#Sam if you read this I am sorry

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

With how spiky Starscream is on TFP, he must be very easy to climb. I also love the clinking noises that happen when he moves.

Maybe I made him a little too small? I don’t mind.

This sparks joy

[conindiundrum]

Sam and Dean pre-series headcanons bcuz why not (+bobby and unfortunately John)

Dean is the neat freak. Don’t even fight me on this it’s so obvious. Sam works in controlled chaos and I mean really that’s to be expected he grew up with Dean trying to distract him with his teasing and snide remarks.

Their falling out over Stanford was a mutual damning. They talked for the first two years. Dean believing he could make Sam come back with time, and Sam thinking at the very least he could convince Dean to take time off from hunting occasionally. They’re both wrong and the fallout is catastrophic. Things are said, and like always none of it is what they mean or need to say. Dean accuses Sam of not caring about Mary. Sam accuses dean of being daddy’s little soldier. Punches are thrown. Dean storms out, he takes the impala and he doesn’t look back. They don’t talk after that. Sam blocks Dean within the three days it takes his older brother to wish he could take it all back. Sam calls a few times, from the pay phone outside the bar he works at. He hangs up before Dean can say hello. Not long after, he meets Jess and he stops calling. Not long after, Dean starts hunting alone. John says they don’t need distractions after Dean gets a bit too attached to a girl. He’s not talking about the girl. Dean stops trying to call.

When Sam ran away to flagstaff that wasn’t where he was headed. It just happened to be on the way to his mother’s grave and he got distracted by the dog.

Sam at sixteen and in a fit of teenage rebellion after John got angry about his dedication to school, gets in with a wild group of kids. If John doesn’t want him to care about school, then he won’t. This lasts all of 24 hours before he’s itching to get back to the books. Especially after he got high and did a bunch of daredevil shit that almost got him killed. Later he tells Dean about his escapades thinking he would find it amusing. Dean does not find it amusing. Dean explodes. Dean thinks he ought to lock Sam in a closet for a month and never let him near another high schooler again.

The boys worked a handful of cases in their teens/early twenties without John. Just small things John thought they could handle. Naturally these were never actually simple and they mostly almost died, but it was the first time they started to act as a real team and that meant a lot to both of them. Dean would later, drunkenly, tell Bobby that those were his best memories.

Sam picked up pretty quickly how easily John’s words could cut Dean up inside. He learned to distract Dean by teasing him about it and making light of the situation. He didn’t think that would work at first but he realized (albeit reluctantly) that fighting with John on the matter only stressed Dean further. Jokes were comfortable for Dean, and as much as Sam hated it, being looked out for made his brother feel cornered.

Sam ran into a burning building when he was twelve. (This is actually said in 5x22 but I will leave my headcanon none the less .) He initially thought Dean was still inside. When Dean yelled out for him from across the street, he almost stopped. He was just feet from the door and relief was instant. Until he heard the dog. Sam breathed funny awhile after from the smoke inhalation. Dean couldn’t breathe quite right until Sam did either. (Sammy, I know you probably weren’t thinking and you love dogs but do you know you almost killed your brother?? A FIRE? 🤦)

This brings me to my next point. Dean used to draw himself as a fireman. Bobby never mentioned the mini comic he found of fireman Dean saving his mom from the fire.

[arsenicflame]

The thing about Jack's Izzy is that he was never supposed to be Jack's Izzy. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, to teach Ed and Sam a lesson, to escape their constant tugging at him to decide who he was going with. He'd been beginning to feel more like their favourite toy, a pawn in their endless stupid fight, than a person whose opinion they actually cared about. He tells them he hasn't decided, that he doesn't want to decide, but it goes over their heads every time, too focused on "winning" him.

So when it comes to it, after Hornigold's gone, after they've won, and they're asking him again before he's even had chance to clean the blood from his sword, let alone his hands, he just blurts out "Jack"

To say everyone's shocked is an understatement. Sam and Ed's shocked "What's?" are only drowned out by Jack’s own. It's not like he hasn't known the whole time he was never in the running, he hadn't even asked Izzy because he knew he'd just laugh in his face. He loved Izzy just as much as they did, but it was never the same for Izzy. He never had the drive of Sam & Ed, the passion, the potential. He was Calico Jack, too stupid, too immature, too much of a drunk to be a worthy captain. (never mind that Izzy had always seen through that cover, seen the way he used the act to keep himself safe, seen that he was never really as drunk as he acted, seen the way he played people to get what he wanted. It didn't matter. He wasn't Ed or Sam, and that's all that really mattered in the end)

Izzy sits firm in his split second decision, telling them that he's fed up with all this bullshit, and Jack's the only one who listens to him, so he's going with him. Jack's not stupid enough to question Izzy further, so they take one of Hornigold's fleet & a handful of crew who hold no loyalty to the other boys, and set sail before it has a chance to turn into another mutiny.

The thing is, Izzy never really intended to stay. His plan was to leave with Jack for a month or so, fucking around achieving nothing while his boys got their heads out of their asses, then go back once hes actually had space to make a decision, to decide who he wants to be, free of anyone else's expectations. Only, having Izzy there to impress makes Jack pull his act together fast. He's desperate to prove he's worthy of Izzy's time, cutting back on all the dicking around and making a genuine effort to be a worthy Captain for him. He's not perfect by any means, but they're actually doing ok.

And for Izzy, it's like someone's lifted a weight off of his shoulders. He hadn't realised it until he was away, but being with Sam & Ed had felt crushing towards the end, both of them expecting so much from him, wanting him to be someone who wasn't quite him, wanting him to help them build a legend. And maybe he wanted that, maybe he would love it in another life, but it's also nice to not have expectations. Jack never wants him to be anything other than himself, and it's been pretty nice, learning who Izzy Hands is. He thinks he might like the guy.

So it goes from there. A month passes and Izzy makes no mention of meeting up with the others. Then two, then three, and before long he's forgetting that he ever seriously planned to leave. He stays, and they make it work, together. It's not perfect, it was never going to be, but they have something that makes them both happy. And that's enough.

[mosspodge]

HEY MOSSY WHATS UR FAVORITE SONG im looking for new music :]

first of all, thank you for the huge compliment!!! you should also know you are saying this to someone who spent 15 minutes listening to the spider man game pizza theme in the car yesterday so. Yeah!!!

All that sillyness aside, I listen to way too much music (my usual playlist is +1,300 songs) of way too many different genres and i am happy to share them with anyone and everyone!! Gonna try and limit this to 10~ish songs for now, since otherwise I will end up with a list 100 songs long lol. Also I am a rare Apple Music user so I'll try and link all the songs to youtube so that they're easier to listen to!!! also bc Spotify confounds me lol OK there was WAY more text than i thought so MUSIC RECS UNDER THA CUT

MOSSY'S COOL MUSIC RECS

DRIVING MY LOVE - Anri GOSH her entire TIMELY!! album is amazing, but this is the song that's been sticking in my mind the most lately. Citypop is a very fun genre of music that came about in Japan in the 70's, and Anri had (to me) some of the most fun songs in the genre :>

New River and Soap - The Oh Hellos OH BOY OH BOY THE OH HELLOS!!! I LOVE this band!!!!! If you were on art social media a couple years ago you probably have heard Soldier, Poet, King, which is by and large their most popular song. New River is one of my go-to songs when I am going through it. Absolutely love the imagery of the song, allowing new and difficult experiences carve new landscape through yourself. Soap, it is important to note, is the culmination of their four-part EP series Four Winds, and is kind of the resolution to that whole series of songs. It's really interesting and worth looking into! I must note that this is a Christian band in case you find that uncomfortable, but I would still recommend checking them out even if you do- the Four Winds EPS focus specifically on their struggles with God amidst the uh. Bad US Political Climate and all that. Most of their music on the topic is pointed and metaphorical (see: Passerine) and so that knowledge isn't super necessary to enjoy the music, I just think it's neat :] And not every song necessarily touches on the subject- these two specifically don't! Also I GOT TICKETS TO SEE THEM THIS YEAR LETS GOOOOO sorry this section is so long i just really like this band

No More What Ifs - Persona 5 Royal, covered by the 8 Bit Big Band Ok back on track lol. This song is absolutely my favorite from the game, but MAN THIS COVER. The 8BBB is one of the best video game cover bands out there imo, and they COMPLETELY outdid themselves with this one. They actually added a few extra lyrics to the song to better round out the overarching theme of both it and the game and MAN. i will never listen to another version again. The album this will be a part of isn't out yet sadly, but I would 100% recommend checking out their other stuff!

Bones in the Ocean (2023 vers.) - Longest Johns There's a lot to be said about this one but it's best if you just listen to it tbh. I will say that this is a new recording of one of the band's first original shanties, and that it includes all former and current members. Would highly recommend all the other songs on this album too, aside from this song it's a very fun listen! But ourgh this song,,,, if i had time I'd make a dozen animatics for it

エビチャーハン! (You’re Telling Me A SHRIMP Fried This Rice?!) - JamieP best miku song no quastion

'Tis Autumn - Nat "King" Cole Trio There's only one song to kick off the fall season and it's absolutely this one! Also The Autumn Leaves, which Nat King actually sung in Japanese once which is cool. He was an incredible musician and all of his songs are great, but Tis Autumn is probably my favorite :>

Catch You Catch Me (Card Captor Sakura OP) - Gumi Do you want to get ready in the morning feeling like a magical girl? Boy howdy do I have a song for YOU! Seriously the amount of people I've shown this song to under that premise who have come to me the next day saying that it worked is a lot lol. Card Captor Sakura has been a big comfort show for me and MAN the music is *chefs kiss*, especially the OPs!!! Linked the full song, but I would also recommend watching the opening itself :D

#41 - Dave Matthews Band "wow you like dave matthews lol thats such dad music" ok listen. I have been listening to DMB since before I was born. Saying I'm biased is probably an understatement here. But his songs are very good and I like them ok. Anyways #41 is a really stupid name for a song but I love the band in it, the weird lyrics, just the overall jazziness of it. If you wanna listen to more Dave stuff I would highly recommend the stuff from his solo concerts with Tim Reynolds- its just 2 guys jamming out on guitars, it's great. Stuff like One Sweet World, Still Water, Grey Street (This one's a tough listen for me but I love it). For the fun full band stuff I love So Much to Say, Ants Marching, just the older albums in general

Stay I Pray You - Anastasia (The Musical) I am allowing myself ONE (1) musical song. My sister is a huge musical fan and an even bigger Russian History nerd and an even BIGGER Bolshevik Revolution nerd so I watched Anastasia with her a lot growing up. Eventually they made the musical and it's actually tied for my favorite (Phantom is pretty hard to beat)! I got to see it tour and MAN. all the music is amazing, but this to me is the standout song- largely because this song, despite not being in the movie, actually was kinda in the movie- there's this bit in In the Dark of the Night that they took and made into a completely different song which is a fun nod to the movie!!

Music to Soothe The Savage Snake Plant - Mort Garson Got overwhelmed by my options at this point so I'm defaulting to one of my favorites! I believe another song off this album got popular recently, but I will forever know this one from it being used in the final scene in The Adventure Zone, my first and favorite DnD podcast! Honestly I could recommend a dozen songs from the podcast, but this one in particular always sticks out to me. While I'm here you should also go listen to The Adventure Zone, it's a great podcast, especially their first story (Balance, just start at the bottom lol).

wow that. was a lot more than I meant to write lol. Special shoutout to Virtual Insanity, the bane of my existence and my personal hell. It was my #1 most listened to song last year coming to a total of *checks replay* 239 plays, over 50% of which occurred within the span of a week. another shoutout to The Housebuilding Song. i swear i listen to you once a year how are you always in my top 25

[evilcokito]

COCO WHATEVER YOU WROTE ABOUT SERIAL KILLER CATER JUST KNOW IM STILL GOING INSANE THANKS-

it’s so funny…. An angel and a killer…. We really going for the opposites here my dude

BUT COCO OK YOU THINK YOU’RE BIG SNUGGLING UP IN ANGEL SAM’S WINGS AS YOU TYPE THIS???

Man’s probably going to kill whoever slightly inconvenienced you in front of your face, but he’s going to gently turn you around, pull you into his chest. Shielding you from the blood splatter with his snowy white wings, unfolding them only when the corpse has been splattered into a stain on the pavement. Why the horrified look, darling?

Feathered wings dripping with blood, locking you deeper into a cage of your own making.

You’ll rue the day you accepted him as your own. But it’s too late. Sam isn’t a good guard dog, but he’s gotten his fangs into you.

You’re his favourite mortal, after all.

He loves you so very much.

Everything this lovely angel does is for you. Or that’s what he claims. For all the tender touches he lavishes you with, you fear that one day you’ll feel the burning touch of his halo around your neck.

A mark of ownership, once Sam decides that he doesn’t want to be known as your guardian angel anymore. He’ll much rather have you known as his, yeah?

CERULEAN I'M TRYING TO GET THE DOVE OUT OF MY MIND AND YOU COME TO ME WITH THAT-

A SURPRISE ATTACK??? WHAT IS THAT, WHY??? WHAT DID I DO???.....ok- if you are going to do it like that. Lets play. YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO BEG SAM TO BIND ME WITH HIS STUPID ANGEL HALO-

I AM VERY SORRY FOR THE CATER FANS WHO WILL BE COLLATERAL DAMAGE OF THIS- YOU HAVE TO PAY THE PRICE OF KISSING A DOUBLE... or four... FACES! THEIR LIPS ARE GOING TO DRY FROM KISSING SO MANY FACES, HYDRATE THEM WITH LIP BALM- IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT YOUR HUSBAND SMELLS LIKE acid yandere eau du parfum- PAY THE PRICE.

"nuu Cay-Cay is not that bad" crack-crack-crack- this is the sound of his heart breaking crack-crack. He's good on the inside... I know... BUT I CARE VERY LITTLE.

[fefairys]

hussie's author notes make me burst out laughing way too often

[hazeism]

hi!! wanted to ask if you have any favorite books, either that you've read recently or of all time. Your prose is insane and I need to broaden my own vocabulary so if you have any book recs, fiction or nonfiction, I'd love to know :')

Hii :D ! ahaha, what a well-timed question; lately I've become the kind of guy who just really wants to talk about what people are reading, or are planning to read, and responding in kind, so thanks for giving me an opportunity to indulge that, haha. What a wicked invention the printing press was!!! (Also--thank you!! I'm glad my prose is to your taste. I'm happy !💕)

If you don't mind, I'll put a cut on this right away, because I know I'm very talkative, but let me put a TLDR above for all the novels/authors I mention here. Disclaimer also that I am kind of a dunce (I think you know this) so I like silly shit a lot of times . please be nice to me adfhbjkdg. :D

(No nonfiction also because I'm a frivolous and unworldly little sprite or something but if you want straight philosophy [which counts] come back and I'll do my Top Ten Epic Platonic Dialogues Compilation for you .)

TLDR: Read any UKLG you get your hands on, Cain by Jose Saramago, or any Saramago (though maybe not Skylight, which is not a good introduction to Saramago), very much enjoyed Sartre's The Age of Reason recently, Shadow & Claw or The Fifth Head of Cerberus by Gene Wolfe. If you feel like it, come off anon and tell me what you like, so I can give more tailored recommendations!!

Now if you're asking for favorites, like just the particular and arbitrary objects of my partiality, that stir my stupid little heart, the true answer is probably UKLG's The Farthest Shore, just because it is very special to me. I can't, of course, in good conscience, recommend the third novel of a six-novel fantasy series to someone (but of course read Le Guin, everyone should be reading Le Guin, it's dire for universal soteriology that we all read Le Guin; You'll probably get told to start with Left Hand of Darkness, and that's pretty solid. I liked The Lathe of Heaven as well. And if you read any Le Guin it doesn't hurt to pick up a copy of the Tao. I love the Tao man.)

Some friendlier recommendations, though:

José Saramago is someone I really consider peerless; There's no way to pick up a Saramago and not know who's written it. Cain is a bit drier, a bit more abrasive (almost accusatory, in that particular way you'll find in a Buddhist parable) and bleak than some other Saramagos, but it's one I like (perhaps for the trite reason that I like bucolic atmospheres and Classical antiquity as a setting) so it's the one I'll put forward.

Uhh, I've also been enjoying Sartre's Roads to Freedom lately, starting with The Age Of Reason. I'm partway through the second novel and umm... despite all the other things you could say about Sartre, lmfao, let it not be said that he is not a serious literary force. Serious is maybe the only word for it. Dire, too. I keep a commonplace book, so usually I take excerpts, but this was the first time in memory that I felt compelled to commit entire pages, ahah (I just took pictures though, fuck copying all that).

If you're itching for esoteric language, Shadow of the Torturer (as usually collected with Claw of the Conciliator in a single omnibus edition titled Shadow & Claw; the first of the give-or-take five volume Urth series) by Gene Wolfe will scratch you BLOODY. If you're particularly fussy, you might be irritated by your compulsion to Google, but I find it really makes the experience when you type in a word and the only results are "what the fuck did Gene Wolfe mean by this?" hahaha; Honestly, though, those kinds of complaints are borne from a lack of immersion, but you'll notice pretty quickly that the verbiage is a pretty crucial vehicle OF the immersion.

It may or may not become a commitment, though, if you like Urth enough to want to read through, so if you want Wolfe without the strings--though less of the exciting vocabulary, which is pretty necessarily constrained to Urth--I'd really highly recommend The Fifth Head of Cerberus (the novella OR the novel, I mean the former is volumized in the latter so just start it and if you feel like stopping then stop, haha). Mr. Terminal E is incredible but I scrape enough time out of my daily life to gush about his crazy literary density so I won't do it again here (you should ask my coworker, lmfao, who one time went "stop, hold on, hold on." because my face started getting really red while I was explaining to him some Wolfean gesture). If you read any Wolfe, and I mean ANY Wolfe, because his permatypes and his manipulations of them are endlessly interesting, feel free to come back and chat with me over it!!!

I guess I have to disclaim that my habit is mostly to pick through an author's corpus over a course of, usually, a couple years, and then sometimes I'll read things that will inform my understanding of the genre conventions or currents that the author is writing in (been enjoying Golden Age sci-fi recently)--it's not really as deliberate of a process as it sounds, but I think if you were to map my habits, that's the landscape of it. This means, though, that my reading is actually pretty narrow in scope, and I am not very well read or very knowledgeable in general (who is, in this economy) but it does mean that of the authors I do like, I can probably find the novel that'll work best for your taste.

If you want to come off anon, or I guess just leave another message, haha, (or if someone else wants to, idgaf, we're all friends here at tumblr user hazeism) describing the things you like or look for in a novel I can probably give you a more relevant recommendation. I've been dosing people up a lot lately tbh, it's like a parlor trick I've been doing; I have a conversation with someone and afterwards they'll have a PDF with a relevant Asimov story in their messages, hahaha. I can't help myself sometimes.

Come back anyway, though, if you read anything I talked about, okay? I want to hear about it 🥺

And alsooo (turning to face the audience) if anyone ever wants to put recs in my inbox (or my dms : ) slow replies though sorry I'm a hermit) I'd be happy to take 'em down. Can't guarantee I'll read them in a timely manner, or that you'll ever find out if/when I do, but it's good for me to leave my comfort zone.

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[parkers-gal]

promise J.B.

summary: bucky is protective over reader, the new lab assistant and resident doctor at the compound

wc: 2k

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

a/n: no warnings (lmk if i missed anything). barely proof read. requests are open!

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

the first time he met you, he was expecting dr. cho’s usual lab assistant. it was meant to be a brief check in after his latest mission with sam, just a minor tweak to a piece of tech on his uniform. 

