#Miles-of-Muses ;; Bea

[thebadgerclan]

Through It All

Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz x Henry Fox

Summary: Alex will be there through it all...

A/N: So I've been obsessed with Red, White, & Royal Blue for a while, but now I'm doubly obsessed because of the movie coming out soon. So voila! I might write more for these boys, and I know my requests are closed, but if you have ideas of one shots for firstprince, I'd love to see them!

There were three things distinctly wrong with Alex’s current situation.  One: he was in London attempting to sleep off jet lag instead of snuggled in his boyfriend’s arms in their Brownstone.  Two: Henry was not with him; he was a few miles away at Buckingham Palace for a round of charity appearances and family events.  And three: Alex was categorically not invited.  Queen Mary’s invitation had explicitly instructed Henry not to bring his “American paramour” (nevermind the fact that there was currently a velvet ring box buried in Henry’s underwear drawer back home), and that the Crown was having a difficult enough time fending off bad press as it was (like he and Alex shared anything more than a kiss in public).

Henry, of course, hadn’t listened.  There was no way Alex would be able to attend any of the appearances, but Queen Mary couldn’t stop him from staying at Kensington, as much as she would probably like to.  So, Alex was here, in Henry’s apartments, with the gold and cream brocade that he hated, with no Henry.  He supposed he’d rather be bored and lonely here than bored and lonely in New York, at least he’d have his boyfriend in his arms at the end of the day.

Alex was pulled from his musings by his phone ringing.  The caller ID informed him it was Bea calling, which raised a red flag.  Bea rarely called him.  Alex hurried to answer, trying to calm his racing heart.  “Hello?”  “Alex, thank God,” Bea said.  She sounded out of breath, which did nothing to stem Alex’s growing panic.  “Bea, what’s wrong?  Is Henry okay?”  “...No, not really.”

With three words, Alex was imagining every possible worst-case scenario.  Henry was hurt, he was dead, there had been an assassination attempt.  “What happened?”  “We were supposed to have new portraits taken today,” Bea explained.  “And Henry commented that you should be here.  Gran…she just exploded.  She started screaming at him, saying terrible things about you and Hen.  I…can’t even repeat some of them.  Mum tried to talk her down, but she wouldn’t listen.

“She’s still going,” Bea said, concern for her brother plain in her voice.  “She kicked everyone else out of the room.  I think Hen was too stunned to move, to try to leave.  He’s still in there with her.”  Alex felt like the floor had been torn out from under him.  “Amy!” he shouted, and his Secret Service agent came bursting into the room, hand on her gun.  “Where’s the threat?”  “How soon can you get me to Buckingham?”  She consulted her phone, responding an instant later.

“15 minutes.”  “Get a car ready,” Alex said, and his tone left no room for questions.  “Bea, I’m on my way.  Listen, tell Henry I’m coming.”  “If I can get a word in edgewise, I will,” she replied, and Alex ended the call.  Alex found the first pair of shoes he came across, grabbing his well-worn NYU hoodie before running through the halls of Kensington Palace to the waiting car.  “I’m coming, baby,” he whispered to himself as he shut the car door.  “I’m coming.”

***

Either the guards at Buckingham had been told Alex was coming and to let him in, or they were smart enough not to get in the way of an angry Alex Claremont-Diaz.  Bea was waiting for him on the first floor.  “Is he okay?” Alex asked, not slowing his strides.  Bea kept pace with him, guiding him in the right direction.  “No,” she said.  “It’s bad, Alex.  Really bad.  Gran said some of the most racist, homophobic shit I’ve ever heard.”

Alex nodded, rounding the corner to find Catherine pacing outside a closed door.  “Alex,” she said, her voice shaky as she pulled him into an embrace.  “I’m so sorry, we-”  “Henry,” Alex said, cutting her off.  “I just need to see Henry.”  Catherine nodded, gesturing towards the closed door.  “He’s in there.  Mary’s gone, so you don’t have to worry about her.”  “Thanks,” was all Alex said before he was throwing open the heavy doors and entering the room.

He found Henry huddled on the ground, curled in on himself, body shaking as he sobbed.  “Baby,” Alex whispered, dropping to his knees before him.  “Henry, baby, I’m here.”  Henry looked up as if in disbelief that Alex was in front of him, his eyes red and swollen.  “A-Alex?”  “Yeah baby, it’s me.  I’m here.”  Henry dissolved into fresh sobs, and Alex couldn’t bear it; he sat and pulled his boyfriend into his lap, clutching him greedily to his chest.

Henry was shaking, heart wrenching cries leaving his lips, and Alex smoothed his hair back, kissing his forehead.  “Here, baby,” he said, taking the NYU hoodie in hand.  “I brought this for you.”  Henry reluctantly lifted his head, and once he saw what Alex had, let him pull it over his head.  Alex had worn it to sleep the night before, so it smelled exactly like him, something that brought Henry more comfort than he cared to admit.

The Prince buried his face in Alex’s neck once more, and Alex let him, rocking him gently back and forth, stroking a hand up and down his back, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.  “I’ve got you,” he cooed, arms tight around Henry.  “I’m not going anywhere, H.  I love you, baby.  I’m yours, I’ll always be yours.”  Henry’s sobs had quieted to soft cries, and he sniffled, wiping his face on the sleeve of Alex’s hoodie.

“I’m getting snot on your clothes,” he said, which made Alex laugh.  “We’ll wash it, baby.  Are you okay?”  Henry shook his head.  “No.  Gran, she…fuck she…”  “Hey, it’s alright,” Alex interjected.  “Take your time, sweetheart.”  Henry nodded, continuing after a moment.  “She called you horrible things, Alex, she told me that I’m a disgrace, that I’m a stain on the family.  And then she said…”

Henry had started to hyperventilate, and Alex gently took his face in his hands.  “Breathe with me baby, okay?  In….and out….  Good, again.”  Henry’s breaths were shaky, but after a few cycles of mimicking Alex’s breathing, they leveled out.  “She said ‘If you must carry on as you are, must it be with someone like him?’”  Alex didn’t need to ask what Mary had meant by that, he knew: why must Henry “carry on” with a Mexican-American, a man of color.  “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.  You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

Alex kissed his forehead, and Henry let out a sob.  “I want to go home,” he cried.  “I don’t want to be here, standing with my family, pretending that I don’t want to be in your arms!  I don’t want to shove you aside whenever I’m here, act like you aren’t the world to me!”  Alex’s heart skipped a beat or two at that, and he nodded.  “Then we go home, baby.  Back to New York, yeah?  Snuggle up with David and watch Bake Off?”

