to his destination...

*End Flashback*

I found the empty room that I retreated to before, tossing a shield up to keep sounds inside and people out. 

I sobbed. 

A/n: So CLARK is alive and Gia wants nothing to do with him. How long do y’all think that is going to last? 

Thank You for reading and my tag list is open for this story just let me know in the notes or in a ask!

Taglist:

@bloodyinspiredfuck​

[stolethekey]

there can’t be songs for every soldier, can’t be solace every time you cry

read on ao3

They give her a funeral.

It’s quick, it’s quiet, and it’s not nearly what she deserves, but of the five of them, not a single person seems able to string together more than a couple sentences about what Natasha meant to them. Everyone starts, stumbling through a few choked-up words, then fades into a despairing silence with a shake of their heads.

Steve thinks, somehow, that this is more fitting anyway. She’d always been content to let silence do the talking—she might’ve liked that their love and pain hung in the air around them, unburdened by clumsy turns of phrase and awkward word choices that could never quite capture what a person could feel.

The real emotional eruption comes after, when the silent tears are interrupted by Tony’s quiet question.

“Do we know if she had family?”

Two little gravestones by a chain-linked fence.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, his voice low. “Us.”

Thor grunts, and Steve knows exactly what is coming before it does—he has experienced the all-too-familiar spiral of denial Thor is about to embark on too many times. He doesn’t move as the god in front of him spouts theories he knows are impossible, making plans Steve knows will never work. He doesn’t flinch as Clint starts yelling about floating red things, and as his voice gets louder and angrier the pit inside of him seems to eat away at more and more of his chest.

If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life—would you trust me to do it?

“It was supposed to be me,” Clint says, his voice suddenly much smaller. “She sacrificed her life for that goddamn stone. She bid her life on it.”

Steve lowers his head, eyes closed in an effort to stem the tears streaming down his face. Bruce gives a terrible, heartbreaking roar, and as Steve looks up to watch the bench go flying over the lake he feels a flare of white-hot anger at the sight of the sheer stillness of the water.

How dare the earth look this good when she is not here to see it? How dare—

“We have to make it worth it,” Bruce says, and as Steve stands to meet his eyes he feels an aching determination start to form in his stomach.

Where else am I gonna get a view like this?

“We will.”

---

Clint finds him after they’ve all shuffled inside, a slightly sheepish look on his face.

“When we—when this is all over, and we put the stones back,” he mumbles, fingers jammed inside his pockets, “I—um, I don’t think I can—I just can’t go back there—"

“I understand,” Steve says softly, a sense of resolve settling in his gut. “I’ll do it. I want to—I want to talk to her, say a real goodbye.”

Clint looks up, the pain in his face a direct replica of the one currently tearing its way through Steve’s heart. “She loved you, you know.”

The grief writhing in Steve’s stomach like a monstrous parasite starts thrashing even harder, and even though Clint’s eyes are kind Steve finds it inordinately difficult to meet them. “She loved all of us.”

“Yeah, but you, especially—you helped her, a lot. She told me what she told you, what you did for her. You were there for her, all those years, when I—when I wasn’t.”

Steve gives him a sad, knowing smile and shakes his head. “Don’t beat yourself up for that.”

“If I had just—we could’ve had more time—“

“You didn’t know,” Steve says resolutely. “None of us did. Trust me, if I had, things would be different right now.”

 ---

Vormir is freezing.

It’s the first time he has been truly alone since the Quantum realm, and as he climbs, the icy ground crunching beneath his boots, Steve feels a dull hollow start to expand inside of him. It is achingly painful and he ignores it, even as it becomes harder and harder to disregard—he does not want to be alone with it, does not want to confront the dark abyss that has appeared where Natasha once was.

She had climbed this mountain, too; she might have even taken this path. His feet could be landing where hers did, minutes earlier.

They’d climbed a similar one, on Earth, back before the snap, before the world seemed so irreparably full of despair, and she’d joked about going rock climbing sometime, to see which of them could scale a wall faster. They had never gone—and now he would never know—

He thinks he might be hallucinating, because every now and then he thinks he can see her, shivering but still excited, cracking jokes and smiles with her old friend, completely unaware of the terrible bargain awaiting her at the top.

The cliff comes slowly into view, the top surrounded by swirling clouds and what looks like smoke, and as he stares at the sky Steve sends a brief prayer of thanks to his past self for leaving the soul stone for the end. Ice and snow coat every inch of the ground, and the temperature seems to drop with every step he takes.