“hey, do you thin-” bucky strides in to dr. miller’s office, full tactical suit still on. he’d came straight from the quinjet, but glancing up from his arm holster he notices that dr. miller’s office is now replaced by your office. 

you look up from your lab report, a pile of open wires laying beside it as you twiddle with the machinery. “oh, i’m sorry. i think dr. banner forgot to notify you: dr. miller transferred to shield co-op missions. i’m his replacement.” you wipe the sweat from your hand onto your white lab coat and stand from your chair. “i’m y/n.”

bucky reads the nametag on your labcoat, dr. l/n. “oh.” his eyes move from the tag to your eyes. “sorry.” 

your smile immediately shifts whatever emotions he just had about the situation. your expression is soft and for a moment, bucky thinks you’re too innocent to be working in a business surrounded by violence. it provokes something deep in his stomach, something he can’t quite place.

“i’d be happy to assist you with whatever you need, though!” you smile again, this one giving bucky an even warmer feeling through his chest. “i already read all of dr. miller’s previous lab reports, and i’m just as good with needles as i am with technology.” you shift your head towards the mutilated hardware on your desk, then smile back at bucky.

he almost chuckles. almost. instead, he adorns a smirk, so subtle you might not have caught it had you not been staring at him, waiting for a reply. hesitantly, he steps forward, holding his arm out to show you what he needs changed.

that was four months ago. now, bucky looks for any excuse to head to your office, whether it be a slightly twisted wrist, a broken button on his suit, or even a question about a new weapon for his next mission. 

“what can i do for you today, james?” your back is turned to him. you’re busy fiddling with a microscope, but bucky can hear the smile on your face.

“bucky,” he corrects. “are you going to tony’s gala this saturday?”

you stop squinting and stand upright, turning to face him. you have a quizzical look on your face. “do doctors usually go to those sorts of things?”

bucky shrugs. “i think dr. cho has before.”

you hum, turning back to the microscope. “well, i do need to catch up with natasha…” you turn the knob for the lens. “is that why you came to see me?”

he pauses. you hear his feet shuffling and smile to yourself. “i just wanted to ask about… my… belt.”

you suppress a laugh and face him again “really?” you grin. “your belt?”

he hums, a tint spreading on his cheeks. 

“well, i haven’t had lunch yet, if you would like to get something for us, we can talk about your belt during my break.”

his head perks up at that. “okay, i’ll be back in twenty.”

he’s out of the room so quick and it makes you smile again. as you turn back to the microscope, somebody else enters.

“back alread- oh.” 

john walker. 

you have never been particularly fond of him, especially after a heated argument he had with sam and steve a couple months back. he works for shield, but sometimes they send him to the avenger’s compound to retrieve specific types of upgrades or get intel about an overlapping mission. 

“aw, don’t seem too disappointed, sweets.” he smiles, the image disgusting you. 

you walk away from the microscope towards a centrifuge sitting on the opposite counter. 

“what can i help you with?”

“what, i come all this way and i can’t just talk to you?”

you bite your lip. “i’m afraid i don’t understand.”

he laughs. “i want to get to know you.”

“like right now?”

“right now… over dinner…” he smiles again, the same disgusting one. “whichever you prefer.”

unsure on how to reply, you turn back to the machine. “i don’t know if that’s appropriate.”

“but it’s okay if you do it with bucky?”

“what about me?” bucky steps through the door with a bag of food in one hand. once noticing john, his jaw clicks. “what are you doing here?”

“just wanted to talk to the lady, that’s all.” he shrugs his shoulders. “is that against the law?”

“it is if she doesn’t want that.”

your gaze shifts to bucky. his blue eyes are piercing, and his gaze is colder than any he’s ever given you. you sense the tension growing the longer he stares at john. 

john interrupts the silence. “what’s the issue, man?” he steps towards bucky. it’s a small step, but it has bucky rigid. “it’s not like she’s taken. she’s free game.”

bucky scoffs. “if you speak about women like they’re prizes to win then you don’t deserve to speak to them.”

your heart flutters. after all he’s been through, bucky still chooses to be an amazing guy. your admiration for him only grows. 

“nobody said anything about that.” john raises his hands in surrender. “don’t get jealous… it’s not like she’s yours…”

his jaw clenches again. you can see his hands are balled into fists at his side. faintly, you hear the whirring of the metal plates in his arm. 

“i think you should leave.”

bucky steps aside, clearing a space for john to walk out the door. reluctantly, he leaves, but not before sparing you another glance and whispering a “call me.”

when he’s finally left the room, you exhale, glancing back to bucky and his tense shoulders. 

“thank you… for that.”

he blinks. his eyes finally find you and he blinks away the tension. 

“of course. you shouldn’t have to put up with that, especially in your place of work.”

you nod and a shy smile takes over your face. you move a strand of hair to behind your ear and turn back to the machine so bucky doesn’t notice your face. he does anyway.

“so, lunch?”

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

saturday evening rolls around and, after having double checked with tony and natasha about the validity of your invitation, you get dressed for the gala. the dress fits your form and drapes down to just below your knees. you pair it with a simple pair of heels and your favorite necklace. 

you hope bucky likes it.

stop. that’s inappropriate. we’re work colleagues. he would’ve helped out any girl that needed it, he-

oh fuck.

you notice him immediately. he’s sat at the bar talking to steve, legs draped off the bar seat, thighs thick even in his dress pants. his long hair is neatly swept back, and the glass of bourbon in his metal hand clinks from the ice. 

natasha spots you first. she was just by the entrance, and she immediately greets you.

“how are you?”

you smile at her, happy to be with her after having not had the chance lately. “good, busy in the lab as always.”

she chuckles understandingly. “seems like tony has everyone working overtime.”

she goes on about one thing or another, but at some point you tune her out because bucky has finally noticed you. you can tell he’s tuned steve out too. 

he can’t stop staring. granted, he always stares at everyone, but the way he looks at you differs from that so much. it has your knees weak and you can feel your heart pound a little harder in your chest. his tongue darts out to wet his lips and the faintest smirk appears on his face.

steve turns around to see what his best friend is staring at. noticing you, he leans his head back at the sudden enlightenment and faces bucky. he speaks lowly, “why don’t you ask her out?”

bucky jerks his head towards steve. “what?” he’s defensive at having just been caught. “why would i do that?”

steve rolls his eyes. “because visiting her office everyday is totally normal…” his tone is laced with sarcasm.

you’ve been spending too much time with sam.

“shut up.”

“so you don’t like her, then?”

“i-” bucky huffs. “i never said that.”

“well, i’d act fast.”

his brows furrow. “Why?”

steve points towards you and bucky’s gaze shifts from his best friend to you. there, john walker attempts to offer you a drink, and bucky can tell even from his distant spot at the bar that you’re smiling to be polite.

he doesn’t reply to steve, abandoning his drink and his friend at the bar as he makes his way over to you. 

“can i help you?”

john has to turn to look at bucky, his smile dropping. you can tell he’s aggravated by the presence of the former winter soldier.

“no, i think we’re good.” he doesn’t even attempt to make his smile look genuine.

“i don’t think we are.” bucky steps closer to you. his head dips down, lips close to your ear as he speaks in a low whisper. “you okay, peaches?”

you smile, giddy at the sudden pet name. you nod gently, grateful for bucky’s care, and try not to bite your lip from the interaction. 

“why don’t you go somewhere else?” bucky’s gentle tone is replaced with a stoic one, his annoyance for john returning.

“why can’t i just talk to the girl?” he looks at you expecting your defense.

bucky’s left hand wraps around your waist. his fingers rub your side softly, gracing your hip. your stomach flips in a fit of butterflies. the sudden act of affection has your knees buckling. you want him to pull you closer in case you collapse.

“she’s not interested.” 

john’s eyes widen slightly and he backs away, muttering something under his breath. you feel bucky’s metal fingers squeeze your side slightly. he turns to look at you. 

“i’m sorry about him.”

you can barely hold eye contact. “it’s not your fault.” a sudden boost in courage has you pulling your hand up to smooth out the lapel of his suit. “besides, you’re my hero.”

his eyes flicker with appreciation at having been called that. “yeah?”

you hum in agreement. his other hand reaches towards your face, tracing the hair that sits behind your ear, pinned up in the updo you’ve done for the gala. another stomach flip.

“in that case, does your hero get any reward?” he has a playful smirk, his tone light.

“i suppose…” you smile back. “got anything in mind?”

he pulls you until you're facing him directly. his other hand sits at your waist, too. now you can’t look away, forced to look into his eyes as he undresses you with them. he hums as if the answer sits on his tongue. his metal hand pulls you forward, forcing you to take a step closer to him. his flesh hand moves from your waist to your cheek, nose brushing against yours, delicate, like a dance. his breath fans against your face and your eyelids flutter shut. you exhale, a bundle of nerves leaving too.

his lips ghost against yours, waiting to see if you’d pull back or say you’re crossing a line. you don’t dare stop him. you feel his lips curve slightly; he’s smirking against you. before it grows anymore, his lips connect with yours, warm and supple and tender. he kisses you like every second is a promise, like he wants the world to know you’ll never be anyone else’s.

and now, you know it’s a promise he’ll never break. 

[em-ontv]

Need some space — d.w.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: Dean could never keep his hands off of you, latching onto you whenever he could

Content: fluff, established relationship, clingy/touch-starved Dean, not proofread, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: 912

Dean was a lot of things—sharp-tongued, reckless at times, stupidly brave—but you hadn't expected "clingy boyfriend" to be added to the list.

Yet somehow, here you were, flipping through dusty books with his head in your lap, eyes half-closed like an oversized housecat. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, clearly uninterested in the research you were trying to get through.

"Dean," you sighed, nudging the book away from where it almost brushed against his face. "How am I supposed to read with your giant head in the way?"

"Don't mind me, sweetheart." he mumbled, eyes closing and voice bordering a purr. "You're doing great. Keep it up."

You gave his forehead a flick, earning a dramatic groan. He swatted half-heartedly at your hand but refused to move an inch. Instead, he stretched his legs out further, making himself even more comfortable.

"Seriously? You're not even gonna pretend to help?" you glared at him. "You know, I'd really appreciate it if you started flipping through some books too."

"Helping," he said lazily, cracking one eye open and giving you a smirk. "Emotional support."

Without waiting any further, he reached up, took your hand, and pressed it to his head. Your fingers tangled in his hair instinctively, and he melted under your touch like butter on a hot pan.

When you stopped and started to pull your hand back so you could flip a page of the book, he let out a pathetic whine, pushing your hand back against his head, like he’d die before letting you go.

"You're such a baby. I have to get this done before Sam comes back." you muttered, squishing his face between your fingers, making him pout.

"Cut it out," he grumbled, frowning up at you, though the way his frown dissolved when you laughed said otherwise.

"If you're not gonna help, you're not gonna complain either." you said, and he retaliated by kissing your wrist, peppering soft, warm kisses all the way up your arm.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. Dean's touchy-feely tendencies had only escalated since you started dating. Take the case last week, for example.

You'd been interviewing a witness at a diner, trying to keep your questions subtle and professional. Dean, however, had other ideas.

"So, you're saying the lights flickered just before you heard the noise?" you asked the frazzled waitress.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, glancing nervously between you and Dean.

Before you could respond, his hand found its way to the small of your back. Not a casual graze either—nope—it was a slow, deliberate caress, his fingers curling just enough to make his presence known. You froze, shooting him a warning glance, trying to shrug him off, but he was already leaning in closer, the picture of shamelessness.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. "You're doing amazing. Keep it up."

"Dean," you hissed through a forced smile. "Go sit down."

"What? I'm just keeping an eye on you," he replied, all wide-eyed innocence, grinning like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The poor waitress looked like she wanted to crawl into the freezer.

And then there was that time in the library when you'd been deep into research, scanning page after page. Dean had sauntered in, plopped down next to you, and proceeded to rest his chin on your shoulder while humming AC/DC under his breath.

"Keep reading, sweetheart. I’m comfy." he murmured when you tried to shoo him off, knowing he'd just distract you. His arm snaked around your waist, and before you could protest, he was already pressing slow, feather-light kisses along your jaw.

Or the night you snuck into the kitchen for some quiet time with a PB&J. Five minutes later, Dean appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked half-asleep, his brows pinched in sleepy frustration.

"What are you doing?" you asked, mid-bite of a PB&J.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, padding over to you with a frown. "Why'd you leave?"

"Dean, I was gone for five minutes."

He made a noise of dissatisfaction, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling lazily into the crook of your neck. "Come back to bed with me." he muttered, his voice soft and heavy with sleep.

It was ridiculous. The same tough-as-nails hunter who'd taken on demons, monsters, and literal death couldn't go five minutes without missing you. But as much as you teased him for it, it brought a certain warmth to your heart.

Because for all his bravado, Dean was just a guy who'd spent most of his life terrified of losing the people he cared about, loved. His over-the-top clinginess? It was his way of making up for lost time.

"Alright, fine," you said, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich and dusting your hands off.

He grinned—smug at first, but it quickly melted into something far softer. He let out a content hum, nuzzling closer.

"Right now, please." he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

"Alright, just don't fall asleep on me in the middle of the kitchen." you said, rubbing his arm, leading him back to the comfort of your shared bed.

Under the covers, Dean curled up against you, his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried in your neck. His breath was gentle and even, warm against your skin. Just before sleep took him, he murmured faintly, "Love you, sweetheart."

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: the request didn’t ask for the backstory but here i am, giving you one anyway. part two with the actual request should be done in a couple days :)

summary: based on this request; firefighter!nat

warnings: alcohol, cheating

word count: 8.2k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Part 1: Death of a Marriage

Natasha's spent her entire life putting out fires. When she was a kid and angled the magnifying glass wrong. When she was a teenager and tried to make scrambled eggs. When she became a firefighter, carrying hoses and using fire extinguishers. The only fire she didn't manage to put out was the one burning down her marriage. Even worse — she was the one who struck the match.

Your daughter Valerie is four when it begins. Heat, fuel and oxygen come together. It's just little sparks, nothing more and nothing less; but it's enough to start something neither of you can put out.

It's an early night for you and your daughter. Valerie has been cranky all day due to a missed nap and a lingering fever, so you quickly dip her into a bubble bath before getting her into bed.

Cheeks warm and arms clutching her stuffed rabbit, she stares at the ceiling with the little glow in the dark-stars. Her toes wiggle under the blanket, and you smooth out her comforter.

"I want mama", she declares.

"Mama's at work, baby", you reply, bringing your hand up to her face. You brush unruly red locks behind her ear. "You'll see her at breakfast. She promised, remember?"

"No", she mumbles. "Want mama now."

You exhale, fingers brushing against her cheek in a soothing motion. This isn't uncommon — Natasha's shifts are long. But she used to be home more often, especially in the evenings.

She used to swoop your daughter up from the couch and into her arms, tickle her and carry her up the stairs. All you'd hear were belly laughs and quiet wheezing. It's been a while since that happened.

"I'm sorry", you reply. You grab her favorite fairytale book and open it, hoping it'd distract her. "Want to see what The Three Little Pigs are doing?"

Valerie shakes her head and turns around, arms crossed stubbornly. You frown and start reading anyway, but she stays quiet. No sign of interaction whatsoever — she's not looking at the pictures, not reacting to any of the scenes.

Finally, you close the book. You haven't even gotten halfway through.

"Honey?"

Valerie huffs, hugging her stuffed rabbit tighter. Her back stays turned to you, and you adjust her pajamas so they cover her lower back as well. You run your fingers through her red hair. Your hair texture, but the exact shade Natasha has.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You know mama's doing something really important, right?"

"No", she mumbles. "It's stupid."

That does slice you open a little. You know she doesn't mean it — she's four, for god's sake. Last week, she threatened to not invite you to her birthday party. But she's a little human with big emotions, and in this moment, those emotions are directed at the profession her mother chose to pursue.

You understand her. You've been angry at it as well. Not often, and not like this, but it's happened. It's hard to be understanding when you're sleep-deprived and rocking a toddler who caught the flu.

"Hey", you say, giving your failed attempt to distract her one last try, "what cartoon do you want to watch with mama tomorrow? I'll let you have breakfast on the couch."

First, she pauses. Then, her head turns and she gives you a hopeful look. "On the couch?"

"Yeah. You can watch whatever you want. Curious George, Franklin, Winnie...your choice, bub."

Valerie sits up and clumsily wipes her hair away from her face. "With mama?"

"With mama", you confirm. You tap her nose. "Don't be mad at her. She's saving people, you know. Putting out fires. You remember Fireman Sam?"

She nods. It's the first cartoon Natasha introduced her to. The why is obvious, but honestly? You thought it was endearing. Valerie was barely old enough to sit at that point, but your wife — fresh from her shift, complete with turnout pants and soot smudged on her hands — slid a dvd into the dvd player and watched two full episodes with her.

You miss those days. Back when Valerie was still a baby, and your marriage still felt new and exciting. When the cracks hadn't appeared yet, when love was enough to keep everything together.

Valerie, now content with the prospect of eating her favorite cereal on the couch tomorrow, curls into the blankets again.

"Can you read the pig story?"

"Of course, baby."

Once she's asleep, you tiptoe out of her room and leave the door ajar. You get started on the things you weren't able to do during the day. You do the dishes, wipe the table, fold the clean laundry. When you're done you turn on the tv, blankly stare at the screen for a moment, then sigh and turn it off again.

It's quiet in your bedroom. The bedsheets have little indents in them. While you were getting dressed this morning, Valerie had jumped onto the bed and hopped around until you were ready to get her to preschool.

You don't bother getting undressed. You had six clients come over for therapy sessions — which isn't a lot, per se, but when combined with having to take care of a very lively toddler afterwards, it easily becomes too much.

The pillowcases smell like Natasha's shampoo. Warm, woodsy, making you press your face into it. You fall asleep quickly, buried between the sheets and sprawled out on the bed. When she returns, it's 3am. You don't notice.

She stands in the doorway for a moment, unmoving and not making a sound. She's still in her work clothes, which means turnout pants and a black tank top. Her arms are smudged, her hair in a low bun. She watches your back move with every in- and exhale, then she quietly makes her way to the closet and starts to undress.

You stir at the sound of her boot toppling over. She glances at you. She doesn't want you to wake up. She knows you've got your hands full with Valerie and work, and you need your rest. But you stay asleep, arms beneath the pillow and legs sprawled out.

Only in boxers and a sports bra, Natasha joins you. She puts her head on the pillow and tries to make out your features in the darkness. Her hand reaches out, fingers grazing your side, then she pulls back. You let out a tired hum.

"Home safe?", you mumble, half-asleep.

"Yeah." She brushes her fingers against your shoulder. "You're here."

"Always am."

"I know. It's good."

"Did you shower?"

Natasha rolls onto her back. She smells like sweat and smoke. "You can tell, huh."

You yawn and sit up, rubbing your eyes. It's been almost seven years since you got married. Figuring out whether she's taken a shower after work isn't hard, and truthfully, it never was. The smell is distinct, strong, but not that unpleasant anymore.

"You smell like you brought the entire station home." You tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not sleeping under the covers like that."

"Good god, Y/N."

"I changed the sheets two days ago!"

Natasha sighs, then gets up. You can tell she's exhausted. No wonder. She's told you about her typical day at work before, and just listening to it tired you out. Her muscles must be killing her after a long shift like this one.

You watch her disappear into the en-suite bathroom. Part of her is tempted to ask whether you want to join, but not much has been happening on that front for a while now, and she's not in the mood to get turned down. The door falls shut, and seconds later, you hear the water run.

You lay back down, eyes on the ceiling, and silently wish you'd installed those glow in the dark-stars Valerie has in your room as well. Maybe they'd be able to distract you.

. . .

"Mama, look!"

Valerie's standing atop the swing set your wife built two years ago. It's complete with a little treehouse, a climbing wall and a slide, and your daughter spends almost every day playing with it. Natasha's standing by the sandpit, arms crossed and a backwards cap on her head.

"You wanna slide down, bub?"

She nods, red curls flying, and jumps onto the slide. She slides down so fast that she ends up in the rubber mulch. "Woah!"

"Yeah, that was fast."

You poke your head out of the window, frowning. This is what you get for marrying a firefighter — the reckless genes get passed down to your children.

"A bit more careful next time", you call.

"Sorry, mommy!"

Natasha grabs Valerie's hands and lifts her off the ground. The girl shrieks and laughs, legs kicking. You smile faintly.