Fuck, if that didn’t sound like heaven.  But Henry shook his head.  “I can’t.  I have appearances to make, charity visits to do, I–”  “Baby, hey, baby,” Alex said, cutting off his spiraling.  “Maybe….maybe you ate something off at the gala last night.  Maybe you can’t appear at functions because you’re puking your brains out.  Maybe your stupidly handsome boyfriend had to take you home.”

Henry managed another laugh.  “Maybe…  Or maybe…”  Alex stayed quiet, waiting for Henry to speak when he was ready.  “Or maybe I’m done.”  “What?”  “Maybe I’m done,” he repeated.  “I can’t keep doing this, Alex,  This isn’t healthy for me, to get myself so upset like this.  There’s clearly no changing Gran’s mind, so what if I’m just done?”  Alex took Henry’s hand, squeezing softly.

“H, are you suggesting abdication?”  “No, not yet.  Once Mum’s Queen, things will be better, but for now…I can’t do this to myself.  What if I cut contact?  Stopped coming to functions?”  Alex, tightened his hold on his boyfriend.  “Baby, that’s entirely up to you, and you know I’ll support you, but maybe this is a choice you should make on a clearer head.”  Henry thought for a moment before nodding.

“You’re right.  But I…fuck, I hate this!  I hate hearing people talk about you, about us, like I don’t hear!  I hate it, Alex!”  More tears built at the corners of Henry’s eyes, and when they fell, Alex held him tight, wishing more than anything that he could take his pain away.  For nearly a half hour, Henry sat curled in Alex’s lap, letting himself cry, letting every ounce of hurt and anger out, until he was limp with exhaustion.  

Alex gently tipped his chin back so he could look at him, smiling sweetly.  “There’s my pretty boy,” he said, and Henry blushed.  “What do you say we go back to Kensington, get our stuff, and go home?”  Henry nodded, letting Alex move him from his lap to stand. His legs were stiff and half-asleep from so long spent on the floor, but he didn’t care, only helped his boyfriend to stand, pulling him into a kiss once he was.

Catherine and Bea were waiting outside, worry painted on their faces.  Henry was exhausted from the emotional beating he’d taken, and he looked up at Alex, hoping he’d understand.  He did, as he somehow always did, and spoke.  “We’re going home,” Alex said.  “Today was a lot for Henry, and he just wants to go home.”  Catherine came to embrace her son, holding him tightly.  “I love you, my baby,” she whispered.  “And I will always love you, no matter what anyone else says.”  Bea pulled her brother into a hug, then Alex, before the pair were back in the car to Kensington.

Eight hours later, Alex and Henry were back in their Brownstone, a very happy David pawing at their ankles.  The events of the day combined with a trans-atlantic flight had Henry beyond exhausted, and he had barely gotten in the door before collapsing.  Alex half-carried him to the couch, tucking a blanket over him and kissing his forehead.  “I love you, baby,” he said.  “You gonna be alright if I run to the store?”

Henry nodded, already dozing off.  When Alex returned, he found Henry asleep, still wearing Alex’s NYU hoodie, the hood drawn up over his blond hair, David curled up on his chest also fast asleep.  Alex drew his phone from his pocket, snapping a picture of the heartbreakingly adorable scene before him (which he would later post on Instagram with the caption “My entire heart ❤”).

The sound of the camera shutter woke Henry, who smiled upon seeing Alex.  “You’re home.”  “I am.”  Alex leaned in for a kiss.  “What’d you buy?”  In response, Alex handed Henry the bag.  “Gatorade, ginger ale, soup, saltines?  Alex, what…?”  Alex pulled up the Royal Family’s Twitter page and handed his phone to his boyfriend.

Prince Henry stricken with stomach flu, forced to return to New York.  Henry smirked, nodding.  “I see.  And all this…?”  Alex took his phone back, pulling up another tweet.  It was a picture of Alex leaving the general store, the caption reading: Alex Claremont-Diaz buys soup for sick boyfriend.  Henry smiled.  “Good thinking, love,” he said, and Ales kissed his cheek.  “This ain’t my first rodeo, baby.”

He moved David from the couch and crawled behind Henry, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s middle.  “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered.  “About today.  That never should have happened.”  Henry shifted closer to Alex, shrugging.  “But it did,” he said.  “And it keeps happening.  At least I have you.”  “Damn right you do, baby.  You’ll always have me.”

Alex found the remote wedged between the couch cushions and put an old episode of The Great British Bake Off on, smiling when David hopped back onto the couch, nestling into the divot between Alex and Henry’s bodies.  “I love you,” Henry said quietly, and Alex pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.  “I love you too, baby.”  Whatever came next, whatever challenges they faced, Henry knew that Alex would be steadfast by his side through it all.

[hoshinomulti]

𝙈𝙐𝙎𝙀𝙎

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡 - 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

𝟐𝟎%

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𝟓𝟎%

█████▒▒▒▒▒

𝟕𝟎%

███████▒▒▒

𝟏𝟎𝟎%

██████████

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞!

𝑲𝑰𝑹𝑩𝒀

Kirby

Bandana Waddle Dee

𝑷𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑵

Pikachu (she will be known as Sparkles)

Scorbunny (he will be known as Flare)

Jigglypuff (she will be known as Shine)

Pichu (she will be known as Mimi)

Eevee (she will be known as Light)

Alolan Raichu (he will be known as Volt)

Yamper (she will be known as Vanilla)

Buneary (she will be known as Bun Bun)

Sprigatito (she will be known as Mittens)

Piplup (they will be known as Blueberry)

Tinkatink (she will be known as Tiny)

Fidough (she will be known as Donut)

Chespin (she will be known as Chester) (she's a tomboy btw hehe)

𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬𝒀

Bluey

Bingo

𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺

Hoppy Hopscotch

Crafty Corn

Bobby Bearhug

Picky Piggy

Dogday

𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑭𝑼𝑵𝑲𝑰𝑵

Boyfriend (original) aka Mike

Girlfriend (original) aka Cherry

Soft BF aka Ben/Benjamin

B3 BF aka Bea

Neo BF aka Drake

B-Side BF aka Myike

D-Side BF aka Sharky

B3 GF aka Shaya

Neo GF aka Mae

D-Side GF aka Kaite

Soft GF aka Grace

𝑽𝑶𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑰𝑫

Hatsune Miku

𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑱𝑬𝑪𝑻 𝑺𝑬𝑲𝑨𝑰

Emu Otori

𝑺𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑪 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑯𝑬𝑫𝑮𝑬𝑯𝑶𝑮

Amy Rose

Miles 'Tails' Prower

𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑬𝑴

Corrin (male and female)

Leo

Takumi

Kaden

Keaton

Robin

𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺

Uzi

N

𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑲'𝑺 𝑩𝑰𝑮 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑾!