The suitcase in his hand seems to grow heavier as he approaches the top, and his grief is briefly replaced by unease as a black, shadowy figure begins to form in front of him.  

“Steven Rogers”, the figure says, his voice sending a burst of adrenaline through Steve’s veins, “Son of—“

“You,” Steve snarls, fingers curling into a fist.

“Me,” Red Skull says calmly, floating forward so that his face, as grotesque as ever, is brought into the dim light of the sky.  “Welcome—”

“I killed you.”

“You thought you killed me, just as you thought you killed HYDRA. But I am not dead; instead, I have been assigned to a fate far less desirable—”

“Save it,” Steve says roughly, ignoring the pounding in his chest. “Where is she?”

“I’m afraid you are too late,” the Skull says softly. “Your friends have already gone.”

The double meaning of the word is not lost on him.

“I know,” he says, trying to ignore the fresh grief that has just jolted through his body. “I’m from the future. I’m here to return the stone. And to take her back. A soul for a soul, right? That was the deal.”

“There is nothing that can be done. Surely Barton told you? It is irreversible.”

And he knows, he knows, he has known since Clint’s knees buckled in front of his eyes, but there is something in him that keeps him fighting even though he knows it is futile.

“Then take me. Take me instead—”

“It will not. What’s done is done. You may keep the stone—”

“I don’t want the stone, I want her."

The man that was once Johann Schmidt merely looks at him, an almost detached look on his face. “Is this love, Captain Rogers?”

Steve laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that rings through the nothingness around them. “Love. Nothing more than an empty, meaningless word when you’re too late.”

“But you knew you were going to be too late,” Red Skull says quietly. “And you came anyway.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, voice cracking slightly. “I wanted to make things right, as much as I can. She spent her whole life thinking she was alone. I’m not gonna let her die that way, too.”

There is a moment of silence before Red Skull speaks. “For what it’s worth,” he almost murmurs, “She did not die alone. Her friend—Barton—”

“I know,” Steve mutters, ignoring the pang in his heart as Clint’s grief-stricken face swims into his mind. “But I wanted to be here too. I couldn’t—if she’s really gone— ”

“What an honorable thing to do.”

“Listen,” Steve snarls, frustration seeping into his voice. “She was my anchor to this life, my guide through the labyrinth of moral ambiguity that is the present. I owe her this, at least.”

“The man out of time,” Red Skull says softly. “Yet somehow always cursed with too much.”

“You did that,” Steve spits, his nails digging deeper and deeper into his palm. “I lost everything because of you. Everything. She showed me there was a purpose. That there’s a reason to keep fighting. She gave me back my life. The least I can do is try and do the same for her.”

“There is nothing you can do,” Red Skull says simply, seemingly unaware of Steve’s mounting anger. “The stone—”

Something snaps. “I—DON’T—CARE—ABOUT—THE—STONE!” he roars, slamming the case onto the ground. The latch breaks open, and the orange gleam of light that beams into the air sends another jolt of fury through Steve’s body.

“Take the stone,” he snarls, both hands clenched tightly at his sides. “Take it, and keep it for the next sick person who wants it for some revolting, demented purpose—I never want to see it again.”

He stops, breathing heavily, and Red Skull holds his gaze steadily, a calm and indifferent look on his face.

Steve’s voice is cold and eerily calm when he speaks again. “I want her body.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“It’s down there. I can get it—“

“No,” he says softly, a strange glittering in his eyes. “You may talk to it, pay your respects. But you cannot take it. It must stay here, as a reminder of the sacrifice made for the stone.”

“Fine,” Steve growls, as another surge of anger washes over him. “I’m going.”

“It’s a long way down.”

“I’ll walk.”

The trek down the mountain is more painful, somehow, than the one up it. The cold silence, broken occasionally by a sharp gust of wind, becomes more unbearable with every step. He climbs downward, jaw clenched against the wind, and wonders briefly where the Skull lives when he isn’t greeting people on the way to their deaths.

The trek down the mountain seems endless, but as Steve’s feet hit solid ground and he sees the body crumpled at the foot of the cliff, it seems to come to an end much too quickly.

He approaches the body as if in slow motion, hardly daring to breathe, and as he catches a sight of achingly familiar red hair a sob starts to make its way out of his chest.

His knees buckle as he reaches her side and sees her face. Her eyes are closed—he wonders if she’d done that on purpose—and her expression is so calm that if he didn’t know better he’d think she was simply pretending to sleep, ready to leap up and scare him at any moment.

Natasha, once so strong and full of life, is lying limp and broken in front of him, and despite himself he feels a wave of futile denial crash through his body.