It's a peaceful evening. It's Sunday, the sun has started to go down, the sky is lit up in all shades of pink and blue. Someone's barbecuing. You watch your wife and daughter as they sit in the sandpit together.

"Are you guys hungry? Dinner's almost ready."

"Not now", Valerie says, grabbing a bucket. "I'm making a castle, mommy!"

"In this economy?", Natasha asks, grinning. She starts scooping sand into the bucket. "Anything for you, princess."

You smile to yourself and turn around again. The house smells like the pizza that's baking in the oven, music is playing on the radio, the book you ordered is actually interesting and worth spending your free time on for once. It's hard to believe that things aren't as perfect as they seem.

You go into the kitchen and get a few plates. You hear your daughter giggle outside, actual belly laughs that mostly Natasha manages to coax out of her. They join you in the kitchen a few minutes later, still smiling and talking. Sand is clinging to hair and skin, and you're pretty sure one of them smells like spilled apple juice.

Valerie climbs onto the counter to help you tear lettuce into smaller pieces. Natasha comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist in a way that almost seems foreign now. Her lips brush against your shoulder.

"What's mommy making for dinner?"

"I made pizza." You reach out to turn on the water for Valerie so she can wash her sand-caked hands. "There you go, honey. Now you can help."

"Smells good", Natasha mumbles. Her nose nudges your neck. "You smell good, too."

"Ew", Valerie says, tossing a piece of lettuce at you. Natasha laughs quietly.

"What, I can't be nice to my wife?"

The girl shakes her head 'no'. She turns, one foot dangling off the counter, and reaches into the bowl to grab another handful of lettuce. You hum and put out a bowl that she can put the smaller pieces into.

Hands roam your sides, your stomach, slip under the fabric of your shirt. Something in you twists with longing. This is exactly what it used to feel like. Warm, safe, normal. Now, it's just something you aren't used to anymore.

Natasha puts her chin on your shoulder to look at you. You give her a glance, a brief smile, and she squeezes your waist. She doesn't say anything — words have always been your strength in this household. You get paid to talk, after all. What she does instead is build stuff and use her hands, which can be useful, but not always appropriate.

"Dinner?", you ask, still looking at her.

"Kid's hungry."

"And you?"

She presses a quick kiss to your jaw. Her hand squeezes your tummy. "Dumb question. I always am."

You want to lean into her embrace. Instead, you turn to take the pizza out of the oven. Natasha stands there, rejected and silent, then scoops up Valerie and carries her to the dinner table.

Dinner is quiet, awkward. Out of the three of you, Valerie talks the most. She's a toddler, which means that she'll talk about everything and anything. Her current hyperfixation? Space.

"You can be an astronaut, mama", she says, peeling the peppers off her pizza. "It's so cool!"

"I already have a job, bub."

"But astronauts are cool!"

"No doubt", Natasha says, her voice shifting into a mumble when her phone buzzes. She takes a look at the screen and flips over her phone.

You pick at your salad, watching her. She bites into the pizza crust she abandoned earlier. You clear your throat. "Who was that?"

"Colleague", she mutters, reaching for her napkin and wiping her mouth.

"Which one?"

There's nothing going on between her and that woman. She's sworn that multiple times, and in a way, she's telling the truth. Flirting isn't cheating, after all. It's innocent enough. She's still not going to say her name out loud, though. It'd just end in another fight.

"Just a colleague", she replies. She bites into another pizza slice. "Nothing important."

"No", you agree half-heartedly. Valerie jumps up from her chair and runs into the hallway. "Wash your hands!"

"Okay!"

You stare at the almost-finished pizza in front of you. It's gone silent now that your daughter isn't filling the awkward space between you now, so every sound you make feels painfully loud.

Natasha puts down her pizza slice and scrubs her hand down her face. When she got married to you, she had no idea what it'd entail. All she knew were failed marriages, like her parents'. To this day, they don't talk.

She didn't know what being married to you would be like, or how she was supposed to act as a wife. She didn't know what it'd feel like, either. She still doesn't really know. But she's certain that it shouldn't feel like this. Not when it used to be so different once.

"I'll clean up", she finally says, just to make the silence less loud. You look up. "Just...stay here. Relax a bit."

"Sure", you mumble. Natasha gets up, balancing three plates and a salad bowl. She disappears into the kitchen. You lean forward, elbows on the table and your head in your hands.

They're still just sparks. They're small, minor, easy to extinguish. Somehow, despite all your knowledge and experience, you can't remember how to do it.

. . .

Fights become more frequent. They're not bad fights — just little arguments that you can ignore. Disagreements, squabbles, slowly but surely increasing the heat and feeding the growing flames.

Neither of you are sure how they start. It's not like the love isn't there, but it's not enough to quench the fire.

It's the small things that add fuel. Natasha not immediately responding to a text, you holding onto her mistakes and throwing them into conversations like pebbles. Her disappearing into the garage for hours, you comparing her to clients and subtly psychoanalyzing her.

(Natasha will probably never get over your anger-fueled remark that 'Freud would have a field day with her.')

Then again, there are moments where you're able to ignore the cracks. Where the love, buried beneath dishes and responsibilities, comes back up and gasps for air. Where your hand slips into hers easily, where she pulls you aside during a family function just to make out with you like you're back to being in that honeymoon phase of dating.

One Saturday, you get up early to go to the annual summer block party of Natasha's fire station. Knowing it'll be sunny day, you make both her and Valerie sit down after breakfast. Hands slick, you run them down your wife's arms to put sunscreen on them. She shifts and squirms.

"Hold still", you say.

"Yes, ma'am."

"God, even Vee doesn't move this much."

Natasha rolls her eyes. You smear some sunscreen on her nose. Valerie sees that and starts laughing so hard she almost falls off the couch. You chuckle along with her.

"Teaming up against me, I see", she mutters, wiping her nose.

"That's what you get for your attitude", you hum, rubbing some sunscreen into her cheeks and neck. When you're done, you pause. Your hands rest on her jaw, and you're standing between her legs.

Not too long ago, you would've leaned in and kissed her. It used to be the easiest thing in the world. Now, you're not sure — you feel like you should kiss her, but you don't know if you can.

Natasha swallows. She reaches up and adjusts your dress, subtly running her fingers over the soft fabric.

"You look good."

"Yeah?"

"Beautiful. You look beautiful."

"You do!", Valerie adds, getting up to grab her sandals. "I want ice cream. Can I?"

You smile faintly, still staring at the woman in front of you. There may be cracks in what was once a stable marriage, but that doesn't erase the past. It's all still there, floating between and surrounding you like air — invisible, silent, but always there.

She gets up and suddenly, the decision is taken from you. She smells like sunscreen and cologne, lips warm and familiar despite everything. You cup her face and press closer, mouth moving against hers.

Hands trail down your arms, to your waist. She tugs you closer. You wrap your arms around her. Things haven't gone further in weeks. Usually, it ends after a kiss. Now that it could go further, though, it doesn't. Because a little girl with an orange mini pop in her hands decides it's the perfect moment to skid back into the living room.

You pull away immediately, wiping your mouth to remove smudged lipstick. Natasha stands there, aroused and annoyed, rubbing at her own lips. She's tempted to send your daughter upstairs to play, but you have to leave in ten minutes.

"Ice cream?", you say in disbelief. It took you a few seconds to realize that Valerie managed to swipe a sweet treat from the freezer. It's melting already, dripping onto her white dress. "Hey, careful with that. Great, now you need a new dress."

"Didn't bring me one?", Natasha asks, sitting on the couch again. "Is that the last one, bub?“

"You're not having ice cream!", you call from the hallway.

"But-"

"We have to leave!"

Valerie nods. Her chin is pressed to her chest as she tries to peek at the stains the ice cream left. "Listen to mommy."

Natasha narrows her eyes at her. The way she said that sounds so like you that it's both infuriating and hilarious. "Careful, smartass."

You return, a fresh dress thrown over your arm. You crouch in front of Valerie and get her changed. She squirms, holding the half-eaten ice cream, and puts the cherry on top by dropping it. She stares at the ice cream, then starts crying.

"No, my ice cream!"

You sigh, tugging at the dress to make sure it sits right, and then get up. "I'll clean it up. Go to the car with mama, yes?"

"I want ice cream!"

"They'll have ice cream at the station", Natasha says. She scoops Valerie up despite her protests and carries her outside. Once the floor is spotless again, you follow them.

It's warm outside. The area surrounding the fire station is crowded and loud. It smells like hotdogs and cotton candy, kids shriek and laugh, adults try to keep up with conversations.

Your hand in Natasha's and Valerie on her hip, you make your way past smaller groups of people. Your daughter starts wiggling impatiently when she sees the bouncy castle they put up. Apparently, a house made of inflated PVC is enough to make her forget about the ice cream-disaster at home.

"Down, mama! I wanna play!"

You exchange a look with Natasha. She sighs and puts Valerie on her feet, but keeps a loose hold on her shoulder. "Shoes off and be careful, alright? Don't jump into anyone else."

One hurried nod later, your daughter storms off. You watch her join Clint's kids in the bouncy castle.

"You're sure this is a good idea?"

"She's a kid. Kids play. She'll be fine."

You cross your arms. You know she's right, but that doesn't mean you'll agree. The bouncy castle is cramped, so much so that a little boy ends up tumbling out. The ground is covered in soft rubber tiles, thankfully, but he starts crying anyway.

"Besides", she adds, "aren't you the one who's always going on and on about how kids need to be 'independent' and 'resilient'?"

"Don't use my own words against me", you retort, voice more biting. "I just don't want to drive to the ER on a Saturday."

"It's a bouncy castle."

"Romanoffs!"

As soon as you hear Clint's voice, you shut up and turn around. He approaches you, a beer in one hand and his shirt unbuttoned. He may seem oblivious on the outside, but he's done this before — broken up a fight that hasn't started yet.

It doesn't even faze you anymore. Natasha is just grateful she doesn't get sucked into another argument, while you're simmering silently. You've known Clint ever since you and Natasha started dating, and although he is the godfather of your daughter and basically part of your family, he still possesses the unique ability to piss you off. Not many people are able to do that.

He gives you both a happy nod and gestures at the surrounding area. "You see that? Half the town is here."

"It's nice", you agree. Natasha wraps her arm around your shoulders. "Where's Laura?"

"Oh, talking to Peggy. You guys want a drink?"

"Driving", Natasha mutters.

"Too hot. I'll end up nauseous again."

"Again?" She frowns and squeezes your shoulder. She's forgotten about your almost-fight already. "You okay?"

You wave your hand, trying to dismiss her worries. "It's only been a few days, Nat. I'm fine."

Clint scratches his ear. What you're describing sounds a lot like something his own wife went through a couple years ago, but it's probably better to let you figure it out yourself. No need to add more tension.

"Alright", he says. "Hotdogs, then? They're great this year, Cooper killed five of 'em."

You shake your head, but Natasha's nodding already. Defeated, you follow them to the barbecues they set up.

Valerie comes running about ten minutes later. She jumps into Natasha's lap, talks animatedly with her hands flailing, steals bites of her hotdogs. You watch her, and the sight makes you feel even more guilty.

It's not fair. This little girl has been the buffer for way too long now. She deserves more than a home that feels like it's constantly holding its breath. Yet, there's no sign of her noticing it — she's as happy and smiley as always.

You, on the other hand, are exhausted. You feel a gentle nudge and turn your head.

"You're sure nothing's wrong?"

"Tired", you say. "Must be the heat."

"You're tired a lot lately."

Valerie climbs into your lap now, but only to grab your lemonade and sip on it. You wrap one arm around her and smooth her hair down with the other.

"I told you I'm fine", you mutter, reaching for a napkin to wipe the ketchup off your daughter's mouth. "Probably work too much."

"Right." She exhales softly. Her fingers drum against the surface of the table. "It's just, you know..."

You're not stupid. You know exactly what she's insinuating. Once upon a time, you loved the idea — two kids, maybe three. Beds filled with giggles, fingers sticky with applesauce, feet dirty with mud. Cartoons on Sunday mornings and a living room full of toys and picture books.

Honestly, it scares you now. Your marriage problems are enough to deal with already. Adding a new baby to the mix could be the thing that makes the cracks grow and the glass shatter.

"I'm fine, okay?", you snap. Valerie gives you a confused look. "Just let it go."

Natasha stares at you, jaw clenched with worry. She silently notes to grab a pregnancy test on the way home.

. . .

Seeing a single line appear is both relieving and disappointing in the most confusing way.

You're both in the bathroom, barefoot and only in pajamas. You're crying, silently, and you're not even sure why. The thought terrified you, but now, you miss the glimmer of hope you felt at the thought of a little being growing inside you.

Bullshit. Like a baby could change anything. Putting that much pressure on an infant can't be healthy. Still, you glance at Natasha. She quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Well, there's that", she mumbles. "At least we don't have to buy a new stroller."

"No", you agree. You sold the stroller a couple months ago, when you were certain you were done with having kids. "No crib, either."

"Right." She clears her throat. "I, uh, should go and keep working on that bookshelf for Vee's room."

You reach for her wrist right as she gets up. This is so painfully familiar in the worst way. Whenever there's something that's not quite going right, she grabs her toolbox and starts assembling or fixing stuff. Your first big fight is how you wound up with a potting bench — neither of you garden, but you technically could.

Natasha looks at you, her eyes still glassy with tears. She swallows. "Hm?"

"I want a baby."

She stares at you, staggered. "What?"

You hesitate, still holding onto her. You're not even sure why you just blurted it out like that. Of course there are more sensitive ways to say it, but your brain isn't functioning how it should right now. Sitting in the small bathroom downstairs, with the peach scented soap and the turtle stickers on the tiles, the negative pregnancy test on the counter — you're overwhelmed.

Natasha isn't doing much better. She slowly sits back down on the edge of the tub. Your thumb rubs her skin absentmindedly.

"I want a baby. With you. I want to make this work."

"It is working", she protests weakly.

"Is it?"

Her eyes flicker between you and the floor. She pulls away only to grab your hand and squeeze it. You feel her wedding band against your palm. She can tell where this is going just by your voice. You're using your therapy-voice again, the one she's heard you use with patients when she accidentally walked into the hallway that leads to your practice.

She's not in the mood for this. She doesn't like talking it out, she doesn't like verbalizing what she's feeling. She's more of a 'show, don't tell'-person. If she's sorry, she's building you patio furniture instead of apologizing.

"A baby", she says, quickly edging past the topic you just brought up. But she sounds hopeful. "We said we're done."

"We don't have to be", you say, more softly now. "Maybe it's what we need. I mean, when we had Valerie..."

"I know." Natasha smiles, her fingers intertwining with yours. Those first few months of baby bliss were the sweetest she's ever had. It was quiet, warm, like you were trapped in a bubble in which nothing could go wrong.

In a way, it was true. Nothing did go wrong. Spit-up on your shirts and sleepless nights were your biggest problems. You didn't fight once. You were able to kiss issues and disagreements away. The knowledge that a tiny human relied on you was enough to make you keep your shit together.

You hum, glancing at her. She exhales and rubs your hand. You see her in that hospital room again, the night you gave birth — a little baby cradled to her chest, cheeks tear stained, mumbling 'it's okay' over and over again —, and everything clicks into place.

It may not fix your issues. It may not be some sort of magical cure. But you're desperate enough to convince yourself it's worth a try.

"I want to do it for the right reasons." You force those words out, even if they taste bitter. "Not just so we..."

"We won't."

"Natasha."

She shakes her head and gets up, pulling you along. "No", she says. You find yourself seated on the counter of the sink. "I don't want to hear it. It's not happening."

"God", you mumble. She kisses your neck. "I hope you're not wrong."

Your breath hitches when her hands tug at your shorts. You shift and wiggle out of them. Hands roam your sides and thighs, lips press against your shoulder and chest. You wrap your legs around her waist.

This is not a new situation for you, but it feels new anyway. Different, exciting, scary. Her movements are quicker, her breathing is ragged and slightly shaky.

Saving a marriage isn't easy. Not even a baby can put out the flames that are already eating at the support beams of a house.

. . .

It takes almost half a year before looking at the crib Natasha assembled doesn't hurt.

You didn't think it'd take this long for you to get pregnant again. With Valerie, it happened immediately. You just decided to start trying for a baby one day, and a month later, you held a positive test in your hands.

This time, it isn't nearly as easy. It's like the universe is trying to warn you, trying to tell you to really think this through.

Neither of you listens, though. It turns into a routine. Once the kid is asleep, you lock the bedroom door and tug off your clothes. There's not much talking involved, but one thing's certain: the fire may affect your marriage, but definitely not your sex life.

Natasha buys pinewood and baby-safe paint. She sits in the garage for hours, headphones on and fingers calloused. She misses lunch three times before she's done building the crib.

None of that seems to matter, though — the tests stay negative.

You take one every week. You go through two dozen pregnancy tests before one is finally positive. Two lines, one a bit weaker, but both clear enough to quell your doubts.

Tears flow, again. They're silent and salty, dripping on your shirt and on the test. You can't get a single word out, so Natasha pulls you into her arms and kisses your hair.

"It's okay", she mumbles, over and over again. This time, it's directed at you. You cry harder and fist the fabric of her shirt. You don't even hear the padding of socked feet behind you, don't notice how Natasha's voice drifts off.

A dimpled little hand pats your back. You turn your head. Somehow, seeing Valerie stand there — all sleepy and confused — makes your tears worse. You scoop her up with one arm, holding her between you and Natasha.

For the weeks that follow, things are okay. Cracks disappear, the fire dies down little by little. You bask in the same light you felt a few years ago. You're almost as overeager as Natasha — you order onesies, search the basement for your breast pump, clean out the extra room you use for everything that has no real place in the house.

Valerie is old enough to sort of understand what's happening. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she's happier about it than Natasha. Unlike her mom, she's verbalizing her excitement constantly. She tells everyone — her teachers at preschool, her friends, the random neighbor she sees while playing in the backyard — about the baby.

Natasha doesn't talk about it much. Instead, she does what she's always done. Build, paint, repair. Buy food and make breakfast in bed. Put her hand on your stomach at night. Kiss it, maybe. Clean the house. Find your old maternity clothes (then decide you deserve new ones and order four boxes full of them). Stock up on snacks.

She doesn't tell you what she's feeling. As someone whose entire career revolves around just that, you both hate and love her for it.

At first, she's present. She's attentive. Then, you start to pull away. Not intentionally — it's something pregnancy can do to you. It makes you feel alone, especially when your partner's ability to talk about emotions and feelings is limited. But when you pull away, so does Natasha.

It's subtle. Late nights at the station, maybe once or twice a week. A missed dinner here and there. Being avoidant. Still making midnight runs for your cravings, but not staying while you pick at them. You used to share the bag full of fries you requested. Now, they go cold.

You start to fight again, which is much worse than the silence ever could be. Because no matter how hard you push, she still won't say much. Some of your patients are kids with traumas, kids who go non-verbal whenever they're stressed. They still tell you more than she does.

The fights get loud, anyway, but you're the one who's doing most of the yelling. You're the one who finds herself with a cup in her hand, ready to hurl it at the wall. Only the cartoon playing on the tv in the living room is what stops you.

The more you fight, the less you see her. Late shifts, she says. It's stressful. Luis quit. Not enough people in case of emergencies.

Tears dry on hoodies. You curl into the sheets on your own. Sometimes, Valerie tiptoes into your bed and snuggles up against your back. When Natasha finds you like that, the guilt she feels is so suffocating it makes it hard to breathe.

The next morning, there's a birdhouse on your dresser.

Despite all of this, she still manages to feel the baby's first real kick. She doesn't cry often, but she does that night.

. . .

You go into labor when Natasha's working another late shift. As soon as she gets the call, she's sprinting towards her car and leaving.

Charlotte is born seven hours later. Natasha's the one who picked her name, because you wanted her to. You regret doubting that decision in the beginning — the name definitely makes sense for the little baby in her arms.

"She's got your eyes."

"She's asleep."