Baby Shark

Vola

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑴𝑨𝒁𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑫𝑰𝑮𝑰𝑻𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑰𝑹𝑪𝑼𝑺

Pomni

𝑹𝑶𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑹𝑨𝑲𝑶𝑶𝑵 (Yes I like his videos shush)

Rocky

Flo

Benny

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑷𝑼𝑭𝑭 𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳𝑺

Blossom

Bubbles

Buttercup

𝑴𝑳𝑷

Sweetie Belle

Apple Bloom

SIDE CHARACTERS (or just the MISC characters)

Parappa (Parappa The Rapper)

Rambley The Raccoon (Indigo Park)

Melodii (Scratchin' Melodii)

Mae (Night In The Woods)

Test muse: Neptune (Hyperdimension Neptunia)

Nokotan (Shikanoko Nokonoko Koshitantan)

Pibby (Learning With Pibby)

━─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─━

.☆。• *₊°。 ✮°。

☆°。 ☆°

(𝘌𝘕𝘋 𝘖𝘍 𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛.

But there will be more muses added to this list really soon)

✮°。 ✮°

.✮。• *₊°。 ☆°。

≫∘❀♡❀∘≪

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵❂➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

[alulars]

❛ let me be young again, & the story just starting. ❜ bea for johnson!

@883333

Large cities are distinguishably manmade. Scarce strips of grass pucker out between affluent neighborhoods like a poorly sewn quilt. On this street, there is no grass. Concrete for miles. Similar in color and texture to what Johnson remembers of the newly dried lava in Pompeii centuries upon centuries ago. The hubris of this place: an elected eruption of rock gerrymandered in opposition to nature into the blocky shape of a city.

Everything is closer together. Johnson sits outside, alone, at a restaurant table a foot from another party not because he chose or enjoys the proximity but because the small slab of stone the restaurant owner has legal ownership of can fit three tables worth of outside seating but only if discourteously packed. Johnson is in the seat which situates his back to the building despite the availability to sit in the chair next to the empty table on his right.

He's close enough to hear the conversation of the occupied table on his left. Close enough to hear their breathing. If the city weren't polluted with fast, mechanical noises that seem to linger, unwanted but unignored, like a continually scratched rash, he could likely hear the wet squeezing of their esophaguses when they swallow their food and the blunt clatter of their molars as they chew. Although, the necessary order would be reversed; Johnson does not eat. He ordered a large veggie pizza (that remains untouched) and its takeaway box because he saw a closed pizza box with this restaurant's name stamped on it in Mackenzie's fridge when she was cleaning her kitchen (one whiff from meters away and it was obvious it was veggie).

Mackenzie must frequent this restaurant due to its convenience: it's across the street, two buildings over; the food, Johnson gleams from the musings of the table beside him, is of subpar quality.

From here, he watches Mackenzie's apartment's street facing window. In the early evening and the late bright of Spring, the light leaking through the window is limp and washed out like a dribble of white too thin to stream out and is instead broken into a fine mist.

The woman at the other table: "Let me be young again and the story just starting."

Something there stirs in him.

Johnson's head swivels, his attention torn from Mackenzie's window, now set on Beatríz. She is elegantly dressed. Too formal for this restaurant. Perhaps it was a matter of convenience for her, too. Or—he notices her ring, her company's lack of one, the red wine, their fond tones—purposefully inconvenient for others.

Plainly, without introduction or invitation: "You can't go back. What you should want is to want for less. But the irony is, even that is not possible. It is only another want." A single, short laugh spasms out of him as uncomfortable and commandeering of his bodily organs as a hiccup.

[waterfallswords]

;

Bea can't help the frown that flicks over her mouth at the mention of witches. She remembers them, and remembers exactly how she felt to be around them. A reminder of what she lost, of everything she used to be and everything she could connect to with ease. Now bound to each full moon like a prisoner instead of free to control the tides as her powers allowed her to. She says nothing about the witches, but also hopes her silence doesn't alert her sister's attention too closely. "Depends on gas, Dani. Actually, you should see if there's any out there." she waves a hand to the pumps. "We are good for a few more miles but it won't be long until it will be like last time, trying to find somewhere hidden to let the car break down." it's funny looking back on the moment, but at the time it was nothing but panic.

Bea let's her attention focus to the moment, making quick work through the aisles and taking anything that seems useful or safe enough to eat. "It would be nice if we were allowed to be tired." she muses about the group, but she speaks with a soft laugh. "But no, we should stay together in big spaces like that. Anything could be hiding away. So just be patient until we're done here." Dani's retort comes just in time for Bea to decide the candy in her hands is of no use, allowing her to fling the packets toward her sister's head as she laughs. "No, I do not want pop rocks. I want something to eat that will not rot my stomach."

"I think we were just hungry so of course it tasted good." Dani snorts, but finds herself with a wistful smile at the thought of eating it again. "They were a cute bunch of witches." she remembers the ones they stumbled upon, who despite being met with a small group of wolves, still offered them shelter until they could move on again. Even among the darkness of the new world they lived within, Dani was desperate to hold onto pockets of hope. "There must be something near here for it, we should have a look at the map again. It might be a detour but it's worth it." she rambles in turn, slinking through the gas station to make quick work of grabbing anything edible. A thoughtful hum follows about the motel, and Dani nods towards the windows and the car now full of their friends. "Everyone seems tired, maybe me and you should do a quick check and then get everyone else?" but seriousness subsides and she shoots her sister a quick look, wrinkling her nose for exaggeration while she flicks a finger to Beatriz. "If I can smell myself, imagine how bad you smell, fedido." she retorts in a chuckle as she returns to work. "Way ahead of you, Bea. I've only done this since I was a teenager." she grins to herself, finding the treat aisle with a proud clap of hands. "Okay now we're talking. None of this ever goes out of date either. Do you want some pop rocks?"