See you in a minute, she’d said, her eyes dancing with excitement, so giddy that she’d hardly been able to stand still in her suit.

See you in a minute, she’d said, her face full of the first glimpse of genuine happiness he’d seen from her in over five years. She’d been so joyful, so relieved to have gotten her family back, so excited to be saving the world with them again.

See you in a minute, she’d said, and then she’d gone—

He wonders what her last words were.

“Hey,” he murmurs, taking her cold, limp hand. Something hot starts to prickle behind his eyes. “For the record, when I told you to get a life, this was not what I meant.”

“I just—we just wanted to tell you: we did it. We won. Because of you.”

She doesn’t respond, and the silence gets more unbearable every second, so he starts talking. He tells her about the funeral, about the way Bruce threw a bench into the sky, and then he keeps going—his voice breaks every few sentences, but he tells her about Bruce’s snap, about the final, big, battle, about everyone coming back just in the nick of time, like they always do—

He falters slightly when he gets to Tony.

“I never—I didn’t realize until after—I never really apologized to him. We just kind of moved on. I guess I thought, if we actually won, we’d have the rest of our lives to fix things.”

His eyes shut, ever so briefly.

“I keep thinking about that, too. How I never say things until none of it means anything anymore. How little words mean when you’re too late.”

He sighs, trailing a finger along her cold, stiff palm. “Grief and regret. They’re like old enemies to me, now. I’m no stranger to them. But it still hurts, every single time.”

“I suppose, objectively, that the cost we pay is nothing compared to what we get. But I look at the world we saved, the world we brought back, and I just—I don’t know if I have a place in it, anymore. It feels different without you.”

Ice crystals are starting to form on her hair, and Steve runs a hand down a few strands, wiping them clean as much as he can.

“For you, it hasn’t been that long since you—since you fell. But for me, it’s been days, and I really—I just really, really miss you. You worked so hard to make me see that I belonged in that world, but—I don’t know, Nat, I think I always just belonged with you.”

“So I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I wish you were here to tell me.”

Her skin looks so pale in the shadow of the cliff.

“Anyway, I know you can’t hear me. And if you could, you’d probably chew me out for walking a million miles in the snow just to talk to someone who can’t respond. But I guess I just—I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Her hand is freezing and unmoving in his, and his voice, hoarse and full of tears, fades away as his eyes rove over her pale, lifeless face. He lets the silence sit with them for what feels like hours, only moving when he feels his body start to go numb from the cold.

He buries her, there in the cold, his fingers scraping at the icy dirt in a sort of numb desperation. He finds a sharp rock to use as a spade and starts digging. The wind, unforgivingly harsh, bites at his skin as he works, but he hardly feels it at all—he digs with a kind of cold fury, deeper and deeper into the cold, hard earth. He funnels his grief into work, just as he always has; he welcomes the sharp, physical pain of the cuts that form on his hands and lets it wash over the ache in his heart.

In that way, he thinks, they have always been similar.

In this world, time is of no consequence, and he is completely unaware of the amount of it that passes. He sinks deeper and deeper into the hole, fingers raw but always working, and when it finally seems deep enough he looks up to find that the sky looks exactly the same.

He lifts his companion, his guiding light, as gently as possible and lowers her into the grave, arranging her limbs so that she appears to be sleeping. As he straightens up, he remembers Tony’s funeral—the beauty of the lake and the sky, and the rows and rows of people, of families, all there to pay their respects.

And here she lies, in a rough, hand-dug hole in the ground on a completely foreign planet.

He covers her in the earth, eyes never leaving her body, and after she is completely obscured from view he reaches into his pocket.

The makeshift gravestone expands in his hand, whirring softly, and he leans over to tuck it into the earth near her head. He doesn’t understand the technology, but Bruce had said that it would find roots in the ground, that it would work its way into the planet and stay there. A semblance of permanence, an eternal monument for the one who had given everything for the chance to make the world right again.

He glances at the stone, which is still buzzing steadily, and runs a final hand along the dirt beside it.

“Bye, Nat,” he murmurs softly as he gets to his feet. “We miss you, and we—I—love you.”

Long after Steve has disappeared back into the night, the humming stops. A completed marker stands, small but erect, at the head of a makeshift grave at the bottom of the cliff. It will stand there for the rest of eternity, for nobody and for everybody. On the surface of the stone, a hand-written conscription has taken form, carved painstakingly by a multitude of different hands.  

Here lies Natasha Romanoff,

One who would give everything and ask for nothing in return.

May the world remember her for who she was:

A spy, a hero, a friend.

A loved one.