She nods, biting the inside of her cheeks. Her thumb is rubbing featherlight circles into the baby's cheek. She smells like smoke and exhaustion. "I know you. I know her. She's definitely got your eyes."

Outside, the sun is peeking over the horizon, sneaking glances at the newborn your wife is holding. You could swear you've never been this tired in your life, and it might be accurate. You spent the hours right before your water broke trying to soothe a sick toddler.

Natasha shifts in her chair. There's one thing you've always loved about her, and that's the way she treats children. She puts out fires and carries 200 pound men out of burning buildings, but she holds babies like they're made of gold.

She looks at you. You both see something you thought was long gone. "You alright?"

"Bit hungry."

"Oh?" She gets up, no questions asked — it doesn't matter that you had a full meal just a couple hours ago. She hands you the baby and slips into her jacket. Do, don't tell. "What do you want?"

You hesitate, cradling Charlotte against your chest. She squirms in her sleep. "You're leaving?"

"Just to get some food."

"I'd rather you stay", you admit, lightly rubbing the baby's back. "We could order something."

"You sure? There's a diner right down the street, or a Wendy's-"

"Stay. Please." You exhale shakily. "It's been weeks since I fell asleep next to you, you know."

Natasha stares, her heart heavy. Between late shifts and early mornings, she never realized this. When she gets home, you're usually fast asleep — being pregnant and taking care of a toddler will tire you out.

She shrugs off her jacket and puts it over the backrest of the chair. She sits down next to you, kicks off her boots, curls around you. Her fingers trail down the baby's back, and her arm wraps around your shoulders. You lean into her.

The sun comes up. The room is bathed in bright colors, yellow and orange in all their shades. You fall asleep with your head on her chest.

. . .

Having a baby doesn't take the oxygen away from the fire. It doesn't stop the flames from licking at something that was once stable. It just puts your life on pause, even if only briefly.

Postpartum is always hard, but it's infinitely harder when you have a toddler to look after as well. Natasha takes a couple weeks off work, which helps. She makes food, entertains Valerie, holds and rocks the baby while you shower.

It's healing. It reminds you of why you're doing this. Suddenly, you're falling asleep together again (not for long, since Lottie wakes up three times a night, but who are you to complain?). You're in a similar headspace as to when you had Valerie. Things usually get easier before they get harder, but for a few weeks, you don't dare worry about that.

Why should you, after all? Despite the stretch marks and the spit up on your shoulders, Natasha's flirting again. She's present. She's changing diapers instead of fixing chairs in the garage. Whenever the baby blues hit, she appears next to you with a cup of tea and your favorite meal. When you're breastfeeding, she pulls out a book and quietly reads it out loud. Not even the little sex jokes she throws in here and there bother you anymore. Somehow, it's nicer to feel desired when you're not at your personal best.

Natasha disagrees with that one. You're always at your personal best, even when you're fighting with her, but especially when you just gave birth to her baby. Of course, she doesn't tell you that.

It's not postpartum that makes you worry. It's what comes after those three months of bliss.

You knew she'd have to go back to work eventually, and that's fine. Obviously it is. But the second she's late to dinner, the moment you realize she's taken over a late shift again, you slip back into that feeling of being abandoned.

You start to pull away again, and so does she.

No more falling asleep together. No more dinners on the porch. All that remains is the smell of smoke, clinging to her skin and to the bedsheets. Conversations become shorter as you reduce them to the absolute minimum.

Charlotte is four months old when you have your first big fight since having the baby again.

It starts as something mundane. Natasha, home late from work and missing dinner. You, barely talking. Valerie, asleep in her bed.

She's in her turnout pants, suspenders hanging off her hips and soot all over her hands. She picks up Lottie and you nearly spiral.

"Wash your hands first!"

"What?"

"Your hands, Natasha." You walk to the portable crib and take the baby from her. Charlotte squirms. "Wash them, for god's sake."

She stares at you, taken aback. She knows it's not just her unwashed hands. It's happened before, because she's tired when she gets home and tends to forget about things, and you usually just remind her before going on about your day.

This time, you're pissed. You cradle Charlotte and walk into the kitchen. Natasha quickly follows after you.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"She's a baby. I don't even want to know what you've been touching all day."

"I wash my hands all the time while at the station." She stands next to you. You put Lottie into her bouncer and fasten the safety harness. She kicks her legs, gurgling at Natasha. "Hey, sweetheart."

You turn on the faucet and gesture at it. She sighs and gives in, pumping some soap into her open palm and scrubbing off the soot.

"I don't know what's gotten into you", she mutters, drying her hands. You raise your eyebrows. "All I did was-"

"You picked her up without washing your hands first! You know that rule!"

"Dirt builds immunity", she argues.

"I don't need you taking risks", you hiss. "She's four months old. Plenty of time left for her immunity to be built."

Natasha can't help but chase you when you leave the room once more. You've got the baby in your arms again, your steps hurried as you walk up the stairs. She hesitates when you pass Valerie's bedroom — she's barely seen her today —, then speeds up when she loses sight of you.

"I forgot, okay?"

"Yes", you mutter, putting Charlotte on the changing table, "that's the problem, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

The baby lets out an unhappy squawk. Maybe it's you peeling off her onesie, or maybe it's the fight you're having right next to her. Either way — you bite the inside of your cheek and grab a diaper, knocking over a bottle of lotion in the process.

It drops. You, being in a hurry earlier that day, left the cap open. Lotion spills on the floor, and you start to cry.

"Get out."

"No, no, wait", she pleads, stepping closer. "Why are you crying? It's just lotion, I'll clean it up."

"Get out!"

Charlotte fusses and starts crying as well. You shake your head and put the fresh diaper on her, then you reach for her pajamas. Natasha's still there, standing next to you, looking lost and helpless.

You're bitter. You're tired. It's not your fault for thinking she deserves to feel that way. You've been feeling like that for a while now, haven't you? It's fair that she experiences it as well.

She doesn't say anything. Doesn't move, doesn't help. You scoop Charlotte up and walk to the crib that's attached to your bed. Only then does Natasha clean up the lotion.

When she's done, she leaves the room. She closes the door, gently. She shrugs on a jacket and grabs her keys. She gets into her car and drives off.

It's quiet in the barn behind the station. It's an old thing, huge and smelling like dust, but the team renovated it a couple years ago. The beanbags are flat and probably full of insects, the mini fridge is almost never stocked, but at least there's alcohol.

Going here is probably the dumbest decision she could've made that night. She should've talked to you, apologized, listened. Instead, she's about to turn a fight into a full blown war.

Clint looks up when she sits on the beanbag next to his. He raises his bottle in silent greeting. She nods, arms crossed, and stares at the wall. It's covered in pages ripped from old Playboys. How very different from the house of milk bottles and lullabies she just ran from.

First, he clears his throat. She doesn't react. Then, he nudges her foot with his. She shakes her head.

"Alright", he finally says. "Why the hell are you here?"

"Not your fucking problem, Barton."

"No", he agrees. "You got two kids waiting for you, though. And a wife who's probably not too happy about this."

"Y/N is never happy, anyway", she mutters, flicking a fly off her knee. "Doesn't matter if I'm home or not."

He frowns. She reaches into the cooler he brought and grabs a beer. When the barn door opens, she looks up and sees Wendy. A wordless nod of acknowledgment is exchanged, and Clint elbows her in the ribs.

He's seen them flirt. Natasha claims it's harmless. In a way, it is — she could never feel for her what she feels for you. She married you. She has kids with you. But oftentimes, flirting is not about feelings. It's about escaping. About feeling something new for a few minutes.

"I swear to-"

"You need to talk to Y/N", he says, "not ogle Johnston."

"I'm not ogling", she replies, cracking open the can. She takes a sip and grimaces. "What the fuck is wrong with your cooler? This is warmer than my piss."

He rolls his eyes. "Bring your own, then. Now get up and go home, or I'm driving you myself."

"Shut up", she mutters, taking another sip. "She needs some time to herself."

"Sometimes I wonder how you guys are still married."

"Trust me, I do too."

"Yeah, well..." He plucks the can from her hand, "...go home and change something about it!"

She glares at him, but he doesn't budge. He gestures at the barn door as if he could make her get and leave with his sheer willpower. But Natasha's more scared of what awaits her at home than she is of him, so she stays seated.

Clint is sick of her by this point. He has a teenager at home who isn't this hard to deal with. Playing marriage counselor when her wife is a literal family therapist also doesn't make much sense to him.

He gets up and grabs her by the collar of her jacket. She sputters and lets him drag her to her feet.

"What the fuck!"

"Get your sorry ass home!"

She stumbles out of the barn and nearly trips. It's cold out, her breath coming out in aggressive little puffs. Clint pats her back and nods at her car.

"Go", he says. "Before you screw this up."

Before you screw this up — for some reason, Natasha thinks she might've missed that opportunity.

. . .

When she returned that night, you didn't talk for two full days.

It slowly got worse. Longer shifts, more time spent in the garage. You, pulling away from her every touch. The flirting died down. When you did talk, it was about the kids. Your sex life was nonexistent.

Two months later, and it's gotten somewhat better.

That is, until she doesn't come home after a fight one night.

You're terrified. Scared to death. You call all of her friends, colleagues, family members. You put Valerie and Charlotte into the car and search every corner of town for her. Right as you park next to a playground, you get a text.

It only consists of two words.

Natasha: I'm sorry — 5.02am

Natasha, in another woman's bedroom, her head pounding with a hangover and her fingers trembling. The bedsheets rustle as Wendy shifts, and she quickly walks into the hallway.

You're not replying. You're staring at the screen, confused and heart rabbiting in your chest. Behind you, Lottie fusses and spits out her pacifier. Valerie grabs it and puts it back in her mouth, soothing her with her sleepy-soft voice.

You press the call button. She picks up immediately.

"What do you mean you're sorry?", you say, not giving her the chance to say something first. "What did you do? Where are you? Do you know how worried I am?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know", she says, rubbing her temple. She hears Lottie let out a cry in the background, and her entire body seems to recoil with guilt. "I don't know how to tell you."

"Natasha. How bad is it?"

"Really fucking bad. I didn't...this wasn't supposed to happen."

Charlotte's fussing turns into crying. She kicks her legs and refuses the pacifier Valerie's trying to put back into her mouth. You turn around, shush the baby and rub her belly, while also trying to tell your older daughter to let it go.

"I don't have time for this", you say. "Lottie's teething, I left the teething ring at home-"

"I slept with Wendy."

You freeze, your hand stilling on Charlotte's tummy. She keeps crying, her hands balled into little fists. Valerie gives you a questioning look.

"No."

"I'm so sorry."

You exhale shakily. Tears fill your eyes, but you barely register them. All you feel is the numbing feeling of disappointment and the quiet realization that maybe this is how it was always supposed to end.

You're angry, anyway. You hang up on her and throw the phone onto the passenger seat, then you start the car and speed off. Trees, houses, bakeries and mom-and-pop stores create a blur as you drive past them. Your vision is even blurrier, so you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

Natasha stares at the phone for a moment. Her heart almost stops when Wendy leans against the doorway. All it takes is one look at her — hair tousled, only wearing a white shirt — and she instantly regrets everything that led to this moment.

Flirting for months. Harmless, but constant and unapologetic.

A drink at the bar next to the fire station after a fight. More flirting. Natasha, slipping back into old habits she thought long buried.

She's married, after all. Ever since she found you, she was convinced she could leave it behind. One night stands aren't nearly as significant as waking up next to someone familiar each day. Knowing someone's habits by heart is much more soothing than having to guess them.

But she was pissed, and tipsy, and Wendy slid behind the bar like the personification of a cruel twist of fate.

And now, she's in her house. Wendy's studying her, eyes drowsy and arms crossed, and Natasha wants to scream. She's so unlike you it's painful.

"You're up already?"

"I'm leaving", Natasha says, turning around to find her clothes. Where did she discard them? In the living room or in the hallway? She's not sure anymore.

Wendy watches, eyebrows raised. She tilts her head and leans it against the wall. "Behind the couch."

"What? Oh." Natasha huffs and crouches beside the couch. She reaches behind it and fishes out a hoodie and jeans.

"No 'thank you'?"

"Fuck off."

She slips into her clothes. Wendy steps closer, and she steps away. They repeat that once, twice, before Natasha snaps.

"Are you kidding? Back off!"

"Wow", she muses, frowning. "You're in a mood. What happened?"

"Nothing", she snaps, grabbing her boots. She walks to the front door and opens it. "Absolutely fucking nothing."

The door slams shut. There's a baby sock in the backseat of her car. Her world as she once knew it is now in pieces.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

:) I’m backkkk you all thought you could get rid of me

🛕Pharaoh Tucker with his “Wifes” Sam and Danny🛕

Yes I’m bringing attention to this like why is nobody talking about this????

Now let’s get into the main plot so Danny, Sam and Tucker have to GO and fast ( GIW or bad Fenton au either or. !!!Bonus points!!! If Danny got hurt and than it would make this so much funnier y’all get what I mean in a sec) and they all go to the ghost zone where they meet up with clockwork and he tells them that one of Tuckers earlier reincarnation made a place so in the future he’s good even if he doesn’t remember it so clockwork brings them to what looks like an ancient Egyptian empire with the civilians and the people who live there as the people who died in the past {sorry if this is a bit hard to read I am very tired} and they are brought to the place where clockwork just casually reveals that Tucker is the pharaoh ie: The King and Sam, Tucker and Danny take this very well for them this is a safe place for them to heal and live with the added bonus of helping with Danny’s obsessions (Protection and Space) and after a bit they gain the affection of the people and the…Protection of the people??? Because for the people they see that one of their queen (Danny) was hurt before the royals came here so they get a bit protective and for a bit of information here’s the main jobs of the trio

Tucker taking care of the rules and doing the main running of the empire

Sam takes care of the army and gardens of the empire ( making sure they have enough food and such )

Danny takes care of the people (who grown the most fond of ) and such

So you can see what I’m going for with this now here’s where the JL comes in so the empire was NOT in the ghost zone it is in its own little world but somehow the JL gets tipped off about a triving empire that NOBODY has made contact with so a group ( Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, the flash, green lantern you know the works) goes to make contact and hopefully make allies with them so they go and are taken aback a bit by how much this place is triving and what to meet the people who made this happen so what the JL was expecting was a lest a adult but instead they got what looked like a 16-17 with what looked like two people the same aged sitting next to him on either side (!!!EXRA BONUS POINTS!!! If one of the supers helped Danny before the meeting) and someone makes the dumb decision to ask them where are the REAL rulers and the guards in the room ( who I forgot to mention ) get mad at them and become hostile to them and Sam has to clam them down and that’s all for the plot at the moment

Now on to the details let’s start with tucker I’m thinking about this

( just instead of blue it’s red) and for a head piece I’m thinking the good old classic 

It just fits

Now for Sam I’m thinking is for her outfit

But in darker colors because she’s SAM and for a head piece I’m thinking something like this

Nothing to big because she has to train the army and she’s outside a lot so if it’s anything to big I think it will just be annoying

For Danny this

Mixed with this

Because ye and for his hair piece I’m braining

This I think it looks neat

Now that’s all from me byeee

[c0cksuck3rs4lif3]

ᜊ 𝒻𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓅ℯ𝒹 ᜊ

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

summary: you come across a wishing well on a hunt, not thinking much of it. But what will happen when you accidentally wish for something that you’re not sure you’re ready for with your best friend?

warnings: slight smut, making out, angst if you squint, Dean walking in, mostly fluff I suppose, size kink, again if you squint, this is based off of 4x8! This is more of a sassy!sam fic, sorry abt it

a/n: hello! I usually write on Wattpad, (pls don’t crucify me I am not a child) but I’ve been on Tumblr recently and like the writing on here better! This is my first fanfiction written on here, so bear with me, and please tell me if I’ve made any mistakes! (T^T) This is proofread!

Fuck, this was bad.

Worse than the impending apocalypse? Probably not.

Worse than Dean being ripped out of hell by some mystery angel that you’d only just met on the last case, who actually threatened to wipe out an entire town full of people? Not really.

But this was some serious, deep, uncomfortably steamy shit you’d gotten yourself into.

Let’s take it back a bit, shall we?

You, Sam, and Dean had all caught wind of a case down in Concrete, Washington. Apparently, a girl had gotten pushed down a flight of stairs by a spirit, and another man claimed that he had been attacked by Bigfoot.

However, this was not the case for either of them. It turned out to be some kind of wishing well, spelled by a cursed coin thrown haphazardly into it, granting that person—and whoever else threw a coin in said well—any wish that their heart desired.

Dean, being Dean, wanted to try this little well out, to see if it actually worked the way that you all figured it had. And, being the absolute idiot that he was, decided to order himself a jalapeño sub sandwich, or something of the sort. And it actually worked.

Standing over the well, staring down into the clear water with coins littering the bottom of the plaster, one began to wonder. Could it truly grant any wish that someone had? If it only granted a harmless wish, then was this even truly a case? Couldn’t you just.. leave these people alone, let them have their wishes?

Dean seemed to have been speaking to you, but you hadn’t registered it until he smacked your arm.

“Hello? Earth to Major Tom?”

He asked sarcastically, finally eliciting a response from you. Your head snapped up at him and looked at the man next to you.

“What?”

Dean just chuckled, seeming to have read you like a book, glancing down at the water, before realigning his gaze with your own.

“You should make one. What’s the harm? C’mon, I think I have..”

He trailed off, digging into his jacket pockets, that jingled faintly as his hand sifted through the small pouch. Finally, with a triumphant sigh, he pulled out a penny and held it out for you to take. But Sam, probably being the closest thing to a brain cell shared between the three of you, spoke out against it.

“Uh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Dean just scoffed and threw a snooty little look back at Sam over his shoulder, before holding up his sandwich for Sam to see, causing the younger brother to characteristically roll his eyes.

“What? You think a sandwich is harmful? Think it’s going to grow legs and start ripping people to shreds? This isn’t Captain Underpants, Sammy. No harm, no foul.”

Sam only exhaled an exasperated sigh and looked over at you. God, those puppy dog eyes should’ve been considered a fucking weapon against the psyche.

You had to quickly tear your gaze away from the endless sea of greens and browns that painted his irises, just to spare yourself from the silent judge of character as you carefully lifted the coin from Deans fingertips.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Sam. Maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding. I mean, a wishing well? What harm could it do?”

You asked, before turning your attention to the fountain before you. Crap. You hadn’t really thought about what you’d wish for. Money? No. For Dean to stop being such a smartass? You didn’t think so. You hummed quietly in deep thought. What on earth were you going to wish for?

And then, there was the obvious one. For the reciprocation of feelings on behalf of the younger Winchester standing not five feet across from you, watching intently as you thought about what wish you were going to make.

No, your conscious mind screamed at you. That would be wrong. To strong arm Sam’s feelings, to try to get him to reciprocate this unrequited love you’d been carrying around with you for somewhere around two years now. It was like an eternity of a ball and chain.

Sam was.. well, to put it mildly, an absolute dreamboat. He was.. kind, and chivalrous, and respectful. He was built with a 6’4 mass of solid lines and lean muscle, a kind of soft comfort that only he could provide. It was absolutely torturous, having to be around him 24/7, stuck in a car for god only knows how many hours, motel rooms, cases where you’d have to patch each other up.

Swallowing your feelings felt like.. swallowing bleach and gasoline. It burned on its way down, and boiled deep in your gut, searing every square inch of nerve in your body, until you were nothing but seared and raw nerves, jolting unwanted electricity through your being whenever Sam dared to touch you, or say your name with that undeniable Sam-softness that only he could seem to produce.

You couldn’t have him. And that tore you apart. Because you’d never meet another man like Sam, not in your lifetime. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

But you’d decided a long time ago that you would rather stick by his side, come hell or high water, as a good friend, then ruin it completely with your own selfish wants and needs. No. Having Sam near you was enough. And you would rather die than drive him and Dean away. So, you kept quiet.

But in some fleeting moments, when Sam insisted on having you behind him so that he could protect you when you went into a haunted building or a cemetery, or in a diner when you locked eyes for just a little too long, or how frantic he’d become whenever you were injured beyond the common scrape or concussion that came easily about hunters, you wondered.