[thcbcys]

@miles-of-muses​ its them!!!!!!!!!!​

[faultyconscience]

tag drop

characters

[loveperscvering]

open to: m/f/nb connections: childhood best friend, older brother, twin sibling plot: your muse is bea’s childhood best friend or older brother/other sibling who she hasn’t seen/really spoken to in over a year bc she moved away from their hometown after she was released from a treatment center for eating disorders warnings for: eventual mentions of eating disorders

early morning runs were one of bea’s favorite things in the world, especially since she’d moved to maine; the salty ocean air blowing past, the sound of the gulls as they soared over town and the beaches, the way everyone else was slowly waking up and joining the world. today was no different. she’d run five miles today, and could feel her legs burning as she slowed to a walk a few houses down from her own.

she caught her breath slowly, pressing two fingers to her neck as she neared her own house, and stopped short at the stairs leading up to her porch, eyes widening at the figure standing outside her door.

“what are you doing here?”

[orionwhispers]

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence. 

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

[beaflower77]

I Hate Lavender, She Said

                                                     NUMERO I

“What is this?,” he asked. “What is all over the balcony?,” as Lindir silently walked toward their outdoor oaken platform, stopping short, staring in amazement. It was not a happy amazement..  He stared at the scattered, ground up mess on the flooring, which was bountifully strewn about. It really wasn’t that much. “Hmmm?,” she replied, “What?” She wasn’t paying attention.

Beatrice was trying to pull, roughly fling, and toss bed covers back into place on their bed that morning, however she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “Crap,” she muttered continuously. “These covers are too flimsy. I hate silk. Do we not have any different bedding? Something heavier? So it doesn’t roll around so much,” she asked, “And I hate lavender. Don’t we own anything but lavender? What happened to pink, twilight, even jet black? But no, lavender.” There was no ready reply to her musings, only someone else staring ahead with his back toward Beatrice, with annoyance and provoked displeasure stewing inside. He hadn’t heard a word of Beatrice’s mumblings.

At the abundance of silence, Beatrice eventually looked up and over at Lindir as he continued to disgustingly sneer at the pile of feed. So beautifully clothed already, but sporting a spoiled face instead. She saw what he saw, what he was looking upon. Rapidly widening her eyes, Beatrice cast them down, turned her body back toward the naughty bed, deciding it was time to shut her mouth. Instead of offering a truthful answer, Beatrice gave Lindir a noncommittal, nonchalant, “Nnn, mmmh. Don’t know.” She tried this answer first. However, Lindir didn’t need her answer, he knew, he was not amused. Breathing deep, silent, as if an impending dragon was about to pounce, Lindir tried calming his genuine annoyance with the never ending issue on this subject. He did try, however ...

Turning towards her voice, her direction, Lindir was stunned, staggered, and not just a bit flummoxed. What nonsense! What bunk! What balls she had this morning! Beatrice knew perfectly well what he was questioning. She had tossed it out there again. He expressly asked her not to. And she did knww why he had asked her not to. They had had this discussion before, many times before. Always Lindir had always asked nicely, but with the same results each time. And did she listen each time? No. Each time, Beatrice had ignored the request, and defied him. To her, it was only, perhaps, a suggestion?

“Beatrice, what is this? You know perfectly well what I am talking about.” Lindir wouldn’t let it go this time around. “It’s nothing,” shrugging her shoulders, trying to fluff it off, as Beatrice tried innocently to play the game again. “Beatrice,” Lindir pushed, “It is not nothing.” He opened his mouth in surprised crossness. She wouldn’t reply. She felt caught. So, Beatrice silently stared him down instead, unwittingly thinking her method would work this time better than the last few times they had had this conversation. This conversation was getting old, so was Beatrice’s mulishness. Lindir had had enough. Enough of being ignored, disregarded, and frankly, he was extremely embarrassed. He could not contain his upset any longer.

Deciding to not back down at all this morning. “Beatrice, there is at least three, no four handfuls of feed out there. And it is not for the birds. I know it is not,” as he swept his arm, his hand toward the balcony’s ground. “Four!,” he reiterated, “You cannot continue to toss feed out there. You know it is expensive, and the birds are not eating it. And,” he bashed on, “We both know who you are really feeding. It is for those damn squirrels. You must stop.” Beatrice pushed back just as hard. “No, It is not! It’s only two handfuls. For two squirrels. Only two.” Beatrice tried holding the ground she was slowly losing. “Besides, it doesn’t matter,” she stated, “They’ll eat it. They’ll eat it all. There will be nothing left.” Beatrice gave her own hand flourish to the balcony and turned away. “Beatrice,” Lindir warned. 

“They’re hungry!,” she shot back, and Beatrice stared him down with her mouth set. Lindir drew in a deep, exasperated breath. He was beginning to let it go just now, he would let it go, however, he had heard how the other elves talked about him behind his back. Too nervous to counter her actions, too timid, too hesitant. He allows anything. Such a timid elf that Lindir. He stepped nearer, and continued resolutely. “It is the middle of the spring for Vala’s sake!,” Lindir mentioned. “They’re hungry,” Beatrice simply stated. And she purposely strode off, escaping toward the bathing chamber, closed the door behind her, folding her arms, and stood staring at the deep, luxurious tub in the middle of the floor, not quite sure what to do next. This was their fourth such discussion, she knew it would be their last. And she wasn’t going to win this time. She saw how Lindir kept persisting, going so far to give her foul language. If Lindir was this upset, Beatrice knew she had pushed too far.

“They are hungry, she says. Well so am I, so are you. But you do not see us asking the squirrels for food. Why would she just not stop?, wondered Lindir. This was becoming a botheration now. Does nothing I say seem sensible to her?

On the other side of the door Lindir was vexed. Coming over to the door, letting his voice filter through, “You need to cut them off,” he stated firmly. “It is enough Bea. Those squirrels now have plenty to eat outside. On the ground. And in the trees. But not up here.” He arduously continued, “Have I mentioned the columns below? Have you seen the columns below? There are multiple claw marks on them. The scratches start on the bottom level, and guess where they lead? Right. Up. Here,” motioning with his hand. “To our bed chamber. I wonder why?”

 He waited for a rebuttal, no response. Only silence. Beatrice wasn’t responding. Had he argued too far this time? Pushed too far? 

When Beatrice didn’t answer quick enough, “Beatrice?” Lindir asked, wondering what was happening behind the door. The silent treatment? No, she wouldn’t do that, would she? No, She is deliberately ignoring me, Lindir scrutinized. “Beatrice?!” He made a face. A long, snide, impolite face. “Beatrice. I wish you to stop. Do you hear me?” 