You wondered what it would be like for him to love you so much that he dedicated every breath, fight, and step to you; that he couldn’t bear to see you upset or angry, because it only incited the same feelings in his own gut; that he hated every second that someone approached you in a bar or diner, because he wanted to be the one to do it. You wished that Sam loved you the way that you so wholeheartedly loved him.

But it was wrong. How could you ever force him to love you, when it wasn’t his conscious mind making the decision? You couldn’t. That was the problem. You’d have to cook up another wish.

Well, you would’ve. If a waiter hadn’t accidentally bumped into you, causing you to drop the coin into the water of the fountain. Before you could stop it, a sharp gasp came from your throat as it plopped into the water.

Shit.

Maybe it hadn’t counted, because you hadn’t actually.. wished for it? You were scraping at the bottom of the barrel for some mercy from whatever god was watching over you.

You quickly snapped your head up to watch Sam, trying to decipher whether or not he felt any different at the moment. You stared, horrified, at your friend. You really really hoped that the wish hadn’t worked.

“Great, you two done? We’ve gotta figure this out.”

Sam said, his usually sassy nature poking through the edges. You breathed an internal sigh of relief. It hadn’t done anything. He was still your Sam, and he wasn’t going to start flailing to kiss the ground that you walked on anytime soon, which was very, very comforting.

Later, back in the motel room, you guys figured out that the ‘magic’ wishing well, had actually held a cursed coin that wasn’t supposed to be an act of good grace at all—it was essentially an object to cause chaos wherever it went and whoever wished upon it—hence why Dean was puking up his sandwich in the bathroom. It granted someone’s wish, only to twist it back on them and turn it into something, you guessed it! Chaotic.

While Dean was in the bathroom for the hundredth time, you couldn’t help but spare a glance at Sam, who was sitting across from you at the small table, typing away on his computer, trying to find out more. You just had to make sure.

“Hey, Sam?” You asked, timidly. You were immediately met with Sam’s piercing gaze, his frantic typing on his computer halting momentarily as you consumed his full attention.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He inquired, noticing the slightly nervous glint in your eyes. “Everything alright?”

You scrambled for an excuse. “Yeah, yeah! Of course, yeah, I’m fine. Just uh.. I was wondering.. how you were.. feeling?” Well. That was about the dumbest thing you’d ever said. This was so humiliating. How were you ever going to explain this to him?

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. “Uh.. fine? Why, should I be in the bathroom with Dean, or something?”

“No, no. I was just.. wondering if he was contagious or anything. Do you.. feel any different than you did this morning?” You poked at his psyche, hoping to get a clear answer out of him without actually admitting what you’d wished for.

“Um, no. No, I feel fine. I’m sure he’s not contagious, I mean, it was his wish, so..” Sam retorted, a bit confused, but willing to explain it to you. Classic Sam.

“Right, right. Of course.” You said immediately afterward, before looking down at your hands and fiddling with the skin between your fingers. Nervous habit.

Sam noticed. He always noticed. He knew you a little too well, you decided. “Are you feeling okay? You’re acting a little squirrelly.” He deducted. What a little detective.

A very inconvenient detective.

And what did you do? You hesitated. Probably the worst thing to do in front of a man who knew you more than even you probably did.

His confusion quickly morphed into concern. The kind that consumed his entire expression and straightened his posture.

“_______? Are you okay?”

You panicked. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay, promise.” God you were an idiot, going belly up instead of just explaining to him what was going on. Coward.

Sam only stiffened more, staring at you, as if trying to get you to unveil your secrets by just piercing you with his intense gaze.

“Hey.. what did you wish for, earlier?” He asked, now extremely suspicious and worried for your well-being.

Before you could even get the chance to try and convince him that nothing was going on and that you were fine, Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel gripped into his hand, held haphazardly to his mouth, as if to catch anything that decided to spew from it at any given point

“Sam.. how the hell do we fix this?” Dean asked desperately, nearly keeling over at the cramps in his stomach as he held it tightly.

~

After finding out who the original wisher was, you three were gearing up to go head to his house and talk some sense into him, and take his coin out of the fountain to undo all of the wishes.

You were loading yourself up with weapons, as hunters usually did, before glancing over at the nightstand that Sam was standing next to, seeing your little pocket knife that you carried around on it. You were loading your pistol and putting it in your waistband.

“Hey, Sam? Could you hand me my knife?” You asked, nodding towards the little silver thing on the table.

He glanced over at you, gave you a once over, before looking at the knife next to him on the nightstand.

“Uh.. you can’t just grab it yourself?” He said, his tone seeping with a kind of undercurrent of irritation. It caught you completely off guard.

“I.. you’re closer.” You were even more confused now, looking at him, as he stared at you with frustration and disdain. Was it something you’d done? Why was he acting like this?

“Why did you even take it off in the first place, _______? What if something had busted in here? You would’ve been completely unprepared.” He snapped, now turning towards you.

“Dude, what’s your deal? She put her knife down for a couple of hours, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean jumped into the conversation. Dean was just as much of your friend as Sam was, so he obviously jumped in to defend you if he thought that Sam was in the wrong.

“My deal Dean, is that you sleep with a gun under your pillow, and I never take mine off of me. So what, she just gets to be completely unguarded while we have to fight to save her ass? I’m so sick of her being such a little freeloader.” Sam retorted, aggression and venom practically bleeding from his mouth as he said it.

“Freeloader? How many times have I saved your ass? And you wanna call me a freeloader? What’s your problem, Sam? You were fine just a minute ago, and now you want to tear out my throat?” You yelled back, your short temper getting the best of you while you were under verbal siege.

“Yeah, well maybe I’m just sick of your bullshit, _______! I mean, you hardly contribute anything at all. God, you are such a nuisance.” He scoffed and turned his back to you. Now you were pissed.

“I’m a nuisance? What the hell is your fucking problem! Why are you being such an asshole right now?”

“Alright, guys, knock it off!” Dean tried to cut in over the noise, but he was just yelled over anyways.

Sam let out a bitter laugh and turned around to yell at you. But this time, he took an intimidating step closer. Not that you backed down, you weren’t a pussy. But you’d still never seen him try to walk up on you like this.

“Because I fucking hate you, _______! I hate how much you talk, your dumbass laugh, your stupid clothes, the way you follow us around like a lost puppy, I mean seriously, it’s pathetic. You slow us down, you’re hardly as trained as me and Dean are, I mean you’re just one giant inconvenience for the both of us! Why don’t you do everyone around here a favor and leave us the hell alone!” He bellowed, now only a mere six inches from your face, maybe. Towering over you.

The words struck you harder than you cared to admit. Tears pricked your eyes and threatened to fall as they welled up on your bottom lids. You almost physically recoiled, like you had taken a blow that you were massively unprepared for.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Dean cut in, storming over to Sam, grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back away from you, giving you the opportunity to breathe. “I don’t know what the hell your issue is, Sammy, but you need to fix it! You’re being a dick!” He yelled, now between you and Sam like a human shield.

You had heard enough. You took in a deep breath that came out as more of a sniffle, shoved past Dean and right up to the nightstand with your knife on it, pocketing it. You couldn’t believe that something so small had caused Sam to admit that he actually despised you. Practically from head to toe, by the sound of it.

You wiped the tears away from your cheeks and stormed past Sam, and towards the door to the motel room.

“I’ll be in the car.” Your voice was short, clipped, and undeniably hurt. You slammed the door so hard behind you that you were sure the floors below and above you heard it echo.

“Nice going, doofus.” Dean snapped at Sam as soon as you’d gone, continuing to gear himself up. Sam only rolled his eyes and scoffed in retort.

~

When all was said and done, and the curse was reversed, the coin melted down to nothing of use, you three found yourselves back in the motel room once again.

You’d been in a pissy mood ever since the interaction with Sam had happened. He’d been snappy and irate with you the entire time after the initial interaction about the stupid fucking knife. For good reason. And now that Sam’s head had cleared, he knew that it was a damn good reason, too.

You’d gotten in the shower immediately upon your return to the room, and had been in there ever since. This gave Dean the opportunity to talk to Sam without either you or him tearing each other apart.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that whole thing was about earlier?” Dean said, accusatory almost immediately because of the interaction they’d had earlier.

“I..” Sam sighed, looking at the carpet, “don’t know. I just..- I got so angry, I don’t even..-“

“Yeah, I figured, Sherlock Holmes. Nice detective work, there. Real Nobel Peace Prize winning.” Dean retorted, causing Sam to sigh once again.

“No, you don’t get it, Dean, I.. I really did hate her for a good minute there.” Sam admitted, finally turning towards his older brother, almost for answers. “I can’t explain it, I just.. I don’t know, dude.”

Dean stopped for a moment, the cogs in his head slowly turning as he tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with his brother. “That doesn’t make sense. You love-“

“Exactly, Dean. I love her. So I don’t know why I started acting like she was Hitler reincarnated, she just.. really pissed me off.”

“By asking for her damn knife?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I don’t know, Dean!” Sam snapped, before sighing and running a stressed hand through his hair.

Guilt ate away at him like a rotting disease. He couldn’t believe he’d said all those things to you, especially when absolutely none of it was true. He didn’t think you were a freeloader, he loved taking care of you. He loved listening to you talk, he loved hearing you laugh, he thought that your clothes were absolutely gorgeous on you, and he loved having you there 24/7, just.. following. It was endearing, that you trusted him so much to lead you. He swore sometimes that you’d let him lead you straight into hell, just as long as he was in front of you.

He loved it all. Every flaw, every perfection, every little thing that made you human. That made you, you; for lack of better words.

“Could it have been that curse?” Dean suggested, just as confused as Sam was about the whole ordeal.

“No.. no, it couldn’t have been. I didn’t feel any different before, I just..-“ He cut himself off, recalling the interaction that the two of you had earlier.

You never did tell him what you’d wished for.

And what was the opposite of hate?

“Oh, my god..” Sam groaned, running a hand over his face in realization.

“What? What’s up?” Dean asked, intrigued.

“Uh..” Sam sighed, turning to look back at the carpet, “nothing. Nothing, um.. you know what, Dean? I’m starving. Would you mind going out and getting some food?”

“What? No, tell me what the hell is-“

“Dean.”

The soft scold from Sam caught Dean’s attention, causing him to look at his younger sibling, a bit confused.

“I need to talk to _______. You should really go out and get some food while I do.” Sam repeated suggestively, hoping that Dean would finally get the hint and get the hell out of the motel room for a little while.

Finally, Dean reached the realization with a soft, understanding ‘ah’ and a nod, a lewd smirk on his face. “Right. Well, you know the rules,” he said, getting up and grabbing his keys and coat, “don’t do anything on my bed, don’t get anything on my bed, wear a condom—“

“Just get the hell out of here, Dean.” Sam chuckled, causing Dean to throw him a wink and slip out of the motel room quickly.

Sam wasn’t waiting long before you emerged from the bathroom, a sour expression still adorning your pretty face. God, he had to fix this. You looked so upset. He couldn’t even image.

His voice brought you out of your thoughts as you ran a brush through your wet hair. “Hey.”

You froze, for a moment or two, contemplating on even replying to him or not. You were still insanely pissed off. You decided to do it. “Oh, so what, you want to talk to me like I’m a person now? Or wait, sorry, I didn’t realize you spoke puppy.” You snapped, referring to his ‘lost puppy’ comment from before.

Sam flinched slightly with a quiet wince, as if your response had physically pained him to hear. He rose from the edge of the bed and approached you slowly, not wanting to upset or scare you like he’d done earlier. “Look, I know you’re upset-“

“Upset?” You laughed sarcastically and looked over at him. “Upset doesn’t even begin to skim the surface, Sam.” You barked, before turning and walking towards the couch, which you’d made into a makeshift bed. You always took the couch, because you were not going to sleep with Dean, who was practically an active octopus while he slept, or with Sam, for.. obvious reasons.

Sam sighed, but stood his ground. “I know. I know I screwed up. I’m sorry I was such a dick to you, okay? I don’t know why I was acting like that.” He said, telling a small little fib to weasel his way in with you. He’d had a pretty good idea on why. He just needed you to confirm it.

“I think.. I actually think it was the curse.” He admitted, and he noticed immediately when he saw you stiffen slightly.

“Why.. why would you think that?” You asked, slightly nervous, but still upset, so you had an excuse to not look up at him while he spoke to you.

He took a step closer. Fuck. You were royally screwed.

He ignored your question. “You didn’t tell me what your wish was earlier.” He said, taking another slow, deliberate step forward. You felt cornered. You shook your head lightly.

“It.. wasn’t much of a wish, I didn’t..- I didn’t mean to toss the coin in, that guy bumped into me, remember?” You scrambled to get even a scrap of an excuse to get you out of this hole you’d dug yourself into.

But, metaphorically, Sam was standing above you, holding an escape ladder tantalizingly in the air above you, daring you to admit it to his face, so that he’d allow your precious escape. He was standing so close now.

The same distance he’d been before, but less intimidating now, and with a new kind of tension that hadn’t been hanging in the air previously. Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against your arm.

“Yeah? Well, what were you going to wish for?” He asked, his voice only a low hum compared to what it usually was. He stared at the side of your face, waiting for some kind of expression that told him what was going on inside your head.

“I.. um..” you didn’t even have the guts to respond. How could you tell him? It was horrible. And your hesitation was the reaction that Sam needed. The one that told him he was pushing on the right button.

“You asked me how I was feeling earlier, too. Why?” It kind of felt like an interrogation on your end, and as your last, flailing attempt to escape from his silent torment, you sighed shakily and rolled your eyes, hiding behind hardened emotions to get him to drop it.

“Because Dean was sick. You know that already, why are you even asking?” You said petulantly, making an attempt to push past him, to put some distance between the two of you. But that plan fell short when Sam gently wrapped his large palm around the flesh of your upper arm, holding you firmly in place.

“Right. And it’s definitely not because you wished for me to fall in love with you today, right?”

Your breath hitched. You were sure that your face had turned all sorts of bright pink because of how warm your skin felt on your bones. You finally risked a glance up at his face, and he held a small, knowing smirk there, waiting for you.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about…” you murmured softly.

“Don’t I? You know what’s the opposite of love, _______? Hate. The coin, it made everything go to chaos, right?” He said, and before you could even respond, he continued.

“You wondered why it didn’t affect me at first? It was because I was already in love with you.” He said it so shamelessly, like he hadn’t been shoving the feeling down for god only knows how long, like he hadn’t been terrified that the day he finally told you, would be the day that he lost you. But he didn’t care about any of that anymore. He just needed you to know that he didn’t hate you. He never could.

Your face flushed, and you stared up at him with wide eyes. He sighed softly and brought his hand up to gently caress, then cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently over the plump skin there.

“I love the sound of your voice, the way that you talk; I love your laugh and your smile; I love how kind and passionate you are; I love how you feel like you can let me protect you, even when you know you can do it yourself— I love you, _______. Please, honey, you have to believe me.” Sam’s voice faded quietly into somewhat of a whispered plea, hoping that his words had gotten through to you, and that you knew he’d never hated you.

You, on the other hand, were completely gobsmacked with disbelief and awe. Sam. Your Sam. He was in love with you? That was why the wish hadn’t worked? Sam was in love with you? You felt like crawling out of your skin and dying there—because at least then, you’d die a happy woman, knowing that the man you loved, reciprocated. If only you could remain in this moment, forever.

“I.. you..” you struggled to find the words for a moment, before swallowing down a heavy saliva that had weighed on your tongue for a bit now, “but you said..-“

“I know what I said. Believe me, I know what I said, damnit.” He said, the guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders, and seeping deep into his bones. It showed in the soft murmur of his tone, the dip in his voice. “I.. don’t hate you. I could never hate anything about you, sweetheart. You’re perfect..” he muttered, laying his brow against your own and removing the hand from your arm now.

Sam’s now free hand went up to cup your other cheek, and you could feel his breath fanning over the skin on your face. Your breath stuttered in your throat.

“You’re just saying that..-“ you tried to retort, but he shut you up quickly.

“I’m not. Really, I’m not. I don’t hate anything about you.” He said, still trying to desperately convince you.

“You will. Eventually.” You replied grimly, your hands coming up to rest against his wrists gently, soaking up his presence as much as you possibly could.

Sam only shook his head softly, silently disagreeing with you, but he didn’t want to argue. His thumbs rubbed stripes along your cheekbones, his touch was reverent, almost worshiping, like he was holding the heavens and the earth in his hands. Something precious.

One of his hands trailed down from your cheek, to your neck, collarbone, lower until he was brushing against your stomach briskly, before finally settling possessively on your hip. It was just then that you truly knew how big he was compared to you. Just by the weight and size of his hand on your skin.

Your breath shook, and Sam’s other hand started to trail up into your hair, the back of your head, his touch slow, and deliberate. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, almost as lost as you were, before they snapped back open and landed on your own. “Tell me to stop..” he prayed quietly.

You only gazed up at those hazel eyes, and shook your head with a soft, timid, “No.”

And it seemed like that had just snapped Sam’s carefully held restraint completely in two.

He sighed heavily and slammed his lips up against yours. Out of all the times that you’d imagined yourself kissing Sam for the first time, you’d always imagined that it would be soft. Careful. Deliberate. But it was actually far from it.

Your mouths clashed together in a desperate, heated mixture of teeth and tongue, you both panting for air, and yet not daring to pull away and break the delicate atmosphere. Sam’s tongue swiped long swathes against your own, the feeling of your different salivas mixing and coating the insides of your mouths intoxicating to both parties.

His grip on your hip tightened, and his hand in your hair became demanding, taking a fistful of it and pushing you deeper into him. He pulled you closer by your hip, causing your back to arch slightly against him, and he took that to his full advantage.

You could feel the shit-eating grin on his face against your lips before you saw it, and you knew that he had to be up to something. His hand traveled from his hip to the lower dip in your back, pressing you further into him, and making you arch back even more, which only lead to him having to lean over you to kiss you properly, delicately reminding you how you were smaller than him.

His hand slipped underneath your shirt desperately, taking a step forward and letting your knees hit the back of his mattress, before pushing you down. As you sat, your kiss was broken, leaving you both panting, gasping for air that you’d taken from each other.

Sam looked down at you, tilting your head back up to look at him by your chin. This was his way of giving you an out if you wanted it. If you weren’t ready. His eyes held a silent question. Are you ready? Do you want this? Do you want me? In response to every single one of them, you only sighed and reached up, cupping your hands behind the back of his neck and bringing him in close, clashing your lips together again.

He certainly had no problem with that. He let out a deep, guttural groan that filled you head-to-toe with that one bass-y note, the vibrations against your lips enough to make you moan back. He quickly swallowed the noise and went to ease you onto your back. Excitement and arousal coursed through your veins, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Sam had slowly been lowering you more and more, until he had you on your elbows underneath him, just about to make that final push to have you on your back, splayed out for him, just like he’d dreamed of time and time again. He let out a shaky sigh and broke your kiss, much to your dismay.

You tried to chase his lips with a soft whine, only to have him shift his weight to one arm, using his now free hand to grab your jaw and tilt it away. He didn’t leave you confused for very long.

His lips trailed wet, hot kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving small bite marks and hickeys as he went. Now that he had you, he wasn’t going to hold back. He would be the only person to see you like this. He’d be the only one to see the marks he left on your skin. Sam wasn’t much of a show off anyways.

Your head tilted back naturally as you panted and moaned softly into the air, whining whenever he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot in the expanse of your skin. One of his knees came to rest between your legs, pressing up into your core tantalizingly.

You squirmed and pressed into him with an equal amount of fervor, feeling another satisfied grin on his face press against the skin of your bed as you did.

You were a mess already. Your hair was tousled, as was his, both pairs of lips were pink and swollen, and your shirt was now somewhat rearranged on your bodice. You were sure that your cheeks were flushed to high hell, too.

So, that being said, it was probably the absolute worst timing when the lock to the motel clicked, and the door swung open.

You let out a quick gasp, pulling away from Sam and staring, horrified, at the door where Dean was now currently standing, staring at the scene before him, frozen. You let out a soft, embarrassed little sigh, hiding your face away from Dean into Sam’s shoulder. That one little noise, paired with the action, made Sam absolutely melt against you. He quickly gathered himself with a deep breath, turning back to Dean.

“Sorry, dude.” He apologized sheepishly.

“Eh, it’s alright, just uh.. wrap it before you tap it, you know.” Dean said awkwardly, earning him a glare from you. He cleared his throat, and with a soft ‘okay’, went to leave the room, before quickly coming back and setting one of the bags of food on the ground next to the door for you two later to share.

“For you, uh.. I’ll.. I’ll leave you be. Yeah. Um.. yeah.” He said, before finally slipping out of the room and locking the door behind him. For a moment, you and Sam shared a quiet look, before bursting out into crippling laughter that had you both gripping onto each other for support.

God, you loved hearing him laugh. Genuinely laugh. Your world had been all kinds of fucked up recently, and it was a rare sight to even see him really smile anymore. So whenever you did, you savored every second of it, worried that the moment would pass faster than you could comprehend.

Once the laughter died down, and the mood turned a bit softer once more, Sam just quietly sat and watched you, hovering above by his hands planted on either side of your head. You only stared back quietly, before finally breaking out into a content smile.

“What?” You asked sweetly.

Sam only sighed and leaned in, pressing chaste, loving kisses against your neck again. Much less ravenously than before. “Just.. admiring. You’re gorgeous.” He conferred, trailing the kisses everywhere from your jaw to your collarbone, his hands beginning to wander up your shirt again, a little slower this time.

Your breath hitched and you gripped his shoulders, moaning out a soft little, “Sam..” as he continued his ministrations.

“Shh, I know, honey.. I’ve got a lot of making up to do, you know? Just.. lie back, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He murmured quietly against your skin, trailing his kisses a bit farther down.

The man knew how to keep a promise. ‘Cause oh lord, did he make it up to you.

notes: AAHHHHHHHH!!! First tumblr story, I think it’s pretty solid. A little rushed at the end, because it’s currently almost one in the morning, and I have school tomorrow lol but I didn’t want to break my train of thought. Let me know what you think!! If you have any tips, I’d really appreciate them! Thx!

Xoxo,

Happy Reading! ❤️

[godmadeaterribleerror]

How Do You Know

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, pre-established relationship, fluff, light angst, humor.

Summary/Warnings: There are different levels of Dean being drunk, and you've seen all of them. Or at least, you thought you'd seen all of them.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I am incapable of not making it emotional, and for that I am sorry. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.1k

“I bet I can beat you at pool.”

Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you sigh, giving him a gentle smile as you shake your head.

“I know you can beat me at pool.” You say with a pointed look. “So do you. Just tell me what you want.”

“I don’t want anything-“

“Dean.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his chin onto the top of your head, and you don’t have to smell the beer to know he’s drunk. He doesn’t drape himself all over you and make incredibly obvious attempts to smell your hair unless he’s at least level one Drunk Dean. Overly and openly affectionate.

And it’s not as if he’s never affectionate. He’ll hold your hand and kiss your brow every day, but if he wants more it’s not for anyone else to see. Let alone the entirety of a fucking bar. You’ll get pulled into corners and alleys and empty rooms, kissed stupid then fucked until you need to hold onto Dean’s arm to walk, but it’s not for others to see.

Unless he’s drunk. Drunk Dean has all the possessiveness of Sober Dean, and none of the reservations. Sober Dean whispers promises in your ear, but won’t be soft where it can be seen.

Drunk Dean is going to fucking kill you, because he’s grabbing your chin and tilting your head back, and there’s a bright, cocky grin on his face that makes you feel a little gooey in your stomach.

“You’re pretty.” He mumbles, and your own smile grows. “C’mon, let’s go play-“

“Dean.” You reach a hand back to trace over his jaw, and his body stills. “Say what you want.”

“Doesn’t matter-“

“It matters to me.”

He blinks at you. “You’re my dream girl.”

He’s more drunk than you thought. Level two Drunk Dean, where he’s losing his filter. It’s celebratory drunk—hunt done in a day, no casualties, he got a burger and found a cool new gun—but he’s still hammered.

He’s lucky he’s the cutest person on the planet. Lucky you love him, and that wins are so rare you couldn’t deny him celebration if you tried.

“If I tell you what I want.” Dean’s fingers start to comb through your hair, and you try not to moan. He’s not even doing it on purpose. “Do I get it?”

“We‘ll see.” You hum, and his grin widens.

“Wanna see your boobs, when you lean down to do that shot you’re good at.” Dean grabs you by the hips, turning you on your stool until you’re pressed right to his chest, and he’s standing between your legs. “Then I wanna kick your fuckin’ ass at pool, and win a kiss.”

You raise your brows. “Kisses are free, you know.”

He shakes his head, dropping his brow down to yours. “Wanna earn ‘em. Earn you.”

“You’ve earned me, Dean.” You smile up at him, and his eyes widen like he can’t believe you. “You’ve got me. That’s how the dating thing works. I’m yours.”

“Huh.” He mutters, turning your hair between his fingers. “Can we have sex, too?”

You giggle, dropping your brow to his shoulder. “When you’re sober, cowboy.”

“You think I’m a cowboy?”

There’s something soft and hopeful, in his voice. And you love him too much to tease him right now. Not when he’s being so sweet, and touching you like you’re truly his. 

And you are.

But it still doesn’t feel real.

It’s not anything Dean’s done. You understand the mostly private thing. It’s safer, and means that you can keep working together without giving Sam an aneurism or compromising the cases. And Dean’s perfect, when you’re behind those doors. He’ll pull you onto his lap in the Dean Cave, and make you breakfast in the morning, and sit with you all night if you can’t sleep. Your head on his thigh while you watch cartoons, him ignoring your suggestions that he go to sleep. Grumbling that while you’re up, so he’s up, and holding you until you pass out.

But you’ve known him for a long time. You’ve had long years that no one’s at fault for, where you watched him hit on women at bars and never look at you like you might be more.

Dean’s said that you were always more, he just didn’t think you wanted him. And you believe him. You do. Dean wouldn’t lie about something like that to preserve your feelings. He wouldn’t know that you love him, and then sleep with you just to do it. If he wants sex, he could get it anywhere.

He’s choosing it with you. That’s what you cling to, in the dead of night when he’s—for whatever reason—somewhere else. If Dean just wanted sex, he’d tell you. He’d wince when you tell him you love him, and he wouldn’t call you his dream girl, and he wouldn’t act like a puppy just under your attention. He wouldn’t be looking at you with big eyes and holding you like you’re something priceless. 

But he’s never said it back. 

“You can be a cowboy if you want to be a cowboy.” You give him another sweet smile, and he stands up a little straighter. 

“Can I be your cowboy?”

God, he must have been made in a factory. But he’s so fucking real. Dean’s warm and real around you, and under the booze you can smell his cheap cologne, and his eyes are shining on yours. 

He’s yours, too. Dean had given you the right to call him yours.

“Do you want to be my cowboy?”

The shift is immediate. Dean’s lips curve into a teasing grin, his features fall into something a little darker, and his weight shifts so he’s no longer clinging to you, but shielding you. Pulling you into him, until every bit of space between your bodies is still far too much. 

This is what he wanted. And you’re not nearly strong enough to shove him off with a laugh. To not indulge it a little, when his fingers trace over your cheekbones and he tugs on your hair slightly. Just enough for your head to tip back, and your eyes to be forced onto his. 

“I’ll be your anything, babygirl.” He mutters, his thumb moving down to pull at your lip. “Let’s get out of here and see if you wanna take me for a ride?”

“I think I’m supposed to save a horse, first.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“I can be the horse, too.”

Jesus Christ.

And that’s how you know. How you think you know. 

That Dean loves you. 

You shake your head and shove lightly at his chest—not because you don’t want it, you can feel how much you want it between your legs—and he doesn’t move away. He just laughs like he expected it, pulls you into a heavy and sloppy kiss, and goes back to hanging around you as he moves on. Talking about work he wants to do on the Impala—he’s starting to forget car terms, which means you’re hitting a level three Drunk Dean—and muttering in your ear about how he still wants to bend you over the bar table one second, before asking you about something stupid and watching you with big eyes the next.

He’s here for you. He’s not at the bar for anything but you. And he hasn’t said that he loves you, but whenever you say it, he kisses you like he’s trying to eat you alive.

Then you hit level four Drunk Dean.

Level four Drunk Dean is your favorite.

He’ll gather you into his arms and kiss your neck, all while muttering praise you don’t think he understands. His words are all over the place and impossible to follow, but he’s grinning the whole time, and he seems to throw in a your pretty every few minutes. He stumbles over the jukebox, herding you into front of him—like the idea of you being gone from his sight is worse than the end of the world—and picks a song you know sober Dean would hate.

Sober Dean would call pop music not his thing. Say he’s freakin’ hates that bubblegum shit, sweetheart, so stop tryin’ to swap my mixtapes or I’m gonna tie your hands up.

You’ve pushed him right to the edge of that. It had been a fun afternoon.

But nothing is better than Drunk Dean very much knowing pop music. And feeling no type of shame about it, because level two Drunk Dean loses all the weight and pain that Sober Dean carries. And you love Sober Dean, and his brooding and stoic face and big arms around you like he’s worried you’re going to fly away.

But you love all of Dean. And it’s another way to know.  

Dean lets you see all of him.

The fact that you get to see all of him. Not many people get to see all of Dean, but you’re allowed to be spun in his arms as his eyes get more and glazed and blown out. You love him like this just as much as you love him scowling in his room and burying his face between your breasts after a nightmare, because it makes him feel better. 

It might not.

You don’t care. 

It’s another way you to know Dean might love you, even half as much as you love him. 

He just doesn’t say it. And that’s Dean. He barely even tells Sam he loves him. So you’ll take whatever he’ll give you, and hope it’s enough to destroy the little devil in your ear, telling you soon he’ll get bored. You’re just a convenient, consistent, safer lay, and one day you’ll have to face that.

Dean wouldn’t do that to you. You know Dean wouldn’t do that to you.

No matter how you wish it would, it doesn’t stop the fear. 

You’re starting to hit a level five Drunk Dean. That’s when it’s time to call it a night. His inhibitions are too far gone, and he’s starting to try and do things he cannot do. Objectively. He’s strong, but he’s not going to be run through the wall like the Kool-Aid man. He’s agile for a guy of his size, but he’s not going to be able to climb onto the ceiling like Spider-Man. He eats a lot, but no one is going to be able to swallow a dart. 

Sam’s been busy all night. He took one drink and shuffled off to a booth to call Eileen. They haven’t had a lot of time to call in the past few weeks, and you don’t need Sam to handle a level five Drunk Dean. It might be easier without Sam, because you can keep all of Dean’s attention on your tits while you sneak the keys out of his pocket, and Sam won’t have to deal with Dean asking you to fuck in the bathroom before you go home. 

You’ll text him, when you get back to the motel. Tell him to walk back if he can’t wait, or hang out until you get Dean into bed.

“C’mon,��� you mumble in Dean’s ear, looping an arm around his back. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

He glares at you, not budging an inch. “Stop touchin’ me.”

Your hands fly off of him, your eyes widening slightly. “I- I’m sorry, baby-“

“Don’t call me baby either.” He grumbles, turning back to the jukebox. “‘M not your baby.”

You don’t know how to deal with that. You can’t start crying in the middle of the bar, but you also feel like your heart was just put through a shredder. He doesn’t want you to touch him. He’s not your baby. And that fear is rearing it’s head and howling, because maybe the drinks are freeing Dean of being a gentleman, and he’s saying what he’s always thought. You’re just a body. You shouldn’t be calling him sweet things or touching him like that, because that makes you something that—to Dean—you’re simply not.

“I-“ You take a long breath, and you’re going to need Sam. He can handle Dean, and you can go try to stitch your heart back up in the bathroom. Just enough to face him in the morning. To not completely shatter when you tell him that you know, and you’ll leave to save him the trouble. “I- I’m gonna go get Sam-“

“Don’t want Sam.” He glares at you again, and the world is starting to blur a little bit. 

“Dean, I don’t-“

He cuts you off with your own name, and he says it the same as when he’s had a nightmare. Like he’s a little lost. “I want her. Not you.”

You stare at him, and the heart-breaking stutters to a stop. “What?”

“M’ girl.” He grumbles. “She’ll kick your ass, if you try’n grab me again. She’s hot. She’s gotta gun.” He frowns at the air. “But ‘m not ‘possed to tell people that. Don’t tell ‘er I told you.”

You can feel a soft smile pulling at your cheeks. “I won’t.”

He nods slowly, and he’s still watching you with a slight apprehension. Your heart is still caught in the slight stasis, but before you can let it bloom back, you just need to check.

“Can we go home, Dean?”

His nose wrinkles like he smelled something bad. “I don’t wanna go home with you. You’re not m’ girl.” He says your name again, a big, goofy smile spreading over his face. “I miss ‘er.”

He misses you.

And he really doesn’t seem to have a clue that you’re right in front of him. 

You take a careful step forward. “Dean-“

“Look, lady.” He snaps, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. “You seem fine, but I love my girl. So no touchin’.”

There’s no fighting your smile now. “You love her?”

He gives a firm nod, eyeing you wearily. “She’s perfect. She smells really good, and she’s got a big n’ pretty mouth, and one time she stabbed me, and it was freakin’ hot. I love her. Never loved nothin’ like her.” His scowl deepens. “And I’m her’s. Not yours. So no funny business.”

You’re still fighting tears. But now they’re made of Dean loves you.

He does. His filter is gone, and he’s affectionate, and he can’t remember enough to recognize you, but he knows he love you, and that he’s yours. 

He’s doing things Sober Dean wouldn’t do. Like trying to eat olives and cherries with his nose, and saying he loves you. 

He loves you.

“No funny business.” You raise your hands for him to see, and your smile is probably manic. You don’t really care. “Can you stay here for a second?”

“You’re not my freakin’ boss-“

You say your own name, and try not to melt when Dean’s whole face lights up. “I’m gonna go get her and Sam. You just have to stay here. Does that sound good?”

He nods cautiously, and you give him one last smile before moving over to Sam’s booth. 

“Hey,” he frowns around you, obviously looking for Dean. “Eileen just went to bed, where’s-“

“Back there.” You nod over your shoulder. “He doesn’t know who I am, Sam.”

You don’t know what you expected, but Sam laughing definitely wasn’t it. “Holy shit. How many beers did he have?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t counting them-”

“Well, you know our Dean drunkenness scale?”

You frown. “Yeah?”

“This is a level six.” Sam says, starting to move out of the booth. “His brain is scrambled. One time he left me in a parking lot because he thought I was a random girl following him around.”

“Sam.” You mutter, narrowing your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about level six.”

“Cause it’s rare.” He shrugs. “It only happens when he’s really depressed, or really happy.” He gives you a small smile. “I’m guessing this is the happy one, which is nice. Only other time I saw the happy one was after we got Michael out of him, and that was also half depressed.”

You try not to flush too much at that. Or how, when Sam grabs Dean’s shoulder, nods to you, and explains he found you looking for Dean,

Dean’s whole face lights up and he barrels towards you with an openly adoring expression. 

“I missed you, sweetheart.” He drops his face into your hair, the hug almost bone-crushing. “I wanna go home.”

“I think we can make that happen.” Your words are muffled in Dean’s chest as you snake your hand into his pocket, but he seems to understand them all the same. His grip tightens as he pulls back, and if he had a tail, he might have been wagging it. 

“Can you shower with me?”

“Sure, baby.” You get a good grip on the keys, a toss them to Sam behind his back. “Ready?”

Dean nods, and never once pulls himself away as you guide him back to the car. 

“I don’t wanna ride in that car.” He grumbles in your ear. “I want my car. I’d never park Baby this shitty.”

You snort, and Sam scowls. Dean was already one level of drunk when you showed up to the bar, and he’d been clinging to you like an octopus for the whole drive.

“It is a shitty parking job.” You hum, and Sam flips you off.

“You couldn’t have done better-“

“Hey!” Dean snaps, and you squeak as he folds over you like a human shield. “Don’t talk ‘bout my girl like that, buddy. I’ll fuckin’ shoot you, and then- Then my brother will make you freakin’ disappear-“

“I know, Dean.” Sam sighs, and you muffle your giggle in Dean’s side. “Let’s go.”

Dean passes out only two seconds into the ride. Snoring all around you, his grip tightening whenever you so much as wiggle.

“I’m gonna kick his ass in the morning.” Sam mutters. “That was not a bad parking job. There was a truck half in the space, and I made it work.”

“I know.” You hum, playing with the flannel of Dean’s cuff. “Don’t blame him, Sam. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Yeah, he does.” He glares at Dean in the mirror. “Jerk.”

You let out a soft laugh, but you really hope Dean knows what he’s saying.

He does know what he’s saying. 

He just doesn’t know that he’s saying it.

And you can take that. You can take Dean loving you and not knowing how to say it. And you know that in the morning Sam will mock him for reaching a level six drunk, and Dean will look at you with a slight fear, and you’ll just kiss the scruff on his jaw. Tell him that you understand with hands in his hair and sweet smiles, and make sure he knows that he doesn’t have to say it.

You’ll love him all the same.

And Dean does love you. Drunk or sober, he knows he loves you. 

And now you know it too. 

End Note: Dean if I had you I'd never let you get sad drunk.

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[m4tthewmurd0ck]

a love that makes sense

── bucky barnes x fem!reader (former avenger, currently part of the thunderbolts*)

word count: 3.7k

clearing up a few things timeline wise, to avoid confusion. infinity war happens in 2018, thunderbolts* in 2027. the events of the winter soldier happen in 2014 so when i eventually mention how long reader and bucky have known each other, its 13 years.

no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no physical descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky (sebastian is 5’11 - 6’ so do with that what you will). powers are similar to that of wanda maximoff, but i don’t write about them in this part. hero name is Dark Surge (where wanda’s powers have a red energy, your color is black, hence the name). readers parents are both dead.

baby girl is back on the big screen and my writing gears are turning again. inspired by @aquaticmercy! their entire masterlist is stunningggggg, and brb im gonna go re-read right now. this is my take on the secret wife trope with thunderbolts* bucky, but someone on the team already knows 👀

*NOTE: benjamin poindexter is not bullseye in this. i just need a name that’s easy to associate being a piece of shit with hshxjsidnxfj

also i am a slut for a backstory, so sorry if you hate long pieces but get a snack and get comfortable

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* BELOW THE CUT!!!

Bucky hated the idea of a gala to introduce the (rich) world to the team.

To the new Avengers.

Valentina said it would be good for you to show face, that it would be the first planned public outing as a group.

Sam Wilson had made it known he didn’t like you all using the Avengers as your team name, what with him trying to sue for copyright, and Valentina was a little too quick to point out that now was the time for a united front. The public needed to see that not only were you heroes, but that you were also a real team.

None of you could see how dressing up and playing nice with the upper class would prove that, but you all discussed and decided it was better not to argue.

Yelena pointed out that the Thunderbolts, or Avengers, or whatever the team name was, basically owned Valentina. Bob was on your side again, and even Valentina knew that all it would take was one of you going to the press to expose her.

But it was Alexei who said Valentina was right. The world knew who you all were as individuals, but they’d yet to see you as a team in a somewhat normal setting.

You suspected he just wanted a chance to dress up and have people admire him, but kept quiet about that.

But back to why Bucky hated the gala.

It wasn’t for him. It was true, he didn’t like the idea of having to put on a show, even though he was used to it since becoming a congressman. And he hated that he could hear the whispers of the general public, who often referred to him as the Winter Soldier behind his back.

No, he hated this for you.

Of everyone on the new team, you were the only one of the original Avengers. You’d joined shortly before Loki and the whole attack on New York, having been recruited by Steve.