The door flung open, startling Lindir in the process, causing him to jump back a bit. “I said I would cut them off,” Beatrice pronounced annoyingly, her arms still defiantly crossed, and walked to find clothing for the day. The elf’s mouth dropped a mile. “No, you did not,” contested Lindir confused, and stalked after her. “Yes, I did,” Beatrice confirmed. “No. You did not Beatrice,” walking almost into the gray dress Beatrice cradled. Lindir had to stop himself from stepping on her toes. “Beatrice,” Lindir decided, trying to calm the intensity, letting out a puff of air, “Beatrice, please. Let us not get into an argument over this again. Just discontinue feeding those squirrels. It is spring now. And I am almost positive you do not wish to discuss this with Elrond.” Oh, she thought, is that where this will go? A tattle telling? I see.

Stopping, looking at Lindir with stubborn indignation there was a moment of grave, thick silence existing between them. “Elrond,” Beatrice stated. Had he said that? Did Lindir remember mentioning that? “I only meant..”  “Is that all?,” she asked, her head cocked. Lindir stared back with his own frustration and distress. “Yes,” his simple, dry statement given. Beatrice raised an eyebrow, un-joyfully smirked her mouth, “I am getting dressed now, if you don’t mind.” Lindir shook his head, dumped a loaded sigh. “Fine.” He removed himself from their room. “Fine,” her own word lingered in the aftermath. But as the door of their chamber closed, Lindir would not let Beatrice have the last word. He unloaded this, “I will not argue about this further with you Beatrice, but do not think, just because I do not, does not mean I am pleased with your self-centered, willful, heedless attitude. And complete disregard for my feelings.” There was a soundless click, then nothing. 

Keeping her back at the bedchamber doors, Beatrice dumped herself on their bed, denting, messing the artful design of bed coverings she so painstakingly worked on that morning. She studied the bedding, nastily grabbed a handful of cloth, messing the sheets intentionally, “I hate lavender,” she muttered. 

[tommyomalley]

Carol Channing, 1921-2019

July 2005. My editor at the Austin American-Statesman, Michael Barnes, asked me, do you want to interview Carol Channing? And I was like, is Dolly Gallagher Levi a widow?

The reason for the interview was that my friend Stuart Moulton, artistic director of Austin Cabaret Theatre, was bringing Carol to Austin to perform at his company’s gala. The day before she arrived, Stuart called me and asked, “Do you want to pick Carol up from the airport tomorrow with me in a limo?” And I was like, do gentlemen prefer blondes?

That July, I got to spend an hour interviewing 84 year-old Carol Channing on the phone, another hour or so picking her up from the airport and walking her to her suite at the Stephen F. Austin hotel, and another hour or so watching her perform her cabaret act while seated about five feet away from Lady Bird Johnson, who was confined to a wheelchair and nonverbal at the time. In fact, when Carol sang “Hello, Dolly,” she came out into the audience, put Lady Bird’s face between her hands, and delivered the song directly to the First Lady. 

These are among my happiest memories of living in Austin, a place I called home for more than 5 years. Today I’m feeling for the contributions Carol Channing made to our American theater in her 97 years. 

Below is the article I wrote based on my interview. The Statesman’s archives are not easy to navigate, so I had to dig into my old word files to find this. I believe my editor took out all the references I made to pissing my pants when it went to print, but this is what 22 year-old me thought was appropriate to publish. And here are a few gems I didn’t put into the article, presumably because my frontal lobe was just coming into formation:

--on more than one occasion, Carol Channing fell from the stage into the orchestra pit & broke bones. Still, she never missed a performance.

--on the movie version of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes being cast with Marilyn Monroe instead of her as Lorelei, a role she created on Broadway: “It’s like taking your baby and kidnapping it... I just saw my friend Jane Russell last night in Santa Barbara, and I said to her, ��I’m still so proud it took two of you to play my part in the movie.’”

###

JULY 2005

Full disclosure (since that’s fashionable these days): By the time I was born, Carol Channing – who will perform her solo show “The First 80 Years Are the Hardest” at an Austin Cabaret Theatre benefit on July 26 – and Mrs. Dolly Gallagher Levi (DGL) had been acquainted for nearly twenty years. Truth is, my first introduction to the diamond-dusted diva was by voice alone (thanks to both the original “Hello, Dolly!” cast recording and “The Addams Family” animated series, in which she portrayed Granny). As a preteen, I admired Channing’s panache. Away from my Catholic mother’s view, I would lip-synch, “When a man with a timid tongue/ Meets a girl with a diffident air…” before an audience of suit jackets and dress shirts, hanging appropriately in the closet.

Channing is exactly the second person I’ve interviewed professionally. A sweet sophomore opportunity, I’m aware. In the time leading to our conversation, I was admittedly wracked with dread. This is, after all, a woman who refers to Al and Lynne (Lunt and Fontanne) like I refer to my roommate Lennie. No amount of preparation helped curb the urge to urinate when Harry Kullijian – Channing’s junior high school sweetheart who she recently married – called to start the interview.

“Carol, this is the Austin American… hold on. Austin American what?” Kullijian reconfirmed.

“Statesman.  The Austin American-Statesman,” I replied, noting that I wouldn’t have to tell anyone if I actually wet myself. Before I could decided what to do, that voice – rich with the insight its 84 years allow – hit the receiver.

“Good morning, Aushtin American Shtateshman!  With whom am I speaking?” Channing initiated, sounding more enthusiastic than she probably was. My inner musical queen begged me to respond, “Hello, Carol. Well hello, Carol.” But my outer professional, who values his job, decided instead to introduce myself and brief her on the interview format.

We began with requisite discussions about Austin – “I’ve performed there many, many times.  They’re a great audience,” she volunteered – and Texas in general. Musing on distinctly Texan pronunciations, Channing said, “Lots of things are odd in Texas” (a sentiment this Yankee seconds). She also mentioned a party being thrown in her honor by Liz Carpenter, the Statesman reporter who went to Washington and became Lady Bird Johnson’s press secretary. Channing has maintained a bond with the Johnson family since she sang “Hello, Lyndon!” for the President’s 1964 reelection campaign. She reproduced the chorus over the phone, providing yet another assault on my already overactive bladder. Once talk of Texas grew tired, the conversation migrated 2,200 miles northeast.