And as the only original Avenger, people tended to pay extra attention to you. He knew without a doubt, you’d be smiling for more photos and answering more questions than any of them.

You loved what you did, that you got to help people. But you didn’t like how public it all was. You missed when you were an unknown vigilante working (mostly) alongside the law. When you took on smaller problems like robberies or attempted shootings. Because no one knew who you were back then, you weren’t often praised. And that was exactly how you wished it could’ve stayed.

What Bucky hated most, was how he wouldn’t be able to comfort you tonight.

He’s known he loves you since before he could even remember what love was. You tracked him down to his tiny apartment in Romania, but didn’t tell Steve right away. You gave him 6 additional months of peace, while slowly inserting yourself into his life.

And while his memory was foggy, he wasn’t stupid. He knew who you were when you approached him at that outdoor market he used to frequent, but he believed you when you said you had no intention of alerting Steve, yet. That you needed some peace and quiet too.

The first time you helped him through a nightmare, and held him as he sobbed and said he wanted the pain to end, that was it for him. When he woke up the next morning to see you curled up next to him, your hand on his chest as if you needed the reassurance his heart was beating, he knew he didn’t ever want a life without you.

And when you finally opened your eyes and smiled at him, for a brief moment it felt like all was right in the world. You seemed to know how he felt, because you simply moved closer and spoke softly as you told him everything was going to be okay, and that the 2 of you didn’t have to discuss feelings, but you felt the same way.

With all that went down once you finally did have to tell Steve where Bucky was, and all that happened after, your relationship was obviously kept a secret from, well, everyone.

Eventually the 2 of you felt comfortable enough to tell Steve, who smiled as if he already knew. And you then confessed that Nat knew, and had known for a long time because you needed someone outside of the relationship to talk to.

As time went on, the rest of the team each found out in their own way.

Tony found out when he overheard you talking to Nat about how you were terrified to tell him about you and Bucky. Tony was the closest thing you had to a dad, and you didn’t think you could handle him being disappointed in you.

Thankfully, he and Bucky had long ago sorted everything out, and he told you that he overheard you, but you had nothing to worry about. If you were happy, so was he.

Clint found out at the same time as Thor and Bruce, when the 3 of them had taken the elevator up to your floor of the tower to ask about an upcoming mission. They froze as soon as they got off of the elevator, and were met with the sight of you fast asleep, your head on Bucky’s chest as he lazily scrolled to find something good to watch. By then he was genuinely friends with everyone on the team, so he didn’t have much of a reaction to them.

But he sighed, knowing you wanted to tell them yourself. You’d just gotten back from a solo mission though, and were more tired than he’d seen you in a long time. So he simply looked at them and mouthed if you wake her, I will kill you.

All you had to do was mention to everyone that you both wanted to keep the relationship out of the public, and that was it. You trusted them, and knew nobody would ever say anything.

That was a long time ago, though. You didn’t know most of your teammates that well.

You were still on the fence about John. With the recent string of events that had taken place, he’d proven himself to be a good teammate and valuable asset to the team. And knowing what he saw in the void, you felt bad.

But that still didn’t erase the things he’d done in the past. You remembered all too well, what happened when you were working with Bucky and Sam and the wannabe Captain America showed up.

As for the other members of the team, well all except 1, they were nice enough, but you weren’t close enough with them (yet) for you and Bucky to feel comfortable revealing your relationship.

It wasn’t unusual to everyone else that the 2 of you spent more time with each other than any of them, after all you’d known each other longer. But you were worried that one day, someone would catch on before you had a chance to tell them yourself.

Which was how you found yourself in this unfortunate position, wandering around the massive room Valentina rented for the night. She instructed everyone on the team to go off on their own, mingle with the people. And do not stick together like a pack of wild animals being cornered.

Of course, it wasn’t lost Bucky that if your relationship was public, he could ignore her suggestions and just walk around with you, arm in arm. He could pull you in for a kiss, maybe even ask you to dance if these fancy galas did that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t lost on you that if people knew the 2 of you were together, you could comfort Bucky. Like right now, you can tell by the way he’s walking around with his metal hand in his pants pocket and his right hand holding a glass of champagne, the way he keeps looking around as if a threat is close by, that he’s anxious. And anxious probably isn’t even a strong enough word, because you know he hates these public events as much as you do.

“You always come to these things alone?”

You had enhanced hearing, but still felt like you were going to have a heart attack at the sound of an unexpected voice. How had someone managed to sneak up on you? You really had to work on not zoning out in public.

“Pardon?” Not wanting to seem rude, you put on a smile and turned to face the man on your left.

He was tall, and not bad looking. But something about the way he smirked at you put you on edge. He stared as if you were a prize to be won, or he needed time in the spotlight so he spoke to you, hoping one of the few invited members of the press would soon walk by.

“I just asked if you always come to Valentina’s galas by yourself.”

You hoped you didn’t sound as annoyed as you felt.

“Well this is the first event being thrown by Valentina, so no. It’s been a few years since the Avengers have thrown a gala. And even then, Tony only invited respected individuals that we worked with closely.”

The man scoffed. “Right. Guess my invites always got lost in the mail.”

“Guess so,” you shrugged.

“Now that I’m here though, I can keep you company.”

This guy needs to work on his subtlety, you thought to yourself.

You briefly surveyed the room, and found that Bucky’s eyes were already on you. You suspected that he’d been watching since the man first approached you.

You okay? He mouthed. You gave a slight nod, and he turned back to the person he was speaking with, though you knew he’d look back at you once you looked away.

“I’m actually meant to mingle with everyone, but I appreciate the offer…”

“Benjamin Poindexter,” he held his hand out. You hoped your smile was convincing as you shook his hand. He held on just a little too tight, for a little too long.

Before you could step back, you and Benjamin were both startled as a hand not at all gently gave him a pat on the shoulder. You looked to see Alexei, and were never more relieved to see him than you were in that moment.

“How are we doing this evening, huh?”

Benjamin opened his mouth to answer, but Alexei had already put his arm around you and had begun leading you in another direction. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back around.

“Sorry I need her for official superhero business, you understand.”

Only when you were nearly across the room, did Alexei finally stop walking. “Should I kill him?”

You laughed, but had to stifle it when you saw his completely serious facial expression.

“I— no. Hey look at me, no killing him, right?”

“Maybe I just accidentally—”

“No. I really appreciate you saving the day, but I think he was just a weird fan who managed to sneak his way in. Promise me he’ll leave here alive.”

“Oh okay okay, I get you. I wait until he leaves and then—”

“Alexei!”

Yelena approaches, having heard the tail end of your conversation.

“Trust me, I wish I could kill men simply for being creepy as well. But the public won’t love Red Guardian so much for killing a man out in public just for being a creep.” She turned and whispered in your ear, “he won’t be able make it l look like an accident. But I can. We’ll talk later.”

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

What feels like a lifetime later, but is really maybe an hour, you’re all seated at dinner. And of course in another effort to whore you all out to the public make people think the Avengers were just like everyone else, the entire team were sat at different tables.

“Well well well, guess it’s my lucky night.”

Oh fuck me, you thought as Benjamin took the seat next to you. How had you not noticed his name on the place cards?

“Hello,” you gave him a nod and tight lipped smile, before turning to survey the room once again.

Alexei held up a steak knife and motioned to Benjamin when he wasn’t looking. When you shook your head, he sighed and resumed conversation with the man he’d been talking to.

You were sad that Bucky was on the other side of the room, so you wouldn’t be able to see him after this long and boring dinner was over.

Ava and Alexei were the only ones who lucked out with table mates.

You turned to your right and saw John sat between 2 men who both seemed to be vying for his attention. He caught your eye, and you laughed and mouthed having fun?, and had to force yourself to not laugh when he slowly raised his hand to flip you off.

Yelena was a few tables away, resisting the urge to grab her steak knife and shove it in the throat of the man speaking to her. He clearly just loved the sound of his own voice, and she hadn’t even gotten a word in. The topic? Himself, of course. And how he could’ve been a hero too if life had dealt him better cards.

Bob was the only one who’d been excused from tonight. Understandably, as he was still recovering from recent events.

Earlier you offered to stay back and hang out with him. The rest of the team agreed that might be a good idea, until Valentina swooped in and immediately said no. That everyone would be wondering where the only original Avenger on the team was.

“So being an Avenger and all that, do you have a lot of free time?” Benjamin asked.

“Umm no, not really. Between missions and writing the reports and training, I don’t have a lot of time for myself.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to take you out some time,” he put an arm around your chair while also scooting his closer.

That’s when you finally stood up. “I’m not dating anymore, but again I appreciate the offer. If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before you started to walk away.

Valentina unintentionally saved the day, calling you over to talk to a mayor of some city a few states away. Why he was at this dinner, you had no idea. But after only a minute of conversation, you could tell he was genuinely a nice guy, so this was already a lot better than talking to Benjamin.

After everyone finished eating, the team mingled with guests for another hour before things finally started to wind down. Half an hour after that, and only a handful of people remained.

“Ready to head home? I’m exhausted,” Ava was the last of the group to approach the table you’d all gathered at.

“Yeah,” you looked around the table, “shit. I think I left my phone in the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys at the car.”

Everyone slowly stood up and gathered their things, but Bucky lingered near you. “I can wait for you,” he offered.

You could see he was just as mentally exhausted as you were, maybe even a little more. “It’s okay, I’ll meet you at the car in a minute, I think my phones on the counter by the sinks.”

After double checking, he nodded and turned around to look at the team. They were all talking amongst themselves as they headed to the doors, so Bucky took the opportunity to take your hand in his. “You did good tonight doll, proud of you.”

“Right back at ya’ Sarge,” you smiled.

You held hands a few seconds more, before expertly letting go and making it seem as if you just walked side-by-side. Unbeknownst to each other, you were both thinking that you couldn’t wait until the day came where you didn’t have to do that.

Once exiting the ballroom / banquet room, Bucky turned left and made his way to the exits, while you went right and headed for the restroom.

When you saw your phone sitting exactly where you thought it’d be, you felt relief. As you walked back out, you scrolled through your missed messages and calls, not looking up from your phone.

“There you are.”

You’d later swear your heart stopped when you heard Benjamin’s voice again. And you mentally cursed yourself for not paying attention to your surroundings. This was now 3 times the same man managed to sneak up on you.

“Hi,” you quickly nodded before taking a step towards the doors.

“Not so fast,” his hand reached out to grab your arm, and he wasn’t at all gentle.

You sighed as you tried to remove your arm from his grip, but fear quickly replaced annoyance when you realized he was stronger than he looked. And when he looked up, gone was that smug smile. Now he only looked angry.

“All night you’ve been such a fucking bitch to me, and for what?”

“Let go of me. You clearly know who I am, so you know what my powers are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He laughed, then leaned down so his face was only inches from yours.

“You think you’re too good for me, because you’re an Avenger and I’m not? I could’ve been a hero too, you know.” He laughed, although there was no humor behind it. His grip on your wrist tightened as he gave you that sick smile. “I can—”

You didn’t get to find out what it was he could do, before a hand reached from behind you and wrapped around Benjamin’s throat. In seconds, he was pinned against the wall.

And even if the hand around Benjamin’s throat wasn’t metal, you still would’ve known who it was that was behind you.

“James,” you turned around and smiled. “I could’ve handled him.”

“Oh I know you could’ve,” he tightened his grip as Benjamin tried to speak and continued to try and remove Bucky’s hand. “You could’ve kicked his ass, but you shouldn’t have to.”

By then, the rest of the team had all come back into the room. Benjamin looked to them as if to silently ask for help, but suddenly they were all preoccupied with the floors and ceilings. Alexei even went so far as to whistle and brush invisible crumbs off of his suit jacket.

Bucky shook his head as he finally dropped his left hand, allowing Benjamin to breathe properly for the first time in a couple of minutes. Any relief he felt was short lived though, because Bucky almost immediately used his right hand to slam him back against the wall.

“You’ve been bothering her all night. And I know exactly who you are. Dishonorable discharge from the Army for sexual misconduct against female superiors. Looked into you after you bothered her the first time. And she,” he nodded towards you while never taking his eyes off of Benjamin. “Has been too polite to tell you to fuck off, but I’m not. If you so much as breathe in my wife’s direction again, it’ll be the last breath you ever take. And if you tell anyone about what’s going on right now, I can promise you that you’ll only wish you were dead.”

With that, he let go, and Benjamin fell to the ground as he tried to catch his breath. He got up after a moment, a hand on his neck as he scrambled for the doors.

“You’re all fucking psychopaths!” He yelled. Yelena took a step towards him, causing Benjamin to yank the doors open, probably running faster than he had in his entire life.

“You okay doll? I knew something was off when you were gone longer than a minute. I meant what I said, I know you could’ve handled it, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you placed your right hand in Bucky’s left. “I kinda like when you come to my rescue.”

You took a deep breath before turning to face the team, all staring at you with wide eyes and open mouths. “I know you have questions, and I promise we’ll answer them all… eventually. Let’s just get home first.”

Alexei immediately opens his mouth. “So you two—”

He was stopped by Yelena, who grabbed his arm and began walking towards the car. “Chop chop let’s go people I have a lot of questions.”

Only a few minutes later, you all finally slumped back in your seats.

“Former Winter Soldier and vigilante both turned Avenger, meet and fall in love. Beautiful!” Alexei grins, giving you a thumbs up in the rear view mirror.

Bucky takes your hand in his, apologizing once again for letting the cat out of the bag.

“Seriously though,” Ava leans forward in her seat. “Does no one know about you two?”

You shrug, “the… original Avengers, is that what we call them? Anyway, they all found out a long time ago. Natasha was actually the first one I told.”

Hearing that you confided in her sister brings a smile to Yelena’s face.

The rest of the ride to the tower is silent. And you end up falling asleep leaning on Bucky’s arm. At one point, he turns and places a soft kiss on your head. The team all turn to look at each other, as if silently asking if they were really all that blind. How had they missed this??

You wake up just as Alexei not so delicately comes to a stop as he waits for the gate to the parking structure to open.

“At least I can finally do this now,” Bucky smiles as he walks next to you, slipping his hand into yours as you head into the tower.

When you all walk into the downstairs lobby area, Bob is there.

“Saw you guys pull in on the cameras. Figured I’d wait to see how the night went.” He looks at you and Bucky holding hands, and smiles. “Oh you guys finally told them!”

All eyes are on you again.

“What the fuck!”

“Wait BOB knew?!”

You and Bucky turn to look at each other. “This is gonna be a looong night.”

why this is called “a love that makes sense” is coming in part 2!

TAG LIST FOR PART 2 ── 10 of 50 spots taken. if you’d like to be added, let me know!!

@rafesgurl | @julesandgems | @escapismurmom | @emmyrietveld0 | @xynnzzzzzzzz | @theb0mbdotcom | @qvynrand | @wasalreadyhere | @teewon | @limitlessxxx

[kilojulietsierra]

Baby, It's Alright - Chapter Two

(Dr. Robby x Fem!Reader)

A little later than I promised but here it is!

Summary: Reader gets a sort of second date with Robby that sort of doesn't go the way she planned. It sort of goes better...

TW: all my content is considered 18+, age gap, car accident but everyone is fine, medical inaccuracies, DIY medicine = kids don't try this at home, sort of slow burn sorry, quiet flirting, male friendship, includes Dr Jack Abbot x nurse wife!OFC, Jack and Sam are INVESTED, Reader is nervous and twitterpated, Robby is falling and he's working through that ok!

This is a part of my "Save Me From Myself" series, if you feel so inclined you can check that out! Love you all for the love!

Read Chapter One here if you missed it!

~~~~~

Sam had invited you out for coffee after your shift and once you had found a table she asked the question you had been expecting for a week. "So, how are you feeling about your sexy, older, ER doc crush now?"

"Do you have to say it that way?" You supposed you should be grateful she'd let you go this long without bringing it up. It had given you time to think.

"Yes," She smiled, "I'm honestly having fun torturing you both. Stop avoiding the question."

You thought for a minute while you picked at your muffin, "Is it weird?" You were aware it was a vague yet somehow loaded question.

Sam still smiled, a little softer, as she reached up to let her bun down, "I don't think I can answer that for you." She paused to take a sip of her coffee and then continued. "What I can tell you is that when I first got to spend some time with Jack, we didn't know anything about each other, but, we sat and ate together and I knew that I could sit at a shitty picnic table and eat shitty pizza with him anywhere in the world and be perfectly happy."

You thought about what she had said, thought about dinner and the chat you had with Robby after.

Across rhe table from you Sam chuckled, "You realize you don't even have to say it right? It's written all over your face."

~~~~~

Robby blinked, snapped out of his thoughts, as his earbuds read out, "Incoming call from: Sam Abbot"

"Good morning Mrs. Abbot."

"Good morning Dr. Robinavitch. You on your way to work?"

"Mhmm, you've got three blocks."

She got right to the point, "If I told you Y/N was interested in seeing you again, what would you say?"

Robby scoffed, "I'd ask what you're bribing her with."

"Robby I swear to God, do you like her or not?"

"I don't know that it's that easy Sam."

"Because you're making it complicated."

"It is what I do best."

"You should have seen her face this morning when I brought you up." When that doesn't get a response out of him she continues, "I knew it! You big chicken, just admit you would like to see her again."

"I don't know Sam."

Something in his tone sobers Sam up a little bit, "Ok, I'm not bullying you,"

"You sure?" He interrupted, only half teasing.

"Shut up. Look, she liked meeting you at the house the other night and I think she really likes you. So, I won't beat you up about it, but will you at least promise me you'll think about it? You might be pleasantly surprised."

Robby was quiet for most of the next block, "Ok, I will think about it. I am thinking about it."

Sam's smile was evident in her voice, "Ok, good. I'm glad. Have a good day at work, okay."

Robby couldn't help but smile with her, "I will, I'll make sure Jack leaves on time."

~~~~

As soon as Robby got inside the the ED Dana met him at the counter, "So, haven't seen you, how'd dinner go with the VA cutie go?"

Robby glared at Jack as he gathered up his stuff. Jack just glared right back.

"Oh please," Dana scoffed, "Don't look at him, he's like trying to get gossip out of a KGB agent."

Robby throws another glance at Jack who just shrugs and slaps him on the back on his way out. When he turns back to Dana he sighs, "Ok, what did Sam tell you?"

"Nothing much, just talked to her quick the other day and she said they had you two over for dinner and that Y/N had a good time."

Suddenly, he was already exhausted and he had only just got to work, "Is there anyway for me avoid this conversation?" The look she gives him says it all. "Dinner was... fine, actually no dinner was good. She is everything Sam said she was and more."

Dana softened, "But?"

He sighs and scratches at his beard as he leans his elbows on the counter, "She's so young."

With an arched brow, "Robby, she's a grown woman, and from what I hear she's a grown woman that likes what she sees."

~~~~~

Robby heard the access door open, but he didn't turn. DIdn't need to.

"At least you're on this side of the rail this time."

Robby scoffed, "Look who's talking."

Jack nodded, "Came to tell you to go home." He stepped up to the rail and leaned his forearms over the top. "What're you doin' up here anyway?"

His colleague didn't answer right away, but Jack waited him out. "Needed some quiet, time to think about some things."

"Would one of those things happen to be a pretty, little nurse over at the VA?"

"That's your shtick brother." Robby gave him a side eye.

Jack shook his head with a chuckle, "Well that wasn't a no." He turned his head and gave Robby a look, "C'mon, tell me what's up. You got," He turned his wrist over, "Five minute before my shift starts."

"You a counselor now?" Robby scoffed.

"Four minutes, 50 seconds."

"Fuck me, you really want to talk about this?"

"Not especially, but we're gonna." He stood up and turned around to lean back against the rail, "And I really only have it in me to say this once, so listen."

Robby grumbled, but did not interrupt.

"I know the age thing is messing with you, but I think you're makin' a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be. You know, Sam fell for a... a 29 year old soldier with a six pack and God complex. Now, she's married to a 46 year old doctor with fucking grey hair, frown lines, PTSD and a shitty schedule. She still loves me, and yeah shut up, God knows why sometimes. But look brother, she's the only thing that keeps me above ground on the really bad days."