I saw my first professional production – a pre-Broadway tryout of the Rosie O’Donnell “Grease” – at the Colonial Theatre in Boston.  A half century earlier, Channing, having “(written) papers on communism, socialism and democracy at Bennington College in Vermont,” went to Boston for an audition to be Eve Arden’s understudy in the Danny Kaye musical, “Let’s Face It.” On the same stage that I would later hear O’Donnell warble “There Are Worse Thing I Could Do” – itself a singular theatrical event – Channing landed one of her first Broadway parts, a milestone she attributes to the fact she and Arden wore the same size. Almost thirty years later, when Channing left “Hello, Dolly” in Chicago to film “Thoroughly Modern Millie” (one of her only forays into movies, for which she received an Oscar nomination), the prolific producer David Merrick got Arden to fill in. Arden reportedly greeted the cast with the disclaimer, “The reason I got the part is because I fit into Ms. Channing’s costumes.”

As an understudy, Channing began her career shadowing other performers. Later, she made a name for herself mimicking them. Her popularity grew with a role in the Charles Gaynor review “Lend an Ear,” which featured choreography by her eventual “Dolly” director, Gower Champion. Marge Champion, who had seen Channing’s act, introduced the starlet to her husband at an audition. Of that fateful first meeting, Channing recounted, “Marge just said, ‘Do Getrude Lawrence. Do Ethel Waters.’ I did Ethel Merman and Bea Lillie… Well I got all the way through with 12 numbers and (Gower) said, ‘Do you have any more?’ And I didn’t, (so) he said, ‘Go back and start again.’”

Channing did, and, as a result, won a role that would catch the eye of the late showbiz caricaturist Al Hirschfeld. Hirschfeld sketched Channing in the show’s comic “Gladiola Girl” scene. “It did it for me,” she remembered. “I had no idea how funny the character was (until then).” The audiences and critics, on the other hand, had been noticing all along.

Channing’s status as a headlining star was solidified by her Lorelei Lee in 1949’s “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” Marilyn Monroe’s constipated “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” from the 1953 film will forever be linked to the role, thanks to the medium’s permanence. But to the discerning ear, only Channing’s gravelly refinement will ever do the song justice. About Monroe’s Lorelei, Channing said flatly, “It’s like taking your baby and kidnapping it.”  

A stint replacing Rosalind Russell in “Wonderful Town” followed (postpartum poster person Brooke Shields played the same role recently). In 1951, Channing received her first Tony nomination for the flop, “The Vamp.” A second nomination came in 1961 for “The Showgirl,” a compilation of her nightclub acts. Three years later, Channing won a Tony for her immortal performance in “Hello, Dolly!” She toured DGL around the country on and off for more than thirty years. Amazingly, in more than 5,000 performances she never used an understudy. In 1964, Joanne Worley (pronounced like “worldly,” as Ms. Channing pointed out to me), was Carol’s stand-by. At the outset, Channing said to her, “Oh Joanne, you’ll never go on, but come along.  You’re great company.”

Her work horse mentality sets Channing apart from every subsequent generation of actors. Asked about her perfect batting average, which she maintains to this day, the accidental legend offered a typically self-effacing response: “At the end of each show when I was sick, I either felt better or I was getting cured. I did it for selfish reasons.” With what she has given to generations of theatergoers, Channing’s claims of selfishness were difficult to process.

By the time our hour was up, I had gotten through all the important stuff. I was grateful for the opportunity to speak with one of the true greats, and more importantly, I was grateful for not soaking my shorts in the process.

[thecityofselcouth]

When Noah slipped onto him fully, Olly's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't know what he had expected. While it had crossed his mind so many times the past few months, he barely let the thought live for a second before he distracted himself with something else. Olly had not thought Noah felt the same- and he was not about to be the perverted idiot who imagined his best friend naked when she wanted nothing to do with him in that sense.

But she did. Even if it was only tonight, Noah did.

Her lips on the skin of his shoulders woke him from his stupor. Olly's eyes found hers, followed the shape of her mouth. Just fuck me.

With a growl, Olly wrapped an arm around Noah's back and flipped them over, not once breaking any contact. He caught her gasp at the movement with is mouth, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. His hands roamed up from their spot on her hips and he lifted himself up. Olly looked down at Noah, his breath racking around in his lungs as if he'd ran twenty miles.

The flush that seared her cheeks was a weakness Olly now knew he had, and he traced it with his thumb. Then he traced down to her lips, pulling his own bottom one into his mouth as his thumb slipped in-between hers. When Noah's mouth tightened around it, a soft moan escaped him.

It was enough to undo him, and Olly sat up as he gripped the inside of Noah's thigh and pulled it up. He nipped and kissed at the sensitive skin there as he pulled out of her ever so slowly. Just before he completely left, her Olly stopped. His other hand moved up her body, squeezing her breasts before he wrapped his long finger's around her throat.

He did not wait as he pushed back inside her fully, picking up a rhythm that her hips soon rocked along with. Olly pressed his forehead against Noah's knee, muttering "fuck."

-

Danny was beginning to think he had made a mistake. Not just in hiring Fume, but in allowing her to take up so much space in his head. As he watched her leave the store, Johnnie’s hand on the small of her back, Danny ran his tongue along his lower lip. The way his fingers tightened on the material of her shirt. He thought he saw her lean into it.

Why does it even matter?

Lust and feelings were far from each other. Danny needed to keep them both in check, unless he wished for the balance around him to break. It was a crafted web of rules- Fume could not break into it.

He drew his eyes from them as her form faded from his sight. Danny closed his eyes for a moment before drawing them to the floor. Ashley had finally shown up, but she was making his head hurt lately. It wouldn’t be too long before he had to let her go, unfortunately. Most likely with another job already lined up and funds to float. Danny could not leave her kids to suffer at their mother’s circumstances.

Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket as he turned towards the hall his office he sat in. Within twenty minutes, he heard her soft raps on the door. It swung open without his approval.

Bea slid through the gap and shut the door behind her, twisting the lock with a satisfied click. “How I’ve missed you, Daniel darling,” she mused. Her voice twisted around in Danny’s head like honey and he let out a low sigh. She stepped into the circle of light his lamp cast. Long, golden brown legs wove their way towards him. He reached out on instinct and found her thighs, fingers dipping into the flesh.

His balance could not break.

Danny managed to let his employees out early, as the store had slowed enough he handled the last hour by himself. He realized how silent he’d been recently and found his throat slightly sore from talking so much as he skimmed over the papers on his desk. Later, he would have to make a note to reach out to Josiah again. Being alone for as long as he had been was never a good idea.

Things began to get awfully dark.

He pushed the papers away from him. The letters were all blurring together in his sight, anyway. Rubbing his eyes, Danny sighed. At least Ruth had offered to open the next day as well so he could get a few moments of extra sleep.

Danny opened his eyes again, blinking the stinging in them away several times. He heard the sound of the front door open but thought little of it. When ten minutes had passed and Delilah had not barged into his office, he pulled up the camera footage on his computer.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Fume was the last person he expected to see.

Standing, his long legs carried him to the front of the store quick. He buttoned his shirt back up on the way and combed a quick hand through his hair. “Fume?” Danny asked, stopping at the end of the bar.

She looked ill. For some odd reason, Danny was almost afraid to get closer. But he stepped towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was too dim in the store to make out the true state of her appearance. He spun the stool towards her and caught her chin in his hand as she moved with it. Danny’s eyes skated over her face.

They moved down, and he paused. “Lights, on,” he said, voice thick. The shop’s voice control pinged to life and the fluorescents poured down on Fume.

Danny stared at her for a long while, finger’s still holding her chin. He licked his lips before letting her go and stepping back. “Talk.” Crossing his arms, his eyebrows drew together. He truly didn’t trust his voice to say more, not when he was already tip toeing his line. But, she shakiness in his voice be damned, he added, “And I mean every- everything.”

-

It was typically best not to ask questions regarding the family when one was just a mistress, so Delilah had not known what to expect when he pulled up to his house so late at night. She sat in the car as told, resuming her movie on Netflix, fully expecting to be alone outside for at least a couple of hours. Delilah jolted when the car door opened barely thirty minutes later, dropping her phone between her legs. She let out a curse as her heart nearly exploded from her chest.

The audio from the move she'd been watching played softly for several seconds before Delilah scrambled to turn it off. Her eyes had been drawn to Manuel's face instantly when the light from the car illuminated the cabin.

Blood made her stomach turn over and over inside her. Her mouth fell open and tears even pricked at her eyes. As with many things, however, Delilah did not ask. Manuel's silence said enough.

She wondered who had hurt him, what caused the violence that seemed so prominent in his life. Did he have familial issues? Was it his job? If so, why did he even stay in it? They turned over and over in her head until they pulled up to his home- first or second, she did not know. Delilah waited until he exited the car to open her door. She needed the few moments to be alone before she followed him up the path. The wetness in her eyes had to be gone, her face fixed to neutral.

Before she found Manuel in the house, however, she stopped in guest bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit from below the sink. It had layers of dust on it that she blew off before walking to the living room. He had his back to her and Delilah approached him slowly.

With a shaky breath, she placed a hand on his arm as she stepped in front of him. In the light of the house, her stomach clenched again. No, you need to ignore it. It's just paint, she told herself.

"Let me help you," she murmured, reaching up with a wet cloth to dab at the blood that speckled his mouth and chin. Her hands did tremor slightly, so she placed one against his chest to steady herself. It was just paint.

Delilah did not ask Manuel questions again as they drove back to town, but her stomach dropped when they pulled up in front of Lane's. She could see Danny in there, with Fume. The details were too hard to make out, even with the lights on, but Delilah knew what had happened to Manuel in that moment.

She turned to look at Manuel as he spoke. He said the truth, she knew it. But it still hurt.

Danny had never cared for her, not since the day their father brought her home. His respect for their father was the only thing that kept him responsible enough to keep an eye on her.

And what an eye that was.

She thought back to just a few days before the robbery, when Danny had blown up on her. A spoiled brat no one would ever deal with for long. Too much trouble.

No, her brother did not love her. Delilah looked at the bat Manuel had pulled out. Her heart raced and she looked back up at him. There was a part of her that wanted to beg he let her leave his daughter out of it- she had truly done nothing to Delilah. But it would do every thing to Danny.

Delilah gripped the bat hesitantly, swallowing a large lump in her throat. Manuel could love her, he could want her.

She let out a deep breath before she pushed the door open. Delilah didn't say anything to Manuel as she got out, dragging the bat behind her. Perhaps she could find a way to make it seem like she hit his daughter, but not. Or perhaps she should.

Would it really make any difference? Delilah only wanted to hurt Danny. She could whack ketchup bottle next to Fume. But wouldn't Manuel smell that?

Her mind was still roaring as she opened the glass door. Danny looked up, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw her.

"What- why are you here?" He snapped, moving to the side of Fume. "Can you ever, seriously, pick better times to show up?"

The thing was, Delilah knew Danny was only snapping at her because of Fume. Clearly she had interrupted something, something important.

More important than her.

The way Danny looked at her, the way disgust twisted his features. She knew it was not entirely directed at her.

Yet, it was all she needed. Delilah smiled. He hadn't seen the bat yet.

She reached out and swung it towards the first thing in her path- the register. The machine flew down with a crack, money spilling out of it. As the change rolled across the ground and both their eyes swiveled to what she had done, Delilah pulled back again.

Danny heard the crack, but he didn't immediately realize it sounded wrong. He turned as he saw the bat pull back again. He saw the end stained red. And he jumped towards her as she brought it down again, but Danny did not reach her fast enough.

And then he looked down, and he saw Fume. He saw her temple, pouring blood and her body on the floor. Danny stood there for what felt like hours, but was really only a few seconds before he dropped. Fume's eyes were open but he could tell they were not truly focusing on anything. He could see Delilah's figure fade in his peripheral, but Danny pulled Fume into his lap, hands shaking to the point he could barely get a grip on her shoulders.

He heard her as her bat tore across the tables, but Danny was brushing Fume's hair out of her face, his eyes burning as they spilled over. "No, no," he whispered. He didn't expect his heart to tear the way it was, didn't expect his body to feel like ice as he watched the blood pour onto the tile below them. It was drenching her hair. "Fume, you cannot leave me now, not when I'm-"

But he couldn't continue, because the bat came down across his back. Danny yelled, but he kept his body over Fume's as he turned. Delilah was crying.

"Delilah," Danny warned, standing up. As he had stood, he had no idea how, but he managed to see the bulge of a knife in Fume's pocket. He held it out now, the blade twinkling in the light. Tears still blurred his vision but he made his sister out well enough, and the mess she had wrecked behind him. Glass peppered the floor from the tables, the windows. She'd wrecked the old stereo in the corner, one their father had given Danny on his 21st birthday.

And she was crying. Danny did not know who his sister was, not in that moment. "Why?" He asked, shaking his head. Behind him, he heard Fume stir.

Delilah laughed, brushing her hand across her forehead. "Why do you hate me?" She asked, shoving the bat towards him. "Why did you blame me for mom, for everything? Why do you treat me like shit when all I've ever wanted was for you to care about me?" She ran her tongue across her lips. It had felt good to do this to him, to watch him hurt. Delilah didn't know what that meant for her, but she felt good.