After a deep breath Robby shook his head, "Still different. She wouldn't be getting any of the good years, and Jesus I feel old just thinking about it." He laughed at himself.

Jack laughed a little, at Robby as much as at himself, "I mean, you're older than me." He takes the jab because he can't help himself, "But, for what it's worth, sometimes yeah, you're goin' to feel old as fuck, but most the time the age difference thing isn't even a factor." He paused and turned back around, hands gripped the railing as he leaned into it. "Then there's sometimes man where she's goin' make you feel twenty years old again, ten feet tall and fucking bulletproof." He chuckled, "Plus, look at it this way, now you got twenty, thirty years experience to put behind it."

"Oh fuck off." Jack laughed again, "C'mon, times up, otherwise I'm goin' to bill you." He pushed back from the railing.

"Sam, she's your once in a lifetime man." Robby's voice sounded tight. "Doesn't happen every day."

Stopped two steps away Jack turned back, hands in his pockets, and nodded, "You ever think Y/N might be yours?"

~~~~~~

When Sam had texted you last week that Robby was interested in seeing you again your initial reaction had been panic. Dinner at Jack and Sam's had been fun, easy even. Then you stopped and thought about going on a real, actual date, just you and Robby.

For whatever reason, the thought scared you, like maybe you weren't quite ready for that just yet. You wanted to see him again, you knew that for sure, but you couldn't help but feel like that first night had been less of a date and more of a dinner with friends.

Sam had teased you, a little, "Not that we mind, but you are going to have to take the training wheels off at some point."

She had agreed though and that was how you found yourself in Sam's SUV on your way to lunch. Jack driving and Robby up front with him, Sam next to you currently leaned over the center console typing in the restaraunt address into the GPS screen.

"Would you please, sit your ass back down?" Jack chided his wife with a smile. "I know where we're going."

You stifled a laugh as Sam caught your gaze and rolled her eyes as she settled back into her seat and buckled her seat belt. "So bossy."

From where you sat you could see the look they gave each other in the rearview mirror. You also saw the moment, halfway through an intersection, when Jacks eyes jumped the left.

"Mother fuck..." He didn't even get out the rest of the word before the car that had blown through the stoplight slammed into the SUV.

Tires squealed and you could hear the creak and crunch of metal on metal over the ringing in your ears as the airbags deployed.

~~~~~

"Sam, baby you okay?"

"Yeah! I'm fine."

"Y/N, you okay?"

Everything was fuzzy, your ears still rang and this time it was Robby calling back to you, "Y/N, hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm, I'm okay."

As your vision cleared you heard a repeated pop and hiss, pop and hiss. Jack had pulled out his knife and was popping the airbags on the driver side of the SUV. You flinched when your door opened, but a warm hand grabbed your wrist and squeezed.

"Hey," Robby spoke calmly, "Cover your eyes for me." Another pop and hiss and the side curtain airbag between you and him deflated. "There we go. Hey, look at me. Anything hurt?" When you didn't answer right away he ducked his head to catch your eye, "Does anything hurt?" His eyes scanned you head to toe and he gave you a little nod when you told him nothing hurt. "Ok, good watch my finger for me. Perfect." His hands moved to take each of yours, "Squeeze for me. Good. Move your feet?" He gave a smile and a nod, "Ok, you're ok, c'mon. I got you."

"Robby!" Jacks voice carried from the other side of the SUV, "I got three over here. Driver's unresponsive!"

Robby helped you out and away from the Tahoe where it had come to rest in corner of the intersection.

"Sam, grab a kit!"

You watched Robby disappear around the SUV and you could hear Sam behind you. When you turn she had a phone pressed to her ear as she opened the back hatch.

"Intersection of South Highland and Liberty. MVC in the southound lane, three vehicles involved." She drug a backpack out of the back, "We are going to need EMS, yes ma'am. Yes ma'am. Expect multiple injuries. My name is Samantha Abbot. Yes ma'am."

Head still fuzzy you watched as she jogged towards the car that had hit you, the whole front end completely mangled. After a second your instinct kicked in and you followed after her.

Jack didn't even look over his shoulder as Sam came up behind him, "Driver is unresponsive to pain, pupils are pinned. Grab me the narcan."

You took Sam's lead and went to Robby to see what you could do to help. He looked up at you briefly, "Check her in the back. If shes's ok get her over to the sidewalk. Then come back, grab me one of the kits out of the Tahoe on your way. Should be a backpack, probably camo or black."

Grateful for the direction you did as he said and came back with a black backpack moments later. "Got it."

"Ok perfect." He glanced at the bag, "That big front pocket should be some 4x4 gauze, grab me that and then can you hold C-spine for me?"

You crawled in the backseat and supported the passengers head and neck from behind.

"Jack, you got a collar?" Robby called out across the car. "Looks like the passenger went head versus windshield."

Sam came jogging back, "Other car is fine, minor lacs and bag burn, a little spooked. I can hear EMS. What you need?"

"Grab the collar out of the pelican case, give it to Robby." Jack caught the driver by the shoulders as he sat bolt up right with a gasp. "Welcome back. What did you take?" When he got no answer he made a fist and rubbed it over his sternum, "Focus buddy. You were in a car accident, do you remember what happened? Can you tell me what you took?"

The cops get there first and apparently one of them recognized Jack and Robby, "Don't you guys ever take a day off?"

Robby scoffed, "This was supposed to be my day off."

"Just can't help it." Jack laughed as EMTs arrived and made their way over, "Overdose here, came around with three of narcan, this is the driver. Robby has the worst, looks like he's banged up pretty good, no seat belt. Backseat passenger, and passengers in the third car they're all minor lacs, contusions, abrasians."

"What about the Tahoe?" Jack grimmaced, "That's us, we're all good, just clipped the front quarter panel when they ran the light."

A cop looked around, "RP?"

Jack pointed to Sam, "My wife, Samantha, called it in on my phone."

"Looks like you need checked out too man." The cop pointed at a gash on Jacks arm from the broken glass, but he just waved it off.

Another set of EMTs ushered you out of the backseat so they could get to the passenger. One of them taking over holding traction and you moved to the side. Out of the way. You couldn't help but think, through the pounding headache, that this was not how this afternoon was supposed to go.

~~~~~

After you had talked to one of the cops, told them the little bit you could, you headed back towards the Tahoe to grab your purse. The cops said the vehicles would all be towed.

When you get back to the SUV you find Sam and Jack at the back, the hatch open and Jack sitting in the back. His left foot is braced on the bumper, his arm rested over his knee while his wife sutured the small gash on his forearm.

"Good, make sure to finish it with a..."

Sam froze and her eyes snapped up to Jacks with a scowl.

"Habit, sorry, just habit." He gave her a smile and his right thumb stroked over her hip where he had his right hand resting while she worked on him.

When an EMT comes back with Robby he took one look at the couple and groaned, "Dude, seriously?"

Jack glanced up at the kid in uniform, "Go get the form."

"SIr, that needs seen by a doctor."

You caught Robby's chuckle from where he sood just behind you.

"I am a doctor," Jack kept his tone flat, "I've seen it. She'll do a better job than wherever you would take me anyway. Go get the form."

Brow furrowed you turn to Robby, "He's really not going to go to the hospital?"

He gave you a little grin, "Have you ever seen and ER doctor actually go to the hospital?" He laughs, "If he can't do it himself, she does it. Nothing new."

Not that you doubt your boss, she's a bad ass nurse, but, "She's not a doctor, what if it was something serious that she's never done before?"

"He talks her through it." He gives you a wink that makes you forget about the accident for a second. "I'm still not convicned she hasn't removed his appendix just to see if she could." He lightened the mood a little bit and then his eyes softened as they settled on your face. "How's your head feel now?"

Robby reached up and brushed a thumb around the edge of the abrasion on your forehead. The burn from the side curtain airbags. Your eyes closed of their own accord at his gentle touch, "Hurts."

His thumb moved low to trace under the apple of your cheek where the skin was also raw and tender, "Adrenaline is starting to wear off."

Jack spoke up, his eyes trained on the knot his wife tied in his suture. "Take her home. We'll have to wait for the wrecker."

Robby gave you a nod and a soft smile, "Let's grab your stuff."

~~~~~

Later, while they're watching the wrecker drag her Tahoe with it's mangled front end onto the flatbed, Jack wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders and gave her a squeeze, "Sorry about your car baby." He dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

Sam sighed deep, and rested her head on his shoulder, "Just glad it wasn't worse." She turned to look him up and down, "Sure you're ok?" Focusing on the tiny laceration on his temple she'd glued, the dressing on his forearm and the way his bad shoulder dipped just a little lower than the other.

"I'm fine." He looked her in the eye and gave her a nod, "Glad it was me not you."

She rolled her eyes, "Don't do that." Sam smiled carefully, and then chuckled a bit. "Here," She held up the dog tags she'd pulled off the rearview mirror, "Want these? Old times sake?"

Jack cracked a smile and took his old dog tags from her, a reminder from a lifetime ago. "I've got a set already." He gave her a wink as he bounced the tags and chain in his palm a couple times, thinking fondly about the old set of hers always hanging in his truck. "Here." He smiled wider as he slipped the chain around her neck, moved her hair out of the way and then tugged on the collar of her shirt so he could drop the tags inside.

Sam's eyes never left his and she smirked, "You think you're cute don't you?"

He pursed his lips with a shrug, "Married me didn't you?"

She let him kiss her on the forehead as she hummed skeptically.

"C'mon," He whispered against her brow and gave her one more kiss, "We'll go get somethin' to eat, guess we'll Uber to the house then we can take the truck to go pick up all our shit."

She ducked out from under his arm and gave him a look, "I'm sorry, we can go get something to eat?"

"Yeah," He gave her a blank look, playing at not understanding why she questioned it, "I'm fucking starving."

"You're hungry? You sent Robby and Y/N home." When he continued to stare she elaborated, "To presumably take it easy, because they were just in a car accident, but we're going to just go to lunch?"

Jack shrugged, "Eh, let Robby take her home, play a little doctor. Do 'em both some good."

Sam's eyes went wide, "Oh my God! You give me shit, but you do want them to get together!" She gave him a calculated shove and shook her head at him.

He kept up the straight face and tugged her back to him, "Not what I said."

~~~~~~

Robby was in your apartment.

You weren't sure what possessed you, where you had found the guts to invite him inside, but the way he had been looking at you made you think that maybe he had wanted you to.

As soon as he was across the threshold of your tiny apartment he pointed to your loveseat, "Go sit down." You did as he said and watched as he washed his hands in your sink and then ran a handful of paper towels under cold water. "Okay if I clean this up a little bit?" He asked as he gently pressed the damp towels to your brow and cheek.

Even though the towels were cool you felt your whole body flush when he touched you. Just barely touches you, as he guides your hand up to hold them in place. "Robby, you don't have to, really."

"Michael, and that's not what I asked." He gave you an easy little grin, trying to pry the cooperation out of you. When you finally give him the nod he had been waiting for that smile gets a fraction bigger. "It's not too bad. Where's your first aid kit? I'll clean it up and put a little dressing on to help it heal faster."

Next thing you knew Michael was sitting on the ottoman in front of you cleaning up and dressing the area where the airbags had irritated your skin. You didn't know what kind of doctor he was on shift, but the way he carefully held you steady with one hand and treated the burns with the other, his touch confident yet gentle, those deep brown eyes focused on the task, you could certainly imagine.

Occasionally though those eyes would flick to yours, and the way he sat with his legs bracketing yours you were close enough to see there was something hiding in those eyes. Just as much as there was something hiding in his careful touch.

You didn't mean to whisper when you spoke up, but you couldn't risk disturbing the moment. "Sorry this afternoon didn't quite turn out the way I had hoped."

He gave you a little smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, "You weren't the one that ODed and ran the red light."

"I know," You watched his hands as he packed up your first aid kit. "But still, I was looking forward to it."

The way he looked at you looked like that might have surprised him. That you had been looking forward to seeing him. The look passed quickly, like he had hidden it away, and then he looked at his watch. "Could still do a late lunch. If you feel up to it."

~~~~~~

Michael had offered to take you out to eat, to make up for the date that you had missed out on, but you had panicked. You didn't like the idea of him leaving your apartment now that you'd seen him move through it. As silly as it sounded, you worried that you wouldn't get him back again if you let him leave now. "Would you be okay if we order something and just ate here?"

For a brief moment he hesitated and appeared to have an array of emotions spin through him before he settled on a nod, "What sounds good?" He had already pulled up the DoorDash app on his phone.

You agree on something and he orders it. The restaraunt is close by so it shouldn't be long. You glance around your tiny, effeciency apartment. Coursework is scattered all over you kitchen table and you suddenly realize your mistake.

Behind you Robby must see you hesitate, "If I had to guess I'd say that table doesn't get used to eat much?"

"Basically never." You admit, embarrassed.

His gaze shifts over the menagarie of books and pens, markers, reports and studies littered with multi-colored sticky notes. He smiles, "Going for your Masters right?"

"Yeah. A decision I regret almost daily." You laughed at your own self-inflicted torture and than catch the look he gives you. A clear invitation to explain yourself. "I was never good at the whole school thing. I'm smart don't get me wrong, but the classes, the lectures, homework, I've always hated it."

"So, why are you doing it?"

"I want to teach, and no the irony is not lost on me."

"Really?"

"That hard to believe?"

"No." He shakes his head, not backpedaling or second guessing his answer just a simple no. "Wouldn't think someone so young would be going that route is all."

This was not a new sentiment. "I love being a nurse, always have, and it's always been what I wanted to do."

"But..." He tilted his head to one side and waited patiently.

You chewed on your lip and thought for a moment, "Take today for example. Sam is an amazing nurse and I've learned so much from her already, but I always get the feeling that she craves the chaos of it. That's why shes where she is. You can watch her work and she thrives in situations like that. Running an ER is exactly where she belongs. Me, I can do the work and yes I do love it, but I've never had that level of desire for it. I don't need it like she does. I've always been more drawn to... cultivating the love for this in others." You pause not meaning to ramble, "I fumbled a little today, until I saw you and Jack and her dive in headfirst and, like right now, I just think that I'm meant more to help others build that foundation, that confidence and competency to go out there and find where they belong in all this. I might not ever be the nurse that can take charge and own the floor when everything is falling apart, but I love the idea that I could help send hundreds or maybe even thousands of nurses into the system that could."

Robby, Michael, just stares at you for a long time.

Your heart suddenly pounds in your ears, "Sorry, I kind of just word vomited all over you." You laugh to try and dispel the awkwardness.

He just shakes his head, "Don't apologize. I think that's incredible." The look he gives you feels like it could stop your heart. Or maybe shock it back into rythym.

A knock at the door ends it there, for now.

"Foods here."

~~~~~

He moves to answer your door like he's done it a dozen times before. Maybe it's just because you haven't moved a muscle from where you were standing when you heard the word 'incredible'. "So, If you don't eat at the table?" He waits patiently for you to answer.

You fidget a little before youdo "This is so embarrassing, but honestly, I usually just eat over the sink, or sometimes i'll sit on the floor and use the ottoman for a table."

The thought hits him without warning, 'I'm too old for this', but then he takes that extra beat to really think about it. He thought about what Jack had said, that sometimes she might make him feel old as fuck, but sometimes...

So, he takes the takeout into your tiny living room and set's it on the oversized footstool.

You give him a little look as he settles down on the floor next to you and leans back against the front of the loveseat. "Do you want me to grab the Icy Hot now or wait until you try to get up?"

Robby laughs, he couldn't help himself, because yes he feels old as fuck, but he likes that you can poke at him, push him, say things that make his cheeks heat up. A part of him can't help but think about what he would do if this was real, if this wasn't just an attempt to salvage a sort of first date that went off the rails. If you were his.

Because if you were his and you'd teased him like that he would want to forget about the takeout and make sure you were both a little sore when you got up off the floor.

~~~~~

After you eat you have to force yourself to tell him you have school work, because you would sit on the floor with him the rest of the night if you could. What Sam had said about shitty pizza and picnic tables flashed through your mind and you smiled.

At the door you ask, "Would you be willing to try lunch again sometime, or dinner? With real furniture."

Michael gives you that crinkly eyed smile and shoves his hands in his pockets, "I'm not opposed to the floor, but I might make you pay for the chiropractor next time."

Your heart was a jackhammer in your chest when he reached up to ghost a finger over the dressing he'd put over the abrasions on your cheek and face.

"Do something for me?" He words are soft, not teasing anymore.

Anything. You have to choke the word down with a nod.

His touch lingers, "Come by tomorrow, so I can see you. Take a look at this." He traced the edge of a bandage, "My shift starts at seven."

~~~~~~

You had never been so nervous to walk into a hospital before in your life as you were when you entered the PTMC Emergency department like Michael had requested. You join the line to wait, but one of the registrars makes eye contact with you and waves you up.

You apologize to everyone that you passed in the line and gave her your name at the window, "I'm supposed to see Dr. Robinavitch." She smiled, "Yes, yes, he told me to keep an eye out for you. All the way to your right, I'll buzz you in."

You nearly run into Jack as you step through the fire doors into the ED. You flinch a little, startled, but you don't think Jack Abbot has been startled by anything in his life.

He does look a little curious though. "Hey, long time no see." He had a long sleeve shirt on under his scrub top, you assumed to cover the bandage and the cut on his arm. The small cut at his temple has a bruise around it now. "What're you doing here? Everything okay?" He ducked his head to look at you, clearly concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine, fine. Just following doctors orders." You pointed to where Michael stood by the main nurses station.

Jacks eyebrows jump as he nods and adjusts his backpack, then he meets Robby's gaze across the way. They exchange a look you can't read and then Jack turned back to you. "Ok then. Take it easy ok? I'll see you around."

You don't see the smirk on his face as he continued to the door, but Robby does.

You also don't see him immediately pull his phone out of his pocket as he pushes through the door with his shoulder, but Robby does.

"Good morning." You try for bright and cheery and not sick to your stomach with nerves.

Michael smiles, skips over the pleasantries, "How are you feeling?" He reached for your temple while his eyes asked if it was ok.

You nodded, "Little headache this morning, nothing bad. How about you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine." He carefully pulls back the tape holding the dressing down and does a quick exam. "This looks ok. Want me to dress it again?"

Selfishly you nodded, "If you don't mind. Since you made me drive all the way down here."

He gave you a look as he guided you back behind the nurses station and into one of the chairs. "Wait right here, I'll be back."

Just as soft and competent as before he cleaned and treated the burns from the airbag, this time only putting a dressing over the one on your forehead.

He had just finished up when a nurse in grey scrubs came around the corner, "We run out of rooms and hallways already?"

Michael chuckled, "Just a quick check up. Dana this is Y/N, Y/N this is Dana."

Dana's smile doubles as she looks from you to him and then back. "Oh my God, yes! It's so good to meet you." She pulled you into a hug you were not expecting, "Sammy's told me all about you."

You try not to flush, but you can see Michael's cheeks go just a little pink so you know at least you're not alone.

~~~~~

You were barely out the door when Robby's phone goes off and he gets a text from Sam.

'Doctors orders huh? Winky face, winky face. What's you next weekend off? I'll see if I can get you two a Saturday night for your next follow up.'

Robby drops his head and groans as he spins his phone around and around in his fingers.

Dana pops up next to him again, "What's that face for?"

He looks her in the eye, "One of these days, I'm going to push Jack off the roof."

~~~~~

By the time you left Robby's department you were all fixed up again, had his number in your phone and felt like your head was about to spin right off. When your phone vibrated, still in your hand, you nearly dropped it.

A text from Michael Robinavitch, 'If you're free Saturday after next, how would you feel about dinner? Real restaraunt, real furniture."

Your heart raced as you checked your email, silently praying Sam had sent out the schedule for next month, and there it was, a free Saturday night. Nearly shaking you texted him back, 'What if I liked sitting on the floor with you?' You bit your lip and waited.

"Compromise for the couch after dinner?'

~~~~

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!