Her eyes traveled down to Fume, the way Danny held one hand behind him and his feet were on either side of her. "Relax," Delilah said. "I only want to hurt her to hurt you, and I did." She shrugged.

Danny dropped his arm, bewildered at the girl who stood in front of him. It was not his sister. Bitchy and angry she was, but not capable of this.

"If you ever come back here," Danny said, voice quaking. "I will do whatever I have to to make you leave." Then, without a second to even react, Delilah wielded the bat again.

She hit him hard- harder than she had Fume either time. Delilah wanted Danny to hurt. She wanted to-

Delilah realized then she almost wanted to kill him.

But as she swung the bat at him, Danny's hand also stretched out. With Delilah's arm in reach, he caught whatever part of her he could with the knife as the bat connected to the side of his head.

Delilah almost dropped the bat as the blade sunk into her forearm. The pain of it seemed to bring her somewhat back to reality, and Delilah yelped as the ricochet of the bat traveled up her arm. She watched her brother crumple to the floor and turned before he even connected.

Her steps back to the car were as even as she could make them, but as she neared the door, Delilah felt her stomach squeeze in on itself. She fell to the concrete, knees banging the ground hard as she vomited.

Danny watched her from inside as she fell, his breath hitching at the pain that radiated in his skull. His hand reached out until he found Fume, or rather her ankle. He grabbed onto her as he shook. "Fume?" He breathed. Danny felt her move but when his arm moved with her, the pain his head burst. He didn't feel anything after that.

-

Collins, if it had not been James who'd said it, would have probably spilled hot coffee all over her lap. But she was used to such things coming from his mouth, so she just chuckled along with him as heat rose to her face.

"It's the something of champions," she murmured as he took the cup. He never liked coffee, especially not the way she made it. Collins had dumped a little extra creamer in it that night, not fully aware of herself as she paced the kitchen to calm her earlier nerves. Now, even just the smell of bud curled in her nostrils and she felt the blood slow in her veins.

With James' added presence, Collins' almost felt like she could fall back asleep.

She had no intention of it, though. Not when they had fought more than she liked the past few days. Collins leaned over to deposit her cup on the nightstand. Keeping the joint away from James' so the smoke did not invade his immediate hair, she pushed her free hand through his hair.

"Missed you today," Collins said, almost whispering, before she took another hit from her joint. She'd rolled it small and wasting some of it when James tumbled through her window, it was out in just that short of time. After dropping it into the dish next to her bed, she wiggled her hips until James lifted his head, then lowered herself down next to him. When they were face to face, she pressed her lips to his briefly before tucking her two index fingers into the waistband of his jeans. It wasn't so much a wanting gesture as just being as close to him as she could in that moment. "Get into anything fun?"

[thcbcys]

@miles-of-muses​ Asked:  « i was afraid i’d lose you » (-slides over bea- ship time- ship time let's gooo)

Encanto songs sentence starters ;; Open

   ╰─  ☠      ﹔﹔      That...got Cassandra very confused, Looking at the boy as she wiped some drying blood from her nose. Why would he say something like that? Cassandra did this sort of things on the daily, Fighting was just nature to her and well...talk shit and get hit, Even if it wasn’t directed as her. But in all honesty, she was shocked by his words. Why did he care so much..? She was fine, Cassandra knew she’d come out alive with her cocky attitude to life but this just make her feel something, something warm inside. 

      Someone cared. 

      ╰─   “ Oh...Well I’m fine, See...no need to worry so much... ” She muttered out, avoiding any sort of eye contact “ Can’t just let assholes talk about you like that y’know... ”

[faultyconscience]

tag drop

musings

[loveperscvering]

open to: m/f/nb connections: childhood best friend, older brother, twin sibling plot: your muse is bea’s childhood best friend or older brother/other sibling who she hasn’t seen/really spoken to in over a year bc she moved away from their hometown after she was released from a treatment center for eating disorders

early morning runs were one of bea’s favorite things in the world, especially since she’d moved to maine; the salty ocean air blowing past, the sound of the gulls as they soared over town and the beaches, the way everyone else was slowly waking up and joining the world. today was no different. she’d run five miles today, and could feel her legs burning as she slowed to a walk a few houses down from her own.

she caught her breath slowly, pressing two fingers to her neck as she neared her own house, and stopped short at the stairs leading up to her porch, eyes widening at the figure standing outside her door.

“what are you doing here?” 

[fromedenrps]

*nervously walks into the room*

name.  ↬  Maggie age.  ↬ 21 (I’ll be 22 before the end of April though) timezone.  ↬ EST skeleton you’re applying for.  ↬ Sayre is amazing and then I wanna throw secondary love onto Bea, Eva, Shiloh, and Keiran, although I have no clue which of them I’m submitting a second app for. favorite tv series. ↬ Oh geez. Currently airing? Let me make you a list. It’ll be about five miles long. skeleton’s zodiac.  ↬ Sayre’s definitely a Taurus movie / tv / book character that you can compare your muse to.  ↬ Everyone’s comparing her to Elle Woods which, like, duh, but I also think Glinda from Wicked with hints of Felicity Smoak from the Arrowverse and Amy Santiago from B99. Plus maybe Portia from All for One? which greek god / goddess is your character.  ↬ I really like her as Prometheus, the god of forethought and crafty counsel. what hogwarts house does your character belong in.  ↬ Ugh I wanna put her as Ravenclaw so bad because she’s brilliant but let’s be real this girl has more ambition and drive in her pinky finger than most people in their whole body but then she has this kind of reckless daring and a need to do everything all the time and she’s so fiercely loyal to her friends like this girl loves with her entire body and I just don’t know where to put her. Update: I took the Pottermore quiz for her and it came up Slytherin so there you all go. what are you most excited about involving the rp.  ↬ it’s so outside the normal rps I do and I’m excited to try something new and all the skeletons look amazing and the whole task concept is so intriguing. If I get in it’ll be the most fun character development I’ve gotten to do in a very long time.

[illaardet]

💘 What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

little things . bea’s very observant , so her love language is less physical affection and more taking note of what they like and surprising them . whether it’s saving something from tea for them , because she knows it’s their favorite sandwich ; or ordering a few extra flowers in her orders because she knows they like the smell . she goes the extra mile to make sure she remembers what they like , and takes notice if they skip a meal or decline a favorite pasttime of theirs ; and then tries to cheer them up with little presents .